November 25th, 2005 | The lowdown by Rachael Jones

Mullets and Other Unexpected Surprises

My first discovery upon arriving in Barcelona was that I didn?t know Spanish. I?d taken up to level 6 at school, but it might as well have been Swahili. Daily conversational Spanish definitely takes a little getting used to. And that?s not the only thing. Already I?ve had several experiences that have taken me by surprise?

For example, I definitely wasn?t prepared for the omnipresence of the mullet. It not only exists, it prospers abundantly. I?ve seen infinite varieties ? the full-on MULLET, the tentative, ?I?m a little scared to go all the way? mullet-wannabe, the mohawk mullet, the dread mullet, the mohawk-dread mullet? They?re actually considered stylish here. And to add to the unnerving frustration of being faced with a Kentucky waterfall everywhere you turn, they are impossible to complain about ? the word for ?mullet? in Spanish doesn?t seem to exist. I?ve asked friends, teachers, random people on the streets (including the mulleteers themselves), and the best response I can get is, ?it?s hair that?s short in front and long in back??

I also found myself monstrously unprepared for what turned out to be the wildly elaborate mission of finding a flat. Each step turned out to be a whole experience in itself. In the States, finding an apartment wasn?t too tough ? we drove around the area, and if an enticing option had a ?For Sale? sign, we went up, had a look, and that was that. In Spain, it was significantly more complicated, and intensely humbling for those not yet quite used to living in another language. The process went somewhat as follows: First, one must accumulate several phone numbers of potential flats. This can be accomplished in a variety of ways: Homemade fliers taped to campus walls, word-of-mouth, websites, etc.

Searching for an excuse to satiate my Internet cravings, I opted for the website route. After researching the choice of apartment search engines, it was time to begin. I scoured approximately a hundred pages (literally) of listings, and collected a multitude of contact numbers based on the extremely short descriptions given: general zone of the city, price, the occasional ?girls only? specification...

The next step was to call. Talking on the phone in Spanish can be something of an ordeal. It?s nerve-wracking and embarrassing, because it?s often difficult to understand the other person without being able to see their lips, and they tend to have trouble understanding you because whatever Spanish-speaking ability you once had is now somewhere far, far away. About 90% of the rooms I called had already been taken, maybe 7% sounded more than a little sketchy, and an estimated 1.5 percent had no idea about an apartment for rent. For those remaining, the renter could eventually be coaxed to divulge the street address of the room in question, in the following format: Calle San Antonio 24, 5, 3 (street name, street number, floor number, door number). Then it?s bonding time with the city street map and metro/bus schedules.

Set an appointment, find the place, meet people, decide whether or not you?re interested. The landlord will then proceed to continue interviewing other prospects until he sees fit (days, weeks, months?). Meanwhile, you will continue to visit places at a maniacal rate, spending hours each day rushing back and forth across town. Ultimately, a landlord will (finally) decide which tenant he wants, and the lucky winner shall then receive a call to let him/her know. Really, I?m amazed there aren?t more homeless people here.