You know you're in Europe when: Not a single person at the gym is wearing Lululemon, and all the men are wearing spandex shorts and tight leggings.
Yesterday Alex and I went to a spin class at the gym near our apartment. It was very similar to those in the U.S. (with the exception of our fellow spinners' clothing choices) and even had the same blaring American dance music. What was especially fun about the class was that the teacher would yell "mas resistencia" and "respira" instead of "higher resistence" and "breathe." To be honest, those are really the only words I could pick up on. I relied mostly on watching others in the class adjust their bikes and pedal faster or slower, so from the outside, it looked like I understood everything the instructor was saying.
The weird part about our gym experience yesterday was the lack of personal space. I understand that Europeans are comfortable with being physically closer to strangers, but it's definitely something that takes getting used to. I'm used to Americans being plugged into their iPods, focusing on their workouts, and having minimal interaction with other exercisers. But here, that invisible wall that I usually like to have at the gym didn't exist. Everyone stares. Strangers talk to other strangers. Sweaty men put their mats too close to yours. It's weird, so I'm going to stay close to Alex whenever we go.
After the gym, we successfully found our way home. This is a huge achievement for me and Alex because we had never found our apartment without getting lost at least two or three times first. The streets are extremely confusing here, with circle intersections that feed into five streets and street names that are too similar to distinguish. Every day we find ourselves standing in the middle of an intersection, each looking at a different map and then guessing wrong as to which direction we are facing. What we really need is a compass.
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