IN CLEMSON:  My mamma taught me good ol’ American manners of polite eye contact with everyone, including strangers. In Small-Town South, a smile or greeting is also acceptable.

BUT IN BARCELONA:  Do not attempt! Making eye contact with a man — even accidentally, even for a fraction of a moment — yields a 120% chance of being addressed in an unappealing manner. (The extra 20% is for the times they will holler at you even if you refuse to acknowledge their existence.) Best practice is to keep your eyes on the ground, which is uneven and requires your attention anyway.

IN CLEMSON: Unfamiliar men are to be addressed as “sir,” unfamiliar women of any age as “Miss” or “Ma’am.”

BUT IN BARCELONA: My name is “lady,” “baby,” or the ever popular, “EY GURL!” and my presence is an opportunity to practice relevant English phrases, such as “I am the boss,”  and “Where is the fiesta?”

IN CLEMSON: When the “crossing” sign starts blinking, it means you’ve got a good 30-40 seconds to clear the intersection.

BUT IN BARCELONA: If you’re seeing any blinking signals from the street, it means your life is null. This applies to single-lane streets as well… you cannot possibly clear the intersection in time to preserve yourself. On the other hand, you are sometimes expected to cross the street in front of cars, who yield to pedestrians in the crosswalk. The system is still a bit baffling and I’ve taunted death on numerous occasions.

Unfamiliar cultural norms are unfamiliar, not malicious (except for the street crossing bit, clearly an attempt to assassinate me and not at all a product of my urban-environment-ignorance), and we’re learning. The city is starting to seem less intimidating as we grow more accustomed to the ebb and flow of native Barcelonians, Spanish tourists, American tourists, members of the Pakistani subculture, gypsies, and street people through the city.

I still don’t like being yelled at.