The Foreigner Tax

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’m back in Madrid and Sunny Sexy South will be back in action for at least the next six months, with a big apology for the nearly four month gap due to an extended stay in Berlin. Somehow I think Thursday’s post didn’t come out sweetly wistful as I’d intended, as I’ve been clearly hit hard with that old placelessness.  I’d intended to post a light rejoinder to off-set that post, but Madrid is still feeling like too much of a strange land.  Life has other plans: “ha, you think you’ve got everything figured out, well, I’ll show you“!

It’s nothing new for me, of course, to be hit with the foreigner tax; it’s never a surprise any more, and if at one point I might have reacted with outrage, or some sort of overly-American misguided sense of entitlement, those days are far behind me.  Unfortunately, however, I never have quite been able to shake that sort of sinking, stupid feeling which comes from knowing that I should have known better, or checked further, or asked the right question.  But that’s sort of the point of the foreigner tax — there are things one just doesn’t think of, because one didn’t grow up there and it’s not in one’s blood, like an American knowing, instinctively, that anything to do with the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) will be enough outright pain to fulfill the year’s masochism quota, or the importance of April 15th (tax day) which is imprinted in our DNA, or that, no matter WHAT, one must always address a cop as “yes sir, thank you officer”, most particularly the darker one’s skin happens to be.

In Berlin, I remember, it must have been 10 months before I figured out that I could buy a monthly transit pass for nearly 20 euros less each month if I traveled after 10 AM (and I doubt I ever traveled before noon)!!  That little foreigner tax cost me close to 200 euros, I suppose.  Here in Madrid, the turn of the calendar year, I have now learned, is associated with government-related multiple entry tickets expiring right and left.  I caught the metro ticket, due to prominent signage and my relative fluency in Spanish, thus saving myself, if I’m not mistaken, 4.20 euros.  But the city sports facility went by me completely, and I’ve just lost 8 entries to the pool.

Twenty years ago in Nicaragua was when I first learned the so-sorry (but not really) shrug. Open your hands palms facing up, keep your upper arms against your body, move your forearms at an angle to the side, and make a big exaggerated shrug with your shoulders while totally blanking out your face.  That’s the sign of government bureaucrats the world around applying the foreigner tax.  It’s quite amazing how universal the so-sorry (but not really) shrug is; it will be coming soon to the next foreign country in which you chose to reside.  As for me, I’m looking for a 30-euro under-the-table gig to recoup my losses.  I’m all for supporting public transit and sports facilities, but my new Spanish residency is without the right to work, and I can only afford to dole out so much public assistance!