"An artist can do anything slovenly."
PHOTOS POSTED. The link is in the right menu under "What does this all look like?"
My semester abroad is over. I am home. I eat cereal for breakfast, sometimes I skip lunch, dinner is always before 8pm; I drive anywhere I need or want to go; I watch TV; sometimes I wear a t-shirt and jeans; my hair requires daily washing once again; my Spanish is no longer required. It's not the same at all and I'm sad. I am home, and home is good. I couldn't possibly begin to describe how this feels; unless I call it culture shock, that's a tiny beginning, but there is so much more to it. I'm looking at my credit card statement online and even though I have only 1/3 of the money I need to pay it off, it makes me happy because it shows I was in Madrid, Salamanca, Rome, Venice, and Milan in the last month. It's weird because I know I've been gone for 4 months, I've seen and done so many things, I'm beginning to see that I've changed, so I expected everything at home to feel so different and unsatisfying but it's not. I can tell that I'm the one that is different and unsatisfied. I'm the stranger that has come in and disrupted things, not that I feel unwelcome or unloved, but that I'm the only one who sees that maybe I don't belong. I don't expect any more than what I'm getting from number 51 and the family inside. I think I want more, though. I don't know, I'm thoroughly enjoying being home and I wish winter break would last a little bit longer. I'm excited to go back to school and see everyone and get back into rugby and take some cool classes, but it feels like this whole school and home thing is just something I'm doing until I go back to Madrid, whenever that will be.
Instead of droning on about feelings, ick, I'll recount my last few European adventures. December 14th, we (API kids and Sara my wonderful Spanish roommate) went to La Casa de las Cervezas and had a wonderful time dancing and hugging and professing how much we'd miss each other. Then we had planned to go to Kapital, but that change to a club called Palacio, but on our way everyone but Gisella, Sara and I changed their mind and went to Dubliners (LAME!). The 3 of us continued on to Palacio, which is a 2 or 3 floor club that looks like, who'd've guessed!, a palace. We must've gotten there around 3am, because it didn't feel like we had been there too long when we left at 6am. Sara's loveliness got us invited into a little VIP sitting area (you can rent these areas and then the club gives you a huge bottle of Bacardi, a bunch of cokes, and a bunch of glasses). We sat there for a bit conversing with these guys, then Sara told them Gisella and I were going back to the States, and they made us stand up and drink to our health in travel. The 3 of us went to dance for a little bit and then we walked home.
I woke up the next morning at 11 (I must be unable to sleep past that time) and began packing, because it was Friday and everything had to be taken to the Puertos later. Somehow I got it done. All I had was the Eurohike daypack packed with the things I was taking to Italy. That night was the residencia's "typical Spanish" Christmas dinner. The kitchen and sitting area had been closed since lunch that day, unusual, and when it was time Sara and I went down and realized everyone was very dressed up... more than usual. Luckily, I had packed my nice clothes away and sent them to the Puertos, so I made due with a top that is nice when paired correctly with nice bottoms, jeans, and a hoodie jacket. I felt very out of place, but it's not like no one knew I was American already. We walked in and all the tables had been pushed to the walls and covered with tapas and Fanta, you can't get much more Spanish than that unless you have sangria. Then I saw that Isabel, the lady in charge, was walking around with a big pitcher of homemade sangria. She saw us and said, "Ah! Las americanas! Ven aquí. Esta noche bebes sangria, mañana pierdes al avión." Tonight you drink sangria, tomorrow you miss your flight. She was very intent on filling our glasses every chance she got. There were about 10 Americans in the residencia and we all were leaving the next day, so it felt sort of like a going-away party was mixed in there too. The food was delicioso, and we found out the dressed up Spaniards were not actually going anywhere after this but that this was a party and everyone was getting drunk slowly (including the ladies who make our beds and cook our food) and would be up and about for hours. I had a flight to Rome to get to the airport for at 5am, so I had to go to bed rather early. I said Goodbye to Gisella and Ginger before going to bed, Sara had left for a university dinner so we had done our goodbyes even though she said she'd see me before she came back in time. I woke up and got out at 5am, a lot of people were still awake and staggering around the residencia. I caught a taxi to the airport, and he got me there quicker than normal and it cost my €5 less than normal too. I think because I told him my story and he thought I was pretty cool for leaving home to live in Spain for 4 months and that I was off to Italy before I headed home. I checked in and took one last look at my favorite Terminal in Barajas, Terminal 4, and I was off to Rome.
The flight was rather miserable, and understandably so considering I was pretty sleep deprived and the guy next to me seemed to think my chair reclining button was actually his chair reclining button. I took a train from the airport to the train station in Rome 2 blocks from the hostel, I dropped my stuff off and went for a walk. I walked pretty far, saw the Colosseum, the Forum, and some other things. I forced myself to get some lunch when I was finally a few minutes from the hostel and rather hungry. For some reason, I have the worst time getting myself into little places to eat when I'm alone in a foreign country and I don't speak the language. When I went back to the hostel, Laura had just arrived and we still had 2 hours before we could check in at 3pm. I was dying but we walked for a bit, and on the way back saw some ceremony with the Italian army and a band. We have no idea what went on but it all seemed like a lot of show, something we're kind of glad the U.S. doesn't do. We took a nap, went out to dinner, and walked around again. We saw the Spanish steps and the Trevi Fountain in daylight and night light, we ate gelatto, and we tried to remember scenes from Roman Holiday. Molly was supposed to get in at 1am that night, so we went to our room and stayed awake til she got in and we could be sure she was safe.
Sunday we decided to get up and go to St. Peter's Square just outside the Vatican. We went: Molly jewish, Laura nothing, me unitarian universalist. There was a big to-do in the square probably because it was about a week before Christmas. We got in line for St. Peter's Basilica and when we were about to go in, we saw that everyone was looking up in one direction and someone was talking. We asked and found out the pope had come to his papal window and was giving some address to the people. As we couldn't see the papal window from the entrance to the basilica, we left and went where we could see. He read in maybe 8 or 9 languages, basically thanking us for coming, blessing us, and wishing us a blessed Christmas. How nice of him to bless us. We felt a tiny bit guilty being there so we went to the papal gift shop. After making a few jokes in there about the postcards, stamps, erasers, magnets and things, we decided we 3 are going to hell and we left to look for lunch. After lunch we walked by the river to the Bocca della Veritas, from a scene in Roman Holiday, then we walked around towards the Colosseum. After that we went to the Pantheon to see the perfect semi spherical dome, and then to the street where Gucci, Prada, Fendi, Salvatore Ferragamo, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and other such names had stores. Qué lujo. After that we hurried back to the hostel, collected our bags, and went to the train station where we caught a train for Venice. The ride was about 4 hours long, and then we had to take the vaporetto (the boat-metro) to where our hostel was. By this time it was about midnight or 1am, and we got a little lost. There were about 4 people on the streets, and 1 or 2 open restaurants. Some man noticed us and knew we were lost and offered to help... in Italian. I and my Spanish skills came to the rescue, sort of, and he showed us the way, unfortunately we got lost again, but then found ourselves and realized he was right and we had just missed it. The hostel was practically like a hotel, very nice indeed. We went to bed worn out.
We woke up Monday morning to pouring rain and frigid cold. It was a bit late for breakfast so we headed towards St. Mark's Square and found lunch around there. Venice is considerably more expensive than Rome which is more expensive than Madrid. After lunch we tried to do something but we couldn't figure out what so we went back towards the hostel but not before stopping in a grocery store. We bought Limoncello, an Italian liquor, for that night whatever we decided to do. We read through some tourist books and decided to tour the Doge's palace, also in St. Mark's Square. It was pretty cool, and the power went out in the middle, which is kind of a cool experience except it got cold. But it came back on before we got to the prison, thank goodness or it would have been dark and scary instead of just scary. We went back to the hostel and sat a bit before going to dinner across the grand canal in a wonderful local restaurant where no one spoke English and I once again used my Spanish and got the general message across. The food was delicious and pretty cheap. It had stopped raining so we walked around the city, which was completely asleep for the night. No one was out, nothing was open, no noise, no bright lights, just Venice. Amazing experience.
The next day it was not raining, so we got on the vaporetto and took it down and back the grand canal to see Venice from the water. Gorgeous, lovely, wonderful, indescribable. Perfect time of year to go because it's just Venice and the Venetians, no tourists; and there's nothing to see that can't be seen in the middle of winter. We got some lunch and did some Christmas shopping, I finished my Christmas shopping in Venice. We did some more exploring around the city and got dinner at another delicious, inexpensive, out of the way place. We went to bed and watched some bad American Christmas movie I've never heard of and don't remember that had been dubbed into Italian. The next day, Laura and I were headed for Milan, and Molly for Rome to meet up with her Mom to do some travelling.
Laura and I got to the train station the next morning, and she knew what train we needed to take to get there around 10am to have some time to walk around the city before we had to go to the airport to fly back to London and Madrid. We went to buy the ticket, and the guy was incredibly unhelpful, gave us very confusing and I think wrong information. Long story short we had to get off the first train, catch a train back to Venice's station, and get on another train which would arrive in Milan at 1pm. I had to be at the airport at 3:30. GREAT. On the train, we had our own compartment, like in Harry Potter. I watched out the window pretty much the whole time. The Swiss Alps were always in the near distance of the landscape I took in. I saw the Swiss Alps. They don't come out well in pictures. I hate that. In Milan we walked to a restaurant, ate lunch, and then took a bus to the airport. We were an hour early so we had to wait to check in. When we finally checked in and got to the waiting area, it was an absolute mess. I had no idea where exactly we were supposed to be waiting, I was waiting with about 3 other flights of people to other European countries who were also confused. My flight was an hour late, but I got into Madrid at about 9pm. Rita Puerto was there waiting for me, and we took a taxi back to their piso. Rita, Marta, Lucía, and I went out to dinner. It was the end of classes for a bunch of the universities so it took a bit to find a place not inundated with hoards of these loud Spanish kids. We ate, and Ana came from work in time to join us for dessert. We got back and discussed what time I had to be at the airport, and what time everyone had to get up. They also said they had a present for me. They gave me a pair of very cool red gloves with a pair of red earrings to match, and a gift basket of lotions and washes made at the Farmacia Puerto for the girls in my family.
Everyone was going to get up at 7am on Wednesday December 21st. I slept in Marta's room on her trundle bed... and we actually woke up an hour late, nothing new to me though. I showered and as I was eating and getting my stuff together, one by one the girls all left for classes and I said goodbye. Rafa and Rita drove me to the airport. I answered some questions about a possible intent to kill the president (who says yes to that question?!) then Rafa and Rita saw me off just before the security area in Barajas. Rita made me lunch. A ham sandwich, a cheese sandwich, 2 granola bars, an apple, and a Kit Kat. Yum. All I had to do was buy water. I sat in the waiting area, trying desperately to fix my iPod which gave out on me after playing 2 songs. I wasn't as worried though because I fully expected the seats to have personal TVs in the headrest with on-demand movies like on the night flight on the way to Madrid. NOPE! For some reason, it seemed smarter to give people the option of movies and tv shows while they should be sleeping on the way to a country where they will lose time, rather than on the way to a country in the middle of the day where they will gain time. They showed Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and some football movie. I wanted to nap but I couldn't sleep. The lady next to me was Spanish. There was a 1 yr old girl in front of me who seemed very interested in us, and a 2 yr old girl in front of us and in the middle column of seats who was also very interested in us. So I was entertained. The 2 yr old's mom was American, dad French, and they lived in Madrid. She knew English and Spanish, and understood French. This kid is my role model. She gave me Santa Claus sticker, and knew to speak to me in English and the lady next to me in Spanish for the most part, but she switched off which was okay because we both are bilingual. In Philly, I had to claim my bags and go through customs then recheck them. Somehow the roughly 8 other students abroad on the flight gathered near where I was standing and we discussed the riskiness of having alcohol in our bags, being under 21. Customs accepted "clothes and christmas presents worth roughly $800" as an acceptable declaration of goods, so none of us got busted. I rechecked my bags, and went through security.
This is the part where my self-esteem shoots through the roof: Philadelphia's airport is filled with Americans for the most part, not Spaniards. I was not grotesquely overweight compared to EVERYONE ELSE, I was average maybe even on the thinner side; I was not less fashionably dressed compared to EVERYONE ELSE, I was way better dressed; I was not trying and failing to be a Spaniard, I called my friend Kelly and left a message in Spanish with an extremely convincing accent to the ears of the ENGLISH SPEAKERS all around me. It was dinner time in the U.S. and bed time in Madrid, but I was wide awake and quite full because I was coming from Spain, and everyone else waiting for my flight was simply flying domestic. I felt cool and different and interesting. On the 17 minute flight, I whipped out my Spanish Cosmo and thoroughly confused the businessman sitting next to me who was annoyed at the mere 25 minute delay in take off. We taxied longer than we were in the air, but I've been in worse situations in Madrid. And I've lived in Madrid. I did it. I made it through 4 months in a foreign country, a foreign culture, a foreign language, with foreign/new friends, foreign clothes, foreign attitudes, foreign apetites. Am I not allowed to say that I'm just a little bit Spanish now? I'm back in my home country, and I am a full-blooded mutt of an American of the United States persuasion, but I do think a little Spanish flavor has been added to the concoction of nationalities. Not Spanish through inheritance, but direct cultural infusion. And if there are no genetic races, who's to say I'm not part Spanish?
My semester abroad is over. I am home. I eat cereal for breakfast, sometimes I skip lunch, dinner is always before 8pm; I drive anywhere I need or want to go; I watch TV; sometimes I wear a t-shirt and jeans; my hair requires daily washing once again; my Spanish is no longer required. It's not the same at all and I'm sad. I am home, and home is good. I couldn't possibly begin to describe how this feels; unless I call it culture shock, that's a tiny beginning, but there is so much more to it. I'm looking at my credit card statement online and even though I have only 1/3 of the money I need to pay it off, it makes me happy because it shows I was in Madrid, Salamanca, Rome, Venice, and Milan in the last month. It's weird because I know I've been gone for 4 months, I've seen and done so many things, I'm beginning to see that I've changed, so I expected everything at home to feel so different and unsatisfying but it's not. I can tell that I'm the one that is different and unsatisfied. I'm the stranger that has come in and disrupted things, not that I feel unwelcome or unloved, but that I'm the only one who sees that maybe I don't belong. I don't expect any more than what I'm getting from number 51 and the family inside. I think I want more, though. I don't know, I'm thoroughly enjoying being home and I wish winter break would last a little bit longer. I'm excited to go back to school and see everyone and get back into rugby and take some cool classes, but it feels like this whole school and home thing is just something I'm doing until I go back to Madrid, whenever that will be.
Instead of droning on about feelings, ick, I'll recount my last few European adventures. December 14th, we (API kids and Sara my wonderful Spanish roommate) went to La Casa de las Cervezas and had a wonderful time dancing and hugging and professing how much we'd miss each other. Then we had planned to go to Kapital, but that change to a club called Palacio, but on our way everyone but Gisella, Sara and I changed their mind and went to Dubliners (LAME!). The 3 of us continued on to Palacio, which is a 2 or 3 floor club that looks like, who'd've guessed!, a palace. We must've gotten there around 3am, because it didn't feel like we had been there too long when we left at 6am. Sara's loveliness got us invited into a little VIP sitting area (you can rent these areas and then the club gives you a huge bottle of Bacardi, a bunch of cokes, and a bunch of glasses). We sat there for a bit conversing with these guys, then Sara told them Gisella and I were going back to the States, and they made us stand up and drink to our health in travel. The 3 of us went to dance for a little bit and then we walked home.
I woke up the next morning at 11 (I must be unable to sleep past that time) and began packing, because it was Friday and everything had to be taken to the Puertos later. Somehow I got it done. All I had was the Eurohike daypack packed with the things I was taking to Italy. That night was the residencia's "typical Spanish" Christmas dinner. The kitchen and sitting area had been closed since lunch that day, unusual, and when it was time Sara and I went down and realized everyone was very dressed up... more than usual. Luckily, I had packed my nice clothes away and sent them to the Puertos, so I made due with a top that is nice when paired correctly with nice bottoms, jeans, and a hoodie jacket. I felt very out of place, but it's not like no one knew I was American already. We walked in and all the tables had been pushed to the walls and covered with tapas and Fanta, you can't get much more Spanish than that unless you have sangria. Then I saw that Isabel, the lady in charge, was walking around with a big pitcher of homemade sangria. She saw us and said, "Ah! Las americanas! Ven aquí. Esta noche bebes sangria, mañana pierdes al avión." Tonight you drink sangria, tomorrow you miss your flight. She was very intent on filling our glasses every chance she got. There were about 10 Americans in the residencia and we all were leaving the next day, so it felt sort of like a going-away party was mixed in there too. The food was delicioso, and we found out the dressed up Spaniards were not actually going anywhere after this but that this was a party and everyone was getting drunk slowly (including the ladies who make our beds and cook our food) and would be up and about for hours. I had a flight to Rome to get to the airport for at 5am, so I had to go to bed rather early. I said Goodbye to Gisella and Ginger before going to bed, Sara had left for a university dinner so we had done our goodbyes even though she said she'd see me before she came back in time. I woke up and got out at 5am, a lot of people were still awake and staggering around the residencia. I caught a taxi to the airport, and he got me there quicker than normal and it cost my €5 less than normal too. I think because I told him my story and he thought I was pretty cool for leaving home to live in Spain for 4 months and that I was off to Italy before I headed home. I checked in and took one last look at my favorite Terminal in Barajas, Terminal 4, and I was off to Rome.
The flight was rather miserable, and understandably so considering I was pretty sleep deprived and the guy next to me seemed to think my chair reclining button was actually his chair reclining button. I took a train from the airport to the train station in Rome 2 blocks from the hostel, I dropped my stuff off and went for a walk. I walked pretty far, saw the Colosseum, the Forum, and some other things. I forced myself to get some lunch when I was finally a few minutes from the hostel and rather hungry. For some reason, I have the worst time getting myself into little places to eat when I'm alone in a foreign country and I don't speak the language. When I went back to the hostel, Laura had just arrived and we still had 2 hours before we could check in at 3pm. I was dying but we walked for a bit, and on the way back saw some ceremony with the Italian army and a band. We have no idea what went on but it all seemed like a lot of show, something we're kind of glad the U.S. doesn't do. We took a nap, went out to dinner, and walked around again. We saw the Spanish steps and the Trevi Fountain in daylight and night light, we ate gelatto, and we tried to remember scenes from Roman Holiday. Molly was supposed to get in at 1am that night, so we went to our room and stayed awake til she got in and we could be sure she was safe.
Sunday we decided to get up and go to St. Peter's Square just outside the Vatican. We went: Molly jewish, Laura nothing, me unitarian universalist. There was a big to-do in the square probably because it was about a week before Christmas. We got in line for St. Peter's Basilica and when we were about to go in, we saw that everyone was looking up in one direction and someone was talking. We asked and found out the pope had come to his papal window and was giving some address to the people. As we couldn't see the papal window from the entrance to the basilica, we left and went where we could see. He read in maybe 8 or 9 languages, basically thanking us for coming, blessing us, and wishing us a blessed Christmas. How nice of him to bless us. We felt a tiny bit guilty being there so we went to the papal gift shop. After making a few jokes in there about the postcards, stamps, erasers, magnets and things, we decided we 3 are going to hell and we left to look for lunch. After lunch we walked by the river to the Bocca della Veritas, from a scene in Roman Holiday, then we walked around towards the Colosseum. After that we went to the Pantheon to see the perfect semi spherical dome, and then to the street where Gucci, Prada, Fendi, Salvatore Ferragamo, Louis Vuitton, Chanel, and other such names had stores. Qué lujo. After that we hurried back to the hostel, collected our bags, and went to the train station where we caught a train for Venice. The ride was about 4 hours long, and then we had to take the vaporetto (the boat-metro) to where our hostel was. By this time it was about midnight or 1am, and we got a little lost. There were about 4 people on the streets, and 1 or 2 open restaurants. Some man noticed us and knew we were lost and offered to help... in Italian. I and my Spanish skills came to the rescue, sort of, and he showed us the way, unfortunately we got lost again, but then found ourselves and realized he was right and we had just missed it. The hostel was practically like a hotel, very nice indeed. We went to bed worn out.
We woke up Monday morning to pouring rain and frigid cold. It was a bit late for breakfast so we headed towards St. Mark's Square and found lunch around there. Venice is considerably more expensive than Rome which is more expensive than Madrid. After lunch we tried to do something but we couldn't figure out what so we went back towards the hostel but not before stopping in a grocery store. We bought Limoncello, an Italian liquor, for that night whatever we decided to do. We read through some tourist books and decided to tour the Doge's palace, also in St. Mark's Square. It was pretty cool, and the power went out in the middle, which is kind of a cool experience except it got cold. But it came back on before we got to the prison, thank goodness or it would have been dark and scary instead of just scary. We went back to the hostel and sat a bit before going to dinner across the grand canal in a wonderful local restaurant where no one spoke English and I once again used my Spanish and got the general message across. The food was delicious and pretty cheap. It had stopped raining so we walked around the city, which was completely asleep for the night. No one was out, nothing was open, no noise, no bright lights, just Venice. Amazing experience.
The next day it was not raining, so we got on the vaporetto and took it down and back the grand canal to see Venice from the water. Gorgeous, lovely, wonderful, indescribable. Perfect time of year to go because it's just Venice and the Venetians, no tourists; and there's nothing to see that can't be seen in the middle of winter. We got some lunch and did some Christmas shopping, I finished my Christmas shopping in Venice. We did some more exploring around the city and got dinner at another delicious, inexpensive, out of the way place. We went to bed and watched some bad American Christmas movie I've never heard of and don't remember that had been dubbed into Italian. The next day, Laura and I were headed for Milan, and Molly for Rome to meet up with her Mom to do some travelling.
Laura and I got to the train station the next morning, and she knew what train we needed to take to get there around 10am to have some time to walk around the city before we had to go to the airport to fly back to London and Madrid. We went to buy the ticket, and the guy was incredibly unhelpful, gave us very confusing and I think wrong information. Long story short we had to get off the first train, catch a train back to Venice's station, and get on another train which would arrive in Milan at 1pm. I had to be at the airport at 3:30. GREAT. On the train, we had our own compartment, like in Harry Potter. I watched out the window pretty much the whole time. The Swiss Alps were always in the near distance of the landscape I took in. I saw the Swiss Alps. They don't come out well in pictures. I hate that. In Milan we walked to a restaurant, ate lunch, and then took a bus to the airport. We were an hour early so we had to wait to check in. When we finally checked in and got to the waiting area, it was an absolute mess. I had no idea where exactly we were supposed to be waiting, I was waiting with about 3 other flights of people to other European countries who were also confused. My flight was an hour late, but I got into Madrid at about 9pm. Rita Puerto was there waiting for me, and we took a taxi back to their piso. Rita, Marta, Lucía, and I went out to dinner. It was the end of classes for a bunch of the universities so it took a bit to find a place not inundated with hoards of these loud Spanish kids. We ate, and Ana came from work in time to join us for dessert. We got back and discussed what time I had to be at the airport, and what time everyone had to get up. They also said they had a present for me. They gave me a pair of very cool red gloves with a pair of red earrings to match, and a gift basket of lotions and washes made at the Farmacia Puerto for the girls in my family.
Everyone was going to get up at 7am on Wednesday December 21st. I slept in Marta's room on her trundle bed... and we actually woke up an hour late, nothing new to me though. I showered and as I was eating and getting my stuff together, one by one the girls all left for classes and I said goodbye. Rafa and Rita drove me to the airport. I answered some questions about a possible intent to kill the president (who says yes to that question?!) then Rafa and Rita saw me off just before the security area in Barajas. Rita made me lunch. A ham sandwich, a cheese sandwich, 2 granola bars, an apple, and a Kit Kat. Yum. All I had to do was buy water. I sat in the waiting area, trying desperately to fix my iPod which gave out on me after playing 2 songs. I wasn't as worried though because I fully expected the seats to have personal TVs in the headrest with on-demand movies like on the night flight on the way to Madrid. NOPE! For some reason, it seemed smarter to give people the option of movies and tv shows while they should be sleeping on the way to a country where they will lose time, rather than on the way to a country in the middle of the day where they will gain time. They showed Pirates of the Caribbean 2 and some football movie. I wanted to nap but I couldn't sleep. The lady next to me was Spanish. There was a 1 yr old girl in front of me who seemed very interested in us, and a 2 yr old girl in front of us and in the middle column of seats who was also very interested in us. So I was entertained. The 2 yr old's mom was American, dad French, and they lived in Madrid. She knew English and Spanish, and understood French. This kid is my role model. She gave me Santa Claus sticker, and knew to speak to me in English and the lady next to me in Spanish for the most part, but she switched off which was okay because we both are bilingual. In Philly, I had to claim my bags and go through customs then recheck them. Somehow the roughly 8 other students abroad on the flight gathered near where I was standing and we discussed the riskiness of having alcohol in our bags, being under 21. Customs accepted "clothes and christmas presents worth roughly $800" as an acceptable declaration of goods, so none of us got busted. I rechecked my bags, and went through security.
This is the part where my self-esteem shoots through the roof: Philadelphia's airport is filled with Americans for the most part, not Spaniards. I was not grotesquely overweight compared to EVERYONE ELSE, I was average maybe even on the thinner side; I was not less fashionably dressed compared to EVERYONE ELSE, I was way better dressed; I was not trying and failing to be a Spaniard, I called my friend Kelly and left a message in Spanish with an extremely convincing accent to the ears of the ENGLISH SPEAKERS all around me. It was dinner time in the U.S. and bed time in Madrid, but I was wide awake and quite full because I was coming from Spain, and everyone else waiting for my flight was simply flying domestic. I felt cool and different and interesting. On the 17 minute flight, I whipped out my Spanish Cosmo and thoroughly confused the businessman sitting next to me who was annoyed at the mere 25 minute delay in take off. We taxied longer than we were in the air, but I've been in worse situations in Madrid. And I've lived in Madrid. I did it. I made it through 4 months in a foreign country, a foreign culture, a foreign language, with foreign/new friends, foreign clothes, foreign attitudes, foreign apetites. Am I not allowed to say that I'm just a little bit Spanish now? I'm back in my home country, and I am a full-blooded mutt of an American of the United States persuasion, but I do think a little Spanish flavor has been added to the concoction of nationalities. Not Spanish through inheritance, but direct cultural infusion. And if there are no genetic races, who's to say I'm not part Spanish?
posted by Leslie at
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