For the next five weeks, you’ll be seeing a lot of my writing as I attempt to document my adventures in Spain, partially for class credit and partially for my own nostalgic purposes. If anyone has any background about me going on this trip, he/she will know how long I have looked forward to this and planned for it. Of course, there were some bumps along the way but what’s traveling without losing some of your sanity along the way?
On Sunday, my family decided the easiest way for me to get to New York was to take Amtrak from Wilmington to Penn Station, then I would take a train from Penn Station to Jamaica, then another train to the airport. My mom and I arrived ten minutes before my train did, after her getting pulled over for speeding and a lot of traffic. As we run to the station, I drop my bookbag that was tied to my carry-on. In the minute before I notice, it gets snagged, along with my cell phone, glasses, contacts, and various other items that were in my backpack. There’s no time to do anything because the train is pulling up and my poor mother is so overwhelmed by me leaving for five weeks and realizing my stuff gets stolen that I decide to be the calm, positive one. Anyone who knows me realizes how unusual that is. We said a very hurried goodbye and I promised to call her when I find a pay phone.
Despite the chaos of the morning, I tried not to let it ruin me. I was going to Spain for five weeks! I still had all my other stuff, most importantly my wallet and passport! The flight was long and I got very antsy-much more so than the toddlers on the plane. The strangest thing was looking out the window at what would be 1 A.M. our time and seeing the sun rising over the ocean (and the flight attendants bringing us breakfast). I would have been more interested in the novelty of this if I hadn’t been up so long and didn’t have the urge to run up and down the aisles just to stretch my legs.
Landing in Madrid and getting my passport stamped was a surreal moment. I had finally (almost!) made it to my dream trip to Spain. I had wanted to visit since I was twelve years old and I was finally here. We waited for our plane to Granada and boarded a tiny plane where everyone in my group, including me fell asleep for the entire flight. I wanted to see the bird’s eye view of Spain but I couldn’t keep my eyes open another second. Arriving in Granada, we took a short bus ride from the small airport to the city where our host mothers would pick us up. By this point, all of us were exhausted and feeling gross by how long it had been since we had changed or showered or eaten edible food but we perked up when we realized the last leg of the journey was almost over. The bus ride was my first glimpse at where I would be living for the next five weeks and it was incredible. Living in Delaware, elevation is essentially non-existent so seeing snow-capped mountains was quite a view. The bus dropped us off on a street corner where a cluster of women stood, waiting to pick out their children. It felt like gym class and I didn’t want to be picked last. Our woman finally emerged from the literal shadows, and with a quick peck on both cheeks, I had a mom. Our host mother picked my fabulous roommate Charlotte and I up and we walked back to the house in near silence. By now, panic had set in. I hadn’t spoken Spanish since high school and well, there was a lot of Spanish that needed to be spoken here. Arriving in the house, Carmen (our host mother) informed us two Italian girls and a girl from Paris also stayed in the apartment. I was excited to make friends with even more people but the girls ended up being pretty distant and it has ended up that we are rarely home at the same time. We all ate lunch together and I struggled to maintain a conversation but luckily the Italian girls weren’t phenomenal at Spanish so the conversations remained simple.
The first day, Charlotte and I were exhausted but were too scared to take a nap because our sleep schedules might get messed up so we forced ourselves not to collapse in our small beds. The host mother essentially left us to our own devices so we ended up “exploring” (read: fumbling around and getting lost in) the streets of Grenada. We walked around during siesta time so there wasn’t much going on anywhere. I didn’t think siesta would still be relevant but it’s a huge deal still. Streets are quiet because most shops shut down and a lot of people walk around but can’t really do anything because everything is closed. It’s a peaceful time; unfortunately, the construction outside our window doesn’t stop too. I’ve learned quickly that Spaniards work on Spanish time, which is relaxed but often irritatingly slow for me. Everybody seems happy, and I would be too if I had daily siestas and it was eighty degrees and sunny everyday. I also learned that women here don’t really wear shorts, only pants. I’m trying to fit in by wearing pants as well but it’s just too hot. I love that everybody is well-dressed, though your ego does get lowered when you see people begging on the streets and they are dressed better than you.
That first night, I was ready to give up because our house has a bathtub with a removable shower head but no actual shower. I couldn’t get the shower head to work so I ended up taking a freezing cold “shower” where I sat in a bathtub and washed my body and hair one part at a time under the faucet. Definitely a low point in the trip/my life. Collapsing into bed after being awake for over 24 hours made everything that had happened to me worth it and I happily slept for ten hours.
Compared to the disaster of getting to JFK airport, my transition into Grenada lifestyle has been relatively painless. I arrived in Spain in one piece, sans some replaceable stuff, but ready to take on the next five weeks.
