Last day in Spain

We had just seen Natalia’s final ballet performance and were heading home when it hit me; this was my last night in Salamanca with the Lopez family. As we drove by the library, I was reminded of the countless hours I had spent there studying. Most days Allison went too, and we would help each other out, exchange stories, and give each other a little break from the constant strain of thinking outside your own language. We drove by Navega (the soccer field) and I remembered the countless practices I had there, and all of the crazy girls on the team. They all signed a team picture for me, saying they were sad I had to leave, that they would always remember me, referencing inside jokes and what not. We passed Cristina’s house where I would eat lunch with her and her father almost everyday after school. I remembered sleeping over at her house after some great nights with her and her friends, and playing soccer through the hallways with her little brother, Victor. I had thought I would be fine, that I would be happy to go home, but in that moment, driving back to their house, our house, for the last time, I found myself questioning what “home” meant to me.

When we reached the house, Carlos noticed that I wasn’t exactly peppy, and in an attempt to distract me, he said, “Ven a ver mis tomates!” “Come see my tomatoes!” You wouldn’t think that tomatoes would trigger any sort of emotional response, but for one reason or another, remembering Carlos tending to his tiny tomatoes that had now grown around 6 inches really got me. I started bawling, much to Carlos’ bewilderment. I came around a few minutes later and we started making dinner: crepes, the same meal we had my very first night in Salamanca. I felt better during dinner – joking and talking about the day with my family like always. As everyone finished up, I remembered the gift I had for them. “ESPERAD!” I shouted before anyone could get up. I sprinted upstairs to get the little wooden hippopotamus I bought one day in el Rastro (an outdoor flee market) along with a letter I typed up.

When I came back down, they insisted that I read them the letter out loud, which I hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t until I read the words I had written out loud that they took meaning, and so began the waterworks once again. Later, even though I didn’t feel like it, Fonsey and Carlos insisted that I go out with my friends one last time, so at 1 am after we’d taken a photo all together, had quite enough crying for one year, and eaten our full of crepes, Carlos drove me into town where I met up with Allison and some soccer friends for the last time.

It ended up being one long night. We sang, we danced, and we enjoyed where we were until five in the morning, two hours before our train would leave from Salamanca to Barcelona. I stopped at the house to pick up my bags and change, and then I was off.

Allison and I spent the first half of the train ride teary-eyed and reminiscent, and the second half sleepy. We arrived in Barcelona nine hours later, met up with the rest of the exchange students, told stories each other stories, and spent our last night looked back on five beautiful months of challenge, learning, and discovery in Spain.

Last few days

The last few days have been a bit of a blur; I've been in an out of school, taking the necessary final exams and leaving out the global exams that some high achievers take to raise their grade. Don't get me wrong, I would do it if it didn't entail studying the entire year's worth of course material for each of my 10 academic subjects here. I've been heading to the gym more and more, trying to train for my bike trip across Europe with the few spin classes offered there. Allison (the other American from my program) and I went to our team dinner and last practice, which finally brought a sense of reality to me: we are leaving. And it doesn't seem like it, but my five months in Spain are coming to a close.
With only two days left, I think about how fast it has gone by. It's been such a ride - going from the slowest month of my life, not understanding anything, struggling constantly, always surrounded by people yet feeling more isolated than ever - to the fastest four months, making new friends, learning to think in a different way, studying for nearly impossible tests, and playing soccer with the craziest girls I have ever known. I am still unsure about how I feel about going home though. Of course I want to go back to my family. But now I have something to think about that I did not fully anticipate; I am also leaving my family.
Much more than I could have predicted, I have become part of my "host" family. I realized this a few weeks ago when I just stopped saying "host" before "sisters" to refer to Patricia and Natalia, and everyone knew exactly who I was talking about. I remember my first night here. People always say that when you bring a puppy home, the first night you are supposed to leave it alone, let it get it's bearings. Fonsey and Carlos were all smiles, and I was like Patricia and Natalia's new puppy. They were so interested in me, and were clearly holding back, afraid they might scare or startle me. What a contrast from how we've grown. Now we argue, hit each other, laugh together, insult each other, and do nearly everything together, like siblings. My relationship with the girls is what has taught me more than anything about life here, but I'm not an observer, or the observed anymore. I'm an active agent in the family, even in the school community - which is definitely something I never expected.
It makes it harder packing up my room knowing that now, I have finally made a little place for myself. What's more, I can't even figure out how to pack. But that is a different story, and I will be sure to let you know when I finally get it sorted out.

Family, community

So one of the coolest things about Spanish culture is that everyone does everything together. Whether you're 8 or 95, if there's a party, chances are you're out with the entire family, dancing and singing and making a bit of mayhem. I have experienced this many times with my host family - in Valencia, where we all (host parents, 11 and 14year old sisters, older family friends, cousins) stayed out together until well after 3 am, and again last night in a fiesta del pueblo, which is basically a big party that they throw during the summer even in the smallest little towns.
Initially we didn't even know it was going on, but while we were eating dinner at around 11:30, we heard music, and decided that we should go check it out. So off we went - me, Patricia, Carlos, and his friend Miguel - looking for the source of the music. We finally found it on a little street in the middle of the pueblo where there was a ginormous stage set up and a band singing tangos and paso dobles and merengues. Miguel, as usual, headed directly to the bar, and Patricia and I started dancing. She taught me paso doble and I taught her to waltz. The whole thing was just awesome though - there were tiny kids running around, old couples dancing how they were taught to in the forties, college kids dancing like they were never taught, and middle aged guys belting it out, copa or drink in hand. There was alcohol, there was dancing, there was great music, but there wasn't the separation between groups that we experience so often in the States.

Here there is a very different philosophy about family and community. It's not something you do once a week on "family game night", or on Sunday in church. You live with your family, and you live with your community - and that includes both when you work and when you play. People in Spain don't tend to move much - they stay put, because where they were born is where their friends and family are. Why would they need to move? Everything they need is right here. And this makes it so that even in a town like Salamanca, with 150,000 people, everyone knows EVERYONE. As a matter of fact, it's more than likely that you buy your produce from your neighbor and work for your cousin's wife's father. Later, when you go out de fiesta, you'll see a bunch of people you work with, so you'll stop and go for tapas and maybe hit a few bars with them. The next day in the morning you have to stop by your brother's house to pick up some files for work, but since you're going in that direction, you might as well stop by your parent's house for lunch since it's on the same street anyway. And this is just a normal day.
Here they don't sacrifice relationships for work or success. Living with your friends and with your family isn't something that takes effort. It's just part of life, and a really wonderful part, that so many of us in America don't experience in the same way. There may be a lot about Spain that I just don't get - but the most important things they do better than anyone.