The week before Thanksgiving in Madrid was a strange one. Obviously, Thanksgiving is an American holiday, but the complete lack of its observance abroad was pretty disappointing – not to mention the absence of pumpkin pie. Luckily, my program put together a traditional American Thanksgiving dinner for the day of, but by then, I was on my way to England. Way back in May I had decided that since I was going to be in Europe for Thanksgiving, I still wanted to spend it with the closest thing to family that I could: my friend Caeli, who is studying abroad at the University of Sussex, in Brighton, England.
We had already had our Italian adventures together in October, but I hadn’t seen her since then. I spent the night before Thanksgiving packing my suitcases and watching Love, Actually, and The Tudors – England prep. I also realized I was about to spend four days in an English-speaking country for the first time in three months, which was more thrilling than it probably should have been. Living in Madrid has exponentially improved my Spanish fluency, and I love the language, but a break for something familiar was more than welcome. I thought about this again at the airport, where my flight was operated by a British airline and a British flight crew, but was also full of Spaniards, most of whom didn’t seem to know much English. (Also of note: an in-flight magazine hawking everything from discount designer perfume to knockoffs of a pair of Kate Middleton’s earrings).
Once my plane landed at London Gatwick Airport, I managed to find my way to the train I needed to take to Brighton. It was crowded, and I almost had a heart attack when it sped by another train on opposite tracks – they must have been no more than millimeters apart. But when we arrived at Brighton and I stepped off the train, I was taken aback. Brighton is on the coast, so it can get quite cold, but it is also a very pretty town. It was a beautiful night, cold but clear, the sky a velvety midnight blue, studded with stars, and I could smell the familiar salty scent of the ocean. Caeli was waiting at the entrance to the station, with her mom and younger sister. They had flown in to celebrate Thanksgiving with her, and had invited me to join them for the weekend.
For Thanksgiving dinner we ate at their hotel restaurant, where I ordered the most British-sounding menu items I could find (fish pie and sticky toffee pudding with butterscotch for dessert). It was delicious, and while it may not have been turkey and pumpkin pie, it was the closest thing I had eaten to American food in three months – far from the jamón ibérico and tortilla of Spain. I had expected to be at least a little homesick, but sitting there in the cozy restaurant with one of my best friends and her family, who had temporarily adopted me, I was happy. After all, I will probably never again be able to say that I celebrated Thanksgiving in England.
After dinner, Caeli and I took another train to the University of Sussex, where she lives in a flat with eleven other students. Especially compared to GW, and my home stay in Madrid, it was an interesting living arrangement: each room was a single, with a bed, a desk, and a sink. Then, on the second floor, there was a communal bathroom. There were rows and rows of these flats on campus, organized into what looked like little neighborhoods. It was also refreshing to see a more traditional campus, with brick buildings and a quad with real, green grass. Overall, I really liked the university and its laid-back vibe. One of my favorite things was the little dive of an on-campus bar, where we went for gin and tonics and saw a boy who looked just like Harry Potter.
We spent the next day exploring Brighton, from the Pier to the breathtaking Royal Pavilion, built by King George IV in 1787, and lavishly decorated with a theme of the Far East, silk and jade and gold everywhere. We went for fish and chips for lunch and had a delicious Italian dinner, where I tried pear cider (cider being about as common as beer in England, but much better tasting). That night, we packed our bags, because the next morning, we were heading into London.
We started the day with the London Eye, which is basically a large and very slow-moving Ferris wheel, but with amazing views; after that we went to see Big Ben, Parliament, the Prime Minister’s house, Trafalgar Square, the National Gallery, Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus, and Regent Street. From there, we went to Buckingham Palace (sadly, the Queen wasn’t home, so there went my hopes of a tea party), including the official gift shop, where I bought plenty of Prince Harry and baby Prince George postcards to mail to my friends – not to mention one of Will and Kate’s wedding to save for myself. After seeing these places on TV and in the movies for my entire life, it was surreal to see all of them in person.
Later, we went on to Harrods, which I am convinced is heaven on earth. It was all decked out for Christmas, adding to the sheer impressiveness of the multi-story department store, which boasts everything from a sushi bar to a crystal department to a showroom full of enough designer shoes to appease Carrie Bradshaw. I wanted to just move in, find a spot to live in the luxurious home goods department, and never leave.
But, eventually, I dragged myself away. My flight back to Madrid was the next day, and I had to pack. Back at the hotel, Caeli and I watched Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (British title) on TV, and I laughed to realize how much of what I had expected England to be like had actually come from the Harry Potter franchise. In reality, both Brighton and London had been even better than I had anticipated. I would love to go back to London one day and spend longer than just a day there, exploring the ins and outs of the city, like the Tower of London and the Tate Museum of Modern Art.
On the train again the next morning, I watched the landscape of London slide away and thought about going home. For the first time, “home,” for me, meant Madrid. But my semester abroad was also drawing to a close – I realized then that my flight back to the United States was exactly three weeks from the day of my return trip from London to Madrid. For the first time, I felt a little panicked. Three weeks was not a long time, and my Madrid bucket list hasn’t been entirely crossed off. So I promised myself that I would make the most of the time that I have left: visiting the Royal Palace, shopping at some of the countless Christmas markets in the plazas of Madrid, and eating as much tapas as humanly possible. After all, before too long, I’ll be back in the land of the White House, Georgetown, and Sweet Green. And while I do love DC, Madrid has also come to hold a special place in my heart.