It’s been a long two and a half weeks since I eagerly left for Spain, and while the time has passed at various rates, I still can’t believe this is going to be my home for the next four months, let alone be able to describe my experiences here with any ounce of justice.
It was after a few lengthy, jet-lagged days of orientation that I first began to feel the pressure of the language barrier that was to become my life. While the leaders of my program are very good at speaking to us in a way to make sure that we can understand, it was already overwhelming how much I had to concentrate just to communicate with the people around me.
However, that wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as living with a Spanish mother that understands maybe 10 words of English (or so she leads me to believe), in addition to a two week, four hour a day, intensive-cycle Spanish class that was supposed to better my abilities to speak and understand at an
unbelievable rate. After having finished that class nearly three days ago, I can tell I’ve improved a bit, but I can also almost guarantee my fail of an attempt to pass the final exam.
It’s been a whirlwind of a ride; a 360 degree change that has left my brain in disarray. Everyone is expecting me to say how amazing my trip has been, and though Alicante, Spain is truly amazing, it’s taking me longer to adjust to the changes than I thought it would. I don’t normally get homesick, and when it comes to the idea of culture shock I expected myself to be a little surprised but nothing more. Truth is, I found my cultural shock coming in a way I never expected: from the role of the woman in the household.
Shockingly, adapting to a culture of around 3 euro priced wine, acceptable daily naps, and a norm of staying out partying until six in the morning was pretty easy. On the opposite side of the spectrum was that of my “madre” in Alicante, a woman as sweet as can be with a tendency to go slightly overboard, although with good intentions.
The woman I live with grew up nearly 50 years ago in a country with rather strong traditional family roles, so I understand her desire to want to do everything for me. But coming from an independent college student from the United States, it’s a little too much to handle. I love the fact that she cooks for me and does my laundry (and timely I might add), but I don’t need someone to take my socks off for me.
One night I pretended to be asleep when she came into my room to check up on me. She took my socks off and kindly placed my often-found straddling-the-covers leg back under the comforter. I know it’s only because she cares, but my mom at home taught me about caring in a different way—that being able to fend for yourself makes you a stronger person.
With that being said, I cannot imagine a more perfect reason to leave my beloved Penn State for an entire semester. The beach is a mile away,
café con leche is the best thing since sliced bread, and so is sliced bread. After spending many days with new friends venturing through the city streets of Spain, hiking mountains to tour old castles, and traveling to Provincia to visit caves and sites with unbelievable views, I know this is only the beginning.
Now all I have to do is wait for the rest of my brain to kick in with that whole thinking-in-Spanish-24/7 ordeal. It’s strange being immersed in another language and though I’m learning—slowly but surely—I’ve realized I’ve begun to actually forget words in both languages. I’m sure this is a plus for my journalism career aspirations. Oh well, as my madre would say, “No pasa nada!”
Until next time!