España, corazón

Early January of 2006, a 20-year-old me stepped off of the longest solo journey of my life to begin a 6-month stint in Alicante, Spain. In some ways, I think I was much bolder and more courageous then. It was my third time beyond the borders of the U.S.; the first two times being school trips: one to Canada in 8th grade with our French class, and the second an EF tour trip to Greece with much of my 10th grade class. Both times surrounded by friends and trusted adults. I don’t recall my parents thinking twice about the trip to Canada; it wasn’t too far (though we took a bus! That’s right, imagine God knows how many middle-schoolers on a bus for 14 hours and when the chills cease, keep reading), but when the opportunity for the Greece trip arose, both my interest and anxiety were piqued. The price tag was significant and I, so accustomed to hearing “No,” generally dared not ask for much. The trip was limited to a certain number of students, so I knew I did not have a lot of time to negotiate lest I miss out on the opportunity entirely. I sat in my room, feverishly preparing a full speech and presentation for my mom on why I should be able to go. To my surprise, she quickly agreed.

I had dreamt of circumnavigating the planet since I knew there were places to go beyond the 45-minute radius of my entire extended family. Ask my grandmother about me, and it’s almost a guarantee that she’ll tell you about how she would gather us grandchildren on the porch with some regularity when we were young to take turns telling stories. She says mine always started in Rockville and sometimes went as far as Japan, a country I knew next to nothing about, before she had to wrangle me back home. I never lost that dreamer spirit, but a combination of things that I’m still working out has always kept me on the ground instead of somewhere in flight. Dreamers can get a bad rap, as if one can’t land between trips, as if you always stay lost in space, as if there can only be one version of reality.

At 18-years-old, I tried out my wings for the first time, heading to college over one thousand miles from home. It would have been further if I could haha. They opened quickly, eagerly, but learning to fly was another matter. Two years later, finding myself in another country, I was instantly overwhelmed. I had taken Spanish 101 as a first-year after taking French all through middle and high school because I wanted to try something different, and because I was in Miami so do as the Romans do as they say. Besides initially struggling in an intro class where our professor only spoke Spanish and Japanese and where I was the only student who hadn’t even been exposed to Spanish courses before, I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it. I even took Spanish over the summer at a local community college so that by spring semester of junior year, I had made the minimum coursework requirements to head abroad, but that didn’t mean I was ready. Thank God for a friend of a friend, Tiara, who was also studying abroad in Alicante and had been there a semester already. She came to the airport to retrieve me and help me connect with my landlady to get into my apartment. The first month was hard and I don’t say that lightly. I really struggled. If you know anything about Spain, you know that their Spanish and the Spanish I was used to hearing in the streets of Miami weren’t exactly the same. It was a steep learning curve. But I survived it. I enjoyed it a lot of the time (after that first month). I leaned into the challenge; I saw no other direction and I was determined to experience, simply experience. I was lucky enough to secure a good host family, also after the first month, who were sweet, caring, and excellent cooks – I gained 20lbs! From Spain, I was able to see England, France, and Morocco on trips with other broke college students, crashing wherever, (sometimes precariously), but we were living, if not on the edge. All that being said, as the end of my six months neared, I was ready to come home. Studying abroad was full of firsts, good and bad – I even managed to fail a class.

Despite the struggles I wrestled with there, Spain has always held a special place in my heart and the memories that pop up most easily are the positive, if not more unique, ones. In 2016, I planned an elaborate two-week European vacation with my mom and brother in celebration of my mother’s 60th birthday and her newly earned Ed.D. Her dream had always been to live in Paris, but of course, I couldn’t stop there. During the course of our 5-country tour, I included my old stomping ground, Alicante, a full decade after leaving it. Arriving in Spain felt like home. I remember landing and hearing Spanish all around me and feeling relieved (partially because we had just left France and my French leaves a lot to be desired). I wanted my mom to see the place for which she had sacrificed so that I could experience a dream, one that changed my outlook on my future and my simple plans for a simple life. Because that was when I learned I could fly and I didn’t have to just dream. There was a sense of calm as I navigated the streets and people like old times, even though I was no longer as conversant in the language as I once was. Only 5 years later, I expected our romance to continue with this year’s adventure too, if not forever.

So I think I averaged at least one thoroughly embarrassing moment per day in Spain. My Spanish has deteriorated far more than I arrogantly thought despite months of successful Duolingo practice to try to dust off the cobwebs. But everyday I went out and tried. I always did my best to communicate in Spanish, not English. I grew frustrated with myself; I should have kept it up better. But something else was different too. Maybe because I chose to visit a different region this time. I loved Málaga, and Sevilla even more, and I would go back again, but something wasn’t there that was before. I was just a tourist this time, even though I intentionally gave myself a slow pace and stayed in homes not hotels to try to settle in. We’re not lovers anymore, Spain, just good friends, but I’ll see you again. 

A few highlights in the things-to-do column & restaurant recs:

Málaga

• Malagueta Beach – you rent beach chairs & umbrellas or just bring a towel
• Castillo de Gibralfaro – bring your walking shoes for the hike up or take the bus, but you don’t want to miss these views. You can buy a day pass for this and the Alcazaba onsite.
• Alcazaba de Málaga
• Málaga Cathedral
• Picasso Museum – museums in Málaga are often free all or part of the day on Sundays. His birthplace museum is also here though very small.
• Andino Gastrobar
• Casa Aranda – churros con chocolate!

Sevilla (I can’t say “Seville” y’all, it’s so hideous)

• Sangria Tasting – I booked a class on a rooftop through Airbnb for about $20 – well worth it. 
• Flamenco shows – they’re everywhere! I saw a formal show at Baraka in Triana and had a front row seat.
• Torre del Oro – free Mondays
• Plaza de España – the place to be and always live flamenco
• Real Alcázar – you could spend hours here!
• Sevilla Cathedral – mostly to climb the bell tower, La Giralda. Christopher Columbus is also entombed here in case you had words for him.
• Museo de Bellas Artes
• Las Setas – odd but beautiful, go at night for the aurora experience.
• Vuela Tapas & Cocktails 
• Bar Alfalfa
• Mano de Santo 

Photos – Top: First day in Spain (Málaga), Bottom from left: Sevilla Cathedral, outside the cathedral, Plaza de España, half-way through a sangria tasting, my pisco sour at Andino Gastrobar and my view from the apartment in Málaga.