Everyone acts like packing should be no big deal, that you should start early and end within maybe two hours. Well, packing for me is the definition of horrors. So about an hour and a half before I was supposed to wake up, get ready, and leave for my flight at the LAX airport I had finally finished packing. And, of course, there were some revisions I had to make to my packing when I did wake up (after my one hour of sleep). But, luckily for me, I was up early enough to watch the sunrise at LAX and say goodbye to a beautiful view of sunny California. Interestingly, I jumped on my next flight – barely on time – to the view of my last American sunset in Boston at who knows what time.
My understanding of time had already become hay-wire. From Boston to London and from London to Madrid I took British Airways, which consists of very friendly flight attendants and complementary food and drinks. One of the flight attendants I befriended asked me if I would like tea or coffee, followed by my reply, “Is there an extra charge?.” He replied, “Of course there’s no charge! And there’s free booze too!” So, to my delight, I proceeded to ask for some white wine, which I gleefully drank while reading Eat, Pray, Love and listening to John Mayer on my iPod. I was in such a happy place with my book, music, and a little buzz that the turbulence on the plane between Boston and London felt like a mere Disneyland ride rather than a threat.
While my flights were peaceful – and while I was thankfully able to make it on time between each flight – I unfortunately discovered the pain of losing one’s baggage. Upon arriving in Spain, I looked forward to a warm shower and a change of clothes, only to find that my baggage had not arrived in Spain and was not going to come with me to my new home at my host family’s apartment. Of course, after hours upon hours – I believe 17 hours? – of traveling, I was almost in tears in discovering that I wasn’t able to just collect my luggage and go, like everyone else around me. But, I couldn’t do anything about it and with the promise of having my luggage delivered the next day, I proceeded to take a taxi to my new home for the next five months.
Upon arriving at my new home, I was welcomed with hugs and kisses by my host parents, who treat all their visiting students as if they were their own children. In the apartment, I lived with six other girls who are studying abroad at the same school. At dinner, our host parents rattled on in Spanish as we attempted to understand what they were saying, and I found that after a little bit, it becomes easier to understand them. I wonder what five months will do. All of us girls decide to go out that night to a local bar, only about ten minutes walking distance, to meet up with other estudiantes. At the bar we see some very good-looking Europeans and bond the good ol’ fashioned way of Americans: by drinking. We start out by taking tequila shots (my least favorite but I sucked it up for this night) together, and then we made friends with a few European young men (German and French) who bought us more tequila shots. While drinking should never be the solution to breaking the ice, it really does help us to break down our inhibitions and recognize from the first night together that we will be each other’s sisters and that we will stick together. I am lucky enough to say that I believe I have been granted a great family for the next five months in España.
