Returning Home

Reflecting as I leave

From the moment I fell in love with the city of Valencia (just briefly after I arrived) I knew it would not be easy to return home, mentally or emotionally. 

Valencia itself is the perfect combination of history and innovation, art and athletics, city center and beach, delicious and iconic food, markets and name-brand stores, affordable yet luxurious.

The blend nicely balances a sense of relaxation while still offering plenty of entertainment with the plethora of option for locals, students, or even tourist.

But then what really solidified my attachment was the life style I lived and the people I met.  Slowly it became effortless to meet new people, find places to hangout, travel on the weekend - truly what ever I desired.  It was so easy to get around the city - walking, biking, bus, or subway - as well as to other surrounding areas, cities, and countries or the region. 

Please note that I am not one to focus on the negatives but since I never wanted to leave Spain my mother told me I should make a list of everything I don’t like about it here so that it makes it easier to leave and look forward to everything I miss about the states. (regardless of her motives for telling me to do so, I did already have a little running list of things that bothered me)

So here we go:

• Men Peeing: whenever and where ever, if they had to release bodily fluid they would - midday or night, in a public or private space outside. If I was taking a stroll through the park and I happen to look over at a nice tree or the beautiful vine of flowers on the wall, oap there someone was.
• Androcentric Mindset: this ties into the statement above, peeing was just the beginning of men's superior mind frame/separation of the ability of sexes.  Compared to the attitude in Michigan, especially at the University, I noticed men felt more entitled to desires and they also separated what men and women can do, especially athletically.  One example was the car calling. Or even more subtle, when I was in a group of friends the guys would only invite the other compadres to play a game of football or foosball.  Now I am not saying that they aren't clearly more talented than I, or the other females at the table, but an invitation or acknowledgement would have been nice. Later on my friend and I addressed this to them - and sadly they brutally beat us at foosball, but at least we were finally included. (However I do have to say other than that there were quite a few gentlemen that were very polite to women).
• Lack of notice/timeliness:  a side effect of the 'No Pasa Nada' mentality                                 (translating to: Don't Worry About It)
• In the workplace: if my supervisor came to work later or she was occupied with other work tasks elsewhere it seemed to slip her mind to let me know.  Some days I would come to work having completed my task from the day before and I would wait and wait for her to come so I could see what needed to be done next. I noticed this lack of timeliness was the same for meetings. Meetings would start on half an hour to an hour late depending on when everyone showed up. Not saying that Spaniards didn't get things done, unlike the stereotype against Spanish work ethic, but they didn't at the exact time predesignated.
• This was also true for with friends. There were always the few that ran on Spanish time.  However since it was the summer, it was relaxation time, so this didn't bother me a great deal, but if I were living there for a more permanent time I know this would not sit well with me.
• This was also true for waitstaff at a restaurant.  Going along with the Spanish "relaja" mind frame (meaning, state of relaxation), I was nice to be able to just sit back, slowly enjoy a meal/time with friends, and watch time pass by at a local cafe or restaurant. It was nice not being rushed out of a restaurant right after we finished out plate.  In fact, the waiter never brought the bill until it was asked, a sign that we could stay as long as we desired.  The only problem with this was then it was sometimes a struggle to get the bill. And even once it was requested (by the hand signal - again, much different from procedures in America), it may take 20 minutes for them to come with the bill.  This only was relaxing if I didn't have somewhere to be; still having my American tendencies of over scheduling, I usually had somewhere to be after. 
• Cockroaches: in the summer months they were everywhere. Did I mention I have a great disliking/fear of bugs, especially those that can move as fast as bolt of lighting and can get anywhere.  Especially in the nights of July it was very easy to see many sprinting back and forth along the sidewalk, thank god I would like a bike around, but nevertheless it always sent a shiver down my spin. Then in the morning the dead one would be laying on the sidewalk.  But thankfully, I never saw one in my apartment :)))

Nevertheless these thing didn't overshadow the aspects I liked and I tried to make the most of the no pasa nada attitude and take in my surroundings. 

###

Readjusting to the U.S.

During my time in Spain since I tried to adapt to their style of life and navigate their systems of operating everyday activities I was aware of their societal norms. Throughout my time I shared these observation with other visiting students I met (from the U.S. and other European countries), allowing me to make even more comparisons to life in Michigan. So in returning to the United States I inevitably made comparisons with my experiences abroad and operations here.  I became hyperaware of flaws in US society, especially in regards to the environment and health.

First, for the environment. The US is one of the leading producers of waste.  Now I can really see how oblivious we are to doing so, especially in our daily habits.  We blast the air conditioning at the slightest bit of heat.  And we drive at the slightest distance.  To the latter, this may be because we don't have another option for community transportation but we are also just lazy and we don't allocated proper time for physically moving ourselves there.  Maybe if we had smaller markets spread about it would be easier to get to by bike or walking.

However this goes with our tendencies to overpack, overbuy, over consume .. Costco is an example of this, bulk, bulk, bulk.

This leads into the problems with our health. We don't exercise enough and we don't eat healthy enough. When I came back home it was even hard to go to the grocery store and buy healthy foods, as I had in Spain, when there are isles upon isles of packaged, salty, processed food. In restaurants, the food proportions are too large.  Allowing us to overeat, and if not then the leftovers are wasted.  In the first week coming home after every meal at a restaurant I always felt sick afterwards.

In all, for numerous reasons the transition coming back home was harder that transitioning to the Spanish lifestyle and systems. It may be because I now that I have to encounter what I see as a problem in the U.S. for longer that I did in Spain, or I feel more entitled in bringing change in my community, or that we have more pressing matters, or just personal taste.  Nevertheless this was an eye-opening experience that readjusted my standards for societal norms.

Just a Smile

It's just a subtle smirk that can make all the difference. And while in America we stress the importance of smiling to strangers and friends to make them feel noticed and importance, it does not contain the same connotation to strangers in Spain.  While smiling seems so natural and harmless as an American, it was one major cultural difference that I had to adapt to was smiling. 

Apparently in Spain, or at least in the region of Valencia, it is custom to only greet those they know when walking down the street or are in a public environment. My teacher from AIP  told me they never smile at a stranger they walk past.  The thought had never even crossed her mind to do so, in fact, the concept was so strange for her.  She recommended that I not smile otherwise people would think I was a bit too strange. 

Easier said then done, it was such a habit I never realized before at how often I smile at strangers. But when I did start paying attention my smiling tendencies, I noticed that it did trigger many strange glances in return. Earlier before this enlightenment, I thought these strange glances back was because they could tell I was a foreigner, which clearly it was, from my height, skin tone, and (now to my knowledge) mannerisms.

But this brought about another major cultural difference I noticed from the Spaniards that is not acceptable in the United States:

staring.

As I further analyzed American's smiling tendencies, I realized most often times we tighten our checks, curve the ends of our mouth up, and maybe so a bit of teeth, to make an expression that is perceived as friendly so that our glances is not perceived as staring.  

However, Spaniards do not need to smile because they are not ashamed to stare. They do it all the time and clearly so. On the subway to work, waiting in line, walking past, all sorts of public instances, as uncomfortable to me as it was.  Even when I glanced over to make it clear I saw them, their staring persisted; where as if it were an American they would have diverted their eye attention right away. Often times I felt so judged. Was there something on my face? Did I forget to zip up my pants? All these possibilities of reason an American would stare at me popped into my head.   

Even though I was uncomfortable at first, I adapted; in the end, I found myself openly staring at others as well and keeping a straight face to strangers I walked past even though our glances met. 

Their stares were just as harmful as my mis[non-verbal]communication of smiling.

The streets of Marrakesh

The architecture in the old quarters of town, known as Medina, made for a unique majestic feel. With the tall walls and narrow paths, bursting from the noise traveling within, yet, distanced from surrounding streets from the sound it kept out; it was an entirely different walk down any street I had traveled down before. The high clay walls seemed like there was no escape; especially at night when the cooler air misted off the walls of the buildings that were still warm from the day's sun and lingered under the few street lamps.  At least throughout the unbearably hot hours of the sun, the tall walls conveniently allowed for at least one side of the street to be in the shade.  Mystic, yet, the roads were a maize tempting you to lose your way -- they were narrow, windy, and diverging, with no clear pattern.

The striking structure of the streets added to the ambiance of the city, however I was most captivated by the scene that unraveled within.

On many streets there were numerous little shops, to be expected as they cater to tourist, with displays reaching beyond the doors of the shop.  There were shops for leather items, lanterns, rugs, trinkets, american-styled processed food snack shop, you name it. There were food stands with local cookies and dates pacing the streets.  Also people of all duties filling the street: there were many vendors, pedestrians (local and foreign), people sitting just letting time pass, doorman trying to make a living as they stood outside shops trying to bring in customers.  And on top of that, there were the motorist zooming by and buggies pulled by donkeys squeezing through.
Anything and everything was clustered in the small quarter of the streets.

Then there was the grand square of Jemaa el-Fna, the heart that all veins of the city eventually lead to - and the liveliest just after sunset. There were the soujks that were nicely shaded by hung sheets, filled with more vendors overflowing with local goods - less commercialized and more native than in the touristy grand square.

Nevertheless, while there was much ornate and enticing objects to look at as you walked through the streets in any part of town, the most important thing was the always be aware of oncoming traffic and stay to the RIGHT, as far right as possible. It was imperative to maintain your life, otherwise you would surely be struck by a motorist zooming by - in fact one of my friends was bumped by one as she took one too many steps toward the center of the road to take a picture of a building. Thankfully this motorist was traveling at a slow enough speed that no harm was done otherwise it could have been disastrous.  Even though in the United States we strive to pass on the right, there is was a vital shared cultural understanding amongst the constituents to ensure the bustling traffic runs smoothly. It was also something that the host of our Riad made sure to tell us before we explored the city - otherwise it would have been something we would have had to learn the hard way.

There were many disheartening sights that left a bitter taste in my mouth. First, there were hardly any women in the street. There were near to none maneuvering the streets during the day. Noticeably, there were more women out at night but they were usually with a man or overseeing children playing in the streets. It's evident this is a standard in their more confined lifestyle. The only way that you could count on seeing women would down some quarters, close to the grand square, where they would be begging with children in their lap. When I saw this I couldn't help but think of the movie Slumpdog Millionaire when they discussed tactics that locals used to play on the tourist emotions and get them to give money. But at the same time, I could not help wonder if it was mostly women and children begging because they had been rejected from society for adultery or another form or unsatisfactory pregnancy. Another quite interesting scene was the groups of rambunctious kids at night. There would be a group of many different ages lead by one girl/boy that was slightly taller than the rest and spoke in a louder voice.  And many a times they were up to no good. It seems four boys roaming the street will always find something they shouldn't to keep them occupied; this is the case in most countries and towns, yet here it didn't seem they had many other options.  On the night we were leaving there were a group of boys taking turns to jump on the hood of a car. Another aspect of street dynamics was what happen next. When the owner of the Riad saw this, he ran up grabbed the boy's neck and said something firm in Arabic making the rest of the boys run off. It is definetly more of "it takes a whole village" to raise the youth kind of mentality. It makes sense in the more tight kit community of the old town.

What made me sick to my stomach was the garbage over the sewers.  No wonder the water was undrinkable and unsanitary.  Sanitation was of no one first priority here.
With my western repulsion being expressed, I do understand that it is not on many of the forefront of their mind as they are more concerned with food for their plate. However it still hurt to see coming from a country putting such an effort into improving the environment and knowing that this is the cause of many of their sanitation and help issues, yet, they continue to live this way.

On a more positive note, one pleasant surprise about the city dynamics was how friendly the interaction amongst people were.  Upon arrival we noticed just how many people knew each other as they passed on the street. It seemed they were always stopping to gone greeting or help each other out (again, this is only between the men of the community as we didn't see many women on the streets). We figured this is the extended family lifestyle of the tight living quarters on the old part of town. This also must be because everyone stays in there part of town, since we kept seeing the same faces in the same vicinity of town. Nevertheless we felt very welcomed after the man that guided us to our hotel greeted us everyday, the doorman of a restaurant ate ate always checked how we were doing, the staff from the Riad would wave to us as they passed by on their motorbike, and the boys from the food stand greeted us with a friendly handshake and a reassuring welcome back friend.  Their friendliness toward us may have been from how they were trained to act with tourist to earn a hefty tip, but nevertheless, every familiar face that remember us would always say hi to us, ask us how we were doing, or make sure we didn't need assistance.  Surprisingly or not, after two days the people we met (and remembered us friendly, overly excited, and curious 5 traveling American teenagers) accumulated. I felt very welcomed, which was quite the opposite form when I first stepped off the plane (as I explained in my previous blog about arriving to Morocco).

Reflecting on my experience in Marrakesh, this city is now on my list, along side Venice, as truly one of a kind. The streets of Marrakesh were very different from any street in America. I may not prefer to live in streets of these kind, but I will always remember the experience they gave me and I look forward to my return.

The mystic streets of Marrakesh after sun-down.

Just as we stepped out of the door of our Riad,
a donkey-buggy carrying wood came around the tight corner.

The rare women selling her own items in the Jemaa el-Fna.

An bird's-eye view of Jemaa el-Fna at night.
The lights of the different stands glow
as many men line up with their rug for nightly prayer

A more-opened street that shows the many different shops along side
and the advertisement of rugs. Also in the bottom right corner
there is a man on a motor bike and pedestrians.

Just outside of a restaurant, a square is converted to be a market filled
with high stacks of goods for sale.

This is a bird's eye view of this small square

The main minaret in town that was our visual
guiding point throughout the city that would
lead us back to the center of town.

A few member of my group being welcomed by the friendly food vendors
of stale #22 in the main square of Jemaa el-Fna.

The unsanitary method of selling meat
 at a barter market on the outskirts of town. It is freshly shopped on sight but then sits on the heat of the 104 degree day.

RUGS RUGS RUGS
more rugs for sale, hung out for consumers to see 

A vendor selling dates in this stand in the soujks of Marrakesh.

 A food market during the early hours of the morning,
in a part of old Marrekesk that is untouched by tourists.

An iconic snake charmer
in the square of Jemaa el-Fna

Valencia --> Morocco : The day everything went wrong

Coming to Spain I knew one side trip I needed to budget in would be Morocco. It would be the first time traveling to the continent of Africa, an arab nation, and simply a country with a culture like no other. Plus one of the locations on the previous season of Amazing Race was Marrakesh, Morocco; so when I heard that other students from AIP wanted to go there as well I pounced on the opportunity and held them to it. My parents' condition for me to travel to Morocco was that I go with a group including a male, I fit the criteria and there was no looking back. Sure I was nervous to visit such a "foreign" land, especially after hearing the many stories in the media about trafficking, pickpocketors, unsanitary water and facilities, malaria, so on and so forth. However being the curious one that I am, Marrakesh seems to be a more tourist oriented town and I knew that if I didn't go now when else would I hav the opportunity?

We booked the flight and it was everything I could think about.

Only two more weeks!
Only one more week :)
Only four more day :D
Only two more days :/
WE LEAVE TOMORROW !!!

Then came Friday...
( one would think the 13th but no the 26th)
It was a day that arrived with much joy and excitement
Only to take a turn for the worst

I should have known it was going to be a day of misfortune when I woke up groggy and tired

But never the less, I made it to the train station at 10:30 am, the time my group had decided to meet, with my stuffed back pack and all sweaty ( after having to bike to the metro because all the bike spaces at the tram were full)

Then 10:47 rolls around and the first person from the rest of my group shows up 10:50 and the other two come
10:53 where's jack? He said he's been here waiting for 20 minutes...
Turns out he was at the wrong train station 10 minute walk up the road 😳
With our train leaving promptly at 11 everyone went into a moment of panic. We waited. We tried to call him. We sent him directions. What were we to do? We couldn't all miss the train.
10:58 four of us board the train
11:01 jack makes it on the train
11:02 we left headed for barcelona

"Phew, everything is good to go" I thought. On every trip there needs to be at least one thing that goes wrong. Better here then later on or in Morocco.

HA

How premature that thought was.

Next something was in my contact and severely irritated my eye.


2:20 we arrived at the train station in Barcelona. Next we were planning on taking a metro from the center of Barcelona to the outskirts of town to a city called Girona where we would fly out of. However there was no metro. There was a metro stop that was called Girona that must have popped up when we had previously searched, but no metro. -_-
The one thing I didn't double check.

So we checked the buses.

2:48 a lady assisted only to find the next bus was leaving at 2:50, impossible to make, and the bus after that at 3:15 was booked.

Crap.

To the taxi, or should I say to the taxi line.

It was then close to 3 with an hour and a half drive to Girona and the doors for our flight closed at 4:55.

That taxi ride will go down in history as the worst. No only was I already cringing because I was dreading the overpriced ride that would not for into my budget but also there was heavy traffic and no guarentee that we would make it .
No one talked
We were all staring at the clock

We thankfully arrived in time only for one of us to be pulled over by security and taken into the backroad for an intensive search.

Nevertheless we battled everything thrown our way, boarded the plane, and hoped for the best.

...


We finally set food on the continent of Africa. 
Just when I should have enjoyed every second, now that we had finally arrived in Morocco, I experience my first mild undertaking of culture shock.

The first trigger was after we exited the plane and entered the airport.  A young timid-looking girl from our flight (who seemed to be a local) came up and advised we put our phones away so they don't get taken. Instantaneously I because suspicious of everyone. Our phones would be stolen even from our hands? I'm glad she was kind enough to look out for our best interest but I was weery of everyone standing around us.

Second, at the exchange office the men were rude to some people in my group and almost wouldn't exchange some of our money.

Third, we we walked into the receiving area all the women were in full garb and the men in long robes. I was expecting this, however finally being mixed in with everyone I felt like an outsider that didn't belong.

Next, we had to negotiate long and hard for a taxi price to our hotel. It looked grim at moments especially after we battered with them for 20 minutes and then they walked away ( only to return 15 seconds later to agree on our fairly decent price of 225 dirham for 5 Americans to our hotel). Even though everyone was impressed with our skills I did not know if we all had the energy or will to do it throughout. ( also half way through I almost triggered an ugly scene when I forgot it was Ramadan and pleaded to the man that we were exhausted and thirsty 😳 oops - note to self check local holidays before traveling to a foreign land)

Finally, when we were driving to the hotel I was made aware of the true realities of Marrakesh. Everyone looked similar; there was no way that we would be able to blend in or manage to keep a lowprofile when walking around. Everyone starred at us even through the car we were tightly snuggled in. The streets were filled with many people in the later hours of the afternoon. There weren´t any marked lines on the road and all the donkeys and carts, motorcycles, bikes with motors, taxis, vans, pedestrians all zoomed around each other.
And then as we enter the city all the street were narrow with high walls, making it impossible to see the surrounding area. It seemed that all my plans had gone out the window once again, all the routes I had planned to walked to the different sights would now be impossible with the narrow , seemingly rowdy streets. I was frazzled and distrought.

And just as I thought we had found ourselves in a trap, we arrived at our riad to the coolest, friendliest, most-accommodating place I have ever stayed with the greatest staff. They walked us to the main square (Jemaa el- Fna) so we would know how to get back to the Riad; they said if we can find the square (imposible to miss) then we can find our way back to the riad.  They had never lost any guests and they reassured us we wouldn´t be the first.  Then they recommended a tour guide who could take us around the city, outside the city, or anywhere we wanted to go.

That was our best decision. With out our tour guide I don´t know what we would have done, or how we would have survived the heat.

Just when the road ahead looks bleak and unmanageable, there will be an opportunity to turn onto a path that will lead you into paradise.

Escuela Matinal

As a part of my internship for "La Fundación de la Justicia" (Foundation for Justice) I had the opportunity to volunteer at one of their Social Action projects, a before school morning care program. 

The school is located in a neighborhood, located below the city port on the southeast part of town, that has suffered from economic despair.  The Foundation started a program to provide a pre-school care program for families that did not have any one else to help look after their kids.  This way their parent(s) can go to their jobs that may start earlier as well as leave their children in a well-monitored area that will properly feed the children nutritional food and encourage them to partake in beneficial activities.  It is a  diverse group of about 20 students, ranging from ages 4 to 12 years old.  

Due to the timing of my internship and the end of the school year, I was only able to help for the last week of school. Nevertheless I was glad to at least give the help I could and bond with the kids in the time that I had.

From past experience and knowledge of families in low socioeconomic positions, I was quite prepared for what I might come to see.  The children varied in skin tone, height, and behavior, but they were  all similarly skin and bone; except for one girl that may be classified as obese, the rest all had cheekbones pocking through there skin, tiny waists, and sticks for legs.

I was quite surprise though when I had to help feed a five-year-old yogurt because she refused to eat. She was not the only student that didn't eat anything. Despite the plethora of options that they were given to eat and drink - banana, watermelon, pears, cereal, yogurt, orange juice, batidos (selected and freshly made by one of the students) - they did not have any desire to eat.  Was eating such a unusual activity for them that they had no interest? Or maybe they were just still tired and didn't have an urge to eat at this hour. I´m glad the Fundation also made them lunches catered to what they asked for because this gave them another opportunity to nourish their body since most of the time they would be sent to school without any food or a rotten piece of fruit; hopefully they ate the lunch we prepared for them.

Nevertheless, may of the students were a pleasure to wake up to. Of course everyone has their difficulties or makes difficulties but in all it was a positive camaraderie; one girl even stayed inside to help us clean up, another would make batidos, and some would take turn toasting bread for the rest.  This was one of my favorite activities I did on behalf of the Foundation.  It´s a program that directly helps those in need and also I really enjoyed getting to meet the kids.  I hope the sponsors continue to fund this program since breakfast (food in general) is such an imperative factor in contributing to these students ability to learn.

ABOVE: The bread for the "bacadillos" that we
prepared for their lunches based on their
preferrences, to entice their appetite.
BELOW: a normal morning scene at the morning
care program: fellow American student preparing
lunches, while kids, ranging from 12 to 4, eat breakfast
or engage in conversation or prepared activities

 

Cultural Language

One cross culture observation I have witnessed in Spain is the way language is used in a country or certain area all depends on the culture.

bell hooks wrote this same reasoning when she was promoting the benefits of a "local language", meaning to allow ethnicities within the U.S. to preserve their variation of English.  With the numerous provinces in Spain all having their own language adaptation, this is the perfect field to observe the interplay of language and culture.  And more so, being a foreigner helps make the way in which their cultural standards manipulates a "standard" form of language more apparent.  Therefore, language is molded by how people are trained to use it, and the training naturally fluctuates with the variance in culture.

One result of the inevitable variance is the mistranslations or phrases that just don't hold the same significance no matter how you say it in another language.  This must be because of the implicit meaning that is molded around words of the language.
As I previously mentioned, some provinces of Spain have their own distinct form of Spanish -- most well known is the Catalan of the Catalonian Providence of Spain - while they are able to communicate with Spaniards from other regions there have their own phrases of greeting. The (full) meaning doesn´t carry over. Qué guay in Madrid doesn´t produce the same response as it may in Valencia.

In regards to the cross-Atlantic transcomunication, of Spanish and English there is an apparent difference in the vocabulary and grammar.  Moreover there is also a difference in the "attitude" of the language.  One example of this would be how our culture in the US has taught us to confront a situation by "beating around the bus" ( a cultural phrase that does not hold the same meaning when translated cross culturally). We were taught it is rude to directly tell a person you have a problem with them or they upset you or you don't like there solution.  Where as in Spanish you know when someone has a problem.
It is very apparent in the many phone calls that my supervisor answers at work. If she didn't agree with them her tone stiffens and the speed of her sentences increases to that of a bullet train. But then five minutes later after they resolve their difference it becomes very friendly again with usually departure of vale! Gracias y hasta luego!

If I were to use the same tone and direct words that she uses, in an office in the United States, I would be the hated coworker that eats lunch alone.

It's quite strange for me to hear her conversations because it always sounds like she is getting in a fight with whomever is constantly calling. But that's just it, its not a fight at all, they are just directly resolving an issue. I suppose this is much more effective. Why must we make confrontation such a game in the US?

I was also previously made aware of this difference when I was taking classes in at AIP in Valencia.  We had the same discussion. "If you are upset/ disinterested with someone do you tell them?"
The answer was unanimous,  yes of course ... Except for the three Americans in the room that disorientedly replied no?  Usually, you don´t just come out and say it.

I never really had to analyze my interaction before, but now that it was brought to my attention I realized how true it was. Even with my friends at home, if someone is on my last nerve I usually notice my tone of voice change with them and then I try to distance myself from them for some time. Then they get the hint.

After I explained this in the class our instructor was distraught? "Es la verdad?"

"Yes of course," I responsed.
And yes of course was the response of the Italian girl sitting next to me about directly (and immediately) telling her friends when she has a problem with them.
We can both use language to solve a problem but we use it very differently.


My spanish instructor's conclusion was that we are all really good actors in the U.S.
     And Yeah I guess that's true.

Her valid point made me realize how manipulative we can be. But I have been trained to think this is polite.

Perspective.
Attitude.
Language.

Live with a Host Family

Living with a host family was something I was most nervous about before I left for Spain.  I was pleased to have the opportunity to be live with locals and force myself to assimilate into the culture, however I was weerly about the amount of time. Two weeks seemed to be an awfully long time to akwardly attempt to assimilate and communicate with them, yet not long enough where both parties know they have to make this work. It is most likely that I felt this way because I didn´t know much about the family and hadn´t been able to contact them before hand.  Nevertheless my time living with a host family flew by and now I wish I was still living with them.  In all, I highly recommend living with a host family, yes there is that slight possibility that things could go terribly wrong, but it is a great way to transition into a new culture and make a new home in a foreign land.

Before arriving, all I knew were their names, their occupation, and their address.

Once I arrived, I showed up at their door step ... and stared at the doorbell.  I needed to build the courage to put myself in such an uncomfortable and foreign position.  I knew a first impression would be important and set the mood for the rest of our time together.  My goal was to interact and learn from them as much as I could. So to ensure that our conversations went smoothly I wanted to have some prepared sentences in my head as a backup.  One would think the 10 hours of a plane ride would be enough, however, when the time came to finally introduce myself I froze.

Nevertheless I built up the courage, held my breath, and managed to spit out my name when my host mother answered over the intercom of the doorbell. 

After that, it only took me about 10 minutes to realize I really lucked out on the family I was parred with.  On the very first day they explained everything I needed to know. Their Valencia Guide 101 included how to get to class, to get downtown, to make friends at school,  and how to take advantage of what the city has to offer.  In fact, at one time they were both foreigners to the city themselves -- the mother having moved here from Italy and the father having moved here from Peru -- they knew what it was like to come to Valencia for the first time.  

Nevertheless, even with my prepared sentences I made many mistakes in our conversation (one of which saying that I had a son - which brought a very shocked expression) (another was when I called cherries beer, which brought some jolly laughter).  Nevertheless they kindly corrected me and we shared some giggles. 

In addition to their support and understanding, the mother was an excellent cook.  It may have been from her Italian background but man o man could she whip up a delicious bowl of gazpacho and tortilla (two very traditional spanish dishes).  I was really fortunate to have such nutritional and delicious home-cooked meals, especially since I hear of other students complaining that they never had enough food o it was a sorry attempt to cook something America .

Another perk of living with this young family was their two-year-old adorable monkey(since he liked to climb everything) son, Raúl.  It was really nice to have someone as the center of attention and someone who was willing to provide entertainment in the awkward moments of silence.  Also, I saw a great connection between my younger brother and him; it was the ultimate alinate to avoid feeling homesickness

Now it is too quiet. I can't hear Raul little voice down the hall as he chases after the ball or Emanualeza and Miguel as they exchange what happen in their day.  Now it feels like there is something missing.  Even though I only spent a couple of hours with them a dau, I still miss being part of a family and having people have a nice spanish conversation with over dinner.