You're A Big Girl Now

I was ready to go to Spain.  I was prepared.  I had all the necessary travel documents, layers and layers of clothes to battle the unpredictable weather, instant coffee to get me through any situation, and some dark chocolate to tide me over for the long breaks Spaniards take between lunch and dinner. 

I made it through my first flight to Philadelphia and was headed to Germany.  Upon boarding the plane, we come to find out that we were not going to take off for another two hours.  I only had one hour in Germany to board my last plane en route to Bilbao.  I was going to miss my connecting flight, and would consequently miss my ride from the airport to the university. The dorms were going to be closed by the time I got there (if I ever managed to get there)…I was going to have to sleep on the streets of Bilbao…I was going to miss orientation…I might as well pilot my own plane back to Hartford because this was never going to work out.  This was not meant to be.  Get me off this plane.  Cue the waterworks as I reached for my phone to call my mommy. 

I was in the middle of my third frantic phone call with my mother, crying about carrying on about my misery in the middle of a fully booked plane about this all-consuming crisis, when a girl from the row ahead of me turned around, looked me in the eye, and calmly asked if I was going to The University of Deusto. I nodded. She continued, “Yeah, I can hear you freaking out.  I’m going there, too.  So is that girl two rows ahead of us.   You’re fine.” She then promptly turned back around and closed her eyes.  The only crisis she was facing was the blonde-haired freak screaming behind her and waking her from her peaceful slumber.

The plane finally took off, although the road-blocks continued to pile up from there.  I could not turn on my reading light, to the amusement of the small German boy next to me, nor could I turn on my television.  Actually, I could not even remove the remote control from the side of my seat, and apparently no matter how many times you touch the television screen, it will not magically respond to your fingers’ angry pounding. 

Upon my arrival in Bilbao, all previous knowledge I had of the Spanish language was erased from my mind.  Suddenly, the only Spanish words I knew were “Sí,” and “Está bien.”  I live on a floor full of local Spanish girls, all of whom sweetly say “Hola” or “Buenas” to me as I pass.  Naturally, I respond by saying, “Hey, what’s up!” 

The first night in my dorm room left me with no telephone or internet access, and therefore I remained in my room with the door closed.  I had not eaten since breakfast, but seeing as I did not know where the cafeteria was, I guess I would not be eating dinner.  Nor did I eat breakfast the following morning.  The only route I knew was from the main entrance to my room and back again, and considering how long it took me to get that route down correctly, I was not about to venture through the dark hallways alone (and by dark I mean terrifying and pitch black, seeing as Spain is obsessed with conserving power and the light switches in the hallways are even harder for me to figure out than was that stupid reading light on the plane).

The following night, I had the chance to explore Spanish nightlife with a couple of people I had met from my dorm building.  I had heard that the nightlife here is alive and exciting, and that it extends well in to the wee hours of the following morning.  Well, after walking about three hours in the pouring rain and finding absolutely no signs of human life (save for a few hard-rocker types with long hair and dog collars who came up to us shouting obscenities and juggling bowling pins in our faces when we accidentally took yet another wrong turn), we called it a night and headed back to our dorms, soaking wet and slightly horrified by the number of miles we had walked without reason.

So, maybe I was not as prepared for my trip to Spain as I originally thought.  Or maybe I had all the wrong expectations. Or maybe it was just wrong to have any expectations at all.  But, I’m learning.  I’m making friends, and I’m learning.  I have to learn to take things one step at a time, and to take something positive from every experience I have here in Spain.  Minor victories of the week include mastering the light switches and finding the cafeteria.  Major victories of the week include finding our way to a fantastic all-night festival in the beautiful beach town of Plentizia, getting the courage to speak to the locals with gradually decreasing levels of social anxiety, and not throwing up the unidentifiable mess that they serve us at aforementioned cafeteria.  Paso a paso.   I have to learn to venture down those dark hallways, because I will never know what is waiting for me on the other side unless I dare to find out.

Plentzia

Amigas nuevas en Gexto