Life is Change

Just over twelve hours until my journey in Spain comes to a close.  My luggage is crammed into space bags, my backpack squeezed to the brim, and the only thing staying behind are my stained corduroys and the most incredible experience of my life.  As I look back on my first entry in which I stated some of my primary goals, I cannot help but be so happy and proud at what I have accomplished in a very short time.  My Spanish has improved by leaps and bounds and I learned more about Spain and its culture than I could have imagined.  I have made unforgettable friends and connections with people who cared for me and made sure that I was having the best experience possible.  After having just finished my Spanish comprehension test a few hours ago, I can say that the journey has not been easy, but the difficulties were so far outdone by the accomplishments and amazing times that it was all well worth it.

I have no doubt that I will miss Spain dearly and all the friends that I have made.  Earlier today, we had a farewell lunch, and I could not believe that a few months ago, we were standing in a circle sharing what our goals were for the upcoming months.  Studying abroad has been my dream since I knew I wanted to go to college, but the experiences have been such that I could not have even imagined the unbelievable experiences that awaited me.  I visited the Canary Islands, Morocco, Portugal, Barcelona, Madrid, and so many other cities that once were a figment of my imagination.  Undoubtedly, I will cherish these memories until my great-grandkids complain that they’re tired of hearing my stories about riding camels in the Sahara Desert.  There have been so many small moments and blips of time that I will look back on in ten years and remember the special opportunities that I had.  I am so thankful to God for every single moment that I have been blessed with, and I cannot wait to reunite with family, friends, and mommy’s cooking. 

Tomorrow, I will be leaving Spain destined for Rome.  After a few days in Italy, I will be flying to Greece where I will then spend some time before going to Germany.  My Spanish dream may be over for now, but I am so excited to visit three of the most captivating countries in the world.  As I finish my blog and cram my laptop into the last small crevice of my luggage, I am zipping closed the most amazing five months of my life.  Nevertheless, life is change, and I look forward to making new and incredible memories.

Thank you so much for following my blog, and I hope that the next time you hear from me, I will be working for change in the poor regions of Africa.  Until next time!

Morocco

Canary Islands

Portugal

My last week in Granada.

Nerja, Spain

Finals were two weeks away and, with a ten page art essay and a twenty minute presentation on Francisco Franco upcoming, I was focusing all my energy on getting ahead so that I could enjoy my weekend in London.  With plans to leave on Thursday afternoon and stay until Sunday evening, I went online to print my boarding pass last Tuesday.  Although I had vowed to never make a mistake on RyanAir’s tricky and deceptive website, I realized that I had only purchased a return flight and my hopes of traveling to a European country by myself were dashed.  After wiping away my flood of tears (not really), I cut my losses and figured that I better think of something fun to do on my second-to last weekend in Spain.  A few minutes of researching ultimately yielded a bus ticket, round-trip this time, to Nerja, a pretty beach town about an hour and a half away from Granada.  Aside from the less than ideal bus accommodations, we arrived in Nerja on Thursday ready to soak up some high-quality rays for two days.   

The small town was more than relaxing, and Friday turned out to be one of the best days spent with program friends in as long as I can remember!  Paddle ball on the shore, tanning, or better yet, burning in the sand, and chicken fights in the chilly sea waters were an ideal way to spend our limited time with fifteen friends.  Because I am such a food monger, I cannot express my enjoyment of Nerja without mentioning Little Italy, the Mom N’ Pop restaurant that stuffed me full of cheesy pasta and ham pizza for a mere five Euros, a true steal.  The touristy strolls through the beach shops reminded me of typical summer afternoons at home, and with only eight days left here, San Diego felt closer than ever.  Although it was not exactly London, my time spent with friends made me appreciate wherever I was and remember that where you are is not nearly as important as who you are with.  Eventually, our crispy friends got lathered up in after-sun lotion before painfully bouncing our way through the small towns and back to Granada.

Saturday morning, I rolled over at 8 am and quickly got dressed and ready for a day In Ronda with my school program.  From what I knew, Ronda was a small boring town where we would spend an afternoon before finally returning to our lively Granada.  To be honest, I was not extremely excited to stroll through rows of old white houses, but upon arrival, I could not have been more surprised.  The focal point was a massive bridge built centuries ago that separated the old and the new sections of the city.  After touring the most ancient Bull Fight Plaza in Spain and imagining my less than lanky body being mangled after not fitting behind the miniscule guard rails, our guide, who resembled a female Indiana Jones, led us to some of the most spectacular viewpoints that I have ever seen.  During my free time, I descended down a trail and climbed treacherous rocks in hopes of reaching the massive waterfall that epitomized the beautiful city.  I was not able to reach the huge waterfall, but the fact that I returned to the bus an hour later without having been swept away by the rapids was consolation enough.

It may not have been the weekend that I was expecting, but I could not have turned out any better.  With this weekend being my last in Spain, you can imagine that I will live it to the fullest.  Here’s to finishing off my study abroad experience with No Regrets!

Bullfight in Granada

Spain is internationally recognized for its soccer.  With two of the outright best players in the world playing for Spanish clubs, a World Cup win in 2010 and an absolute fanaticism throughout the country, it is almost second-nature to correlate the region situated between Africa and the rest of Europe with the most popular sport in the world.  It may come as a surprise, then, to learn that bullfights are actually the official “Fiesta Nacional”, or national pastime, of Spain.  I knew about Las Fiestas de San Fermín, a ridiculous gathering of mostly men who run through the streets dodging a handful of monstrous creatures, but that is about as far as my knowledge went regarding the centuries-old celebrations.  It made sense, then, to buy second row tickets for the first bull fight of the season last week when a few of the most renowned bullfighters in the country put their skinny bodies in front of the thousand-pound horned creatures.

Not knowing what to expect, I elbowed my way through the crowd of white handkerchief wielding Spaniards and found a hot piece of cement painted with a blurry number “19”.  With friends on my left and a die-hard 45-year old fan on my right, I took a seat and started asking questions.  Fortunately, my new friend explained the bullfight and gave me the play-by-plays as the daring bullfighters narrowly escaped death in the background.  The matadors craftily maneuvered the bulls for a short time before finishing the last and final stage with an efficient kill.  The three stages of each round lasted less than twenty minutes, but the adrenaline-pumping moments leading up to the final stage were exhilarating.  It got tense a handful of times when a bullfighter made a small mistake and got nicked by the razor sharp horns, but the courage of the fighters astounded me.  Not much bigger than a horse jockey, these interestingly dressed men relied on a shiny cape to teeter them between life and death.  For someone that has grown up living for the rush of making a tackle on the football field or carrying the ball into a pack of huge forwards in rugby, I was on the edge of my seat as though I were the matador tip-toeing around the huge mass of meat and muscle. 

Half an hour before the crowd hectically filed for the exits, a matador-in-training was given a shot in the limelight to prove that he could hang with the professionals.  In an attempt to make a great impression, he knelt ten yards in front of the gate that opened to free the raging bull.  Unfortunately for him, a deadly mix of amateurism and distracted bull resulted in the matador being bucked and trampled on the dirt plaza floor.  Somehow, he managed to animatedly jump to his feet once the bull became distracted, and the show went on.  Whether it was his lack of experience or simply being shaken up from the initial injury, the last matador was clearly inferior to the rest, but it showed that the matadors’ suave and nuanced movements just inches away from the bulls were extremely dangerous and skilled.  The whole spectacular lasted a few hours, and I was happy to experience a fundamental aspect of Spanish culture as well as feel my heart race as though I was sprinting down the football field for one last touchdown.