Despedida, Europa; Adios, España (Farewell, Europe; Goodbye Spain)

Well, I guess this is it. Your ink cartridges will last much longer, my long-winded blog posts will be no more.

Since the weekend, it has been off and on cloudy, dark, and windy in Sevilla. The gloom really makes feel like everything is coming to an end here. I promise I'm not that depressed about it, but like I felt before I left, the significance hasn't hit me - I probably will never see most of the people I've spent the last four months with again. Heavy.

Anyways, I’ve been thinking about this post for awhile now, and here’s what I’ve come up with. Inevitably, I’ve left some of my stories and pictures out, so this is my chance to slip them in. There's also a fair amount of revisiting that you will probably recognize. Thanks for reading everyone.

What I’ll miss, what I won’t

First and foremost, I will miss all of the kind people I’ve met here, particularly Mama Rosa and her family. I could not have been treated better, and I will never comprehend how she managed to cook, clean, and do laundry for 13 students. They made my bed everyday for me, and Mama even ironed my underwear. These are luxuries I will never experience again. She always called me her son or her little boy. Even after all the thank yous, I hope she realizes how much we really appreciated her. I'm going to miss the "que fuerte!" (kind of like "holy cow!") and "ninos! a la calle!" (Mama kicking us drunks out onto the street to go be loud at a bar). This is a goofy picture of me, but I think it captures what life in our residencia was really all about.

I'll miss all my roommates. Over the past four months, we've become like a family. Every meal together was always lively, every night out a good time, and we miraculously avoided the drama that I thought was inevitable (thankfully, I was wrong). It's going to be a tearfest when we say our goodbyes.

I will miss the cashier at SuperSol, a convenience store around the corner from our apartment. She thinks I’m a total drunk because although there are like a dozen different people that work the registers there, I ALWAYS get her when I’m buying wine and beer.

When we started to get to know each other because I go so much, I tried to convince her that I was only buying for somebody else. Each visit, I would have to dream up a new friend or family member that I was on a booze run for. “Esta es para tu primo, no?” (This is for your cousin, right?) She would say, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

One time I said with a very straight face that I intended to mail a 6-pack of Cruzcampo to my uncle in the United States. I’m a little too deadpan sometimes, and it didn’t fair well in Spanish because not only is that not really their taste, but they usually just think I misspoke and really meant to say something else. The other night, while she was ringing up my last Cruzcampos, I told her I may never see her again. We had a sad moment, it was the first of many.

I will CERTAINLY not miss the euro (peak ~$1.60 - 1). The saddest thing is that when the euro was launched it was like $0.88-1. I can't really complain about money though. You can't put a price on what I've done (more on that later).

I will not miss the gypsies – the relentless obese women that roam the center. They shove herbs in your face and say “toma!” (take this) to try to get you to stick your hand out so they can grab it and try to tell your fortune for money. I usually give them a dirty look, but one time I was coming out of a bar when Jess was here and instead of giving the gypsy a “get away from me” look, I accidentally gave her a sassy “oh really?” look. Blame the drinks.

I feel indifferent about the black guys that stand at every stoplight around town knocking on windows during red lights hustling packages of plastic-wrapped tissues. I see them every day and I have yet to see them make a sale. Bless their persistence.

I will miss the ridiculous t-shirts Spanish people my age wear. They are always in English, and usually don’t make sense. If they do, they often have interesting grammatical errors.

Examples with commentary

The provocative: “Your boyfriend bought me this t-shirt”

The self-deprecating: “My love live stinks” – is it better pre-recorded?

The morbid: “Hydroplane right or you’ll die” – …what?

The strange: “I hate breakfast with you” – not even a Spanish meal

The excited: “Hands up! Disco partee!” – is it meant to be a pun?

The romantic: “He loves me. Yes. Not. Yes. Not.”

I will miss the Spanish construction and public workers. Spain lags behind the rest of Europe in productivity and some of these guys are a visible testament to it. I once saw three dudes standing around: one with a sandwich, one with a beer, and the other with a rake leveling a portion of sand where they were laying concrete. The one with the rake was pretty half-heartedly pushing that sand around. Periodically, they would pass their respective item, and resume, plugging away at an amusing 33.3% efficiency.

I will not miss feeling socially obligated to wear jeans and leather shoes in 80 degree heat. I gave that up, and now I get looks for rocking gym shorts and flip flops, but honestly I don’t care anymore.

I will not miss those who when I asked them a question in Spanish, gave me a look and responded in English.

I will not miss the devil flowers - perhaps Gram and Gramps will recognize these purple demons from their painting of the Spanish villa. Why so evil you ask? Well I've been sneezing uncontrollably since they bloomed. Pretty to look at, but killer for my allergies.

I will miss constant sunny skies…but I suppose I’ll get my appreciation for nice weather back. I think I’ve been much too spoiled.

Looking Back

In spending minimal time at the library (huge contrast from Amherst), traveling more than most do in their lifetime, and drinking lots of booze (less of a contrast, but still notable) I have learned an incredible amount about myself and the world (so stereotypical study abroad thing to say, but it’s very true).

I have witnessed beautiful sunsets, like this one from the Barcelona Olympics complex.

I have seen some of the greatest art masterpieces in person,

I have drank enough red wine to thoroughly stain several tons of clothing (come on, the shits cheaper than water!), here is but a sample of the bottle collection I accumulated.

I have puffed a big ol’ Cuban cigar while watching an authentic bull fight,

I have crossed high above the bay of Barcelona in a gondola,

I have been shouted at by people I could not understand for doing exactly what, I’m still unsure of,

I have burned countless calories, sweating profusely while dancing with reckless abandon at bars/clubs/discoteques in five different countries (and it was still far from enough to burn off the beers),

I have drank enough sangria to be quite certain I'm acrobatic enough to do back flips off sailboats (to kids reading at home, don't drink and dive!),
I have left a club to find that the sun had already risen, and mind you, the sun rises after 7 a.m. over here,

I have dressed like a Frenchman to the confusion/amusement of my friends, family, strangers, and miscellaneous associations,

To the above mentioned point, my sleep schedule has taken on quite a different character. I could hardly call it a schedule…

I have probably shaved numerous years of my life off from the stress of haggling prices with a Moroccan rug salesman,

I have played soccer with Spaniards against my own countrymen (sorry America, but I’m a Pats fan, I like to win),

I have drank too many pints, brought up everything from the American Revolution to the “Coalition of the Willing” with joking belligerence to numerous Brits, and was fortunate enough not get my lights punched out,

I have walked amongst Roman ruins dating back thousands of years, and in the theater below, I recited a Robert Frost poem ("The Road Not Taken" for those that are curious) because it was the first thing that came to mind when my friends demanded a performance. It was probably a first, I think the Roman empire predates Frost by a few years...

I have jumped off of cliffs in Portugal,

I have enjoyed ridiculously fresh beer in Copenhagen,

I have hiked mountains in the remote parts of Extremadura,

I have toured the last of the great Hispano-Muslim palaces, (I would argue one of the most beautiful palace complexes in world history)

I have pedaled a boat down the Guadalquivir River,

I have botelloned next to unfathomably old monuments that become even more unfathomable as the night goes on. Unlike those fascist Catalans, Sevilla doesn't have many signs like this posted around (irony - Catalunia was on the republican side during their civil war)...

I have mocked Italians’ accent without offending them (I think),

I have enjoyed McDonald’s in Africa with a Swiss cardiologist,

I have paid for an unexpectedly smoking hot Eastern European chick’s coffee,

I have imitated Royal Guards...poorly...

I have made one too many World War II jokes around French and German peoples,

I have played a handmade Spanish guitar in Granada,

I have been thrown out of a Danish music store for playing a shitty Asian-made mimic Spanish guitar because quote, “no touching if you ain’t buyin’ mate,”

I have asked numerous Europeans to their shock: “George W. Bush, great president, or the greatest president?”

I have toured castles upwards of four times older than the United States of America (sorry Liberty Bell, this shit is old),

I have watched the sun set at the end of the world (it was named when scientists were still quite certain the world was flat),

I have eaten enough jamon (ham) and chorizo iberico (Spanish pepperoni-ish meat) to choke a small herd of horses,

I have fought bubbles in the streets...and won,

I have followed Michael Douglass through a bustling Arabic Medina,

I have endured Cruzcampo for much too long...

I have been mistakenly introduced as the son of Robert Parrish,

I got carded in Europe! What the hell!

HOWEVER,

I have not tasted my mother’s delicious spaghetti and meatballs in approx. 122 days,

I have not hugged my father in about as much time,

Similarly, I have not teased my sister in awhile,

All in all, I have seen much of the world in a very short period of time, and after all that, I have concluded that Duxbury, Massachusetts is a pretty sweet place to live.

To conclude…

I would have to say that living in a foreign country is different, but on a basic core level, it is not very different at all. Set aside some of the food, the whole language thing, and some petty lifestyle details, and we are living similar lives as the rest of the liberal democratic West (i.e. North America and Europe). A car (though smaller) is a car, a home is home, school (though easier for study abroad students) is still school, a bar is a bar, a convenience store is a convenience store, a city (despite some really old stuff) is still, at the end of the day, a city.

If I can take one key thing I’ve learned from this whole experience, I would say that I understand what home really is. As beautiful, perfect, and exciting as things can appear here, it is impossible to for someone to lose the connection they have to the place they are from. Boston is no Sevilla and Duxbury is no Lagos, but all the time I’ve spent enjoying these places has never lessened my appreciation for where I came from. To be sure, while I thought about home and missed it, I never felt homesick or anxious to leave. I can’t expressed how happy I am to have came, and I certainly intend to travel more and perhaps live abroad again, but wherever I go and whatever I do, I know I’ll still be a Massachusetts boy.