General Thoughts

Tonight is the night that I am finally just sitting down and relaxing before I undertake the massive amounts of traveling I'm about to be doing in the next few weeks. I’m not quite sure where to begin about what else I have experienced and thought over the past week, because so much has happened, from the crazy and weird to the simple and peaceful. So I guess I’ll start with a bit more about Valencia and then move onto Palma de Mallorca and eventually just end up ranting because I’m writing more for me at the moment than simply for updates. But to provide a general tone of the trip, I’ve had all good experiences: some I liked, some I didn’t, but each has definitely been good for a reason. To sum Valencia up, I loved it and wish I could have stayed there for weeks. The day I first got there, I threw all my stuff in my room, changed and explored/got lost by myself in the city for hours. The buildings were so amazing to walk through, for you could tell that every detail from the trellises to the doorknobs had been carefully planned or at least it was plausible to think that they had. My hostel was smack in the middle of La ciudad vieja “The old city”, which contains all the grand stone buildings with hints of gothic influence. As I walked around the city soaking up the architecture and trying to speak Spanish to everyone—sometimes ending in success, more often in failure—I began to wish more and more that my brother were with me. Not because he is any good at Spanish or really any other language for that matter, but because he is absolutely brilliant in architectural design and construction and I knew he would just love to be seeing what I was. If there was one person who would be ecstatic and should walk around this city, it should be him. Jason, if you actually read this blog at all, you and I need to go to Europe and I will show you all the awesome places and buildings I have found and probably will still find. From what I’ve seen of Valencia and Palma, the buildings here seem to be the perfect blend of art and functionality, though Valencia ranking a bit above Palma in both aspects.

Though I did love Valencia for it’s beauty and had a wonderful experience, there were a couple of things I’m not quite sure how much I liked, referring to my experience in the hostels. All in all I loved it. I thought I was going to be pretty alone here because I was traveling all by myself and didn’t know anyone and spoke only mediocre Spanish. This was definitely not the case, for I met so many people each day that it was almost exhausting and I barely had any alone time! All these people were awesome and I am definitely glad I met each and every one, but—there is always a but—they all spoke English. When I was by myself, every small interaction I had was completely in Spanish. I could think is Spanish. I could pay more attention to observing the Spanish world around me. However, when I was with a big group of English speakers from hostels, we would only speak in English, drink a lot, and definitely not try to assimilate or pay any attention to the world around us.

I thought this English-speaking trend would end once I reached Palma de Mallorca and met up with my friend Saimah, who had been studying there all semester, but this was not the case. I actually think I may be speaking more English here than in Valencia. At first we tried a blend of Spanish and English, which worked just fine for me, but being creatures of habit, we eventually settled more and more into just conversing in English. I found that though she had studied here for the past 5 months, most of her friends from the same program only spoke in English to each other. They also went to English bars like O’Briens and Shamrock’s, which I also went to the first night here. I felt a little disappointed at this, but tried not to say anything or show any disapproval of this to my friend for I guessed that this trend might not just be due to habit and inability to speak Spanish, but part of it could be due to the fact that these people were just homesick and that maybe it felt like home to speak in your native language. I’m not sure bout the homesickness influencing the language theory, but I definitely did see the homesickness side of living abroad. After Saimah and I walked back from what was known as the “shit beach” on day 1 (it definitely lived up to it’s name), both ecstatic to catch up with each other, she told me that she was so happy to see me because it was like I brought a little bit of home to her. I reminded her of home. I saw this further when she showed me all the souvenirs that she bought for her friends and family back home and how much time and effort she put into these, including the ones that I received. I understand these actions, for already want to bring to whole Mediterranean home to my family. I wish I could give the buildings to my brother, the beach to my mom, the eco-friendly cars to my dad, the gardens to Rosalie, and the art to my friends. In addition to souvenirs, today Saimah got Burger King for lunch—I couldn’t quite bring myself to join in on this meal so I pretend that I wasn’t hungry and skipped it—because she was homesick and said that it reminded her of home. At hearing this half of me felt sorry and wanted to go make her Nicole’s classic fajita meal that she loves, go buy her some cheap red wine, and watch friends (This was the story of our fall semester), while the other part of me shook my head that home to us could be somewhat represented by fast food. And in a weird way Saimah also reminded me of my home but also showed me the dichotomy of worlds that was too come. I saw and reminisced with the old Saimah, but I also saw all the changes when I was out with her and her new group of friends. I thought I would feel more alone if anything in Valencia, when I actually was alone, than in Palma with one of my good friends, but this was definitely not the case. Though I have loved being with Saimah during the day, at night when out with her friends, I feel very much like an outsider, which is exactly what I am in reality. These people have been together sharing the experience of living abroad and adapting together since day one, I am just arriving as they are leaving. Over the years, I have learned how to be quite social, which I usually enjoy, and in general am very good at adapting to new situations. I found it very difficult and quite effortful to break through the niche that had been formed through months and months of work and enter into their circle of friends. At first, I was a bit shy and actually kept thinking about home and was oddly comforted by the American country music that was playing at the bar, which apparently never happened. However, eventually after a few jokes, side comments, and stories, the group began to take interest, eventually making me feel pretty welcome by the end of the night. But boy, it was kind of a struggle at first. This feeling of being an outsider has waxed and waned throughout the trip, which I’m sure will be reinforced at some points and totally eradicated at others.

But as of so far the only place in which I have felt entirely comfortable, safe, and happy has been out in the Mediterranean sea swimming around. Both in Valencia and in Palma I have absolutely loved and been totally content at the beaches. Today, Saimah and I ventured to Calla Major, an absolutely gorgeous beach that was situated nicely in a somewhat secluded cove area. I would have instantly ran into the water, broken footed and all had Saimah not been the voice of reason causing me to lather up with sunscreen and proceed relatively slowly into the water. As I swam around—topless by the way—I felt absolutely ecstatic, making incomprehensible noises of excitement. I explored the shoreline, swam out to the buoys, explored the rocky cove until it became a little bit too dangerous for a cripple. I can honestly say that I am never happier than when I am swimming, especially when I am out in open water. Though the water did sting the newly acquired scraps on my face, knees and hands, I hardly noticed until after I was out back on the mainland. Eventually I was able to contain my excitement to become aware that maybe it might not be so nice to leave Saimah alone on the beach all day by herself, so I made it back and plopped down on my towel. I do wish that people my age would like to play in the water as much as I do, for I do not like to lay like a lizard on a rock all day, occasionally rolling over from side to side. I kept enviously watching all of the 8, 10, and 12 year olds play games in the water and in the sand and was reminded of a conversation I had with my hostel mate at the beach in Valencia. As we were both watching a dad and a daughter play a ping pong-like game on the beach, she said that she never wanted to have children. I, somewhat confused as to how this scene could spark such a thought asked her why not. Her response, “Because then you have to play with them. I don’t want to play with kids at the beach, I just wanna lay out.” I then thought how much more fun I would be having playing with kids than just lying there. I thought of what it would be like to throw my whole swim class in the water, watch them attempt to swim and then have to save them all because, well, they can’t actually swim very well. I then thought about how someday I would probably have kids, undoubtedly future Olympians ;), who would probably be like “Mommy, mommy come play in the water with us, come race us.” And I could reply, “Ok kids, mommy’s gonna kick your ass in the water! Let’s go”. I then looked around at all the people lying on their towels, and proceeded to run/hobble—this time with Saimah—into the water again, forgetting about everything except the sea and me.

If anybody actually reads all the way through this, I am sorry for the length and the rant, I sometimes just like to write.