I wasn’t really sure what I was getting myself into. I knew I was going and that was about it. Everyone said I’d have the time of my life. Some even said I wouldn’t want to come back. I took what they were saying into consideration but had no plans to really worry about it. I was going and that was that.
My parents prepared me as much as they possibly could. And who would blame them? Looking back I certainly don’t. I was to travel to a foreign country, one that speaks little English, and spend four entire months there to study abroad. They got me gifts for Christmas to help get me ready for my voyage: a durable suitcase, a wallet with a chain, Euros, travel books and more. What seemed like every single day during the Winter break, they reminded me of different things to remember: “Now remember Niko, always travel with a group,” or “The economy is pretty bad over there, unemployment is about twenty-five percent, so there are a lot of petty crimes.” And I would of course think that I was ready and didn’t need to hear all of this over and over again. In some aspects, I was very wrong.
Squished. Like a sardine. I was always a fan of flying but in this case, an eight hour flight in the very middle section with nothing to lean on, I wasn’t a fan. I attempted to sleep but the tiny section I was confined to, my seat, gave me no comfortable positions to sleep in. Finally, the picture on my screen showed the little cartoon airplane over land! I was too excited to sleep even though I had been flying for 24 hours straight. What was going to be my first impression? My first meal? What was the country going to look like? All of these questions would be shortly answered after the jarring movements of touching down on the airport tarmac.
Of course I had no way to look out the window when we landed so I would have to wait to look outside. It was definitely colder than I had expected it to be but then again it was 7 am so maybe it would warm up later. I finally exited the plane and followed the crowd towards customs. As we approached customs I reached for my passport. Wait. Seriously? I’ve been in Spain for no more than five minutes and already lost my passport. I sprinted back to the plane while other passengers and even the pilots gave me weird looks as I passed them. I looked around in my seat and it wasn’t there. By this time I was sweating and out of breath wondering where it could have possibly gone. I checked my backpack again and, thankfully, there was my passport.
“Well, at least I got that first scare out of the way early,” I thought to myself. I couldn’t believe I had already messed up that quickly. I had thought I was completely prepared to take on this brand new country. I had to be more careful if I was going to survive four months in this foreign country. Hopefully I had the mental will to be on guard 24/7 like I knew my parents would want. That would have to be one thing I would need to practice.
I successfully made it through customs and my bag made the trip as well. My next challenge: order a taxi to take me to where I was living. I practiced asking a taxi to take me to the address I was given a few weeks prior. “Necesito ir aqui,” as I pointed to the printed address, “puedes llevar me alli por favor?” I managed to get it out nervously. It had been so long since I had spoken any kind of Spanish that I didn’t realize how rusty I would be. The cab driver seemed to understand and I got in.
I tried to take in as much as I possibly could. I probably looked like a little kid who just entered his first toy store. I felt like I was going to my first toy store all over again. A brand new place with new people, new sights to see, and new things to play with. I didn’t care if I looked ridiculous, I was already enjoying myself. We sped along the highway and I stared outside even though there was more fog than I’ve ever seen. There were a few things I noticed already: there was a lot of graffiti, and absolutely no billboards. I enjoyed not having big signs that detracted from the countryside like “Branson, Missouri: Your vacation destination!” or “Capital ONE. What’s in your wallet?” But the was graffiti everywhere. I wasn’t sure how to take it. It was vandalism but it didn’t detract from the view. I accepted it as part of the scenery.
Suddenly, the cab driver spoke to me. Crap. I hadn’t planned this far ahead. I asked him to repeat himself. Ah, I understood him that time. But the worst part: I found it most difficult to respond. I struggled and spat out the most basic Spanish to answer him. It was obvious my Spanish was bad, but the cab driver seemed pleased I was at least trying. Or he was laughing at me. Had to be one of the two. My ear for Spanish was my best skill, but responding was clearly my downfall. Another thing I needed to practice while I was here. I attempted to ask him a few questions as well, more for my own sake than to keep the conversation going but he enjoyed the interaction. I would have been lying to myself if I said I didn’t enjoy it either.
After a 30 minute ride we arrived. I paid and he wished me good luck after I thanked him. I stood on the sidewalk and looked around. A small little bakery, a few tapas bars, a café, and a few sit down restaurants were all within 30 seconds of my building. I smiled to myself and realized I was really here. I buzzed up to the apartment and was let in by my host-mom, Pilar. Another detail that I couldn’t miss: the tiny elevator. With my backpack on and one large suitcase I could barely fit. Another part of the country to get used to. Pilar opened the door and she, as well as her small dog Milu, greeted me excitedly. I couldn’t help but smile at the tiny dog yipped loudly as well as the feeling of security I felt while in Pilar’s presence. She was like a loving, long-lost grandmother I had never met.
Again, I struggled to communicate with Pilar, but she helped me as I told her about my flight. She showed me around the apartment and offered me coffee and sweets for the King’s Day, the national holiday, that I had flown in on. She saw my one suitcase and asked if that was all I had. I laughed and told her that I didn’t need much. She was impressed by this and told me I was the first of any of her students to only bring one suitcase. Thanks to my mom for such an amazing packing job.
I sat down on my twin bed in my new room with the view onto the street below. I took a few minutes to really take in everything that had happened in the first few hours of my journey. I could hear my family in my head reminding me to have a great time but to be safe as well. But I’d successfully traveled from my hometown in America to a country with a vast and colorful history. After everything I had experienced already, I realized the best thing for me was to accept whatever had, and would happen while I was studying abroad.
As I sit here, just over three weeks later, in the small café I find myself at regularly, I like to think I have a little bit of a better grasp on things here in Madrid. Mostly because of my mindset I adopted when I first started college. I would have to take everything in stride. I almost lost my passport in the first few minutes but survived. I struggled to speak Spanish and found myself embarrassed and frustrated when I couldn’t come up with the right words to say. I still found a way to communicate and am continuing to practice. I would keep on keeping on. I turned myself into a human sponge soaking up every single part of the culture, food, people, and sights as much as I could. I would experience the enthrallment that came with admiring huge buildings, statues, and architecture that I found by wandering through the city. I like to think I am living my life here in Madrid to its fullest extent. All because I keep on keeping on.
