Spain was an alien. A couple of days before I spent my first full week in Granada, Spain, I arrived in Madrid after a don’t-remind-me-how-long flight. I didn’t mind my nagging neck and dormant derriere because after a cab dropped me off at the center of Madrid, shivers went down my spine as I stood on the land of two of my ancestors.
After the shock, I picked up my jaw and entered the beautiful Hotel Husa Paseo de Arte. There, another jolt pinched me–hello, culture shock! Everyone had the volume knob set on max as they spoke the language that I first heard when I entered this planet. I had no idea what they were saying; to top off the shock, everyone spoke at supersonic speed. I did learn to lip read, though. In addition to my ears overheating, my palate became confused when it tasted Spanish cuisine. My fist meal was in a small restaurant called Fresc Co. This particular restaurant focused on cold, fresh food. Therefore, a juicy, bloody, slab of steak was out of the question. The food was still good, but I was dying to douse everything with Tabasco. Not much changed as I toured the restaurants. Still, Madrid offered a wonderful trip down History Lane. We visited El Museo del Prado, where works of art by El Greco, Velázquez, and Goya now rest. El Museo Reina Sofía was where I touched a sculpture molded by Picasso and had an intimate encounter with the work of Salvador Dalí. That was definitely something I never thought I would experience in my spartan life, and I enjoyed everything that seeped into my senses.
After the pinch-me filled weekend, our group took the five-hour bus ride south across La Mancha into Granada, Andalucía. There, during my first official week, I met the lady that became my pseudo-grandmother for the rest of the trip. Her food was phenomenal … still no Tabasco; she only offered pepper.
Speaking of my pseudo-grandmother, let me talk about homestay. As part of the study abroad program, I was able to stay with a local family that gave me a better overview of Spanish life. It was an interesting experience. I didn’t enjoy it to its fullest potential because, unfortunately, my pseudo-grandmother and I did not see eye to eye on any topic imaginable. It was mostly because of our different backgrounds and, surprisingly, different cultures. Still, I cherished our civil tiffs because I enjoy a good debate, and I really got a first-rate lesson on tact. Her desserts were to die for, too.
As for the classes in Granada–they were amazing! I couldn’t believe what I read in class and studied each week would be a tangible object two inches from my face during the weekend. It was history heaven. I loved seeing, touching, and smelling 8th to 19th century architecture. I had to touch everything. I imagined my fingerprints being a Mary-was-here type of stamp that joined the many from centuries past. A few of the places I caressed, both in Granada and elsewhere, include the Alhambra, the Palace of Charles V, the Granada Cathedral, the birth house and summer home of Federico García Lorca, the Great Mosque of Córdoba, and the gargantuan Sevilla Cathedral.
During the third weekend, we traveled to Córdoba and Sevilla where the river Guadalquivir majestically flowed. When I saw the river, I was flabbergasted. I was enthralled by the ancient architecture, so much so, that I absentmindedly disregarded Spain’s natural beauty. There were thousands of olive trees, some hundreds of years old, sprinkled neatly on the multicolored skin of Spain. The weather was torrid, yet there was snow on the tips of Sierra Nevada. The soil was a rich crimson that birthed delectable crops. But they still needed Tabasco.
Thanks to the Office of International Education (OIE), the International Study Abroad program in Spain, the scholarships I received from OIE, and my mother finally letting my hand go, I experienced what I once thought was impossible for me: traveling. I am insanely happy to be home once more, but the memories will remain branded in the cockles of my brain, and my finger-stamps will remain on the walls of the past. Spain is no longer an alien to me; Spain is a root.