Epilogue

Today, like last Saturday, I went to the farmers market in Kingston, NY where I live. There's a man there from Cordoba called "Chef Ef" who runs a paella stand, proudly flying both the American and Spanish flags. Last week I spoke to him and got some paella, which was heavy on seafood. This week I got chicken and sausage paella, a much better choice for me. As he scooped my paella out of the giant wok, I heard a faint melody. I was taken back to The south end of Calle Asunción to the first row of tents at La Feria. My friend Raul Gomez, winner of the Spanish Singing competition tv program much like American idol, called me to see if I was there so we could meet up. We found each other and he led me and some friends to a tent. There I had a typical feria drink, and tried to dance Sevillanas with his Spanish lady friends. The next day I went to the Feria with my school,  and we found a large public tent where we ate, drank, and danced. It was in one if not both of these tents that I heard that song before, and had tried to dance to it's fast rhythm. I then asked Chef Ef, "¿esta música es sevillanas?/is that Sevillanas music?, to which he replies "siii", as in "of course". It felt good to hear that music again in a setting other than Spotify in my May-term dorm room.

I officially miss Spain. Not everything, but lots of things. I miss the wonderful food. I've tried to make tortilla española, but can't quite get it. I miss the freedom, and deciding what I was gonna do, where I was gonna go, and when I did what. I miss the people. I miss the American friends I made, and I miss my spaniard friends. I am so grateful to live in an age where I can keep in contact with all of them whether we're a state or and ocean apart. I miss the beautiful, exotic architecture. I miss the passion in Sachez-Pizjuan during a Sevilla FC game. I miss being able to speak in Spanish. I miss going for a run in the Plaza de España, seeing tourists and thinking "ugh, tourists." I miss the adventure of exploring new places with new friends, like going to Paris armed with nothing but the Apple Map app and 2 phrases in French.

This list is incomplete, but it summarizes the big idea.

I never thought I'd feel this way, but I really miss these things. I really miss Spain.

There and Back Again

I'm home. I've been home since Thursday, May 8th. Words cannot describe how good it feels to be back, and neither can they describe the experience I just returned from. So far people have asked me "How was Spain?", "Tell me about Spain!", and other related inquires. I always draw a blank. Where would I even start? This past semester was one of the most difficult and most rewarding times of my life. I have never done anything as challenging and exciting. I have grown as an individual more in those 4 months than I have in God-knows how long. Will I miss Spain? Yes. I miss the food, and the friends I've made there like Ruben, Sylvia, Raul, Yvan, Tato (host brother) and my other Spanish friends, as well as the American friends I grew really close to like Jordan, Elise, Kelsey, and Andrea (I miss everyone, I just spent the most time with these four).

My Spanish has grown exponentially. The first week of classes my grammar teacher Carmen told me she thought I would be better off dropping into the lower level of advanced grammar. I told her that I wanted the challenge and was willing to put in the work. She let me stay, and she admitted the last week that I was true to my word and had improved tremendously. My host family would continually point out how when I first arrived it took me a while to say things, and I had to listen for a long time to understand. By the end, I was having normal paced conversations, only pausing when I didn't know what a word meant.

My level of independence has gone up to the point I feel almost completely self-sufficient (just need a steady source of income :P). I mean, I've flown, booked hotels, and traveled almost entirely on my own.

I'm braver. I had to fend for myself, try new foods, talk to strangers, walk home at night, etc. I had to overcome some serious anxiety. I got some guts in Spain.

My maturity in my behavior has increased, even though to be honest I thought I was pretty mature to begin with.

I'm more secure in who I am, and not afraid to be me. I have "nerdy" passions and a different personality, and I'm not going to put those things away to please anyone.

I'm more cultured. I mean, I've been to the Louvre. Doesn't get more cultured than that. and I learned how to dance.

I've come to see the challenge of keeping the faith outside of a christian atmosphere, where there are no bible classes and no one really shaming you or looking down on you for not going to church.

I've come to see the challenge of eating well when you don't have a regulated lifting/conditioning program for your sport. I did my very best with the time and resources I had to stay in shape for football, but this was a huge challenge. I'm not sure how this will play out after my last year of football when my only motivation to go to the gym will be so I dont have to buy bigger pants.

I've come to appreciate relationships more. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I grew very fond of people while I was gone, many platonic, some familial, one romantic.

I am not the same person I was on January 20th when I left for Spain. Something I realized on the plane to Boston after it was all said and done is that there will be more times in my life when I look back and say something similar.

------------

"You've changed, Bilbo Baggins. You're not the same hobbit who left the shire."
-Gandalf, The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug

America the Beautiful

I came to this realization a while ago, but thought I'd post it.

In our Latin American Literature class, we learned about authors who would go from central/south america and go to Paris, and then write beautiful poems about their home countries. Distance makes the heart grow fonder I suppose.

The same happened to me. I realized how much I love the US. I have found that I can now equate my country to a woman you fall in love with:


She's not perfect, and yet she's perfect for me.
She has her problems; who doesn't?
Sometimes she can really make me mad.
I can't stay mad at her for too long.
After just a little while her beauty just captivates me again.
Don't you even think about disrespecting her, especially in front of me.
There is no where else I'd rather be in this world.
She's home for me; she's where I belong.
I will die with her; I would die for her.

When written like that and read out of context, you have no idea it isn't about a woman.

#MURICA

Paris: Bringing me closer to Star Wars, Call of Duty, Disney, and Assyria

Not a few weeks after arriving in Seville, I began planning what I was going to do during Semana Santa, otherwise known as spring break. Seeing as how I was in Europe, I had to take the opportunity to go to at least one country other than Spain while I was here. The call went out on facebook, and the most cost effective trip was three days in Paris (Some other places that were good but got knocked out of the running were Milan and London). I had a bit of a nest egg from all of my on-campus jobs over the years, and that money went to buying my ticket, and my parents helped with the lodging. After we bought our plane tickets, there was nothing we could do but plan what we wanted to do and wait. As I looked online to find museums, sights, and prices, I stumbled across something. I was online looking at Louvre advance tickets, when a familiar black helmet caught my attention on the side of the screen. It was an ad for the Star Wars: Identities Expo. I had heard of the expo before, and knew it was in Canada to begin with, but it hadn't crossed my mind since I realized I would never be able to go. I click the link, and what do I see but the dates for when the expo will be in Paris. Paris. The city I was going to for spring break. I had to go. My two friends Jordan and Kelsey agreed to go with me after I bombarded them with information about it, and cause they're just that nice. They bought regular tickets, and I bought a special ID badge ticket for 5 euros extra. The kicker was the 20 euros it would cost to ship it from France to Spain. That 20 euros was worth it though when I saw an envelope postmarked from France with my name on it in the mail center at school. This was back in February, so there was a lot of time in between when I got it and when I got to use it. About 2-3 weeks before our trip, I began compiling prices of all of the places we wanted to go and made a custom Google map of everywhere we wanted to go, routes to metro stops, and even places like the US embassy just in case. We then met a week before our trip to make an hour-by-hour itinerary so that we would get to see everything we wanted to see. Yes, it was my idea because I'm that organized and love schedules. I would come to find out later though that my schedule had a serious flaw.

The night before our flight out from Seville I couldn't sleep. I felt quite the mixture of excitement to get out and explore somewhere new, and also anxiety from the fact I was going somewhere new. This was the first time I had ever traveled internationally to a country where I didn't speak the language and had no one waiting at the airport for me. We were gonna be on our own in France. I ended up finally being able to fall asleep around 2 AM, which would be fine if I didn't have to wake up around 5 to leave for the airport at 6. So running on 3 hours of sleep, I got myself showered and dressed and headed off to the airport with Kelsey and Jordan. My saintly host family was kind enough to offer to drive the three of us to the airport so we didn't have to catch a bus or take a taxi. We managed to get through the airport without a hitch, and same with catching the bus into Paris from the airport (we flew into Beauvais, so we were an hour outside of the city). When we got off the bus at Porte Maillot, we started walking to our hostel. To get to the metro stop we needed, we had to walk down the famous Champs-Elysses, which was pretty surreal. As we walked up the hill we came upon the Arc de Triomphe. This was the first of a recurring feeling I had while I was in Paris. I felt like I was in a book. All through elementary school I had French classes, in which we talked about places in Paris all the time, but they were never real to me. This feeling was only magnified when I was able to see the Eiffel Tower. But more about that later. 

I then had my first experience of a language barrier. I found the metro station, but had no idea if it was the right stop. I waited in line to talk to the information lady. In french, I asked her if she spoke English. It took her three times saying "a little" for me to understand her. I knew the name of metro stop we had to get to, so I asked her if we could get there from here, mixing English, French, and Spanish. For some reason, whenever I talk to someone foreign, no matter where they're from, my knee-jerk reaction is to speak to them in Spanish. I knew well and good that she was French and spoke French, but my brain was just like "foreign person = they speak Spanish". We got on the metro and got to our hostel without any problems. We got checked in, threw our stuff in our room, and continued with our adventure. We started off going to a bakery and getting some bread and such, cause that's what you do when you're in Paris. We then rode the metro back to Champs-Elysses and started walking toward the Eiffel Tower. I think it was on the metro ride back that we had the most hysterical encounter. As we sat on the subway, Kelsey wanted to review some French I had taught her, the most useful phrase of which was "I don't speak French." "Je ne parlais Francais", or something like that. I can say them, just cant spell them. As she asked me how to say it, and I said it slowly to her, and very french-looking business man did his best not break out in the cheesiest grin and laughter ever. He kept his composure, but couldn't help but crack the most smirkly-amused smile I'd ever seen. I noticed and looked over at him, and he continued to smile and tried not laugh, and gave me a little nod, saying "that's right". The three of us died laughing. That was the friendliest, most hysterical encounter I've ever had with a total stranger whose language I don't speak and typing it out in words doesn't do it justice. 

The original plan was to climb up to the first observation level, but the lines were enormous. We then crossed the street, a big deal for me since the bridge we crossed is the bridge you take in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 when you go into Paris:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xS98qzZbPQY

After seeing the tower, we walked south along the Seine so we could see the little Statue of Liberty. It was a nice little taste of home. We then looped back around to catch our boat for the boat tour of the northern part of the Seine (we bought tickets in advance online). Aside from being beside a bunch of Canadian highschoolers, the boat tour was great. We started right at the Eiffel Tower, worked our way up all the way to Notre Dame, and came back. We pulled in to harbor right at sunset, so we got to see the first lighting of the Eiffel Tower that night, when they make it sparkle. After the boat tour, we decided to head home but find some dinner on the way. Not many places were open since it was getting late, but we managed to squeeze into one Italian restaurant just before they closed. Enter language barrier encounter #2. It had never occurred to me I have no idea how to order food in French. All I can say is "I eat" followed by 3 different things, none of which I wanted. Thankfully pizza is an trans-lingual word, and pointing to something on the menu is always effective. There's nothing quite like the look of fear in a waitress' eyes when you say, in French, "I don't speak French". We still managed to get our food, enjoy in thoroughly, and head home.

Tuesday was our jam-packed day. We started off the day riding the metro for a very long time all the way from our hostel towards the south of Paris, up towards St. Denis University, all the way up north. Thankfully, it was just one metro line, so we didn't have to do any transfers. We arrived at Cite du Cinema and began our next adventure. Thankfully, the audio guides had an English option, and all the displays were written in French and English (Thank you, Canada). Basically, I wont be able to describe what it is very well, so look here:

http://www.starwarsidentities.com/

It uses Star Wars as a template to examine how our identities come to be from various factors. Throughout the display, you see hundreds of props and costumes used in the movies, so that was freakin awesome. Also, it was interactive. There were 10 stations where you made choices that would affect who you were as a Star Wars character. Some were modeled after your real life, and some were completely based on how you react to a hypothetical situation in the SW universe. Here's my character (click the words):

I just went to STAR WARS™ Identities: The Exhibition. Meet my personal Star Wars™ Hero, Travis, a Kel Dor Jedi Knight from Naboo!

So yeah, that was pretty awesome. After that we took the metro towards eastern Paris to go the cemetery where Oscar Wilde, one of my favorite writers, is buried. We wanted lunch first, so we went to a bagel shop and got some bagels. We had already bough some cheese and nutella beforehand at a supermarket, so all we needed was the bread. We found a spot in the cemetery and ate our lunch. This is where my scheduling failed. First off, we ended up on the south end of the cemetery when we were supposed to start in the north. Second, I forgot to allocate time for lunch in our schedule. We ended up getting incredibly behind. Also, since we weren't in the right end of the cemetery, it took us forever to find Oscar Wilde's tomb. We did find it though, and after we walked rather briskly to find a metro stop. By now we were pros at the metro, so as long as we found a station, we could get where we needed to go. The next item on the agenda was to go down into the catacombs. We arrived at the catacombs at the time I had scheduled for us to finish at the catacombs, and the line had already been declared closed since they were getting close to closing for the day. A disappointment, but we had other things we wanted to go see. We then started walking up towards Notre Dame. Thankfully, entrance to the cathedral is free, so even though the line was huge, it moved quickly and we got in pretty quick. Not gonna lie, it's not as impressive as Seville's cathedral, but it was still cool to be inside, especially since we were there on Holy Week. The next plan was to go up in the towers, but like the catacombs, the line was cut off. We went and saw love-lock bridge, and then went to go see if we could get in Sainte Chapaille, or however you spell it. It was also closed. Thankfully, there was a nice little restaurant across the street, so we went there and got crepes. absolutely. delish. We then went back to our hostel room and watched The Hunchback of Notre Dame, cause you can't be in Paris and not watch that movie.

Wednesday was our last day. We were crunched for time since we had to catch the bus back to the airport at 2. We decided to devote the entire day to going to the Louvre. We got there a little after 9 when it opened, and it was packed. We got in line, and thankfully it moved pretty quick, and it wasn't actually that long. Once we were inside we could see how much longer the line was then when we were in it. When we got up to the ticket counter, I decided to ask if they had a student discount. The lady asked me if I was an EU citizen, or was studying in an EU country. I told her I was studying in Spain and showed her my student Visa. She told me to just show the ticket-checkers my visa and they would let me in. This was so exciting. Instead of paying 14ish euros, I got into the Louvre for free. Not only that, but they held onto our bags for us for free too. three hours is not enough time to see all there is to see in the Louvre. But we did see a lot. The Mona Lisa. The Venus de Milo. Even the Code of Hammurabi, which I didn't even know was in the Louvre. I also got to see tons of Assyrian and Persian stuff. That was really cool for me since as a bible major I study lots of Mesopotamian/ancient Middle-East civilizations, and have written two lengthy papers on Assyrian warfare.

The rest of our trip was just the journey back. It was a phenomenal experience. The weather was beautiful every day, and much cooler than Seville. The people were kind and friendly, and the food was terrific. No, we didn't get to see everything we wanted to, but it just gives me a reason to go back one day and have a whole bunch of different experiences.

In conclusion, J'aime Paris. 

______________

Pics: https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152414875862578.1073741837.647277577&type=1&l=2b8e3f5640

Un Hombre al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios

Well, it has clearly been a long time since I've posted anything. My schedule got crazy, and I had a lot on my plate/mind. After getting back from Toledo, I had about two weeks of severe culture shock/homesickness.



If you see this chart seen above, I hit the deep #3 plunge. It wasn't pleasant, mostly because anxiety already has a nasty grip on my mind a lot of the time. Over the past year, I have made tremendous progress in getting a grip and controlling my anxiety. Of course, a lot of that progress went out the window once I stepped on the plane at Boston. I'm not entirely sure what set me down the slope of cultural shock, but it began to affect me in a lot of ways I didn't realize. Nervous eating creeped back into my habits. I started to freak out over where I would live during may-term and the upcoming fall semester. I really started to freak out thinking about my relationships back in the states, and if/how they would change when I got home. Everything manifested itself in a big breakdown of helplessness. I felt like there was nothing I could do in regards to my housing situation, relationships, etc since I was 3,000 some miles away. I have to nag my friends for updates in their housing situations to see if I can live with them. My friends lives carry on without me. My fear of my new kitten not wanting to see me as its owner since I couldn't be there to spend time with it. All of these things and more just weighed down on me so much, it brought me to tears. I thought I was safe from the "culture shock breakdown" since I had already been in Spain for over a month. Apparently, I just had a long honeymoon phase, because I just hit a wall. I found myself crying, repeating over and over "I just want to go home." I've usually had the problem of when something big in my life changes to keep it bottled up until I just burst. It happened this summer with moving, and it's happened in other situations beforehand. The problem I guess is that I can't see it building and building, because it's such a gradual process. After my breakdown, I'm not sure what in my head clicked, but I just felt better.

That right there. The fact that I felt better is important. Because it's one of the main reasons I hate society's expectation of men:

Men don't cry.

That's what we always are told. Men deal with their problems without the slightest emotion, unless you count indifference or rage as an emotion. Men aren't "allowed" to feel, because it makes us "weak". In the eyes of women, and other men. Because that's what society tells us. This is the most horrible thing men are told, even more so than "you have to look like an Abercrombie model to be attractive". Just honestly, if you think that, you need to check yourself real quick. I see the fact that Jesus, even while having a wild nature about him, prompting him to drive people out of the temple with a whip, still sat children down on his lap, wept for death of his friend Lazarus, and begged with God to spare His life in the garden, no doubt with tears in His eyes. He was gentle. He had feelings, often times of grief and despair. And he showed them. Why is it then that men, especially Christian men, don't find it "manly" to follow Jesus' example? Why do we let society dictate how we act? If we aren't supposed to let them dictate our actions, why do we let them dictate our emotions and how we express them?

I needed a good cry. Just telling people I wanted to go home would've been and had been perceived as whining, or being ungrateful for the opportunity I was given. I had to somehow get out the depth of how I was feeling. Not only that, I'm pretty sure I've heard that crying is physiologically good for our mental well-being.

*end soap-box*

All that being said, I am doing worlds better. I am on the uphill leading up to going home, adapting and accommodating to the culture. According to the chart, when I get home I'll have reverse culture shock. I am no longer naive enough to believe I'm immune. So here's what I ask:

If you read this, and you know that you'll be interacting with me in the first few months after I get home, PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH ME. I very well may not be emotionally stable. I don't really know what it will be like. These experiences are different in every person that goes abroad.

Sorry for the johnny-raincloud nature of the post. Just wait until I get back from Paris in April. That post is gonna be awesome.

Toledo: The Most Beautiful City This Side of Middle-Earth

Last week, we went on an excursion to Toledo. Thankfully, high school football trips made me an expert at sleeping on a bus, and the 7 hour car-ride to college has made me an expert at long car rides. With these two powers combined, the trip was pretty painless. Before arriving in Toledo, we stopped at Consuegra in La Mancha to see the Don Quijote windmills. In other words, we drove up to the top of a hill so the girls could take photos of each other looking over the Spanish countryside. But it was still pretty cool. After our quick stop there, it was a short trip to Toledo. As we pulled in front of the city, I learned something incredibly cool: the entire city is surrounded by a wall. This was a legit medieval city, with walls and gates and watchtowers. Having always loved stories with knights and swords and castles, this was pretty awesome for me. One of my favorite stories of that nature is The Lord of the Rings. The day before we left I learned that the swords and the One Ring itself were made in Toledo for the movie trilogy. So for those of you keep count at home:

1. I've been to a location where Star Wars was filmed.

and

2. I went to the town that made the one ring and all the swords used in the Lord of the Rings.

Conclusion: Spain is another circle of nerd-heaven. After checking into our hotel, I immediately went out shopping to see all the LotR stuff I could find in this wonderful city. The first thing I bought was an Anduril letter-opener that has "Toledo" written on it. The second thing I bought was a replica of the ring on a chain. Both things made in Toledo. After winding up and down the narrow and steep, cobble-stone streets of Toledo, we went to the Iglesia de Santo Tome to see a huge painting by El Greco, "El Entierro del Senor de Orgaz". It was much cooler to see this wall-sized painting in person than just as a projection on the whiteboard at school. After going there we went to a monastery, which was also pretty cool. After that we had more free time, so I went to more shops and walked around. The group of people I was with ended up going to the edge of the city right at sunset. Seeing the sunset over the medieval walls of the city was something spectacular that I'll probably never see anything like again. We then continued shopping, and I bought a little "puñal" (too long to be a dagger but too short to be a sword) hand-made in Toledo with certification from the town hall of Toledo. Afterwards, I went back to my hotel to eat a sandwich I had saved for dinner, and then went out with a big group of friends for pizza. I didn't get pizza since I just ate, so I just downed 1.5L of water. I was a bit dehydrated from all the walking and climbing hills.

The next day we went to the cathedral, which was awesome. We got to see another El Grego painting, "El Expolio". Same as before, much cooler in person. After, we got more free time in which I  bought some gifts for the family and my traditional magnet for my collection.

What did I learn in Toledo?

Not much about art or culture. Instead I learned something about myself....again. I feel like that's all I ever learn here. Too bad I don't have tests on that instead of grammar. But I learned that whatever I'm passionate about, I can't be afraid to show it. I love LotR. I was so happy when I found a good-looking ring replica for just 10 euros, but I was really hesitant to wear it. In middle and high school when I would do something like that, I just got picked on or made fun of. And yet, many people told me that since I had it, I had to wear it. I thought about it. and I put it on. And I felt great because it was me. I'm glad that the friends I've made here know I love "nerdy" things and just love me even that much more for it, and encourage me to embrace it. I'm not going to let other people's negative opinions affect how I act, or how I define myself, ever again. If someone treats me poorly cause I'm doing something "stupid", "nerdy", or "uncool", well that's just too bad. Their opinion doesn't matter to me, because the people who love me, those who really matter, won't care. This is just from the model that God has set. He doesn't see anything as "nerdy" or "dorky", or "cool" or "uncool", and he loves me whether I like LotR and Star Wars, or whatever might be something "cool". That's just one aspect of unconditional love, the love that we as Christians are called to exhibit. So if you know someone that wants to go to comicon, ask them who they're dressing up as. If you know someone who loves SW, ask them who shot first. How about we just let everyone embrace whatever "nerdy" passions they might have? cause odds are you have one too, and you wouldn't want someone making you feel stupid for having it.

___________________________

Pictures:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152332915017578.1073741833.647277577&type=1&l=e688fc0292

Shared by a Friend in my Spain Facebook Group:

"Exchange is change. Rapid, brutal, beautiful, hurtful, colourful, amazing, unexpected, overwhelming and most of all constant change. Change in lifestyle, country, language, friends, parents, houses, school, simply everything.
Exchange is realizing that everything they told you beforehand is wrong, but also right in a way.
Exchange is going from thinking you know who you are, to having no idea who you are anymore to being someone new. But not entirely new. You are still the person you were before but you jumped into that ice cold lake. You know how it feels like to be on your own. Away from home, with no one you really know. And you find out that you can actually do it.
Exchange is thinking. All the time. About everything. Thinking about those strange costumes, the strange food, the strange language. About why you’re here and not back home. About how it’s going to be like once you come back home. How that boy is going to react when you see him again. About who’s hanging out where this weekend. At first who’s inviting you at all. And in the end where you’re supposed to go, when you’re invited to ten different things. About how everybody at home is doing. About how stupid this whole time-zone thing is. Not only because of home, but also because the tv ads for shows keep confusing you.
Thinking about what’s right and what’s wrong. About how stupid or rude you just were to someone without meaning to be. About the point of all this. About the sense of life. About who you want to be, what you want to do. And about when that English essay is due, even though you’re marks don’t count. About whether you should go home after school, or hang out at someone’s place until midnight. Someone you didn’t even know a few months ago. And about what the hell that guy just said.
Exchange is people. Those incredibly strange people, who look at you like you’re an alien. Those people who are too afraid to talk to you. And those people who actually talk to you. Those people who know your name, even though you have never met them. Those people, who tell you who to stay away from. Those people who talk about you behind your back, those people who make fun of your country. All those people, who aren’t worth your giving a damn. Those people you ignore.
And those people who invite you to their homes. Who keep you sane. Who become your friends.
Exchange is uncomfortable. It’s feeling out of place, like a fifth wheel. It’s talking to people you don’t like. It’s trying to be nice all the time. It’s bugs.. and bears. It’s cold, freezing cold. It’s homesickness, it’s awkward silence and its feeling guilty because you didn’t talk to someone at home. Or feeling guilty because you missed something because you were talking on Skype.
Exchange is great. It’s feeling the connection between you and your host parents grow. It’s knowing in which cupboard the peanut butter is. It’s meeting people from all over the world. It’s having a place to stay in almost every country of the world.
It’s cooking food from your home country and not messing up. It’s seeing beautiful landscapes that you never knew existed.
Exchange is exchange students. The most amazing people in the whole wide world. Those people from everywhere who know exactly how you feel and those people who become your absolute best friends even though you only see most of them 3 or 4 times during your year. The people, who take almost an hour to say their final goodbyes to each other. Those people with the jackets full of pins. All over the world.
Exchange is falling in love with this amazing, wild, beautiful country. And with your home country.
Exchange is frustrating. Things you can’t do, things you don’t understand. Things you say, that mean the exact opposite of what you meant to say. Or even worse…
Exchange is understanding.
Exchange is unbelievable.
Exchange is not a year in your life. It’s a life in one year.
Exchange is nothing like you expected it to be, and everything you wanted it to be.
Exchange is the best year of your life so far. Without a doubt. And it’s also the worst. Without a doubt.
Exchange is something you will never forget, something that will always be a part of you. It is something no one back at home will ever truly understand.
Exchange is growing up, realizing that everybody is the same, no matter where they’re from. That there is great people and douche bags everywhere. And that it only depends on you how good or bad your day is going to be. Or the whole year.
And it is realizing that you can be on your own, that you are an independent person. Finally. And it’s trying to explain that to your parents.
Exchange is dancing in the rain for no reason, crying without a reason, laughing at the same time. It’s a turmoil of every emotion possible.
Exchange is everything. And exchange is something you can’t understand unless you’ve been through it !"

Are You Not Entertained? Is This Not Why You Are Here?: A Quick Trip to Italica

I don't think my friends that went with me to Italica the other day have ever seen me so happy. I was like a kid in a candy shop that gave out free samples, and the free samples were little bits of pottery.

Italica was THE Roman city to be in if you were in Spain way back when. Like, it was the place to be. Emperors were born there. The third largest arena in the Roman empire is there. The place was legit back in the day.

and it just so happens to be 7 km outside of Seville.

This past Friday was an Andalucian holiday, so we didn't have any classes. In order to avoid sitting in my room all day, I figured I would see what I could get out and do. Bus tickets to Italica weren't even 2 Euros, so I thought it would be a good little day-trip. I was right.

Holy. Stinkin. Moly.

When I went to Israel in December 2011 I fell in love with archaeology, especially of the Roman kind. Friday, February 28th 2014 I fell in love again. Seeing the craftsmanship and engineering prowess of the Romans left me speechless on numerous occasions. As we came to the crest of a hill, I couldn't help but yell out "Oh! The cardo!! and there's the decumanis!!!", and proceed to explain to my friends what those things were whether they wanted to hear it or not. (The cardo is the main street of a Roman city, and the decumanis is the street running perpendicular to it). As I walked down the cardo with my friends, I pointed out how the sides of the streets were lined with broken pieces of pottery, and with enough patience, you could find a nice piece to take home. I found a nice piece that had a decent sized curve to it so that you can dell it was definitely crafted and not just some broken rock. I would've spent more time searching, but my group wanted to keep looking around the site. What took the cake was that 3rd largest arena in the Roman empire I mentioned. That was a sight to behold. As I walked into the arena, my inner Maximus from Gladiator came out. I felt powerful. I saw the stadium not in ruins, but filled with people. The cool air hitting my face as the sun shone unimpeded by any clouds. The only thing I was missing was a sword. This strange sensation of extreme manliness was only increased when I went into the room where the gladiators would wait before entering the arena. I stood in the room and looked around. I then turned around and faced the doorway. I slowly walked out from the room into the dark hallway encircling the stadium and straight out into the brilliant light shining on the floor of the arena. Now that was invigorating. I had to go back and take a video just so I wouldn't forget what it felt like.

For the beginning of the trip, I was Indiana Jones. Seeing the value of the culture and history of the ancients. Towards the end, I was the ancients. I was the armor-clad man's man who fought valiantly in the blood and dirt.

Was I really any of these things? no. I'm not a violent person. I don't even like killing bugs. I don't know how to fight, or at least fight well. But there's something about that place that made me feel very much alive. and it wasn't just in the arena, where I remarked about how many people had died there as I stood facing the water pits. It was also at the top of the hill where the Necropolis would have been, where the cool wind hit my face and the sun shone bright all around. I could see Sevilla off in the distance, but I could also see grassy hills and cypress trees all around me.

I've started re-reading Wild at Heart by John Eldridge, and regrettably I haven't had time to get very far. I did however get through the first few chapters, where he talks about men getting back out into the wilderness and finding the essence of God, His creation, and themselves. I've been stuck in a city for months. Beaver Falls. Kingston. Seville. All cities. Maybe that's a reason I resented moving so much this summer. Yes, Johnson City was a city. but there was space. The roads weren't lined house-to-house. You went through patches where there was nothing but cow fields. The trees for the most part weren't planted around the houses, but the houses around the trees. Even the forests felt like there was room to move around. I've been stuck in a city since July. Yesterday I finally got to leave. Yesterday I felt like I could breathe again. I will never be a "city boy". I will always want my big back yard and forests all around.

Thank you Italica for giving me a breath of fresh air that I've needed for a long time.

"The beating heart of Rome is not the marble of the Senate; it's the sand of the Colosseum." - Gracchus, Gladiator 

Photos ->https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10152316810757578.1073741830.647277577&type=1&l=0d0f6fe5b3

Arena Video -> https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10152316804847578&l=1450733131093659119

Mi Mascota Jirafa

My Pet Giraffe. That's the name of the book I nervously read to 20 some-odd kindergarteners today. The book was in English. I read each page in English, and then translated the gist of what was happening into Spanish, all while holding the book and trying to keep the giraffe puppet on my hand moving. Eventually, I had to hand over the puppet to keep things moving.

For context, today myself and four other students went to the school of our program director's daughter. We led the kids in numerous activities including my aforementioned story, songs to help them learn English, coloring, and more stories and songs. I tried to pull the "ladies first" card for who would start our frivolities, but I ended up leading the first activity. Hence why I was so nervous. While I thought I had trouble understanding the old men I went and played bingo with, they were nothing compared to these kids. I had no earthly idea what they were saying half the time. Mostly cause they're kids and I sometimes can't understand them in English, but also due to grammar worse than mine. Thankfully, they were very aware of that, and were accepting of the fact I couldn't always understand what they were saying. I sat at a little table with 5 kids after I finished my story to color. The kids would comment on my coloring job, asking what colors I was going to use next and other questions. They then wanted to know about me, so I told them I was from New York, but grew up in Tennessee. They had never heard of Tennessee, so I spelled it out for them and drew them a picture. They then asked if I could count to 20 in English. I was a bit nervous, but I managed to get the whole way through pretty well, only pausing a moment after 14.

That's a joke. I aced it like a pro. They then asked to hear me count in Spanish, which I again did just fine. I figured this would be a good chance to throw them completely for a loop. I told them I could count to 10 in German. Little Javier looked at me with amazement and said "Hazlo!" (do it!). I got to 9, but they didn't care. I had won them over.

I'm glad I went. I think it was a unique experience to see a Spanish elementary school that I wouldn't normally have gotten. And hanging out with kids is pretty fun....granted its no longer than an hour and we get to leave them with someone else when we're done.


Also:

Got a 91 on my grammar test.
#BOOM

How do ya like dem apples?

Don't think I've ever done that well on an advanced grammar test.

Let it Go

At first the title would make you think I've had some really deep philosophical break through.

In reality it's just cause I watched Frozen for the first time online today.

It was absolutley magical.

It was a reward for *hopefully* acing my two exams today.

Also got to experience an interesting twist: Mexican food in Spain. Like everything here, it was delicious.

Tomorrow I meet with my intercambio for the first time. Intercambios are students from Spain who are learning English that get paired up with us to help us with our Spanish, and vice versa with their English. Since I don't have a roommate, I like to think of it as an assigned buddy.

I have started to become friends with a good number of the students here. It's nice that now I don't really feel like I have to worry about "tagging along" or basically asking "WILL YOU BE MY FRIEND?!" whenever I would ask where someone was going. So yeah, that's really nice.

La Poesia

Not sure why literature professors in any country like to do this, but they seem to have a thing for assigning impromptu poetry writings in class. After reading the works of Alfonsina Storni we were instructed to write a four-line love poem in five minutes. Here's mine:

"Yo teo veo en mis sueños cuando cierro mis ojos.
Estamos juntos, al lado. Tu estas en mis brazos.
Tu respira ligera me da alegria.
Pero abro mis ojos y todavia estoy solo."

(I see you in my dreams when I close my eyes.
We're together, beside each other. You're in my arms.
Your light breath gives me joy.
but I open my eyes and I'm still alone.)

It got numerous "AWWW"s from the girls in the class, as the professor enjoyed reiterating to me. I don't remember exactly what he said but it was something along the lines of "if you can get 13 girls to do that for your poetry, you'll be just fine."
_________________________________________________

Added 3/2/14

After this we were instructed to write three more poems. Here are mine:

Cuando hay nubes oscuras, tengo luz para ver
El sol todavilla brilla cuando empieze a llover.
En las calles, no camino; en vez de esto yo bailo
por una cosa: estoy enamorado.

---

La esperanza me sale; viene la tristeza.
Camino como un cuerpo, muerto en la tierra
que despertó para buscar algo
que no existe en todo el mundo.

---

Dejame con mis recuerdos de un tiempo pasado
cuando yo te conocia, y te abrazaba en mis brazos
porque has cambiado a una persona diferente
y solo mis suenos ayudan lo que me duele.

As a series, the copy the series of love poems by Storni that go from new love, to the peak of love, down to losing hope, and complete dispair.

I Run So That One Day I Might Run Faster Than That Trying To Kill Me

My host-mom isn't hard to please. As long as I try whatever food she makes, she's happy. If she finally drags it out of me that I don't like something after I shovel down as much of whatever it is as I can without looking in too much pain, she goes in the kitchen and makes me a whole new meal of 3 huge fried pork fillets and french fries without fail. Not to mention the fresh bread that's already always on the table.

To counteract this carb and fat overload, I began running yesterday. My 2ish miles on the treadmill yesterday weren't bad. In fact, I'm starting to think they were kilometers. My 2+ miles outside today were brutal.

Gotta get that beach body for when I come home and never go to the beach.

Quick Anecdote for the Loyal

In my homework assignment, we are working with "Ojala", which is used to express desires past present or future depending on the tense of the verb that follows. We have been given sentences describing situations in which we must respond in an appropriate way using "Ojala".

3.) (Translated) A house is ablaze. There are people inside.

I really want to write this for my answer:

"I wish I had checked for people first before setting it on fire."

Ojala que hubiera buscado personas antes de arderla.

My teacher doesn't check the homework, so I just might. And I kind of hope she calls on me to answer that one.

The End of the Honeymoon

Whenever you travel somewhere new, there's a period of time (usually about a week long) where everything in the country is new and great and Spanish etc. This is much like the honeymoon phase in a relationship/marriage. Well, let's just say Spain has come out of the bathroom with her hair rollers in and no make up on.

Honeymoon's over.

The first week/ week and a half of sun was just a tease. It rained the entire second half of last week, and is going to rain the rest of this week. Whoever said the rain in Spain falls mainly in the plains is a liar. Unless Sevilla is actually in the plains, which in that case would mean said person was spot on. I'm led to believe that this isn't true due to the fact that there's a saying that the "lluvia en sevilla es un maravilla". Basically, it never rains here.

Okay, to be honest I can deal with rain. It's a bit annoying, but I can live with rain. However rain mixed with a week filled with tests, presentations, reading, and general homework is just the cherry on top of a rough week. Not to mention speaking Spanish wears me out completely. Toss on top of that the continual struggle I have with these dang European power outlets (really, why can't we just standardize these things around the world?), and it's just quite the stress ball.

All of that being said, just because the honeymoon is over that doesn't mean I'm not still really enjoying my time here. My plan of eating super healthy while I'm here has gone out the window, but that's okay because the food is so delicious I'd rather eat homemade french fries and whatever else my Senora cooks and go run it off than eat super healthy, be miserable, and then go run on top of that. I've started taking some co-curricular classes. I'm not telling anyone back state-side what it is just for the sake of surprises....or in case I quit. Probably won't quit though since I dropped 50 Euros for the classes.

Homesickness comes and goes. I miss the little things in America, like yogurt that's actually creamy, and cold cereal with milk. I miss the people the most, mostly because I can speak in English to them. Gosh that's gonna feel so good in May when I can speak in English to everyone. I really do relish every moment I get to speak in English to people here. I miss TV. Watching TV is a much more active thing when you have to listen to it in another language.

To conclude, I am learning quite a bit, and my Spanish gets better each day. I've figured out that once I get the more obscure verb tenses down and expand my vocabulary, I'll be set. Even in the rain, I still love Sevilla and I'm looking forward to the next 12 or so weeks I have here.

The First Thing I Learned in Spain

While I came to this realization a few days ago, each day it gets further reinforced in my mind:

I am not fluent in Spanish.

This generally is not a good thing when I'm in a country that speaks Spanish. Sure I speak enough to get by, and can understand a bit more than I can speak. But there's just something that's still uncomfortable about speaking Spanish 24/7, and it's because I really can't do it. My vocabulary isn't as expansive as it needs to be for me to say everything I want to say. My grammar isn't good enough to be clearly specific which kind of past-tense I want to talk about. All this being said: I am not fluent in Spanish.

This made me stop and think about the ever-increasing number of Hispanics in the US. A whole lot of people get all up-in-arms over the fact that they prefer to speak Spanish, and often times can barely speak any English. "This is 'murica! They need to learn English!" Granted this may be true, in that English is the primary language spoken in the US and that it's necessary to be able to communicate with natives in their own language. But to the people who get upset when they hear Hispanics speaking in Spanish to each other at Wal-mart, just shut up. In a country where the family I live with doesn't speak barely a word of English, I relish each moment I go out for coffee with my new American friends and can speak English to them. If my family were to come here, I would not insist they speak Spanish to me lest they offend the Spaniards around me. I have come to have a new level of appreciation for what immigrants go through when they move to a new country that speaks a different language. Again, I think it's important that they do learn English just because in reality it would make their lives in America a whole lot easier (just as learning Spanish will make my life easier here), but I think I'm gonna start cutting them a bit of slack.

I wouldn't want a Spaniard to come up to me and yell in my face that "This is Spain!" and that I need to learn Spanish if I want to live here. I already know I need to do that, but good gravy does my head hurt after a day of speaking and hearing nothing but Spanish.

Walking Among the Stars: A Reflection on a Galaxy Far, Far Away

So yeah, this post might be completely dedicated to the fact I went to the Plaza de Espana today. It's literally just down the street and across the river from my house, and for some reason I didn't feel the urgent need to go down and see it. Today after guys night/afternoon we finished up right around it, so I figured I would pass it to get home. I walked up from behind it but the minute I turned the corner to walk in front of it I did fall quiet in a sense of loving awe. Sure, it's a beautiful building and all, but that's not why. There is a brief scene in Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones that was filmed there. When Anakin takes Padme into hiding to escape the seperatists, they flee to her home planet of Naboo. The first thing they do when arrive is go into the royal palace, seen here:

While a bit of editing was done to the actual building, you can see the same columns here:


That's me. In the same place they made Star Wars. Most people who read this know me pretty well. For those who don't, Star Wars has been one of, if not my absolute favorite movie(s) of all time ever since I was little. I remember when I went to blockbuster with my dad and we rented the VHS to watch together for the first time. I remember seeing Episode III when it came out in theaters with my church. But Star Wars is more than just a cherished memory for me. Star Wars got me through quite a bit as a child. I was (apparently) very frightened about getting my hair cut. The reason I say "apparently" is because I don't remember that. All I remember is when I got my hair cut for the first time after moving to TN (so I was like 4 or 5 or something), I thought that the buzzer sounded like a lightsaber. Star Wars kept me from breaking down like I had done so many times before.

I shared this picture on my facebook wall today that I saw another friend post:



While I loved Star Wars as a child, I do not find my continued love of it childish. In Star Wars, I found a world where the good guys won, even against the odds, and the knight saved the princess (whether or not he knew she was his sister). I found that villains, no matter how twisted, have good somewhere deep inside. I found a sanctuary my imagination could recreate when I was afraid. Why should I have been afraid? I was a Jedi. The husband of my 3rd grade teacher had taken the role of my "jedi master" and would let me play with the lightsabers he kept in his classroom. If I saw the man today, I would more likely than not bow and call him Master Pugh. Star Wars gave me tangible examples of perseverance, bravery, and good. So to me, Star Wars has never been just some movies, or books, or video games or toys. Second to God and the Bible, I'd say it's been one of the key things in my life that has shaped how I see the world. And I have no shame in that. That's why as a 19 year old college junior-senior-whatever, I still wear Star Wars t-shirts, and quote the movies, and buy the legos, and watch the movies with an attention-span the likes of which only adderall can supply. If loving Star Wars is wrong, I never want to be right. Ever.

Being able to go here today just brought me that much closer to the world(s) I've loved. For me, if nothing else good happens this trip, it's made it all worth while.

(That's me, btw, fighting Vader)

My First Fin de Semana: Too Much Dancing; Not Enough Talent

So Friday night, like in the US, is a big night for young people in Spain. I figured I'd see what all the hubub was about. After siesta I went out with Tato my host brother to go shopping for something to wear. Mostly this is because I don't have any dressy shoes with me. It took a while to find a pair that were just classy enough and not too expensive. Before finding my shoes I did find what I thought was a really cool T-shirt. After buying it and taking it home, I read what I thought was the famous Tolkien quote "Not all who wander are lost". Well, it wouldn't be a foreign country without typos in English. What it actually says is "not all who wanders are lost". But it was 6 euros, so I can't complain. If anything now I just look like an ignorant German. But I did manage to find a nice pair of very European looking shoes for just about 25 euros. I enjoyed my little outing since it let me talk to my hermano more and ask questions about the city and culture. He talks very fast and doesnt enunciate, so it can be difficult to understand, but we make it work. From about 10:30-11:30 I watched Revenge of the Sith in Spanish on TV like I did AotC the other day. Then I got all gussied up to go to the discoteca, which is basically a club. I met up with some girls from my group and we ventured out in search of nightlife. We found a discoteca and went inside. The bouncer guy stamped our wrists with a tacky-tourist-y stamp that in english read "I love Spain". But apparently my shoes passed the test cause he let me in with a smile and general Spanish friendliness. (some discotecas won't let you in if you aren't dressed up to snuff). Basically it was a narrow, crowded room with a bar and minimal seating. So my group and I just found a place to stand and kinda took it all in. The girls were content to dance in place and talk to whatever Spanish guys introduced themselves. I just kinda observed everything and occasionally moved to the beat when the girls would try to get me to dance. Dancing like that isn't quite my thing, and I'm not looking to pick up any girls, so I didn't really have any motivation to go talk to anyone except my group. One of the Spanish guys who was talking to the girls did introduce himself to me, but that was the only interaction we had. I guess I just wasn't quite his type, which I'm okay with. But also since I'm not into drinking, the three things that would make someone want to go to a discoteca were of no interest to me. I don't club-dance, drink, or talk to random strangers. We eventually left and made our way to our respective homes.

Yesterday (saturday) the school had a scavenger hunt you could do around the city. A good number of people showed up, but as I expected, I was the only guy. We all split up into groups of 4-5 of people we didn't know as well (I hate when people do that. "get into groups...with someone you haven't met yet." the old bait-and-switch) We had 22 sites in Sevilla we had to find, and take pictures of us in front of them. We started at 10:30 and ended at 5. My group found 12. So did another group. We tied for 1st and went to a tie breaker. Originally it was trivia, but neither I nor the girl I was up against could spit out a correct answer. Then, naturally, the worst happened. Someone suggested a dance-off. Like, really ladies. Some of you went to the discoteca with me. You know what I'm capable of, and it's not much. The odds were stacked against me. But I adapted the Han Solo mentality of "never tell me the odds" and stood my ground. Actually, that's a lie. None of the girls in my group wanted to do it, and I didn't talk to strangers and haul my tired butt and sore legs all through Seville to come in 2nd place. I did want any man would do and strutted whatever stuff I could find. While I wouldn't have made it on a dancing TV show, I think the comedic appeal of watching an awkward 6'2" guy flail his body around to music is what kept me alive. What ended up killing me was that the other groups decided who won by cheers. Naturally, what girl is gonna want to scream their heads off for whatever it was I did? They'd look crazy. It was surprisingly close, but I lost. The winning team got a night at the movies on the school's ticket. I would've really enjoyed that, but whatevs.

I came home, watched the Sevilla v. Levante futbol game, and called it a night. Next week I'm gonna go find a church to attend while I'm here. I'm using this Sunday to kind of pull myself together, get focused, and such. I'm also hoping that some of the people who went to church today can tell me about what one they went to, and I can decide from there which one sounds like a fit for me.

Please be praying for me as this week begins my first full week of classes. I have already found myself getting very tired from listening to and speaking Spanish all day, every day. We're not allowed to speak English in the school, but its such an old habit of mine (lol) I find myself naturally responding to people in English and having to stop myself. I can also begin to feel the beginnings of homesickness begin to set in. I've never spent more than a 10 days away from home or college, so this will be difficult for me. I don't do change well as I learned in 2013, and there is almost nothing here similar to home. I also really haven't made any friends yet. Most people are friends with their roommates, and since I don't have one I don't get someone who pretty much has to be my friend. Also I think cause it's mostly girls its a little weird to tag along with a bunch of them, and I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable, but I almost literally have no other options. The guys live on the other side of town.

All that to say, just be praying for me in this whole thing, cause I am really enjoying it, and I would really like it to stay that way. This is a wonderful opportunity I have, and my worst fear is that I don't take full advantage of the wonderful blessing God has given me.

Las Guerras de las Galaxias, and Other Things I've Done So Far

Well these past two days have been quite the experience. Yesterday I got my first chance to navigate in the city by myself and did pretty well. I can now pretty much find my way home from just about anywhere. In the afternoon we broke off into groups for tours of the city. The result  for me of the tour was that I need to get some Spanish clothes cause they're pretty awesome. I'm actually going shopping with my host hermano for dress shoes to wear to the discotecas. I figure I have to try it at least once. I'm not one for the dance-party scene, so more than likely won't make it a weekly event. But at least I'll get some new European shoes. Right now is sale season in Seville, so I'm gonna try to grab a coat and maybe a few shirts too.

Last night I watched Attack of the Clones on TV with my host brother. He had never seen any of the Star Wars films, but was interested when I told him a scene was filmed at the plaza de españa, a site not more than 5 minutes away from our house. The movie was in Spanish, but since I had no life until I was 17 I knew the script by heart. That really helped me to hear new words in Spanish, and instantly know what they meant. Any words I didn't know I would just ask my brother. I really enjoyed explaining the plot of the movie to him since he came in an episode behind and was a little confused.

Meal time has become probably my favorite part of the day. Not only does my señora cook the best food, but it's when I get to really work on my conversational Spanish. I'm not gonna lie, I thought I'd never use some of the vocab I've learned in college about topics like immigration and unemployment, but apparently my host dad loves to talk, and talks about anything and everything. Religion. Government, US and Spain. The pretty news woman on TV. You name it, we talk about it. 

Classes start tomorrow at 9 for me. I have four classes, so I'll be at school from 9-12ish. After class I'll probably come home, do my homework, eat lunch, and then take my siesta. After that is when I will *hopefully* hang out with friends. I would like to start going to the gym after a full week of classes, so that's probably the time of day when I'll go. I think going to the gym would be another great place to practice my Spanish. I'm too tempted to speak in English to my classmates, so I want to spend a lot of time talking to natives. Jaime, the owner of the gym is excited for me to join as I provide an opprotunity for him to improve his English. I also want to take a walk down to the park and see if it's a good setting for long snapping practice. 

Gonna start the semester off strong tomorrow, knock on wood. 

Day 1

I made it to Spain. After waking up at 4 AM on Monday morning and not sleeping again until at least 24 hours later, I made it to Spain. Honestly, the worst part of the whole experience was waiting in Chicago for hours on end. I arrived around 8:30; my next flight didn't leave until 5. After struggling to find my gate for a bit (it wasn't on the monitors cause I was just a tad early. Iberia airlines wasn't even set up at the gate at the time) I hopped from chair to chair for changes of pace while I amused myself with Pokemon and my new Star Wars novel. Eventually, people from the SIS group began to arrive. This is where I should say I ran up, introduced myself, and began discussing the wonders that awaited us in Seville. Instead I sat quietly with my book. Eventually my phone began to die so I had to move to plug it in. This led to my first social interaction of the day since 9 AM when I told the flight attendant for Air Tokyo that I wasn't getting on the plane since power outlets are prime real estate in airports. Eventually the other student from Geneva arrived, so I had a familiar face to talk to. The next bit of socializing took place on the plane. I talked to the girl I was sitting beside, and my screams of excitement in regards to Lord of the Rings being on the movie list for the flight sparked some conversation with another girl (there's only three other guys even in this group. I'm not seeking out the ladies, they're just literally the majority of people I can talk to). Towards the end of the flight, after watching two movies, beating the computer in chess, playing a bunch of other in-flight games, and watching our flights progress, I began to loosen up quite a bit. This is mostly since I hadn't slept the entire 8 hour flight.  We landed in Madrid in the early morning, which was weird because it was super dark out and felt like night. But the sun eventually came up, so it actually was morning. There we waited some more until our flight to Seville left. After well-over 24 hours without sleep, my body went on autopilot and I was out cold the entire flight from Madrid to Seville. It was only a 45 minute nap, but it was good nonetheless. After getting off the plane I endured the usual panic of "what-if-my-bag-isnt-here?", but as always my bag showed up in one piece (which is a big deal cause I forgot to lock it). Its purple color got me quite a few comments (thanks MOM). I think a girl actually picked it up because she thought it was hers. But anyway, we all loaded up into buses and headed out to be picked up by our host families. Right off the bat the director lady tells us that greetings are done with "besitos" (little kisses). Its the usual european kiss-the-air-beside-their-face. Just great. I just met these people and I have to get all up on them. I was okay with that for the mom of the family. Wasn't expecting it for the 23-year old daughter. Thankfully, I'm super suave and just kinda rolled into like I knew I was supposed to do that. Also thankfully, guys just shake hands. Right off the bat though when Marga (mom) started speaking to me,  my brain looked like this:

WE THREW OUT THE SPANISH!!!

I've only been here a few hours and conversing with the family has been quite the chore. Very fun when we get on a roll of understanding each other; very awkward when I have no idea what a word means they say. They've already taught me some new words like "to hunt" which I've since forgotten, "ciervo" = deer, some other words the dad (Sera) taught me that again I've forgotten, and told me which Seville futbol team to root for. After a wonderful lunch of potatoes, bread and meat, the family took a siesta, which I think is the most wonderful thing ever done. They literally just stop everything to chill for a bit. The dad even comes home from work for it. After a brief battle with the wi-fi, I'm all hooked up and ready to go. If I do anything else tonight, it will probably be checking out the gym that the son (whose nickname is something like "toto", but im not sure) and daughter (also named marga) go to. Tomorrow starts orientation!

Nos vemos!