It was four years ago today I stepped off the plane from studying abroad in Seville. I might include that my parents were at my side, because I’d told them I wasn’t leaving Spain unless they were coming to retrieve me. While I don’t thank them for actually doing it (I sulked the entire eight hour flight home), I do thank them for instilling the heart of a lion in me.
There are a few reasons as to why I’m writing this:
- It’s an anniversary of one of the most extraordinary experiences I’ve ever had, and I’ve got time to remember.
- After waking up this morning on a friend’s couch in London, I noticed above my head a pleasant water mark that looked like someone climbed a ladder with a brown matte barrel and sketched the outline of Spain. Torture or coincidence, I’ll never know.
- I can’t get Seville, my three roommates, Angeles, my housemother who I thought could blow the roof off our apartment with her snoring, and even our ratty house dog Kiyo who I never once trusted, out of my head.
- Finally, I’m writing to urge students to study abroad, and specifically in Spain. (¡Viva España! is clearly written across my forehead.)
For those of you currently researching a university, and traveling and dipping into cultures might be your thing, check to see if it sponsors a study abroad programme. The department usually falls under “Student Life” or “Campus Life”. Programme lengths of study vary depending on the reciprocal school and country. At St. Bonaventure University where I attended, the department set everything up – from housing to classes, to my visa, to the flight and transportation. If you’re already attending a university that does not sponsor a programme or a programme that suits you, usually, they’ll be able to give you resources to find a school that does.
In addition, my university’s programme was able to offer me one of the endeavors from my long endeavor list; one semester in Spain and another minor under my belt. The whole concept seems quite juvenile now. I left with one more certificate, yes, but I left my heart at that departure gate in June.
Seville is breathtaking. Andalucians, the natives, are social butterflies and embrace their customs and culture as if it’s the only thing they have to hold onto. Their parks, museums, and art galleries are unmatchable. If you’re a night owl, welcome to the nightlife mecca complete with Flamenco dancing, festivals and botellóns (drinking in the streets). For a study abroad spotlight in my university’s newspaper, I wrote of Seville, “Students declare it a city of oranges in the south of Spain where the words “fiesta” and “siesta” have become the only words to live by.” The last time I heard, students still consider it this.
It was certainly a time I took for granted but never wanted to, and this existence I once lived I’m finally learning from. I wasn’t sure when it was going to hit me, the “all-encompassing lesson learned” of my time abroad, but it hit me today like a brick. Seville was six months of absolute absurdity, liberation, and more importantly, self-discovery.
Absurdity because language barriers are one of the funniest things I’ve ever encountered. Repeatedly, I would tell Spaniards things I didn’t mean to tell them. Once I told a 12-year-old boy during an Easter brunch in front of his parents and relatives that he was a cat (I meant to call him handsome) and that I hated his t-shirt (I actually loved it). Later when mulling over their discomfort with my remarks, I realized that I’d mistaken both an adverb and noun.
Liberation simply because I was a nineteen year-old college student, and the only care I had in the world was being able to find a seat on the city bus, and pondering that now, well, it wasn’t something that kept me up at night.
Some self-discovery came early on. After a trip to Aracena, a town built on caves, I found that I wanted to make travel an occupation. I decided I’d be a locomotive. Though I am somewhat, traveling a serious facet of my life, my career realities are at the forefront and such a lifestyle doesn’t seem all that possible yet.
The lesson at the end of all my traveling days? To wave to everything sensational I find and have to leave. I’m going to make a conscientious effort to remember to remember. To be grateful, which I guess makes this also an appreciation piece.
Thank you, Spain, for being my lotusland and somewhere I’ll always run to. Thank you, for the aleatory connections I had with the women of 14 Juan Pablo, 3 izquierda in 2006. Thank you, Angeles, for ironing my underwear and cooking tapas that tasted like Heaven, and even Kiyo, for never allowing me the pleasure of sleeping with the door open on balmy nights. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for putting up with my paltry company on that 747 you both couldn’t wait to get off. Thank you also for the meaning of unconditional!
So on my ending note, I ask you to dive into the study abroad life. It’s not a question of whether your loved ones will come get you, they’re going to have to.
Madelyn Fitzpatrick – “Studying Abroad In Spain”
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It was four years ago today I stepped off the plane from studying abroad in Seville. I might include that my parents were at my side, because I’d told them I wasn’t leaving Spain unless they were coming to retrieve me. While I don’t thank them for actually doing it (I sulked the entire eight hour flight home), I do thank them for instilling the heart of a lion in me.
There are a few reasons as to why I’m writing this:
For those of you currently researching a university, and traveling and dipping into cultures might be your thing, check to see if it sponsors a study abroad programme. The department usually falls under “Student Life” or “Campus Life”. Programme lengths of study vary depending on the reciprocal school and country. At St. Bonaventure University where I attended, the department set everything up – from housing to classes, to my visa, to the flight and transportation. If you’re already attending a university that does not sponsor a programme or a programme that suits you, usually, they’ll be able to give you resources to find a school that does.
In addition, my university’s programme was able to offer me one of the endeavors from my long endeavor list; one semester in Spain and another minor under my belt. The whole concept seems quite juvenile now. I left with one more certificate, yes, but I left my heart at that departure gate in June.
Seville is breathtaking. Andalucians, the natives, are social butterflies and embrace their customs and culture as if it’s the only thing they have to hold onto. Their parks, museums, and art galleries are unmatchable. If you’re a night owl, welcome to the nightlife mecca complete with Flamenco dancing, festivals and botellóns (drinking in the streets). For a study abroad spotlight in my university’s newspaper, I wrote of Seville, “Students declare it a city of oranges in the south of Spain where the words “fiesta” and “siesta” have become the only words to live by.” The last time I heard, students still consider it this.
It was certainly a time I took for granted but never wanted to, and this existence I once lived I’m finally learning from. I wasn’t sure when it was going to hit me, the “all-encompassing lesson learned” of my time abroad, but it hit me today like a brick. Seville was six months of absolute absurdity, liberation, and more importantly, self-discovery.
Absurdity because language barriers are one of the funniest things I’ve ever encountered. Repeatedly, I would tell Spaniards things I didn’t mean to tell them. Once I told a 12-year-old boy during an Easter brunch in front of his parents and relatives that he was a cat (I meant to call him handsome) and that I hated his t-shirt (I actually loved it). Later when mulling over their discomfort with my remarks, I realized that I’d mistaken both an adverb and noun.
Liberation simply because I was a nineteen year-old college student, and the only care I had in the world was being able to find a seat on the city bus, and pondering that now, well, it wasn’t something that kept me up at night.
Some self-discovery came early on. After a trip to Aracena, a town built on caves, I found that I wanted to make travel an occupation. I decided I’d be a locomotive. Though I am somewhat, traveling a serious facet of my life, my career realities are at the forefront and such a lifestyle doesn’t seem all that possible yet.
The lesson at the end of all my traveling days? To wave to everything sensational I find and have to leave. I’m going to make a conscientious effort to remember to remember. To be grateful, which I guess makes this also an appreciation piece.
Thank you, Spain, for being my lotusland and somewhere I’ll always run to. Thank you, for the aleatory connections I had with the women of 14 Juan Pablo, 3 izquierda in 2006. Thank you, Angeles, for ironing my underwear and cooking tapas that tasted like Heaven, and even Kiyo, for never allowing me the pleasure of sleeping with the door open on balmy nights. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for putting up with my paltry company on that 747 you both couldn’t wait to get off. Thank you also for the meaning of unconditional!
So on my ending note, I ask you to dive into the study abroad life. It’s not a question of whether your loved ones will come get you, they’re going to have to.