As I was sitting at a long table in the cafeteria, surrounded by 35 or so people I didn’t know, all of us eating paella and a salad dressed in only olive oil, I knew I was in the right place. I had dreamt about this ever since I was little—taking a semester off from all the essays, midterms, and chaos of college to study abroad in Spain. When I was younger, my dad would share stories of his time studying abroad in England: the times when he and his friends would stay in sketchy hostels, or the story where they got scolded by the police for roasting a live chicken over a fire on the side of the road because they didn’t have money to pay for dinner. I knew my experience would be different than his, but I was still excited.
Being a type-A, eldest daughter who needs to plan to survive, going to Spain was a huge mindset shift for me. People in Spain are, let’s just say, laid back: “¡No pasa nada, tranquilo!” (Don’t worry, relax!) is a common saying here. I had to take a big step back from having every detail documented in my mind or on a spreadsheet to going with the flow, usually not having a clue what was going on.
The one thing that was consistent was our routine on school days: Wake up, eat a breakfast of eggs, cereal, pan con tomate (tomato sandwich), and fresh-squeezed orange juice, and head to class. In conversation class, no matter the topic of discussion for the day, someone would always bring it back to American politics, and we would end up in a full-blown debate by the end. On review days, we would always play the online game Blooket, and my friend Dana would win, without fail, and no matter how hard the rest of us tried. In the afternoons, we would take a siesta after a late lunch. On Wednesdays, we would board the bus to go to the Spanish version of Walmart, Carrefour, and then make our way over to the mall to do some shopping. We soon became accustomed to this wonderful, laid-back life, and every once in a while, one of us would remind the group how lucky we were to be galavanting around Europe while our classmates back home were suffering through midterms or finals.
Aside from my Spanish conversation, composition, and grammar classes, I also took a flamenco class. I have always been incredibly uncoordinated and unconfident when it comes to dancing, so this really pushed me outside my comfort zone. Each class, our teacher, Chelo, would show us another small part of the routine. Often, we would end up facing the opposite direction or simply laughing as we couldn’t keep up.
Almost every Friday, we had the day off from school, which allowed us to do quite a bit of traveling. Traveling was fun, but it wasn’t easy to get to the airport unless you chose the expensive option of paying for a taxi straight there. First, you had to walk about 45 minutes to get from the school to the train station in our little town of Sagunto. But the walk wasn’t straightforward either. Most of it was along a main road, so we would walk in a single file line, trying to avoid getting hit by the cars flying by. Instead of taking the longer route on the main roads, we always opted for the drainage tunnel that took us under the freeway. This tunnel was small; you had to crouch down to make it all the way through, and there were cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. It wasn’t so bad during the day, but at night, we would all fight to avoid being the first or last person through the tunnel. Once you finally made it to the train station, it was a 45-minute ride to València-Estació del Nord. The final leg of the trip involved finding the metro station and taking a 20-minute ride to finally arrive at the airport. By the time you got there, it was exhausting to think about boarding a flight and beginning the next part of your adventure.
As college students traveling on tight budgets, we always flew Ryanair. It’s a great airline, affordable and convenient, but they were strict on luggage. I’ll never forget the times when we accidentally bought too many souvenirs and would have to layer five sweaters on top of our clothing to make our backpacks fit in the little baggage sizer box that seemed to shrink every time you had to use it. One time, I tried to hide my purse under my coat, hoping to pass as pregnant to avoid having to shove my satchel into my backpack that was already stuffed a little too full. I suppose my fake belly was a little too lopsided, because the lady at the front of the line knew I wasn’t pregnant and made me stuff my purse in my bag anyway. So much for the attempt.
Our trips usually consisted of a tug and pull between one person wanting to save money and avoiding any activity that wasn’t free, and another justifying “just one more coffee” because, when in Rome! But that’s what made it fun. The friend groups all shuffled around as we figured out who traveled best together and who didn’t. On Monday mornings when everyone returned to school, you could tell who had been on a fantastic trip that weekend and who hadn’t. We were told the stories of losing passports, sleeping in sketchy hostels, and pulling all-nighters on the beach instead of paying for a hotel, as well as the stories of cathedrals, concerts, good food, and shopping—all exhausted but so excited to be exploring.
A few weeks into our semester, the orange trees around campus began to produce fruit. When the cafeteria food wasn’t good, as was frequently the case, a group of us would all hike down to the orange groves and pick to our heart’s content. They were, in my opinion, the best kind of oranges—clementines. I loved picking them in the middle of the day when the sun was beating down on them, becoming so juicy that you would be covered in its juice by the time you finished eating one.
At the end of the semester, as I was sitting on my suitcase trying to make all my souvenirs fit in my small suitcase, I reflected on the last three months. I didn’t even recognize the person that I was back in August; I had changed so much. I had made 35 new friends, improved my Spanish, discovered that being homesick is a choice, and learned to love living in another country. Most of all, I learned that not having a plan is sometimes the best plan. There’s nothing quite like the memories you make traveling through Europe in your 20s on a tight budget. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but this time I’d bring more empty luggage to fill!
The Student Movement is the official student newspaper of Andrews University. Opinions expressed in the Student Movement are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editors, Andrews University or the Seventh-day Adventist church.