First thoughts of being Home

Well, I'm home.  As the end of the program and the subsequent end of my year-long journey approached, I did my best not to allow myself to lament at how quickly time had passed or much I would miss Madrid or my friends once I was home, nor did I fall prey to the potentially-depressing compare-and-contrast of life in the States and life elsewhere.  Instead, I went through each week, each day, each moment, as though it were independent – a moment to be enjoyed as it was, void of deep contemplation about how I'd look back upon it in the future or how much I'd awaited it.  Even on the plane home, I did not think much about America.  I didn't make a list of foods I was eager to eat or people I was excited to see.  My adventure was not ending.  I spent a lot of time alone this past semester, mostly of my own choice.  I lost my phone in Rome and I decided to forego getting a new one for the final six-or-so weeks I was there.  I think the experience spurred on an extra level of awareness and perspective.  As the day approached when I would again land in America, this time with no set plans to leave anytime soon, I tried not to grow despondent, and instead realized that it's not where you're at, but who you are and what you've got.  Anywhere you go, you can meet that person or have that moment of overwhelming exultation.  

Home's been a little slow so far.  It seems nothing has changed.  This is a good thing, in some ways, but it also exemplifies a static lifestyle which is quite different than the one I've been living for the past year.  I'm eager to get my summer going, but before I get too far into this next adventure, I'd like to reflect on the last month, which, filled to the brim, was exhausting and perfect.  

Before spring break, I hadn't left Madrid since arriving.  The last month or of my Spanish vida was essentially the antithesis of that.  Every day in Spain was a special one, each an improvement on the previous.  My weekends, though, were for the most part spent away from my host-country.  The trips were meant to be somewhat spread out for a nice balance of time both in and out of España, la puta madre, but a certain somebody, the often very calm and collected but occasionally disruptive and ill-tempered, Mr. Eyjafjallajökull, had different plans in mind.  

The volcano erupted about mid-week as Thursday the 15th of April approached, in which Matt, Ricky and I were scheduled to fly out on our long-awaited journey to Amsterdam.  I didn't think too much about the potential consequences of the eruption, but when, on the morning of the 15th, I read on Iberia's website that all flights out of Spain were cancelled, I was devastated.  I had been so very pumped to go, all set with a list of parks, museums, coffee shops, tulip markets, etc. to see, and I was all of a sudden left with an unrelenting, helpless situation.  There was simply nothing we could do to get to Amsterdam, or anywhere.  It was a frustrating morning, but, luckily, my intuitive mother did me a huge favor and contacted the airline for me and was able to maneuver a switcheroo for two weekends later.  Matt and Ricky likewise switched their flights, so, presto, another weekend in Madrid was in order.  It was a bit of a slap in the face that those who had left a day earlier were so unfortunately stranded in Paris, London, Munich etc., but it turned out that many of them had to catch über-long bus-rides back to Spain in the end.  So it all worked out, but, like I say, it certainly made the last few weeks much more jam-packed.