So here goes my first post from within the fine country of Spain—picturesque, enchanting, energetic, and, yes, slightly abrasive Spain. Instead of devouring dinner at 6 pm (how early!) and studying between the lagging hours of 2-5, I’ve been engorging late-night tapas, mid-day napping, and visiting Picasso on Museo del Prado’s exquisite, white-marbled walls. Being abroad here in Spain has been phenomenal, to say the least. I am constantly mind-blown by something else about this bull-fighting, flamenco-dancing country—home to custom and culture so different from back home.
I’m part of the Tufts-in-Madrid program in Spain, but the title is slightly misleading. While you often spot me snagging a seat on the Renfe (Madrid's train line), I actually reside in Alcala de Henares, a small city just outside the big-name capital. Unlike the touristy Madrid, Alcala exudes more of an authentic Spanish feel. Clusters of brick apartments with old-style buzzers dot its residential outskirts. Quaint coffee shops, boutiques, and old-style taperías cozily nestle themselves into its buzzing town center. Mixed into Alcalá’s authentic icons are architectural testaments to its historical past—embodied by the few antique churches that tower the city’s layout. But Alcalá’s real claim to fame is that it’s home to Spanish literary genius Miguel de Cervantes. Today, he marks his legacy with a life-size statue squarely planted in the town’s main center—dubbed, rather predictably, La Plaza de Cervantes.
Something that’s stuck out for me here is that, unlike us on-the-go Americans, Spaniards are just so relaxed. Lunch isn’t handed to you in a crumpled paper bag but presented on glass dining-room plates. Passerbys don’t sprint and carelessly nudge but actually wait for flashing-green walking signals, stroll, and converse. American hotspots like Starbucks don’t find a place on Alcala’s historical streets, either. Spaniards don’t want to take their caffeinated lattes to go; they’d prefer to sip slowly in quaint cafeterías, catch up with some amigos, and, if time permits, go for that pastería chocolate on the side. At home, my host mother assures every waking moment is filled-to-the-brim with laughter, often-repeated stories and, of course, savory food. And, when she exclaims how I’ve got to try her tortilla de patata after a few heavy plates, I push away my to-do list and inch my seat back to the table. In Spain, you never say no to food.
Of course, my experience here hasn’t been one big salsa-dancing fiesta—us abroaders don’t get off that easily. As your typical English-babbling American, adjusting to an entirely different culture comes with its own concrete challenges. Even after a month of integration, I can’t help but respond to some Spanish social norms with a googly-eyed huh? I’ll never quite understand why every store insistently padlocks its doors during the hours of 2-5, for instance. Or what exactly the deal is with boxed, unrefrigerated milk. I also learned that smiling at a stranger in the street immediately dubs you a silly old “simpleton.” Whoops.
And, there’s the language barrier, of course. Listening and speaking Spanish all day, every day (with some Spanglish here and there) is draining and yes, super hard! The amount of times I plead “Repita” and “Más despacio, por favor” each day is far too embarrassing to share. But I soon realized that a convenient byproduct of all the stress and humiliation is,yes, steady linguistic improvement. After just a month of chatting with family, intercambios (pen-pals), and our favorite tapas waiters, I already feel Spanish sentences falling more loosely out of my mouth. Now, I can’t help but end all conversations with a catchy “Ta luego!” with often-confused parents included. I’ve started thinking in grammatically imperfect Spanish. I may have even dreamed in Spanish; apparently, that’s when you know you’re really in it.
After only a month’s worth of reflection, I can say this with clear-eyed certainty: plunging headfirst into a foreign culture has been one of most rewarding, character-building experiences of my life. There is nothing quite like becoming completely integrated into an exhilaratingly new society. So immersed into its social norms and distinct odds and ends that you forget, for a brief second, that you’re even abroad in the first place. When I first came to Spain, I was wrapped head to toe to in its wealth of history, art, and culture. Again and again, my ears and eyes were exposed to Spain’s most famous (and infamous) guys-to-know—from the artistically brilliant Goya to the iron-fisted Franco. But only recently did I grasp that I’m more than a Spanish tourist, an indifferent passerby to its heavily layered richness. I’m a student here, a one-semester addition to the very framework of Spanish Alcalá society. By being here, not only am I exploring new depths of history and culture. I’m intimately experiencing it—living it everyday in the very heart of it all. This feeling of cultural immersion, of knowing you’re an asset to a place that once felt so far-off, is so distinctive to the abroad experience. And it’s absolutely surreal.
But what this experience has taught me most of all—a lesson that transcends dates and facts and even art—is how, simply put, to let go. For those that know me, I’m your typical, perfectionist planner. I like to know what exactly it is I’m in for and what’s more, that I’ll sail through without a scrape. But, booking a one-way flight to Madrid isn’t quite a planner’s paradise. With its contrasting culture norms, it’s impossible to plan what’s happening next here in Spain—whether it’s some squeamish food choice or an outlandish catcall. But, with every silly mistake I’ve made thus far, I realize that it's all okay. Abroad is supposed to be challenging. It’s meant to test our brains, minds, and character and yes, push them a little farther than they're used to. With every frustration or confusion comes the looming benefit of learning a little something—about a foreign populace and even about ourselves. Being here, I’ve learned to welcome the challenges as just another, slightly inconvenient, almost-humorous part of it all. So the next time I accidentally order pig ears, or confuse two VERY different Spanish words, I’ll just sit back and laugh. Abroad is supposed to be fun after all.
