El Derbi

I think I have now been to more “subway series” in Sevilla than I have in New York.

Side note:

For those of you non-New Yorkers/non-Americans reading this blog (if there are any of you), the subway series is when the best team in baseball (The New York Yankees, obviously) plays against the other team accessible by the New York City subway, the New York Mets. Upon writing this post, I learned that the original use of this term was for a world series between the two New York teams, but since then has been applied to interleague play.

Last Friday night there was a showdown between the two football teams in Sevilla, Real Betis Balompié and Sevilla Fútbol Club, said by some to be the most violent rivalry in Spanish football, maybe even the whole world. In my retirement from USC Lacrosse, I don’t find myself playing sports much these days, but I still enjoy watching athletic competitions. So I spent the euritos necessary to experience this incredible face-off (more so between the fans than the players) known as the derbi sevillano. I went with a bunch of other Americans who had never been to the derbi before, and we all got into it as though we had been born and raised beticos.

me and Gabi pre-game

Although there are similarities between the derbi and the subway series (two teams from the same city competing in an athletic event) it is really quite a different experience.

For starters, walking through the streets of Seville during a ‘derbi’ is somewhat eerie, like walking through a deserted ghost town. There is virtually no one on the street. Everyone is crowded into bars, or around televisions or computers in their homes. This match is more than just a game between the two teams in Seville. The winner gains bragging rights until the next derbi, and this is very important when it comes to soccer. The Spanish people are very obsessed with soccer, much like Americans are with football or baseball. When people want to find out which team you support, they don’t simply ask, “which team are you a fan of?” but rather eres betico/a or sevillista (roughly translates to are you Betis or are you Seville?). You do not simply support your futbol team; it is a part of your identity.

In New York, almost anyone you ask (who is originally from New York) will say they support either the Mets or the Yankees. There is no middle ground. Although there are many diehard fans, I think it is safe to say the outcome of the subway series is not as significant as the outcome of the derbi here. (Of course, that is because no matter which team wins, the Yankees will always be a better team).

Here in Sevilla, the choice is Sevilla or Betis. No in between.

The last derbi I went to was at the Sevilla stadium, so I had to go in disguise. Unless you sit in the visiting team section, it may actually be life threatening to wear the wrong color in the wrong section. For example, a Betis fan has to wear a red shirt at Sevilla’s stadium to stay alive. The rivalry is so strong that the fans are not even allowed to enter the stadium through the same section. Before the game, when one team sees the other, the taunting begins. And it doesn’t stop.

in disguise at the first derbi

As an American, growing up with different cultural concepts of what children should be exposed to at what age, I would say this is not a good place to bring a young child. But the Sevillanos seem to take the opposite approach. The sooner they learn the importance of supporting their team, and fighting for what they believe in, the better. There are curses thrown around, middle fingers put up (saw a boy of about 8 do that), I even saw one Betis fan pull his pants down and moon the Sevilla fans after Betis scored a goal. People show their support in all different ways: some by doing the sign of the cross, others by throwing chairs when the opposing team scores a goal, others sing lullabies while rocking their newborns to sleep (again the sooner the better when raising a fan). Not a place a child of mine will be until at least his teenage years. But here, for some, football=life.

Istanbu-log

If you ever have an opportunity to travel to Istanbul, take it. Seriously. It is one of the coolest places I have ever been to. I think I say that about a lot of places I travel to, but really, Istanbul is up there on my list.

The journey began on a rainy Wednesday night. It was a long weekend for the residents of Andalucía, in celebration of Día de Andalucia. As always, I wanted to take advantage of my not-only-three-but-four-day weekend to travel somewhere new and exotic. This dream came to fruition when a few of my friends told me they were going to Istanbul. I hopped on board as soon as I could.

In total we were a group of six or seven, depending on the day.  We weren’t all on the same flight, nor the same mode of transportation to get us to those flights, which all took off from Madrid. Some brave souls took the six-hour bus ride; others took the high-speed AVE train. De todas formas, we all arrived Thursday early/late evening and the adventure began right then and there, if not earlier (like when my suitcase broke the moment I stepped out of my apartment building and thus was traveling with a broken rolly bag the whole weekend (see photo below).

broken suitcase

Well, besides that little snafu, the voyage was rather easy. Swiss Air, my new favorite airline, made the experience very comfortable. Between the free, incredibly amazing Swiss chocolate and the friendly multilingual flight attendants (although I’m sure a few of them disliked me for my American tendencies such as asking for a coke refill) dare I say the flight was enjoyable?  Not trying to sound like an advertisement or anything…although customs in Zurich is a pain in the you know what, but that’s a story for another time.

also, this was my view for a good portion of the flight

Ok, back to Istanbul. We arrived at the hostel and right when we checked in we were welcomed by one of the friendliest hostel people I have ever encountered. We arrived a little before 8pm and he told us he was just about finished with his shift and would love to show us around town if we wanted.  We dropped our stuff in our room and freshened up and went exploring with a native! We were all pretty tired from the long day of traveling so we just went out for dinner and then came back to relax at the hostel. We ate what I consider a Turkish pizza, like it might as well have been a pizza but it was on pita bread, and it was delicious. And the food only got better from there.

We woke up the next morning at 8am, not my ideal wake up time, but it was definitely necessary if we wanted to see all the important sites in the three short days we were there. Met up with a Turkish guy one of my friends had met through 8tracks (music sharing website) and he showed us around the town. Example two of how nice and friendly Turkish people are. He could have been really sketchy and dangerous (yes, I know that’s what you are thinking parents but we were a big group in broad daylight). But he was quite the contrary. He was a genuinely good guy. He wanted to show us around the city he grew up in. He asked us what we wanted to see in our time in Istanbul, and also gave us recommendations, and he helped us plan out our days. I’m really happy that he stayed with us for the two full days we were there. When in a foreign city it can be really hard to find your way around, especially when you don’t speak a word of the language. So it was nice to have a personal tour guide, but also just great to get to know a local dude and an awesome DJ...check him out, DJ Batu. 

In our 48 hours together, he not only showed us a lot of Istanbul but also taught us (me at least) a lot about Turkey. Ashamed to admit it but I did not know that Turkey is not a part of the European Union, in fact most of Turkey isn’t even in Europe but in Asia. I blame this embarrassment on the fact that the importance of geography is not stressed in American schools, at least it wasn’t in mine. Or I slept through that unit…

Besides the things Google Maps could have taught me, I also found out that military service is mandatory in Turkey. Never knew that. There is a way to get out of it, however. If you leave the country for employment or studying purposes, you can essentially “defer” your service. If you stay living long enough outside of Turkey, you can pay so that you are never called to service. Of course, only people who can afford it can pay the fee. Our tour guide friend, Batu, told me all about this while we were on our ferry trip from the European side of Istanbul to the Asian side (cool! one city, two continents). All the others had fallen asleep (it was towards the end of the second day) and I, uncharacteristically, was the only one who stayed awake with Batu, with a few others chiming in now and then when they heard something interesting. He told me how he had to decide where he wants to live next year because he can’t stay in Turkey. Naturally, I wondered why, and so began the lesson about Turkish military service.

Separately, I also learned that although Turkey has a reputation for being a conservative Muslim country where it is forbidden to sell/drink alcohol (not true!), only about 40% of the population practices the religion, and I learned that although few, there are Jews (and alcohol) there!

the local beer (don't have pictures of any jews)

Even though the majority of the population isn’t practicing, there are still many signs of Islam being the dominant religion in the country. Living in Spain, I am used to Sunday being the day of rest when EVERYTHING is closed. I was surprised when we were walking around on a Friday afternoon and all the shops were either closed or closing. It reminded me a lot of “siesta” in Spain, but I was pretty sure this Spanish custom hadn’t made its way to Turkey yet. Then, when I saw herds of people making their way to the nearest mosque, or taking off their shoes and laying out mats to pray, it all made a little more sense. Also, I heard the call to prayer, which I remember hearing when I was in Morocco a few years ago, so this time I wasn’t as alarmed as I was back then when I heard Islamic chants throughout the city, beautiful but alarming.

ritual washing of the feet before prayer

stop, drop, and pray (in the gran bazaar)

Also, regarding stereotypes, I was very surprised at how modern and westernized the city was; I would even say it was a little more international than Sevilla (not that Sevilla is known for being international, but it is where I live, so I made the comparison). There were stores from all over the world: The North Face, Zara, Gucci, Prada. These stores juxtapose the local, more “typical” stores: the Gran Bazaar (where I was given a free sample of Turkish delight and then had whispered in my ear that it was an aphrodisiac…), the Spice Market, all street vendors in general. There is a newer, modern part of the city that feels like it is a world away from historic city center.

cool display in the gran bazaar

 

One day we ate lunch at a food court type place inside a mall in the modern part of the city. There were so many options from typical Turkish food, to hamburgers to WAGAMAMA (if I wasn’t in Turkey for only three days I would have gone back to eat there for sure!). Seeing that we had so little time, we wanted to eat as much typical grub as possible. So our big group (think we were all 7 that day) sat down for lunch at the Doner Kebab part of the food court. I looked around and realized we were probably some of the only, if not THE only non-locals eating in this food court. I found it humorous that all of us Americans were eating kebabs, while there were natives at the hamburger stand and the steakhouse and Nathan’s (yes, there was a Nathan’s in Istanbul, Turkey and no there is not one in Spain).

I could go on forever with observations and reflections, interesting anecdotes I learned or experienced, and silly quotes from my travel mates who, along with me, reached delirium shortly after arriving in Istanbul. But I won’t.

I will however leave you with this conundrum of mine. I understand that the White House is called such because of its white colored exterior, and that the Leaning Tower of Pisa has its name because it leans. By this logic, shouldn’t “The Blue Mosque” in Istanbul be, I don’t know, blue. The guidebooks say it has its name because of the blue tiles adorning the walls of its interior (actually gotta give Wikipedia credit for that line), but from what I saw, it wasn’t overwhelmingly blue. Sure it had some blue tiles here and there BUT not enough to warrant the name…see for yourself:

Upon further inquiry, I learned that the name Blue Mosque is only its nickname to tourists; I think whoever coined the name might have been colorblind. In Turkish, the name more appropriately translates to “The Sultan Ahmed Mosque,” named for the Sultan who ruled during the mosque’s construction.

When I went to visit the “blue” mosque, I decided to wear blue so I would blend in.

Oh, and also, if you turn Turkish coffee upside down when you get to the bottom of it, you can see your future.

PS-Please forgive my cheesy post title

PPS-I have a lot of pictures that I promise I will post to facebook one day. and ill link the pictures here. 

PPPS-In the mean time, for your viewing pleasure: HARLEM SHAKIN'

Spanish Ex-SPA-rience

A couple weeks ago I experienced something for the first time here in Spain, a spa treatment. And I decided it was worthy of a post. Normally while I am here I prefer to save my money for things like traveling (see upcoming post about Istanbul), eating out and of course a little bit of shopping (and rent and utilities and all the boring stuff). However, I was given an opportunity (thanks groupon!) that I couldn’t turn down: manicure, pedicure, back massage and facial treatment all for 19€!

I bought the groupon with a couple of other friends. We were going to go together and have a girl’s spa day. Unfortunately bad news broke when we called to make the appointments, the spa could only accommodate two at a time. Since there were five of us we went in two groups of two, and one brave soul had to go in alone.

I was given the last slot of the three appointment times we were given. Having heard nothing from the girls who went before me, I did not know what to expect. I walked over to the place with my time slot buddy (in the pouring rain). We did not know exactly where we were going; we only knew a street address. As the numbers got closer and closer to our destination, the street became more and more deserted, looked like the street belonged to ghost town. I knew we were parallel to one of the most popular hang out spot in Sevilla so I wasn’t nervous or anything like that, it was just a little disconcerting. Also, it was pouring rain so this is really just my perception of my surroundings without really having seen anything because when I walk with an umbrella the only thing I see is the ground two feet in front of me.

So, we finally arrived at our destination, number 89. Good year. Like everything else on the street, it was an unmarked storefront. There was a door but the metal grate that stores put up so no one robs them when they are closed was a little bit covering the door. We tried to open it, but it appeared to be locked. Have I mentioned it was pouring rain? I went around to the other side of the store (it was on a corner), no door there! So, this was the door. But how do you get inside? Duh, the doorbell.

After double-checking that we were in fact in the right place, we rang the doorbell. But the adventure was not over yet.

A cheerful, bubbly Spanish woman with a fuzzy black grandma style sweater opened the door for us. She kindly told us that we would have to wait a little bit because she hadn’t yet finished with our friends. The waiting room was a mixture of what I consider a typical spa waiting room and someone’s living room. Comfortable chairs though, so I can’t complain. Now I don’t know about you, but when I don’t know exactly what I am about to experience, I get a little anxious. So when that “little bit” I had to wait turned into half an hour…you can only imagine.

Finally it was my turn! I went into a room with aforementioned bubbly Spanish woman’s compañera. I saw a massage table so I thought I would get my massage and facial in this room and then get transferred to the other room for the manicure/pedicure. Well, I was right indeed about this being the massage/facial room, but little did I know this would also be the manicure/pedicure room. The whole 90-minute treatment on the massage table!

I got a very relaxing back rub from the compañera, lights off and heat on. Then the other lady came in and said she was going to take over to do the facial. Turned off the heat, turned on the lights and exposed the hospital white walls. Maybe I am just spoiled from the past spa experiences I have had, but for me, ambience is somewhat important. I was relaxed from the back massage and then immediately jolted into another state of consciousness. I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy the facial, I really did, but I prefer the lights to be dimmed and relaxing ocean sounds in the background while I am in a spa. But this is partially my fault for expecting a “spa” experience. After all the groupon did advertise it as a “wellness mix”, whatever that means…

I am not sure if I am accurately expressing my experience. When I read over this blog, it seems like I didn’t enjoy myself, but really quite the contrary.  I had a great time.

Fuzzy sweater lady had a personality that one might find on a TV land sitcom, reminded me a little of Lucy from I love Lucy.  It seemed like every five minutes she was getting up to fetch something she had left in the other room: her glasses, the acetone, face cream etc. She also repeatedly put her glasses down somewhere, couldn’t remember where, and since she couldn’t see without her glasses couldn’t see where in the room she had left them! It is beyond me why someone who can’t see without glasses would take them off. I suppose we all have our quirks.

Not surprisingly (given that my appointment started half an hour late), there was some prisa (rushing) towards the end of my appointment. So there’s me lying down on a massage bed, having my fingernails painted by one lady, and toenails painted by another. I was asked what color I wanted my nails painted but in the end it didn’t really matter what I wanted. I asked what my options were and Lucy said I’ll bring you some choices. Turns out if I didn’t want green or transparent, I had two option, red or purple. Quite the change from the 150 options I have when I go to a nail salon in the USA. Made my life a little easier though. For anyone who hasn’t ever gotten a manicure with me, I usually spend about 15 minutes deliberating over which shade of purple I want as if it is the last manicure I will ever get. So I chose red. Well, when your fingernails and toenails are being painted at the same time, surprise surprise, they can’t both be the same color. So it was, purple on the fingers and red on my toes. Never been one to match my hands to my toes anyway.

USC MADRID in Sevilla

Yesterday I went back in time. I spent the day with 25 USC students and two professors. USC Madrid makes a trip once a semester to visit Sevilla so the students get to know another, important part of Spain. Since Lette is better at keeping in touch with people than I am, she had been in contact with the program coordinators (yes, for those of you who didn’t know, Lette and I did know each other before coming to Sevilla, we both went to USC and studied abroad in Madrid) and they kept her updated about when they would be in Sevilla in the spring semester.

They invited us to join their Saturday city tour which included a trip to the Museo de Bellas Artes and Plaza del Toros, two places in the city that I have passed by one million times (but pretty sure I’ve never actually visited). It was great to be able to go to the fine art museum with the USC art history professor. Unfortunately, when I studied abroad, due to scheduling conflicts, I wasn’t able to take his class. For me it was a real treat to be guided through the museum by a professor that is not only extremely knowledgeable about art, but also extremely enthusiastic about sharing his knowledge. As my parents told me multiple times in college, a good professor is the most important factor in choosing a good class, even more so then interest in the subject.  And now almost two years after graduating college, I finally really understand what they meant by that.

Paco, the art history teacher, is one of the most enthusiastic and intelligent professors I have ever heard. He guided us through the museum showing us the most important paintings, explaining the history of the artist, of the painting in general and the time period in which it was painted. Usually, when I am in a museum I look at my watch every three minutes because I am so bored. I hardly noticed we had spent an hour and a half going around the museum. I was so happy to be learning again in a “classroom” type environment, it has been so long.  I noticed a lot of the students got bored while we were visiting the museum, and I just wanted to tell them to try to appreciate how lucky they are to have such a great teacher because sooner or later they will miss it. But, I didn’t say that. Instead I decided to listen and learn as much as I possibly could because lucky for me I didn’t have to scribble all the facts down to study for a test next week!

After the museum we strolled over to the Plaza de Toros, where they have a bullfighting museum and you can walk around the bullring. We took the necessary café con leche break and then continued our day. I don’t think I mentioned that the day started at 10:30 AM on a Saturday. I can’t even remember the last time I woke up that early on a Saturday.

At the Plaza de Toros, we did a guided tour with a really great tour guide. I love when I get good tour guides because really it is just a question of luck. Everyone pays the same amount for a guided tour, and the guide can really make or break one’s opinion of a place. Our tour was in English and Spanish. It came in handy that I understand both languages because I realized the tour guide was giving different information in each language. Sometimes she would forget to say something she had said in Spanish in English, and vice versa. So the people on the tour who understood both languages ended up learning the most.

After a morning full of learning and being on our feet, USC treated us to an amazing I don’t know how many course lunch at La Taberna del Alabardero. This is a restaurant that I walk past almost everyday on my way to work and always thought was a hotel. It is also “la escuela de hosteleria”, which I think means something like hospitality school. I think since I always see the word “hosteleria” outside the building, I just assumed it was a hotel because hostel and hotel look similar. I’m not sure. It is in a really fancy old building that used to be a palace, home to a wealthy Sevillian family. The inside is even more gorgeous than the outside, and the food as delicious and beautiful as the décor of the building.

We ate a typical three-hour lunch that consisted of three courses of appetizers and a main course and dessert. To start, to share we were given paté and bread chips, tortillitas de camarones (fried shrimp pancakes) and croquetas filled with something delicious and unidentifiable. Then, each person got a bowl of seafood rice, something like paella but also with broth. Not sure what it was exactly but I know it was really yummy. By the time my main dish came I was so full I could hardly eat it. Had I known all the appetizers would be fish/seafood based, I might not have chosen fish for my main course (we had a choice between fish and meat). Still, being full has almost never stopped me from eating when good food is put in front of me (or any food for that matter) and yesterday was no exception. Then dessert…something like cheesecake but not as good. To avoid having to be rolled out of the restaurant I decided not to eat the cake and just stick with coffee to help the digestion process.

At lunch we sat at a big table with about 10 students and the two professors chatting about our experiences and theirs, answering questions about our lives in Sevilla, why we decided to come here to teach, how we were enjoying it and so on. I was really happy to be able to talk about my experience here with the students because I remember when I was in their position and even when I was still living in Madrid, all I could think about was how I would be able to get back to Spain. And the students for the most part seemed really interested in what we had to say.

It was a great day. Made me feel like I was back at USC for a little while, tuition footing the bill for our museum entrances and food. But also, just being in a learning environment, with other people who share similar interests with me. I found out that one of the girls is staying at the same home stay I stayed in. Jealous. I hope Christina (my study abroad roommate) and I remain our host moms’ favorites but I am happy that someone else gets to experience their generosity, kindness and good cooking.

Alternative Carnaval

 

Being a Jew, I don’t really know all that much about Christianity. But I know that Easter is a really big holiday, and lent is somehow involved with that holiday, although lent begins 40 days before Easter (mas o menos). Well lent (just speculating here) means that you have to give up something that is important to you, and therefore must commence with a big party. In some countries like New Orleans (okay some cities), this celebration takes the form of Mardi Gras. For some reason the rest of the glamorous USA has not caught on to this incredible tradition (I hear it is incredible but I’ve never been myself). And in many other countries around the world, the beginning of lent is marked by carnaval.

In Spain, the biggest carnaval celebration is in Cadiz (I think). Many people from Sevilla flock to Cadiz to celebrate (to drink on the street and dress up in costumes, much like adult Halloween in the States). Now I really love dressing up. I have always loved Halloween and costume parties in general, always calls for a good time… 

But for some reason, neither this year nor last, the festivities in Cadiz haven’t really caught my attention. A costume party YES A costume party in a plaza filled with so many people that you can’t move around and its 45 degrees outside NAHHH.

I didn’t want to give up on the dream completely, so, like that time I went to Belize for Christmas instead of going home (alternative winter break) I did what I am calling "alternative carnaval."

Carnaval goes on for two weekends. During the day, it is quite similar to what I imagine happens at night except they also have the chirigotas all around the city. Chirigotas are comical musical groups that sing about current events in Spain: the president, the crisis etc. Given that they sing in Spanish, about very topical issues, and use colloquialisms, I don’t completely understand the chirigotas, but I appreciate them for their cultural importance. 

a chirigota

Last Sunday, one week ago, I went to Cadiz for the day to soak in this cultural experience and the sun. Cadiz is a city right on the beach, so on a clear day, even though its not quite beach weather yet, it is a great place to spend the day. The trains from Sevilla to Cadiz during Carnaval are a hot commodity. Since it was a last minute decision, I didn’t have many options in terms of which trains to take, so in the end I was only there for the afternoon. Not complaining though, went with two American friends and we had a good time (well cant speak for other people but I know I enjoyed myself).

We “dressed up” (painted our faces) to be a part of the festival. 

When we got off the train in Cadiz, we walked into the center of town and joined the party. The chirigotas were singing in corners in front of the cathedral, in the main plaza and on the main road that follows the beach. At some points there were so many people on one street (one super small ancient European city street) that I wasn’t walking, I was just gliding along with the crowd. I did feel so claustrophobic at one point that I told myself “I am never ever going to do this again.”

But then I just started thinking about how comical all this was and I couldn’t stop laughing (maybe the beers I had drank helped a little). There were adults and children of all ages (and I mean all ages, grandparents included) dressed up in costumes varying from Batman to policemen to farm animals roaming the streets, drinking beers and cokes and snacking on bocadillos and pipas (all typical street festivities in Spain involve beer and sandwiches and/or sunflower seeds). Despite my spells of claustrophobia, I realized I was having a lot of fun.

We spent a good portion of the day sitting on a ledge in front of this:

So I would say it was a good day. I think I am always going to be a little curious about what the evening carnaval parties are like, but I think I am okay with leaving it as a curiosity.

My day as a real teacher

Last week, the woman I normally teach with in the mornings on Thursdays couldn't come to school. Since I am not actually a teacher, I was not allowed to be alone in the classroom but still I was in charge.  For the first time ever pretty much, I gave an entire one hour ingles lesson to a class of 27 Spanish six year olds, three one hour classes to be exact. This is not totally and completely new to me, as I have spent the last three months teaching myself how to teach on the job teaching English in a private academy. But boy was this experience different from teaching after school classes of eight students max. 

Additionally, the teacher didn't leave me much of a lesson plan. She told me to review everything we have learned so far, a very daunting task it seemed at first. I was lucky enough to have an English teacher with me in class the first hour but before we started he said to me "today you are the teacher and I am the assistant, the class is all yours". Whoa. Well long story short it turned out okay. The next two classes I didn't have an English teacher in the room with me, just another teacher who had a break period. So I am glad I was able to do the trial run with an English speaker in the room. 

The at first overwhelming task of reviewing everything we have learned so far turned out to be quite the opposite. Since the children are so young, the amount of material we have covered is really small but at the same time quite impressive. These little pipsqueaks have really soaked up a lot of vocabulary since I started with them in October. We reviewed the parts of the body and face (don't think I even knew the word torso when I was 6 years old!), we made a list of healthy versus unhealthy foods, (most still think hamburgers are healthy but we'll chalk that up to a cultural difference not lack of vocabulary), we talked about the members of our families and modes of communication (doesn't hurt that the Spanish word for radio is radio and the word for Internet is Internet).  Still very pleased with the progress we've made. 

And to be honest I am pretty pleased with myself. What I imagined at first would be a disaster actually turned out to be an enjoyable day. One of the three classes gave me a lot of trouble and it was very discouraging. But after talking to a few other teachers during recess they all told me not to worry because this class is a problem for everyone. Feel bad for their teacher. In the other two sections we had a lot of fun playing games, reviewing flashcards and even learning some new vocabulary. Although my day was mostly a success, I still don't think I see teaching in my future. 27:1 is never a good ratio, no matter how patient you are! 

Reentry

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*imagine this was posted one week ago

Today is Wednesday. I got back to Spain on Monday. I noticed it’s been a while since my last post (thanks parents for constantly remind me of that fact). Although nothing crazy and adventurous has happened, except for my two transatlantic flights, my new year’s resolution is to write more (how many times have we heard that before?) and enjoy every moment of my last “semester” in Spain.

I am calling this post “Reentry” not because I want to write about my voyage through customs in Lisbon, but because I want to remind my future self, and other daring individuals who pick themselves up and move to a foreign country, how even after a year and a half of living in a place, coming back is never easy.

I could not have been more excited that this year I was fortunate enough to go home for the Christmas holidays to be with my family and friends. As soon as December started, and everyone began the countdown to Christmas day, I began my countdown to the 21^st, the day I was flying home. I had been talking for weeks with friends and family members about all the fun things we wanted to do during my visit to NY. Of course only about half of those things happened, but no complaints here. I celebrated Jew Christmas with my family, went skiing, saw a show on Broadway, rang in the New Year with my best friends, but most importantly spent quality time with people I really care about. I had a wonderful break.

People who have lived in a foreign country for an extended period of time often find themselves wishing they were in the place they weren’t. I am no exception. When I’m at home all I do is talk about Spain, when I’m in Spain, all I do is compare life here to the life I grew up with in America. It is almost like a disease that every expat catches, at least the ones I have talked to. It is impossible to avoid, and I think in a way that is a good thing. Without recognizing the differences between one place and another, it is impossible to appreciate what one country has to offer that the other does not.

Now after all these sappy, extremely broad observations I have just made, I still have to reiterate, no matter how prepared you think you are, no matter how long you have lived in another country, going “home” (original place of birth) or coming back after a vacation at “home, IS NOT EASY.

Going home, not easy? Sounds strange. But after so many months/years, one grows accustomed to a way of life. Although I’ve spent the majority of my life in America, it still shocks me sometimes when I come home from Spain and go to the supermarket and see 86 different varieties of water on the shelf. Water is water no? No. At least not in America. And for an indecisive person like me to have so much variety, and then on top of that, the shock of so much variety, no bueno. And on the flip side, when I am back in Spain, and I only have two brands of water to choose from, I am extremely disappointed. Just can’t win.

Ok, I know you are thinking, really Joanna? You are complaining about having too much variety and then having none? If that is your biggest problem in life, then you have things pretty good. And you’re right. I do have it pretty good. But put aside the petty differences between Spain and the good old USA, there are less tangible differences that make re-entering life abroad difficult. Luckily, this time around wasn’t so bad, because I was only home for two weeks. But the very day I got back, and the first day back at work, was not easy. I wondered, why do I do this to myself. I’ve never been good at transitions. And here I am, still living life semester-to-semester, transitioning every 3-6 months.

Then I remembered: the constant sunshine, 65 degree days in January, café con leche, cerveza at noon, rebajas (sales) for two months after Christmas, waking up at 11am to go to work (don’t be too jealous, I don’t get home until 11pm), eating a full feast at lunchtime for 10 euros max, siesta (good for those who can take it), students that tell me everyday that I am beautiful.  And so much more.

No, there are no bagels here; there is no heat in the winter or AC in the summer (at least where I live). But this is not forever (I don’t think). And as long as I can remember that, “reentry” will always be a little bit easier.