If you are considering studying abroad, I would advise you to take note of the little things that stand out in your foreign country.  It can be very tiring to be away from your home, and little things that would never occur to you might start creeping up on a mounting list of reasons why you silently long for the comfort of your own country.  That is not to say that you will overwhelmingly homesick, but you may start to miss certain things you did not even know made a difference. I was introduced to this feeling on a smaller scale when I little, going away to camp.  There I missed home because it was the familiar, but I knew that I was only a car drive away. At college, I am a flight away, but Massachusetts hardly feels as different from Chicago as Spain. Being abroad, I miss the obvious things a great deal, like my family, friends, and my own language, but there are also a number of things that one might not think would cause homesickness.
So here are some of the things that I miss, that you might not expect. For one thing, I miss not using an adapter on my phone and computer chargers. It might seem trivial, but constantly worrying about what charger you need to use can be wearing. Spain uses a different charger from America, which uses a different charger from the United Kingdom and Ireland. As you can imagine, traveling can be a hassle if you do not know which adapter to bring when making your way to a new country, and God forbid you forget the adapter on a trip, because not being able to charge your phone is an easy way to get lost. Furthermore, the constant presence of an adapter has started to bend and twist my American chargers.  What will break first, my charger or my temper?
I miss American dollars. It is fortunate that Euros and dollars are roughly equal in value, meaning the mental conversion is not that bad, though I must also consult currency values before withdrawing money, to make sure I am getting a good deal. Also, whenever I make a charge with my credit card, I am charged a foreign transaction fee, which can add up when purchasing flights. It will be nice to not have to factor that in when I return. Perhaps most trivial of all, but by far the most frustrating, is the fact that Euros do not fit in my wallet. Dollars fit perfectly, but I suppose my American wallet was not designed to fit European currency, which has bills that vary in size according to value. It can be quite frustrating when each of my bills are frayed and ruined on the edges because of this inconvenience.
Lastly, I miss the not having easy access to the little things I so often took for granted at Holy Cross. I need a stapler for my essay? Oh, I guess I need to wait until tomorrow to see if there is one at school. I need tape, scissors, or a three-hole punch? I better hope my host parents have them, because if not I am certainly out of luck. There is just no certainty that the things I will need for an assignment will be available, and I miss the ease of that access from Holy Cross. Along similar lines, printing papers can be complicated, as I do not want to use up all of my host parent’s ink and paper. Though these little problems are easy to overcome, and are obviously not the largest burden one can endure, they certainly take a toll on a person after many months. While frayed Euros and lack of tape are not reasons for me to wish for a speedy departure, there are some small reasons to look forward to reentering what now seems like a former life, with plentiful stocks staples and compatible outlets.

Vincent:  “You know what the funniest thing about Europe is?”

Jules:  “What?”

Vincent:  “It’s the little differences.  I mean they got the same shit over there that they got here, but it’s, it’s just there it’s a little different.”

Jules:  “Example?”

After spending the last several months in Spain, and having finally re-watched Pulp Fiction for the first time in several years, I can finally fully appreciate Vincent’s speech.  He is correct when he says that the funniest thing about Europe is the little differences.  He goes on to describe several examples that are indeed true.  In Spain they do drench their French fries in mayonnaise and they do serve beer in McDonalds, though I admit I was slightly disappointed to learn that a quarter pounder with cheese is simply directly translated to a cuarto de libra con queso (I mean, they do use the metric system here).

But there are many other things that are just somewhat different from American culture that I thought would be interesting to note.  First of all, lunch and dinner are switched.  Back home we tend to quickly rush through a small lunch, which is usually a sandwich and perhaps another snack, while dinner is a large meal.  In Spain, instead of eating their lunch at their desks at work, the people tend to go home to prepare a large meal. Their dinner often consists only of some bread and ham or eggs, and in my house it is always casually eaten in front of the TV.  Second, following the lunch is the famous siesta.  Most people who have never been to Spain have still heard of (and are probably jealous of) this cultural norm.  What people might not be aware of is its effect on business hours and city life.  Essentially, much of the city will shut down in the middle of the day, and as an American it was initially hard for me to understand that heading out after lunch is nearly impossible when stores close between the hours of 2:00-5:00 pm.  The effects of the siesta are definitely more profound in smaller towns than in Spain’s biggest cities.  Madrid tends to stay open though the day, but little Pamplona and Lugo became ghost towns half the time.  Lastly, in honor of today’s “huelga” (strike), there are certainly some major differences between the university life in Spain and the US.  Most Spanish college students attend public universities, often in their hometowns.  Where in the United States, colleges work to forge a sense of community, and have campuses that function as model towns, the Spain system could not be more different.  Students generally live at home, or in apartment in the city, and commute to school for classes.  School pride is virtually non-existent in comparison to the rah-rah culture of American universities.  The average annual cost of college in Spain is only about 1000 Euros, so at first it was hard to understand what exactly the strike was for.  According to one of my professors, they are striking because they want some changes that actually mirror the US university system, while according to my host parents, they believe the admission process should be less stringent (which is ironic because the protesters have already been accepted).  Though I never wanted to be a scab, Holy Cross has insisted that we attend our Spanish course this afternoon.  Maybe it’s just me, but I thought it could have been educational to engage in all moments of Spanish culture.

When I was learning early American history, before I was even in high school, I routinely heard the Americas referred to as the “New World.”  I don’t believe I ever truly appreciated the significance of that label until I began to study abroad.  Perhaps one of the greatest parts about Spain is the casual existence of hundreds to thousands of years of history literally beneath ones feet.  When I took a day trip to the small Galician city of Lugo, I was struck by the fact that the sidewalks I carelessly traversed were covering a hidden Roman city only a few feet beneath the surface.  Excavators frequently happen across new troves of underground streets, baths, and mosaics in Lugo.  Every twenty feet or so there would be a glass window replacing one of the heavy stone pieces of the sidewalk to create a view into a second city that lay beneath the new one.  Even inside the stores, such as Zara, there were glass openings right through the floors to show ancient mosaics or other art.  If it wasn’t pointed out to me by one of my Spanish friends, I might never have noticed, but he showed me incredible sections of uncovered Roman relics, including a bath tub that was built 2000 years ago, when Augustus Caesar himself conquered the little city.  In fact, looking through the windows, it was not hard to imagine the Roman emperor enjoying Lugo’s natural hot springs in the ornately carved bath.  Much more conspicuous than the hidden wonders below the streets, were the Roman walls that surrounded the city.  Built in the 3rd century, the tall stone fortifications stretch 2 kilometers around the old town.  I made the walk with my friend, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how such a small and unknown town like Lugo had such a historical treasure.  In fact, almost every small and unknown town in Spain has incredible historical items that are very easy for an American to be jealous of.  If America had even one cathedral that dated as far back as the one in Lugo (755 AD), it would be a national treasure.  Making the trip to the “Old World” has not yet ceased to amaze.

Dear “it,”
I never knew how much I would miss you until you were gone. Ever since I came to Spain I have felt that there was something missing. I mean, sure, Spanish has some very useful words. For example, the word gracioso has such a great way of meaning funny, cute and charming all at once. English doesn’t have words that always stack up to their Spanish counterparts, but when it comes to you, it, there’s nothing quite as good.
You have this ability to be totally neutral and mean everything or nothing whenever I need you to. The lo’s and la’s of Spain just can’t add up to your fluidity and accessibility. As I come closer to the end of this semester, I realize that I will be returning to the United States for a brief time, and I will see you once again. I hope you don’t forget how much fun we used to have together, and I hope you can forgive me for not talking with you for such a long time. But if we can move past that, it would make my day.
Love, your biggest fan

What does a typical Saturday afternoon look like in A Coruña, Spain?  I have spent some time thinking about this question, and I finally came to the conclusion that it boils down to three words, camarones, calamares, and café.  Just last weekend I woke up late on Saturday, as usual, I showered, ate a small breakfast, and then in no time, my host family was herding me out the door.  Almost every Saturday there is some grand family gathering, involving a larger than life lunch.  These weekend lunches are no laughing matter.  The moment I arrived at my host grandmother’s apartment I had three appetizers stuck onto my plate before I even had the chance to sit down.  There was a perfectly flaky empanada, wheat bread with olive oil, and a diverse plate of crackers and cheese.  Now that I am experienced in Spanish culture, I avoided the trap.  I politely ate bits of each, (perhaps a bit more of the empanada, because it is just unbelievably delicious), but then I steered clear of the bait.  About an hour later the real lunch had begun, and a course of camarones was brought to the table.  For those who do not know, camarones is Spanish for prawns, and they are a specialty of the Coruñian fishermen.  Eating them is a messy business, requiring a bit of work to crack each individual miniature shrimp out of its shell.  On my plate the pile of shells steadily grew with each one I ate, but there was nothing I could do to match the natives, who ate their camarones like popcorn, and quickly grew their piles into small mountains.  The camarones were followed by courses of vegetables (which I cannot say I ate).  After the vegetables was a very interesting dish of calamares.  The Spanish word calamares is very similar to the English word calamari, but the way they served squid was quite different from what I was used to.  The head of the squid was laid on my plate, looking very much like I imagine it looked when alive.  I cut it open, and inside they had stuffed it with its own tentacles.  I ate the whole thing, albeit a bit cautiously, but it was definitely a nice tasting dish.  Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly eat anymore, it was time for dessert.  I had seen the cook in the kitchen preparing the frisuelos, a kind of creme filled Spanish crepe, but I did not see that she had also bought two boxes of other cake treats.  I was slightly overwhelmed, because my host family continually dropped pieces of these desserts on my plate, even though I tried to explain to them I was full about two courses ago.  Finally, when all the food was taken away, and everyone in the room had a distinctly sleepy look about them, the last item on that day’s itinerary was brought out, a welcome pot of Spanish coffee.  We sat around the table and talked for a while in Spanish while enjoying the café.  So there it is, a Spanish Saturday lunch, as told through the three c’s of Coruña, camarones, calamares, and café.

It is stunning how much a country’s culture can shift, even when you only fly an hour and a half away.  Last weekend, the Holy Cross A Coruña study abroad students headed south to two cities to experience the Andalucían culture.  Our first stop was Granada, which had one of the most impressive man made constructions on earth.  We spent over five hours in the castle that is over one thousand years old, known as the Alhambra.  The Alhambra is famous for being the final Moorish stronghold in Spain, lasting until 1492 (directly related to Christopher Columbus’s 1492).  It was even listed as a finalist among the Seven Wonders of the World, and once I set foot in it I could easily see why.  The palace was enormous.  There was so much to see that I cannot possibly recount it all, but here are some highlights:  The ceilings were ornate with designs of incredible mathematical precision, the staircases and gardens were laden with little canals that carried water down the mountain under the steps that we walked on, and from the top of the highest tower, I could see the entirety of Granada from the ancient platform.

The next stop we made on our trip was to Seville, with sights that equaled Granada, and we were exposed to even more Andalucían culture.  From the incredible pork to the distinct accents of their people, Seville was brilliant.  We enjoyed touring the most famous bull fighting ring in Spain, the third largest Cathedral in the world, and a breathtaking flamenco performance.  Each day that we were on the trip was filled with some of the most impressive sights I have seen in my life, but even with so many things to do, the voyage was only made better by going with the great group of Holy Cross students.  When we were not left breathless in certain moments, like when we saw the tomb of Christopher Columbus, we were laughing and growing closer together as friends.  We would experience the night life with other travelers and local Spaniards, or we would laugh at ridiculous dub step remixes to various songs.  This trip was indispensable for anyone who wishes to get to know the entirety of Spain, and I believe it was pivotal in creating long lasting friendships as well.

I went to the beach a few days ago and it was picture perfect.  The sun was shining, but not too brightly, and it was warm, but not too hot.  Almost the entire group of Holy Cross students found a nice piece of sand to enjoy in the late hours of the afternoon.  But when the sun started to go down, it was time to leave, so we packed up.  We started on the walk back to the main part of the city, but we came to a crossroads.  I waved goodbye to my friends as they turned into the city.  For the most part, their homes are a bit separated from mine, so I thought I could find a shortcut.  I made my alone down a street I thought was familiar, but of course I was wrong.  It was starting to get dark and I realized I made a mistake.  Coruna is not a complicated city.  It sits on a peninsula, and the apartment I am staying in is by one side of the water and the beach I went to was on the other.  Therefore, I thought, as long as I kept walking straight, I was sure to reach the other side of the peninsula.  So I walked, but I lost my bearings, and pretty soon I didn’t know which direction would lead me to the other side of the water.  One wrong turn led to another, and I felt slightly uneasy as I noticed that the buildings became considerably more deteriorated with block I walked.  Coruna is also known for being a very safe city, but I admit that several rows of abandoned apartment complexes with broken windows were enough to make me pick up my pace.   After about 25 minutes into this area, an old man stopped me by his rusty old car pleading for help.  In Spanish, he told me that he couldn’t open his car door, and after a closer look I saw that his key was stuck in the lock.  I did not want to take attention off of my surroundings, but I tried to fix the key to no avail.  I apologized to the man, and then I walked off.  Finally, after another stretch of time, I found a street that I recognized, and I was able to go home.  I have often heard the maxim that getting lost in a city is good thing.  I always thought that was true, but now I know better.  Getting lost can lead to some exciting new experiences, or it can simply be a stressful waste of time.  Hopefully I get lost again sometime soon, and I can find an exciting new street, or at the very least find unlock that man’s door.