Once upon a time, I had dreams of studying abroad in Spain or at least hike the Camino del Santiago during a summer whilst in university. So how is it possible that I visited a whopping 71 other countries before ending up on the one I was crushing hardest on? Well, it’s like this… I went to a college that had no formal study abroad agreements in place and I didn’t have the large sums of money saved up to be a tourist for an extended period of time. And while hiking the camino would not have cost a ton of money, it would have taken me away from the opportunity to MAKE money and as a perpetually broke college student, I needed the money. Besides, I didn’t want to just have a casual fling with Spain, I wanted to MARRY Spain.
And so it was, like any proper crush, Spain and I flirted with each other for years. I had the opportunity here and there to spend a day or two, but I wanted more. If Spain and I were going to one day meet, I wanted it to be more than a one night stand. And so we never met. Oh, we got close— that one time I was in southern France comes to mind, but it was never meant to be.
And so I passed through 70 other countries on 5 continents before I made it to my beloved España. How was that even possible? And while 20 or so years ago, my Castellano was pretty dang good. So good in fact that every other Spanish-speaking country I visited, assumed I was, in fact, a Spaniard . But time passed as it does, and Spain and I were never quite ever able to make it work and my once fluent Spanish faded to a slightly better than most people I know.
I chose to visit North East Spain for my first visit — not an area most choose. I don’t know why. I still want to visit the south and the west and even the northwest…the areas that don’t necessarily get all the love. Sure I’m passing through Barcelona and Madrid, but I’m also showing some love to Zaragoza and Logroño too.
I, perhaps naively, thought my Spanish would rush right back and I’d have no problems communicating, and perhaps has I chose to visit any other part of the country, I wouldn’t be struggling like I am. But here, in the northeast, Catalan is the preferred dialect and with its love of the letter X, it sounds familiar yet not. It’s still much easier than trying to speak French (with my one year of university French + and some tragic months speaking African French/Kinyarwanda hybrid) or German (with my 2 years university study, but only some strange East German dialect that Herr Engler preferred to unveil on unsuspecting students rather than textbook German). And in the almost 4 years since I’ve been to Europe, things have changed. Cards are accepted nearly every where. Cash machines are slightly harder to find and you really only need that in smaller towns and on public transportation.
So like everything lately, my re-integration into the traveling lifestyle has been a bit of a struggle. , but it just like learning to walk again instead of being expected to sprint out of the starting gates without issue. I’m hardest on myself—why should I expect myself toto be fluent in a language I haven’t spoken with any regularity since 2011. Why should I “just know” how things are in a place I’ve never been. And so while I haven’t figured out how to turn on the lights in my hotel room, I have managed to figure out the heating system, procure food and drinks, navigate the local bus system, acquire long distance train tickets, and several other little activities of daily living.
