Things I'm missing lately

I’ve been back in the United States for two weeks now, and am thrilled to be reunited with family and friends. I’m also settling in for my last quarter of over-priced undergraduate education, while getting excited (and terrified) for whatever post-graduation adventures come my way. I am also already having study abroad withdrawals.

While on a new-apartment-stocking grocery run, I was shocked to see the prices on olives and olive oil (Spain is the biggest producer of olives in the world, making for quality products at a steal of a price). I realized I’m going to miss being able to buy incredibly delicious and inexpensive olives. It’s a silly thing, really. It’s just food. And frankly, there are more foods I enjoy that I couldn’t come by in Spain (e.g. peanut butter, Mexican food), than there are Spanish foods I both miss (I’m fine without live scallops that squirm when you kill them with lemon juice, thank-you-very-much) and will be hard pressed to track down.

But this was one of a series of moments, a little flicker of recognition, which reminded me of the plethora of little things I will miss about Spain.

I will miss traipsing through cobblestone streets lined by jam-packed tapas bars and guitar strumming hippies, so narrow in spots that you have to press your body against the wall for the occasional passing mini bus.

I will miss skipping down the stairs of my apartment building every Wednesday to attend free salsa dance classes in the bar under my building. And though I cannot say I will miss the obnoxiously loud music and the partying students emanating from the street who would prevent me from falling asleep in a timely manner on the weekends, I will miss the liveliness of my student-infested neighborhood, with its extra-large free tapas and cheap, grimy, bare-bones-but-still-oddly-charming 70s era apartment buildings.

I will miss saying buenos días to the fruit stand lady with her big white van on the corner who would call me guapa (beautiful) and sell me (or just give me) a chirimoya or apple on my way to class.

Those are just the little things I miss when I encounter traffic-jammed L.A. freeways, U.S. zoning laws and impersonal grocery stores.

Then there are the moments where I would give anything to be back in Granada.

While hopping on a bus the other day in West L.A., I heard a couple speaking with each other in Spanish. I sat next to the young woman, who was seated across from the guy who appeared to be her boyfriend, and asked her, point blank, if she was Spanish. In Spanish. She was taken off guard, and I hurriedly explained that I had spent a year in Spain and had recognized her accent. It turned out that both were students in a short stint English language program in a city not far from mine. By the time I got off (a stop later than intended, thanks to my overly zealous enthusiasm), I had learned the girl’s name in order to look her up on Facebook and give her a list of things to do in the area (and, I hoped, to meet up at some point.

Two days later I hadn’t heard back from my bus acquaintance. I was salsa dancing with a group of university salseros by a statue of our campus mascot (where I ended up teaching the basic step to half of the students in attendance) when I heard my name being called.

“Lorena?”

Wait a minute. I hadn’t heard anyone call me by my Spanish name since leaving Spain.

I turned to discover the same couple I had met on the bus, beaming at me as if they had found an old friend. I greeted them the way the Spanish always do, with dos besos (a kiss on each cheek) and we made plans to get coffee the following week.  

It was my FAVORITE MOMENT SINCE COMING HOME.

Because more than anything, I miss the people who shaped my experience.

I miss my History of the Church in the Middle Ages professor, who graciously used valuable office hours when she could have been grading papers or working on her groundbreaking research to instead patiently listen and respond to my questions, and eventually take me under her wing as her academic and spiritual mentee and young friend.

I miss Carmen, the chatty hair stylist with a crazy head of curls and a nearly incomprehensible accent who always invited me to come in and share my latest adventures with her, while she cut my hair for free.

I miss the Spanish students in my international Bible study who learned to break the annoying Spanish habit of constant interruption and talking over the top of others to listen (most of the time) with patience to the British, French and German students in their midst, not to mention caring deeply for the lone American girl who took far too long to expound on her passionately-held opinions and found herself frustrated when she couldn’t say precisely what she meant.

I miss my inspiringly hospitable Romanian friend who hosted me in her home for a week, my Spanish flatmates who taught me to make Spanish tortilla and migas, my dear English salsa buddy Mary who is now teaching in Peru… I could go on and on.

Spain taught me to be intentional and relational. Intentional because I only had a year, and I had to choose wisely where I would invest my time. I like to think that between school, traveling, dancing, hikes and innumerable coffee dates with friends, I didn’t waste much of it. Relational because people always come first in Spain – before work, before school, before to-do lists are all nicely checked off. The Spanish make people a priority. And I miss them.