I took this pair of photographs as the sun was setting, on the bus between Madrid and Granada.
Despite some jet lag induced insomnia and a fleeting moment of tearful homesickness (upon finding a note from my mom hiding in my suitcase), I felt like a seasoned explorer after a few days of navigating Madrid. Do take note; on a technical level this is hardly true because my program, Academic Programs International, booked and planned almost all transportation, sleeping and sight seeing arrangements. But in more abstract terms, and to give myself some credit, I did feel emotionally well adjusted and fearless. Despite the shock of language immersion, I happily lost myself in the city every evening, and I smirked at my own self reliance when I braved the metro alone to see Picasso's Guernica at the Museo Reina Sofía. However, this feeling of dauntless audacity changed the moment I got off the bus in Granada, as my excitement turned to a knot of nerves. Standing in a crowd of people on the platform as names were called and students were introduced to their host families, I was seized with a sort of giggly panic. What if my host family doesn't like me? What if we can't understand each other? Uh oh, do they know I'm vegetarian? How do you say excited in Spanish? What will my roommate be like?
What in the world have I gotten myself into?
Our colorful little bedroom, the night we arrived. Also pictured lying our beds, our small tokens of gratitude - gifts to our host mom (I brought peach salsa hecho en Colorado, and a photography book of the Rocky Mountains, water stained courtesy of Iberia Airlines).
My host mom's pajaritos, who live in the kitchen and make mornings especially wonderful.
A curtain hung up to dry above my bedroom window.
I met my roommate, Jade, and my host parents, Pedro and Encarna, on a crowded bus station platfrom long after the sun had set. We exchanged kisses, loaded up our luggage, and drove home. In the dark of the back seat, listening to Encarna talk to us about how excited she was we had arrived, ask us if we had any pets, if we ate fish; I felt relieved and once again elated. I had fallen into the hands of friendly, caring people, and while I couldn't understand but snippets of what was said to me, nor properly answer a question in complete sentences, I knew I had done the right thing by coming here. When we arrived at the apartment (a cozy three bedroom one bath) Jade and I were shown to our room, and we met our host sister, Maria, the youngest of Pedro and Encarna's four children, who is my age and currently attending school at the University of Granada. We unpacked and sat down with the family to a home cooked meal of tortas españolas (a sort of fluffy egg quiche), salted salad and orange juice.
Later that first night, Encarna and Pedro invited us to watch TV with them in the living room. Jade and I, exhausted and still trying to get our things organized, debated for a long time - would it be rude to decline? Other frivolous yet sincere questions arose. Should we ask if we may put our shampoo in the bathroom cabinet? Are we allowed to walk in the kitchen for milk or a piece of fruit? I've heard it's rude to walk barefoot in the house in Spain, do I need to buy slippers? Will Encarna be offended if I tape up photos of my family on the wall next to my bed, below the framed ... what is that... benediction? Jade mustered the guts to ask for a pair of keys and went out with friends. I wished Encarna and Pedro a goodnight, climbed into bed. I thought about how all of the pillows I've slept on in Spain thus far are these long, soft tubes that fit the head of the bed (and there is never more than one). As I drifted off to sleep, I felt perfectly out of my element, and yet somehow comfortably at home.
The ultimate truth I have learned (thus far) about living with a host family: yes, not understanding one another as a result of a language barrier is very difficult, but what is even more challenging is learning about and getting acclimated to a different culture. Becoming a part of another person's home; being polite, participating in family life, adapting to the way they live, would in many ways be just as difficult if we all spoke the same language.
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