A Brief Update

On August 17, I wrote in my journal:

We had a whirlwind last phase in Alcala, dinner with Abbie and the crew, dinner with Nat and Alvy, packing, packing, souvenir shopping, cleaning, packing, sorting, packing, squeezing into Patri's car and heading to the airport. Our goodbyes mostly done and painless, I had so much more to worry over: luggage weight limits, customs, flight delays, and so on and so forth. When we joined the check-in line, an attendant with a characteristic North American accent asked us for our passports--weird! My bags were 23 and 22.5--right at the 23k limit (though only after days of agonizingly weighing, giving things away, weighing...). Craig's were at 24.5 and 25, but he had so thoroughly charmed the woman that she passed them through without a word.

When we got through security, through passport control, into the internationals terminal, and to our Air Canada gate, we were in a different world. We were surrounded by an English-Spanish mix, listening to English slang and Canadian/American accents. Children were sitting quietly (unheard of in Spain). The weirdness just continued. Kids were disciplined on the plane. People murmured quietly. Only the rare Spanish person occasionally shouted. When we landed in Canada and fought our way through baggage claim and into customs, I was overstimulated and tired, struggling to make English conversation with strangers and still using "gracias" and "hola" while speaking to anyone. Pretty strange thing to do in Canada, and a tough habit to break.

By the time we landed in Atlanta I was completely freaked out. People were saying "excuse me" and smiling instead of just shoving me out of the way. They were quiet on the train. Mom was there waiting for me, and I couldn't focus on what she was saying because suddenly I could understand EVERYTHING around me. I was hearing English conversation and snippets from every direction bombarded me, making it impossible to concentrate on just phrase. After a year of understanding nothing, my brain was honing in on a thousand different words that I KNEW. There were exclamations and televisions and signs and greetings and I just wanted a bathroom and some quiet.

We had a long drive ahead of us and I didn't know whether to talk or not, and when I did talk I was paranoid. Ordering a sandwich in English at Arbys and holding American money felt strange and unnatural. I tried to sleep in the car but being in a car after a year of train travel felt wrong. And then I was in Gulf Shores and talking to Mom until 3:30 AM (10:30 AM in Spain...26 hours without sleep) and then in bed jumpy and restless.

Jordan woke me up in the morning and another tornado of a day began. Jordo and baby sissy, American TV, the beach, the dogs, conversations, a million questions, a terrifying trip to Wal Mart, cooking, eating with my family, awkward with all social skills forgotten and exhaustion and over stimulation eating me up.

It's been a headachy transition. I'm relearning how to be friendly with strangers, how to concentrate on one conversation with other talk, radio, and television in the background. I'm relearning manners. I'm still better at talking to JackJack than to humans. I drove yesterday, scared all the while. I'm trying to adjust to humidity and hurricanes. I've delved into good fresh food--shrimp, asparagus, tomato, basil, cheese, chives, salmon, jalapenos, poached eggs, pita and hummus, pesto, orange juice, Mom's pancakes, fried potatoes, pecan tarts, and hot wings. I've taken bath after bath after bath. I'm trying to care again about how I look. I'm still over stimulated. I'm still tired. Awkward. Wired and lazy at once. But maybe everything will change quickly. I will begin forgetting it all. Now, I am home.

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No sooner than I got all this recorded in my notebook, I was called to Shreveport, Louisiana, to work as a special effects assistant. I left almost immediately, still suffering extreme culture shock, and started the job. Since then I have been moved to Baton Rouge where I am working and awaiting the birth of my tardy nephew (now 4 days past his due date).

I feel I still haven't had time to adjust to being back in the states. I have been jolted; torn from Spain and thrust into a new and different world. Perhaps it is better that way (mental processing is overrated, right?). Driving still feels a little strange and I often find myself well below the speed limit, witty banter is lost on me, and I still find it a little difficult to focus on one conversation if there is a lot going on around me. I find it frustrating when servers bring my food to me immediately, ask me again and again if I am doing okay, and drop the check on the table if I don't want an immediate refill, the complete opposite of what bothered me about restaurants in leisurely Spain. I am still flabbergasted by the portion size in restaurants and the idea of free refills of giant sodas. I take a long time to grocery shop; our selection of quick fix meals and fruit snacks and juices and even bottled water is incredible and overwhelming. I analyze what I say too much, and still have to actively resist correcting grammatical errors in conversation. Mostly I am very overwhelmed by the emphasis on fashion, brand names, manicures, jewelry, high price shoes, expensive hair cuts, and the incessant need for the most modern mobile phone (perhaps I'm especially exposed to this by working in the movie industry); I simply cannot afford the energy to spend so much time and effort on my appearance, and I simply cannot and will not pay $60 for t-shirts imported from impoverished foreign countries. I find much of our technology unnecessary after sufficiently living for a year with a computer and a pay-as-you-go cell phone.

I miss Spain. I MISS MY FRIENDS! I miss the Camino de Santiago and every single day I think about those steps, the land, the weather, the changes, the amazing people, the challenge, the routine.

I miss Alcala de Henares, with its festivals and pushy people and cold weather and majestic storks and very Spanish restaurants. I miss walking everywhere, I miss the train, I miss cafe con leche and champinones a la plancha. I miss the terraces and the dance clubs (yes, especially Gabanna). I miss taking and planning weekend trips, I miss the lazy "aluegos" and the lazy meals and the lazing in the park. I miss trying to speak Spanish and I am sickened that I have already forgotten all the language I had absorbed. I miss a few of my students and think of them often. I miss exploring. I miss the instant friendships formed when discovering someone else who speaks your language. I miss futbol.

I miss the scent of things. The feel of things. I miss the sensation of the foreign. I will carry Spain, the imprint it left on and in me, forever.