Becoming a Global Citizen: The Netherlands

I did a project on Netherlands in my seventh grade Geography class (shout out to Mrs. Noble.) I remember how magical and far away Holland seemed, like a place out of a fairytale. I knew I wanted to go one day. I just didn't know that one day would be so soon. If I haven't said it before, I want to say that I'm unbelievably grateful to be seeing the world at my age. I've learned what it means to be a global citizen and the importance of understanding and respecting other people and where they come from. 

Last week, a few of my friends and I boarded a RyanAir flight for Eindhoven. If you aren't familiar with RyanAir, it's the best and worst thing ever when traveling country to country in Europe. The flights are impossibly cheap (78 euro roundtrip to Holland from Spain) and they're almost always on time. The downsides are the uncomfortable seats, rough landings, poor customer service, and the ways in which they find to charge you obscene amounts of money. For instance, if your bag is bigger than the tiny carry-on requirement, you're charged to check it. When you buy your tickets online, you have to scroll through pages of advertisements and unnecessary extras. Don't forget to check all the boxes with "no" or else you'll end up with a bill of hundreds of euros. And finally, if for some sad reason your host sister spills water on your tickets that you printed out and RyanAir has to print them for you at the airport, you'll pay a fine of 170 euros. This actually happened to my friend Allyson on this trip. Two. pieces. of. paper. Also, RyanAir flies you outside of main cities. We flew to Eindhoven, which is an almost two hour train ride from Amsterdam. Seems like they forgot to advertise this along with their car rentals and city tours. I've learned to expect the worst, and in turn, have mastered the art of RyanAir. 

We took a taxi to the airport in Seville. Caught a plane from Seville to Eindhoven. Took a bus from the Eindhoven airport to the train station. Took a train from Eindhoven to Amsterdam. Took a tram from the Amsterdam train station to a plaza near our hostel. And then walked. These trips are always stressful and it seems like we're always running late, running for a train, etc. As glamorous as travel can be, it can be just as unglamorous. Things get stolen (someone's camera), lost (my hat), and people wander off (my friends.) You run into people, you get elbowed in the face on a crowded tram, and in Amsterdam, you almost certainly get in the way of thousands of bikers. So, even though we may look like we have it all together in our pictures, we actually don't. We're just trying to figure out how to get from point A to point B without getting run over. And I guess we succeeded. 

The first day, we checked into our hostel and explored the magical city. It's full of charm, history, canals, and amazing pastries. Literally every bridge has an incredible view of the river. It's such a contrast from the slow, colorful pace of Seville. I still can't believe the variety of landscapes and cultures in Europe. That night, we headed to see Ellie Goulding in concert at the Heineken Music Hall. We didn't really know where we were going or how to get there, but we figured it out in the end. Her concert was amazing and full of 6,000 screaming Dutch fans. In European countries, (mostly)American and British music is really popular. I've found that concerts are a really good way to remind you of home, and also really cool to tell people that you saw so-and-so in a big city in Europe. Thank you, Ellie. 

It was my goal to visit the Anne Frank house. If I was going to see one thing, that would be it. We waited in line for over an hour in the wind and freezing cold the next day, but we finally made it inside the museum. I had read her diary and was pretty knowledgeable of the Holocaust, but none of that prepared me for the museum. To actually see where her family lived for two years, to see the room that confined her, gave me a tiny taste of what it felt like to be stripped of freedom. She couldn't even look outside without fear of being discovered. I can't really grasp the torture of it, but by being there, I was trying to understand. I'm not Jewish, but I am human, and I felt connected to her in a way that maybe I can't put into words. Maybe as a writer, maybe as a teenage girl who's figuring herself out, or maybe in the way that she longed to make a difference in the world. I will never take my freedom for granted.

That night, we ventured into the Red Light District and quickly ventured back out. It wasn't really a recommendable view, just mostly sketchy. On our last day full day, I saw the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh museum. As an art fan, I really enjoyed both. Van Gogh's works were really cool because they were in chronological order. As he succumbed to his mental illness, his work became heavier and darker. I won't say anything more, because art museums are not super interesting to blog about, so go if you ever get the opportunity. 

We finally made it back to Seville exhausted. Now when I say I'm going home, I'm referring to Seville, at least for the next few months. I look forward to returning to my tiny bed and chatting late at night with my adorable host mom. How lucky I am to have two places that I belong to. I have many more trips planned in the future, but tomorrow, CARLA IS COMING. Carla is my best friend in the world from Venezuela, and I get to show her part of my world these next few days.


Un abrazo,
Elizabeth 

Why You'll Miss Walmart When Studying Abroad in Spain

"To my mind, the greatest reward and luxury of travel is to be able to experience everyday things as if for the first time, to be in a position in which almost nothing is so familiar it is taken for granted." - Bill Bryson

 Here are some things you may not know about Spain: 

1) The schedule 

Spaniards move at a pretty slow pace, at least in the south. Work here starts a little bit later (my school starts at 9:15) and lunch is around 3. After lunch, which is the biggest meal of the day, there is the best part of the day, siesta. Siesta is wonderful. Siesta is two to three hours of relaxation and rest. Siesta is also when all of the stores shut down. Pharmacies, supermarkets, you name it. If you need something you better get it before 2pm, or else you'll have to wait until about 6pm. It can be really inconvenient. Dinner is eaten around 10pm, though my host mom isn't hungry until almost midnight. 

2) Living

Most of the houses and apartments here don't have central air conditioning or heating. During the summer, they open the windows, turn on their portable fans, and say "Que calor!" During the winter, they put blankets on their beds, exchange the fans for heaters, and wear six layers and slippers at all times. I'm used to walking around barefoot and my host mom seems to find this shocking. She even bought me slippers for Christmas so that I wouldn't catch a cold from the freezing floor. The best thing about winter in Spain are the tablecloths. They're basically big blankets that you cover your lap with and that trap the heat from the heater underneath the table. I could spend hours eating dinner because of this. Also, they're much more energy conscious. My host mom placed a timer in my shower because I was using too much water. She turns off my power strip when I accidentally leave it on. It really has taught me to be more aware. 

3) Shopping

Walmart. Don't ever take Walmart for granted again. Until you get outside of the United States, you don't realize that the rest of the developed world doesn't have access to the same things you do. For example, my friends and I want to make cookies for Valentine's day. In the States, you would go to Walmart/Target/Kroger and have all sorts of varieties of cookie mix. You probably would even have a whole aisle dedicated to baking. In Spain, they don't have cookie mix in the supermarkets. I ended up having to pay about 6 euro for a box at the tiny American store here and they only had one kind, chocolate chip. I'm not complaining really, just marveling at the variety and abundance of what we have in the US. Also, if you want Tylenol, you go to a pharmacy. If you want shampoo, you go to a toiletries shop. If you want bread, you go to a bread shop. If you want pencils, you go to a school supply store. Each category of items has its own separate shop, there is no place where you can buy everything. Watch this video of a few British guys talking about Walmart if you want to see it from their point of view: here. 

4) University

The European college experience is super different from the American one. Dorms, school spirit, sports, fraternities and sororities, and parties filled with red solo cups are non-existent. Spanish students pick their path of study while still in high school, and then go to the part of the University that offers it. They have to take an exam in their chosen career before they enter. If they decide they want to change careers halfway through their studies, they have to start all over. Also, students live with their parents (this very normal for Europeans, even into their late 20's) or rent apartments, there are no dorms. Extracurriculars and academics are kept separate, too. University is for studying and your free time is spent off campus. This makes me appreciate college back home a lot more.

5) Jobs

Spain is in an economic crisis right now. Basically, the young educated Spaniards can't find work. I have a friend from Seville who I met at a little cafe by my house. She's 25, an architect, and works full time as a barista at this cafe because there are no jobs in construction right now. This is a very common story. I've met lawyers, writers, and teachers who are about the same age who are either unemployed or overqualified for their day job. As a result, the young generation is leaving Spain for other countries in Europe or the United States. 

6) Mindset

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking by the river in shorts and tank top, because it was 70 degrees and sunny. I kept getting stares from all of the people who would pass me by. They were all wearing heavy coats, scarves, boots, and hats. I asked my host mom why no one was dressing for the weather. She told me that Spaniards follow the seasons. It's still winter here and so Spaniards wear winter clothes, no matter the temperature. I found this funny, but also consistent. The people here are very dedicated to traditions, culture, and family. They adopt many of the habits of their parents and grandparents, and connections with their past are strong. America may be new and exciting, but Spaniards know who they are and they're proud of it.

I can't believe I've already been here for a month. I'm excited to celebrate Valentine's day with cookies and Sweethearts that I bought at the American store (because they don't have those either here.) Saturday, I'm leaving for the Netherlands to visit Amsterdam and see an Ellie Goulding concert. I'll definitely post about the trip. Wish me luck!!

Elizabeth 

The Not-So-Glamorous-Side of Student Travel

The holidays are officially over and after spending some great time with my family back in the States, I'm ready to take on Seville for four more months. I'm not going to lie. It was much less exciting returning here than the first time. The city is no longer a secret. I'm already back in the routine of school. I know which winding, narrow back roads to take to get me where I'm going. I'm used to walking by the Guadalquivir river every day. I'm able to communicate in the language without awkward pauses and hand gestures. Seville is familiar. I crave the unfamiliar. But I have the feeling that there's a lot more to discover here. This semester is about finding it.

After the long flight from DFW and a few siestas, I left my apartment to meet the new students that are here for the second semester. As I was walking to meet them, I couldn't help but grin at my surroundings. There's something exciting in the air. Or maybe it's just the smell of the orange trees. I just have a good feeling about these next few months.

But in contrast, I think that sometimes people have the idea that everything in my world, in Spain, is perfect. And while I'm having an incredible time so far, I'll reflect on December's trip to Madrid to clear things up. Because I'm 18, independent, and making mistakes. 

Why take the high-speed train for 100 euros when you can take a six-and-a-half hour bus ride for 40 round trip? This the conclusion that my friends, Sophie and Faith, and I came up with when discussing how we would travel to Madrid, which is located in central Spain. Why pay more than 12 euros a night for a hostel? It seems that sometimes, in our quest to save money, we teenagers forget the little phrase, "you get what you pay for." 

And so we boarded the bus and arrived in Madrid pretty late at night. After a long ride on the Metro, we emerged into the glittering center of Madrid, which was still bustling with people. With instructions to look for our hostel between two shops, we found a sketchy door with graffiti plastered all over it. A closer inspection revealed a small sign with the name of our hostel, directing us to the third floor. We dragged our bags up the stairs and walked into the 1 star lobby filled with drinking, tattooed men and were promptly checked in by one of them, who seemed to care more about inviting us to the pub crawl than anything else. We were welcomed to our room that we would share with 8 other people, pointed to the bathroom that lay on the other side of the building, and allowed time to get to know our stained sheets. I'm not exactly sure when we realized that this was not the best idea, probably when the stench of the man's feet in the neighboring bed wafted near me. Call the Ritz. We're getting out of here. After a few calls to our parents for extra money and an extensive TripAdvisor search for a decent place to stay, we literally ran out of the place and into the overpriced comfort of a basic hotel room. I was just grateful for the lack of insects and a warm shower.

The next day we had to move hotels because ours was booked for the rest of the weekend, along with the rest of the hotels in all of Madrid. We chose to travel on a holiday weekend, which meant that we could find no place to stay! Finally, after sitting in the lobby for two hours, we found a decent hostel for a reasonable price. I'd say that we lucked out, because our choices were narrowed down to the street or the same hostel that we ran away from. FINALLY we were able to enjoy Madrid. 

The best part of our trip began and ended with the Imagine Dragons concert. At my graduation in May, they played one of their songs as we entered. Here I was in Europe a few months later, screaming with my fellow Spaniards as we danced to the very same song, feet away from the band. It was a strange feeling, like I was being reminded of everything I've accomplished since then. 

Everything quickly went downhill the rest of the weekend as the extreme crowds made it difficult to enjoy much of anything. Walking through the city center was a struggle because it was literally wall to wall people. We saw a few of the touristy sights, but mainly were just exhausted by the effort it took to get to them. Things really, really, really, went downhill on the last day as we were headed home. We had to take the Metro to the bus station and of course, had all of our luggage with us. I guess in the chaos of it all I wasn't paying enough attention to my surroundings. As we entered the train, I became separated from my friends. Seemingly by chance, but in reality it was all part of a scheme to steal my wallet. And steal my wallet they did. As the Metro began to move, I realized that I had nothing to hold on to to keep my balance. The woman standing next to me gestured at the rail in front of her. I unassumingly grabbed it, putting myself in an awkward, vulnerable position for her to have access to my purse. A few seconds later, I felt a tug on my purse. I looked down to find it out of my line of sight, covered by the jacket in the woman's hands. I quickly pulled it back and it was zipped. I opened it up to make sure that my wallet was still in there.... and it definitely was long gone. I knew the woman beside me had stolen it, so out of anger and adrenaline I yanked her jacket from her hands to look for my wallet. She pretended as if I she didn't know what was going on and had already handed my credit cards, money, and ID off to her accomplice. When the Metro came to a stop, she ran out before any of us could even really process what had just happened. It was the worst moment of my time here in Spain. We then missed our bus talking to the police, because my ticket was in my wallet (that was probably somewhere in a trashcan in a sketchy part of Madrid.) I had plenty of time to think on the long night ride back, so I came up with a few things that I would do from now on.

1. Actually use the money belt that my mom insisted I wear when traveling (sorry.)
2. Look up detailed reviews of hostels before I book them.
3. Take an earlier form of transportation so that I don't arrive to my destination at midnight.
4. Not ever take the cheap bus ride from Seville to Madrid again, because the companies aren't very sympathetic when you have to buy three new tickets after a crisis.
5. Maybe pay a little more for things next time. 
6. Don't overpack and have to carry two bags and a purse on the Metro, which clearly makes me a target.
7. Not let this experience keep me from enjoying traveling, but just be more aware next time.

And though some things about this country evoke horrible memories, today is January 26th. Today I walked along the river in shorts and a tank top. Today I layed out in the sun and 70 degree weather. Today I got a sunburn. Today I was grateful to be here. 

At the end of the day, I love Spain with all of my heart.

Un abrazo,
Elizabeth 

A Moroccan Adventure

Hola todos,

 A few weeks ago, I took a ferry from Spain to Africa in forty five minutes. In the States, my family drives over ten hours to the beach in Florida. It's strange how traveling very short distances here can put you in an entirely new world and continent, where the language, religion, and culture is vastly different. De hecho, from Tangier, Morocco, you can see the coastline of Spain perfectly. I don't know exactly what I was expecting to find on my four day trip, but I imagined a lot of exotic animals and treks across the desert. While you would find that in Kenya, Morocco is an entirely different story. It lies on the western edge of Africa and has fought off conquerors and colonizers throughout its history to become an independent mix of European, African, Arabic influences. Our first walk through the streets revealed the deep ties of its people to Islam, strange chants out of a minaret called the men to prayer in the mosque, while women were covered with hijabs (headscarves.) We soon learned that women play a very subservient role in the culture, which made me a little uncomfortable, because I have grown up believing that gender doesn't define who you are, what you can wear or not wear, or what you can be. We were able to talk with local students over tea and pastries on our first day to see their viewpoints on their religion. One girl voluntarily wears a hijab, and the other one doesn't wear one at all, but both insisted its a personal choice. What struck me most about the students was how similar they seemed to us American teenagers. Yes, we practice different religions and live in different places, but we all struggle with trying to find meaning in our lives. We ask the same questions and face similar problems in our respective countries day to day. What I knew about Muslim countries before this trip, was limited to the horrors shown on television, sixty second news flashes that are meant to evoke fear. But what I found in Morocco were friendly, welcoming people who are eager to learn as much about my life as I am about theirs. I think that if I we all attempted to understand and accept the similarities between people around the world, instead of pointing out our differences, it would eliminate a lot of the ignorance that comes with fear of the unknown. 

On a happier note, we were surprised with camel rides along the beach on our first day. We got up close and personal with the animals, petting them and taking selfies with them. It was truly a unique experience. Then, we drove to a little seaside town to have couscous and admire the amazing view of the Mediterranean. It was in that quaint village that we discovered a place on a wall where you take your picture and then upload it to Instagram with a particular hashtag. That way, all of the people around the world that have been in that spot are connected with a push of button. It's strange to see the way technology impacts and enhances our lives, even in the oldest of places. Speaking of which, for the majority of the time, I had no phone service or wifi. It was probably the longest time I had gone without Internet since I was twelve. Though technology is good for so many things, it was refreshing to look at the views without Tweeting or Facebooking or texting. 

That night, we headed to the capital of Morocco, Rabat, where we met our host families and had dinner. Visitors are seen as gifts from God in Islamic tradition, so we were treated very well. The house I stayed in was very open, with curtains separating one room from another. The Moroccan household is a place of community and family. We were treated to large dinners with fruit, couscous, tea, pastries, and salad, while failing to communicate effectively with hand gestures. Mostly, I just smiled and everyone just smiled back. The thing I found particularly challenging was the shoe rule. If you walk on carpet, you take off your shoes. If you walk on tile, you put on your shoes. It proved to be a hassle to constantly switch between the two and found myself accidentally breaking the tradition often. There are modern conveniences in Morocco, like lights and running water, but its still a developing country. My particular family thankfully had a Western style toilet, while some others did not (think hole in the ground,) but our shower was a bucket of water and a loofah. After a day of exploring different sites in Rabat, we all had the opportunity to go to the public bath, called the Hammam. All the girls went to one of the many rooms of the bathhouse and filled buckets with warm water. We then washed and exfoliated our skin. Let's just say it was quite the memorable experience that made me very appreciative of my hot shower in Seville. 

My favorite part of the experience was going to a village in the Rif Mountains to meet with a family. It was a long drive by bus, with a police check in between. We learned that in the future, the government will start following the Moroccan Exchange students around this part of the country, to keep tabs on us. I say that only to communicate that it was no touristy trip-- we were seeing the real Morocco. We arrived and hiked for twenty minutes up to the house, seeing some incredible views along the way. We really were able to interact with the family-- understand their daily lives, learn about their work, and what makes them happy. The father wanted all of his children to have an education, however far they had to walk to school or whatever sacrifices had to be made. It made me cringe to think about all the times I complained about homework or going to class. Education is a gift, a tool, that shouldn't ever be taken for granted. These people understand that, they really understand the things that are important in life in better ways than we do.

 Only one person was allowed to take pictures of and with the family, and I was happy to be the one to get that opportunity. I spent a lot of time photographing the little children, who were fascinated by the images of themselves. These villagers don't have cameras, but my photos will be hand-delivered back to them so that they will have memories of the visit. I was glad to use technology for someone other than myself. 

Our final stop was Chefchaouen, the blue city, where we spent time bartering in the markets, buying super cool pants, and getting authentic Henna tattoos. Our night was spent reflecting on our time in Africa and the ways in which the trip had impacted us. I remembered that the girl on the first day said that her truth may be different from my truth, but that doesn't make one better than the other. I left Morocco wanting to travel more, to see more of the world, and to stop judging. So far, so good. 

P.S. Watch my video of the trip if you haven't: Moroccan Video

More updates soon,

Elizabeth

The Ugly Truth: Independence Abroad.

The temperature was dropping quickly as the sky darkened with the ominous approach of night and right. The rural street was deserted-- except for two girls standing under the shelter of a bus stop. Despite a crumpled schedule's promise of a shuttle to the train station, it did not appear as 5:15, 5:25, and 5:35 flashed on the screen of an out-of-service Iphone. They walked out by the side of the road, but few cars passed by. On the verge of a disaster and missing their train back to Paris....

Okay, so that was a bit dramatic. But when Paige and I were in that situation this past week, it seemed like the end of the world. And so begins the back story. One day, out of our weeklong journey in the City of Light, we decided to visit the house and gardens of Claude Monet (fabulous painter of waterlilies) in Giverny, France. It's a tiny village, about an hour and fifteen minutes from Paris by train. Simple enough, right? The first problem arose before we even left, in the St. Lazare train station. We were right on schedule to catch the 12:20pm train until we exited the metro and discovered that we had no idea where or how (because we don't speak French and I mean NONE) to buy tickets, or which of four floors the trains departed from. In short, we ended up sprinting from the first floor to the third only to miss the train by by about two minutes. We finally had the courage to actually go to the information desk, where we received second class tickets and a valuable schedule. Fifty minutes later, we were on our way to Vernon, with picturesque views of the countryside. At one point, we switched trains and ending up meeting a Brazilian girl who speaks French who was also headed to Monet's gardens. This leads me to  the most complicated part of the process of getting to our destination: the shuttles. Now, I suppose these shuttles from the train station in Vernon to the museum in Giverny exist in real life, but I can't be certain. We assumed that we had missed the last one of the day, so we split a BMW taxi with the Brazilian-who-speaks-French for the ten-minute ride. It was smooth sailing once we found ourselves amongst the auburn leaves in the quaint village and we spent about two hours exploring Monet's wonderland, walking through his house, seeing the famous waterlilies, and soaking all of the nature in. Though primetime is in the spring, it was still beautiful in the fall and not crowded at all--which may have been the cause of our next problem. We took our time leaving the museum and then stopped at cafe for pastries and tea, thinking we had all the time in the world to catch the shuttle back. And we did, because there was no shuttle (refer to dramatic intro above.) I've concluded that there was no shuttle for one of three reasons: a) It was the last day the gardens were open until April and therefore there weren't many people and therefore the shuttle service stopped early, b) we were in the wrong place to catch it, or c) my schedule was wrong. I would like to choose option A, but I will never be entirely sure. Now, we ended up waving down a taxi that already had people inside, but they were nice enough to let us share with them back to the station. The last and probably most stressful event of the day happened on the way back, when we switched trains somewhere in France. One would naturally think that if you switch trains on the way there, you should switch trains on the way back. So, without glancing at our tickets, we hop off the warm, cozy train TO PARIS,and then discover that it really would have taken us to all the way back. By the time we were fully aware of this mistake, the train had already left and we were standing on the dark platform looking incredibly dejected, confused, and hungry. Fortunately, a little French boy, who spoke English, helped us out and even led us to another train back. When we finally saw the glittering lights of Paris, we were simply exhausted. It was quite the day.

I tell you this whole story because I think of it as a defining experience: a first taste of the real world. Yes, I'm in Spain "by myself" but I have advisors, a host family, and friends that support me daily. But that day (and all week) we were two, naive 18 year-old girls trying to figure things out on our own and it didn't always go smoothly. Independent travel is so much harder than I first thought, because you have to plan everything down to the exact detail and prepare for the worst. Two things that we failed to do. We also relied on the hope that people would speak English to us, which did end up happening, and probably was the reason we made it to Giverny and back to Paris that night. But what if that little boy wasn't able to communicate with us? Where would we have ended up? My point is that we were traveling selfishly, with the idea that the world was looking out for us. To get the most of out a trip, we need to be looking after ourselves and looking out at the world around us. That means that next time, I vow to learn a decent amount of the language of my destination before I travel independently, not expect people to adapt for me. I also vow to arrive to the train station a little bit earlier and to leave before dark, maybe that way I can enjoy the ride. 

Our week as a whole was a spectacular mix of fall, croissants, landmarks, history, new friends, and French. We stayed in an upbeat hostel, had Paige's friend from Toulouse come and stay for a few days, did the typical touristy Parisian things, and spent a lot of time drinking tea. For Halloween, our hostel threw a party, and since Paige and I have adjusted to the Spanish nightlife, we were the last ones to go to bed that morning. Paige and I made friends with the hostel staff and waiters, which really made our stay that much more fun. On our final days, we met a group of girls who are teaching in Dijon, France, who invited us to visit sometime, and of course, we returned the invitation. Hostels have their advantages-- you meet young people from all different places on all sorts of journeys, as long as you don't mind sharing a bedroom with eleven of them. I think I'm one step closer to becoming a global citizen. 

In other news, I'm off to Morocco, Africa on Friday with CIEE, where we'll stay with host families, speak with college students about global issues, and really get to experience the exotic culture there. You can visit themoroccanexchange.org for details of my trip, but I'm sure I'll have a blog post about it soon.

Adios,
Elizabeth 

Baby Steps.

Dear family, friends, strangers, Facebook friends, and anyone that is reading this right now, 

         I've been in the most amazing place in the world for six whole weeks. I could try to write everything that I've done in the past month but that would take about three hours. It may be a gap year, but I sure don't seem to have much time on my hands. My days have been filled with new friends, experiences, travels, and a lot of Spanish. 

         I think I underestimated how difficult learning a foreign language is, even when you're fully immersed in it. In a normal day, I speak about as much English as I do Spanish, because people from all over the world speak my language. For instance, I have a very good friend here named Freddie (actually, Frederique) who is from the Netherlands, and who has invited me to stay with her during the Christmas holidays! Her English is practically perfect and our Spanish is equally pre-intermediate, so naturally we speak in the language that is easiest for both of us. It's both a blessing and a curse. We usually sit next to each other in class, in fact, we've been together since the very first, very confusing day. When we first went to class, I remember our professor asking me the equivalent of "what's up" in Spanish (of course.) I looked at him with horror and turned to Freddie to ask her what I was supposed to say back to him. Little by little, I began to understand a word here or there. After two weeks, basic greetings became familiar. Three weeks, four weeks, I could understand most of what my host mom said to me as long as she spoke slowly. Six weeks later and I've begun dreaming in this language. I really do understand what goes on around me now, for the most part. Starting from the bottom, Freddie and I have worked our way up to the third level at our language school. For four intense hours a day, we learn grammar, practice conversation, listen to native speakers, and play games. The professor chastises us if we speak even a little bit of English, or French, or Dutch, or German, or Chinese or anything other than what we're here to learn. It's often very difficult to say what we want to say, but we have to try.
      A few months ago, I would have been nervous to have a formal conversation on the phone or to accomplish some sort of task that required me to rely on strangers to help; I've always been timid in public situations. Now, I have to do everything for myself in a language that I don't speak with fluency, from buying necessities to asking for vitamins at a pharmacy (it's harder than it sounds), to recharging my bus card, to inquiring why I had to pay 40 euros to pick up a package from the post office. Separately, these things are quite difficult and 78% of the time, someone laughs at my accent or my inability to understand certain words. But together, the blend of all of these experiences that force me to get outside of my comfort zone, is making me into a fearless person. What I'm trying to say is that being away from familiarity, in a foreign country, is simply hard. There are days when you want to hop on a plane back to Arkansas to hear a few "y'alls" and eat at your favorite restaurant. But there are also those days that are just so magical that you can't imagine yourself any happier than you are at that exact moment, eating tapas with your friends from three different countries while the moon shines over the ancient Cathedral that you have the chance to marvel at every day. As I sat in the lotus position this past Wednesday at my yoga/meditation class, while the teacher hit a gong and made strange humming noises, I looked up to see a small figurine of Buddha. I thought how strange and wonderful it is that I'm getting to see other mindsets and religions that I would never in a million years see back home. This is why I'm here. This experience is far from easy, but it's completely, one hundred percent, changing me for the better. 

In a few days, I'm off to Paris for a week with my friend Paige for fall break (how many 18 year-old American can say this?!) Morocco is in a two and a half weeks and Christmas break is coming up soon. I'm really getting to see Spain (more details on Ronda and Granada later) and the world. To say that I'm lucky is an understatement. I promise to blog more often. 

Your global citizen,

Elizabeth

"De-American-izing."

      Hola! Yesterday we got the chance to visit the ruins of the Roman city of Italica. Though it was mostly, well, ruined, the weather was perfect and it's always fascinating to see where and how ancient people lived. It's beyond crazy that places like this are only a short bus ride from my new city, I'll have so many opportunities to learn in new ways this year.

        

      Since my last post, I've started school at the beautiful CLIC (Monday through Friday, 9:15am-1:00pm), which is a twenty-five minute walk from my apartment, filled with breathtaking views of the Guadalquvir river. I knew that I would meet new people on this program.  I knew that I would be studying at an international school. But if you had told me two weeks ago that I would already have friends from several different countries, I wouldn't have believed you. In my class of ten people at school, I'm the only American. Throughout the class I hear tidbits of German, English, Dutch, Japanese, French, and Mandarin being spoken, though we're all here to learn Spanish. I'm particularly inspired by an elderly Japanese man who sits near me. I often wonder what the place he calls home is like, how old his children are, how he ended up in Seville... but we can only communicate with gestures and smiles and occasional basic Spanish phrases. We're at such different places in our lives and yet we're here in the same room and both very far from home. I think this is one of the wonders of travel-- you meet people from cultures that you might not even acknowledge otherwise, out of either ignorance or egocentrism. I've fallen prey to both. The other day, I talked to my host sister, Lucia, about how culturally aware young people tend to be in Europe and how unaware young Americans tend to be. The teenagers in my class are all bilingual, some even trilingual, and all of them are fluent in English. In our defense, the rest of the world does tend to focus on America as the center of fashion, music, and food-- adopting much of it into their cultures. And so, because other countries try to think like Americans, we young Americans are stuck thinking mostly about ourselves. I wish that I'd been required to take a language throughout elementary and secondary school. I wish I had been taught more about other cultures. I wish we, as a new generation, had been taught how to respect other customs when traveling-- because most of the time we come across as loud, rude, and disrespectful-- and we are, because we don't know better. This year I've made it my mission to be as un-American as possible so that I can soak up Spanish culture for what it is. I'm stowing away my Nike shorts, love for sweet tea, and all of my preconceptions. I think that I'll get more out of this gap year if I'm less attached to where I come from and more open to change; something I wish I'd been at a younger age. Now, I'm sporting some fuzzy pink slippers (no bare-feet in Spain) and eating all the tapas I can get my hands on, which, okay, I would've done anyway. 

 So, to the Japanese man who sits across from me in Spanish class, thank you for opening my eyes to what lies beyond Arkansas and America and English and McDonalds. Maybe one day I can visit your country. 

Love,

Elizabeth

    

Vida.

Hola, I'M IN SEVILLA! But I'll rewind back to Wednesday, the day that I flew to Spain. After my parents dropped me off at the airport and we said our goodbyes, I dragged my bags across the LR airport and flew to Chicago. I had a four hour layover there, which consisted of some more dragging of my bags. And then I realized that I had committed the worst crime of a student studying abroad: I overpacked. I'll just say that by the time I found my gate in Madrid with my new friends, Paige and Dru, my right shoulder was raw from the weight of my backpack and duffel bag and I wished I hadn't thrown in eight pairs of shoes, a converter, four books, a tote bag, and so on... Because anything I could ever need is probably within a ten minute walk from my apartment here..

     Anyway, after we arrived at the airport in Seville, we took separate taxis to our new homes. I was greeted outside by Lucia, my 21 year old Spanish sister, and Elvira, my host mom. Instead of a hug, I was greeted with two air kisses on either cheek by my new family, and so I encountered the first of the many cultural differences between the US and Spain. After explaining that I speak incredibly poor Spanish, I learned that Lucia speaks fluent English, which made my first day a lot easier. They showed me around their beautiful and pristine (oops, I'm really messy) apartment and then after lunch, I rested in my incredibly cute room for the afternoon. Honestly, the first day left me feeling overwhelmed. Here I was, with other students I didn't know, living with strangers in a foreign country, where they speak a different language. What in the world have I gotten myself into...

    After I took the first of what will be many siestas and slept off some of my jet lag, I joined the rest of the gap year students from CIEE for dinner near my apartment in my neighborhood at about 8pm, which is a very early time to eat dinner in Spain. Another huge difference in culture is the eating schedule here. A normal day consists of breakfast about 8 or 9am, lunch between 2 and 3, and dinner between 9 and 10:30. After dinner on weekend nights, the young people here go out until about 3 or 4 in the morning. But even young children and families are out in the street or eating at cafes until about midnight or later: the city seems to never sleep! This is one part of the culture that I really, really like because I'm a night owl. Even though I've only been here for four days (only?!) I already feel adjusted to the new schedule. The rest of my time has been filled up with getting to know the other students, getting to know my really cool host family and city, participating in various orientation activities, and working on improving my terrible Spanish. Last night, a few of the other students and I went out to a discoteca, which is similar to a club in America. Everyone in Spain seems to know how to have a good time and I spent the night dancing to a mix of American and Spanish pop music with my new amigas. 

    This afternoon, I spent time with Lucia and she took me to a local park to meet some of her friends. And even though I understood absolutely nothing, I managed to hold my own in badminton and a game of cards. Later, the gap year group took a tour of Parque de Maria Luisa, which is a gorgeous   public park here. The tour ended at the Plaza de Espana, built in 1929 for the Ibero-American Exposition World's Fair, and is what you usually see on a post card of Sevilla. The sun was setting, it was breezy, and the sight was absolutely beautiful.

In other words, I love Sevilla, my host mom is a fabulous cook, my host sister wears cool pants, my new friends are great, and a year here may not be enough. It's midnight and tomorrow I start my Spanish classes, so I'm done blogging for now. 

Sending love back home,

Elizabeth