From the Mouths of Babes

There were a couple things I wanted, or thought I wanted, when I set out to find a college. The first, and most enduring of these, was small classes and devoted, approachable professors. I knew that I’d be more engaged, and therefore learn more, in an intimate, conversational environment. The second aspect was a matter of much personal contention: did I want a ¨campus¨ or a school set in an urban environment? I could see the advantages of both: a traditional campus seemed like an attractive and somewhat safe option, while the prospect of living in a great city, in the way that it would make my experience more true-to-life, also appealed to me. And so I sat, balancing (sometimes) contrasting desires, and searching for whatever felt like the right thing.

We all have these hopes and expectations for our college experience. Nowhere was this more obvious to me than recently, in a freshman meeting with my illustrious classmates. All together we discussed our experience of Suffolk Madrid so far, the good, the bad, and any constructive criticism. It was really interesting to hear, from my peers, how their expectations have translated to reality and how they feel that their needs are, or are not, being met.

For me, Suffolk Madrid has done well so far. My classes are small, and my professors are wonderfully personable and passionate. The faculty and staff are like one big family, a family that constantly seeks to integrate orbiting students. For me, and I think for most of us, this is a very rewarding and nurturing environment to be in. As far as the traditional v. city campus issue goes, I know what I’ve given up. Sometimes it seems difficult to integrate my outside life with my academic one. Sometimes it feels like each of my feet is planted in such a different world. And yet to live in the city of Madrid? To have all the opportunity and diversity that it gives me? So worth it.

In The Thick

It’s hard to remember what it was like now that it’s gone: that stomach-turning queasy feeling. As the hour grew nearer and nearer, I withdrew more and more, unaware of the world around me, focused only on remembering dates or facts that felt perched precariously in the corners of my mind. It made no rational sense, my nervousness… I knew these things, and the knowledge went far deeper than the corners of my mind.

Midterms, it’s so lovely to meet you.

I had two big tests on Tuesday, so I spent most of the weekend studying. Occasionally I’d find myself distracted by something like the sudden urge to clean my kitchen, wash my clothes, and paint my nails. But mainly I progressed forward: preparing, going over things I knew, but needed to have readily available. I had all weekend, so I took my time: studying, a run in the park; a little more studying, a read through the newspaper; still more studying, a political protest.

But come Tuesday morning, though I had done all I needed to do, I was incredibly nervous. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what awaited me in those exams… quite the opposite. It was that I knew exactly what would be required of me, I knew it would be difficult, and I wanted so very much to do well. I felt silly and vulnerable and real. Academic anxiety, having studied and read and listened and understood, was not so known to me.

So when it was time I went into the classroom, sat down, and faced the test. And really… it wasn’t so bad. Granted, results will soon be available to tell me just how bad, or good, it was. But as my favorite high school teacher used to say, I walked into the test young, intelligent, and beautiful, and I left the same way.

I’m told it gets easier…

Dia de la Hispanidad

Yesterday was “Día de la Hispanidad”, the national day of Spain. People took the day off from school and work, there was a parade on Gran Vía, and military planes flew overhead. “If you can manage to stay in all day that’d be good”, a Spanish friend advised, a tad facetiously, “The city will be over-run by out-of-towners”. Mindful of this, and given that I had a lot of work to do, I moved to my own beat. I enjoyed some tea and the sunshine over my morning reading; I ignored the military bombers. Then I found my way to a plate of my favorite paella in Lavapies, in a cute corner café that only serves paella on Wednesday’s and Saturday’s. It’s always humming with customers, and the bartender is very sociable. It’s becoming a Wednesday/Saturday tradition. From there a friend and I meandered to El Parque de Buen Retiro, one of the biggest and most beautiful parks in central Madrid, where we spent several hours sitting under a tree. I read, and she wrote a letter. We listened to music and watched the world go by.

Later, on our way back to the metro, we passed the Ministry of Agriculture, which was hosting an open house in honor of Dîa de la Hispanidad. They even boasted an exhibit on “the Mediterranean Diet”. “Let’s go!” I said to my friend as we passed the entrance. She looked at me as though I was a little crazy. But I wandered on ahead, we scanned our bags, and found ourselves in a beautiful, palace-like building. “What is this again?” my friend asked.

Inside, there were security guards and makeshift barricades to guide us through only certain hallways. These hallways were mostly empty, though adorned with paintings of the Ministers of Agriculture, dating back to when they went to work wearing swords slung at their hips. We walked onward, and soon found ourselves in the Mediterranean diet exhibit. A kind of public service situation, it gave advice on healthy eating with a tie to Spanish cultural norms. Resisting the urge to eat the artesian bread exhibit, we each obtained a pin featuring a picture of some fresh tomatoes, and left the building.

So this week I have a thought, a challenge, and some advice: follow your nose, heart, and intuition. Sometimes it’ll only take you as far as the Ministry of Agriculture, but it’ll always be an interesting ride.

On The Road

I remember how it felt, after living within a one or two mile radius in central London last year, to finally leave the city and go… TO OXFORD. There is so much to do in the city of London that one has no real reason to leave, especially in the short-term. So I stayed within that world of a city for months, without fully realizing that my California wandering tendencies were making me more and more restless. Oxford is only about an hour outside of the city, but the bus ride was terribly exciting. I could feel myself leaving the confines of my life, I could feel the countryside change around me, I could even feel air quality improve. I trembled with anticipation. In the end, my day in Oxford was one of the coldest I have ever experienced: the snow was piled high on the streets, and the wind whipped across the countryside. By evening I was overjoyed to return to the more insulated city.

Given this experience however, I am now mindful that cities can be a bubble, and that one should never underestimate the importance of getting out and seeing the world from a different perspective. In other words, I knew that no matter how engrossing and wonderful my life in Madrid proved to be, it would also be vital for me to get out, if only every once in a while.

Setting up my life in Madrid was a full-time job in the first weeks, so I didn’t yet want, or think it prudent, to leave. But this last weekend, on the occasion of it being one whole month since my arrival in Spain, I was finally ready.

I hopped on a bus full of fellow students at midnight on Thursday night, and watched the stars out my window as we traveled north. Seven hours later, we arrived in Santiago de Compostela. The air smelt different, and felt different; the language sounded different; and the lifestyle looked different. Once again, I trembled with anticipation.

What followed was one of the best weekends of my life. We explored Santiago, then went to the sea. We visited museums, and THE cathedral. We ate traditional seafood, and tasted local wines. We explored, and found treasures, and got lost. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much in one single weekend.

It was grand. And yet, after a second seven-hour bus ride on Sunday, I found that I was profoundly happy to be HOME. And that realization, that I feel at home where I am, is arguably the most important of the weekend.