finding a way

On Tuesday, September 21^st I embarked on what may be the most exciting experience of my life, living alone in Barcelona. After 23+ hours of travel, including a missed connection and a screaming baby on my red eye, I arrived in the Barcelona airport. Standing there in front of the conveyor belt, waiting for my luggage to appear, it hit me like a sack of rocks that I was very alone in a very different place. My heart began to race. Was this a mistake? Maybe I should have chosen to live in the other side of the United States instead of the other side of the world. I sat there in front of the conveyor belt until all baggage had been claimed and the belt shut off. Although I felt super disgusting and in need of a change of clothes, it was really a blessing that my two enormous, oversized suitcases didn’t arrive; there were no lockers to store them and I still had to look for a place to live, or to sleep at the very least. I called the man that’s in charge of me at the school because I received an email from him while I was waiting for my connection in Denmark, telling me that he would be meeting me at the airport. There must have been a miscommunication because he wasn’t at the airport waiting for me and he sounded surprised at my arrival, which I had informed him of 3 weeks prior. I felt disappointed and sad, but there was no time and absolutely no evolutionary significance in crying about it. After filing paperwork for my missing suitcases, I made my way to the end of the airport and boarded a train for Passeig de Gracia, the neighborhood in which I had apartments to look at. Once there I bought a cell phone and walked around, looking for the addresses I had written down. Barcelona seemed so big, not because of the large buildings and wide streets that hosted a sea of people, but because I felt so vulnerable and out of place.

The apartments that I looked at weren’t available until the end of the month, so I redirected my attention to looking for a hostel or pension for the night. I walked around the city for 3 hours and every place I came upon was full. You see, the coming weekend marked a huge annual celebration in Barcelona called La Mercé, and as a result there were visitors from everywhere. I finally gave up and got on a bus hoping that I would rest and come across a vacant hostel. Eugenio, the man from the school, called me and asked, “Are you okay?” Those three little words stirred a commotion of emotions and I started to cry. “I’ll call you a little later,” I explained before hanging up the phone; I didn’t want him to know that I was upset. Unintentionally, I fell asleep on the bus and when I awoke I was startled to find myself in a bus that was parked on top of a hill, with the engine off. The driver was sitting in a passenger seat, filling out paperwork and I couldn’t tell how long things had been this way. I’m not sure who was more scared, the driver or myself, because he practically shouted, “what are you doing here!” when I stirred. Out of embarrassment I lied and explained that I had missed my stop and was now lost and waiting for the bus to turn around. Fifteen minutes later, we were on our way back to Barcelona.

After another hour of hunting I found a hostel, showered, and slept. Four hours later I awoke and much to my chagrin it was only 10:30pm. I needed people – I needed to talk to people and laugh and experience a social interaction that had been missing from my daily routine for the past 40 hours. Seeing as I was either going to die in that small, dingy cell of a hostel room or go crazy, I called Eugenio and asked him to let me come with him to Barbera del Valles, the city in which I’m teaching. He and 2 other teachers had been in the city for a show and graciously waited for me in the metro station Sant Martí. It took me almost an hour and a half to take the metro (the subway system) a distance that I now take in no more than 15 minutes.

There in Sant Martí I met Eugenio, Montse and Manuela, all teachers at la Escola Elisa Badía, and their friend Sol. Immediately I had forgotten how rough my start in Barcelona had been and was thankful that Manuela was offering me a room to rent for the week. Like a tour guide, Manuela showed me her beautiful apartment and gave me directions for everything and offered me food. It had been probably 24 hours since I had last eaten but food was my last priority… in that moment I would have hijacked a fitness center for a shower. Fortunately I didn’t have to take such strong measures.

The next day I went to the school with Manuela and met about 350 students and an array of teachers who welcomed me so enthusiastically. One of the sixth grade classes sang to me an array of English songs, accompanied by their teacher who played the Ukulele and I went to all of Eugenio’s classes and enjoyed helping and observing the classroom. Despite the past 2 days I was really glad to be in Spain again. I love the school, the kids are amazing and all of teachers are friendly.

A week has past since my rough landing in Barcelona and to be honest, I’m really glad that it happened that way. It makes being here so much sweeter, so much more of an accomplishment – and it makes for a really good story. Jane Goodall once said, “If you really want something you will find a way.” I must really want this.

loose ends

The day after my last blog I received my visa, passport, and work documents from the Spanish Consulate in San Francisco. I am officially moving to Spain! Woohoo!

At the moment, I’m sitting here staring at two empty suitcases that I’m supposed to fill with my belongings. I would really like to light a match and burn everything so that I’m not left with this decision. Ironically, I spoke with my mom today who called me out on my commitment phobic behaviors. “How’s finding a place in Barcelona?” she asked. When I explained that I had about 6 apartments from which I will choose 1 apartment in the next week, she replied “well, you never could commit to anything… why start now?” hahahahahahaha. In my defense, looking for a place to live has proved to be very difficult and discouraging. One place is too far from the city center, another has 5 other flat mates and one bathroom, yet another is in a dangerous neighborhood, or the owner is creepy and keeps calling me “to be friends” even if I’m not his tenant… the list goes on and on. I have so many loose ends to tie up.

Back to these suitcases, I think I’ll start tomorrow.