“Expectation is the root of all heartache.” We keep expecting though. I had grand visions of what Spain would be like, they’re what pushed me along towards my dreams. I envisioned being an au pair in addition to teaching, two jobs, staying busy, having it all with everything I needed. I imagined learning everything there is to know about Spain and sharing it with all my friends and family ( like maybe more than a post per month…) I imagined making the best friends I’d ever had (like last time?) or at least meeting tons of cool locals. I dreamt of being a perfect Spanish speaker… I still do.
As some of you may know, I am no longer an au pair. That gig lasted about 3 weeks. I had moved into their home from the orientation, it was a really nice modern house. Having two jobs was tiring, to say the least. I didn’t have time to explore and build a support system in the way I would have liked. It was hard to prioritize and do so many things at once rather than to just adjust to my new situation. Ultimately, it wasn’t a good fit and I find it was better to have “called it” earlier rather than later. I was trying to do two things, multi-tasking, which made me do two things poorly when I would rather just do one thing well. I thought there was a clear lack of communication and I tried not to take it too hard. But I was very disappointed. There were many advantages like free food and housing, Spanish practice and cultural elements. I wanted this experience pretty bad, I had spent months talking myself into it. I had tried to avoid many obstacles by planning this out for myself that I eventually had to overcome anyway. But I found new housing, decent recent, safe area. I now live with a single mom and an eight year old. It’s peaceful and has a nice kitchen and a short commute to work. My new landlord is a kind journalist that lived in Senegal, and California for a while. Switching housing situations was hard. I was pressed to find a new place I liked and I knew where you live can have a large impact. The timing was rough. Moving into someone else’s house is hard enough, getting accustomed, and then doing it all over again.
The first two months are notably the peak for culture shock, knowing that fact wasn’t particularly helpful. I knew it was temporary but it was still very unpleasant. Culture shock feels like a failing kidney transplant. You are the kidney. It makes you feel like you want to quit even though, of course, you won’t let your mind go there because of all the work it took to get there—the commitment. It slips into your mind “maybe this isn’t the place for me” and make all kinds of generalizations about the people around you in a cynical way. I’d like to think I’m over this part but not all progress is linear.
I’ve been here for 3 months and I’m lucky enough to have made some friends. Among the people I have met, one really takes the cake. The level of support I have received is unmatched by anyone else in the country, my favorite Spaniard. I won’t gush too specifically, most people can guess who I’m talking about. I have many American friends, probably too many. There’s a lot of us here. Many of the friends are fellow auxiliaries or English teaching assistants. I am grateful to be in such good company of people doing what I’m doing. My job is very social by nature and so seeking out a support system simultaneously has been tiring. Also a special shout out again to my lovely landlord who has given up space and shown nothing but kindness, I commend my own intuition for this selection. Among the hardest people I’ve had to get along with honestly, is the teachers of my school. Women in their forties is probably the subgroup that I jive with the least, I think. Some of the most interesting people I’ve met are in my Spanish class, two hours once a week at a community center. I’ve always loved immigrants and there are people there from Latin America, Africa and Asia. It’s nice to be in a space with people that have so many different backgrounds, we are all foreign here.
Obviously, I miss my family, both blood and chosen. I still feel guilty sometimes, on what I’m missing out on. My communications skills definitely leave something to be desired. There’s pretty much always been a part of me that’s been longing for home, everywhere I’ve been, home is not a place. Honestly I’m quite anxious to travel home for many reasons I’m sure you can imagine. For one, from a culture shock aspect I think it will be quite jarring going back at such a culturally dense time and so soon. And then I could never forget the consistent fear that the pandemic we continue to live through leaves me with. I am heavily anticipating my booster shot, which is very freshly available here now just for healthcare staff. It is safer in Spain, everyone wears their masks all the time and most are vaccinated. The pandemic has definitely affected my out-of-Spain travel. I tried to go to Morocco last month, trumped by changing protocols.
A related struggle to all the rest is mental health. No one can escape the impact of the last ~almost~ two years. I’ve always been rather anxious but recent events like the pandemic surely haven’t helped. Moving to another country a semester after finishing college may have it’s own impact as well. I’ve been coping with my support system, medication, lots of water, some exercise. I really do miss my access to preventative healthcare specifically therapy.
I also miss shallow things like access to all the varieties of spicy ethnic food. I miss being around people that have a more similar body type to me. I miss my car, I chase the bus like it’s going out of style. I miss eavesdropping regularly, but I can nearly do that here too, it’s still not as fun when you have to try so hard to understand. I can hear English from a mile away but it’s often tourist conversations. I miss being around people I’ve known for more three months. I miss having a bigger bed and having more pants/shoes in my size.
And so, Europe is romanticized. Running to another country, travel, living abroad, being young: all is romanticized. And that’s okay to an extent. There’s plenty of real life. Many people say they’re “living the dream” usually sarcastically in my experience. But I really am, and the dream has struggles too.
Totally hear you on this. Going to India was a huge wake up call to the potential differences and I'm so happy to have had that experience. But it was NOT easy.
Germany was easier in one particular sense... at almost 6 foot tall... I was often "normal" height OR shorter!! Loved that. Go there when possible and buy clothes and shoes there.