Back in August, I essentially dived into a pool and began swimming. I saw so many new sights, smelled the scents of delicious food cooking or over-cologned passersby, and made my way through Spain. I was so taken by the new and different beauty of the country, and especially the customs. One of the first things I noticed was how social everyone seemed to be and how the plaza café was a cornerstone of the lifestyle here in Spain.  

Noticing all of this is something that so often happens when you go to a new place. You tend to pick out the small things that normally go unnoticed, also noticing the big ones too. I suppose that’s the beauty of traveling to a different country on vacation, because you immerse yourself in something quite different from home. The same thing happens when you study abroad, but with the added time, those small things that you noticed at first slowly recede and, after a while, become unnoticed just the same. It’s not a bad thing, it just shows that you have become a part of the lifestyle and that place became a home.  

A home this is. Granada is a big part of my life now. So many experiences and memories were forged on the streets of this mid-sized city in the mountains, and so many friendships were made. I am preparing to leave Granada for what will likely be the last time. I would love to return at some point, but that time probably will not happen for many years to come. What’s important, though, is that I have grown. Obviously not physically, but intellectually. My entire life I have enjoyed traveling to new places, crafting new experiences and relationships and Granada stands as the best of those experiences. 

In many ways, I would say that studying abroad is like the first semester of college. You arrive and are out of your element, in a new environment and with new responsibilities. There may be friends from high school, so you flock together and share the majority of your experiences together while navigating the complexities of this new place. With time you make new amazing friends, figure out the drinking culture and reach some sense of moderation that will influence your lifestyle and decisions while having a blast and the time of your life. Shortly thereafter, you realize that this new place has become routine. You know all the nooks and crannies, you have a super secret territory in the library for studying and have a regular group of friends. Then the time comes to leave and while you’re sad, you look back with fondness at all that you have accomplished, you smile at the funny moments and joke about the embarrassing ones. As pictures are viewed, you chuckle at who you were all that time ago, and you map out in your mind how you have grown personally. Then you leave, maintaining ties and connections while going about whatever trail in life is meant for you, while always reflecting back to a time and a place that was special and that will never be replicated again.

This is how I feel as the hours wind down and I prepare to go to bed one last time in my apartment. Spain was a new experience for me, and one that I relish with the hungry zest of someone in a hot dog eating competition. Like them, I soaked everything up and consumed all that I could of my time here in Granada and abroad. Unlike the hot dog competitor, I could actually taste what I was experiencing, and could thus appreciate it all the more. My time here was not a competition by any means, but it was an experience that many people witnessed and can share. 

So many of us students came together for these past few months and I made tons of new friends, many of whom I may never see again, but the memories will live on. At some point, my trail may converge with that of any of my new friends, and I’m sure we will get together and remember all of the experiences we shared in Spain, for the memories will come surging back. They always do. 

What makes these memories and these moments of reminiscence so special, is they can never be replicated. I could very well study abroad again and go to a new country, learn the language, and submit myself to a new set of experiences, but it would not be the same. The people, the places, the experiences and the culture make an experience what it is meant to be and that is what forges the memories, making them so unique. 

Despite the differences in experiences, all good things must come to an end. Time never stops chugging on, and life will pick up tomorrow with the regularity of the rising sun. It may be a new day with new possibilities, but the memories of yesterday will still be there, lingering. 

Memories are what make up life. We live our lives as best we can, while looking back on the formative experiences that guided us along our treks and remember as our hearts glow with happiness or sadness, laughter or anger. My time here in Granada was each of these, and for that I am thankful. I will miss the amazing friends that I have made here, and the fond times that I have had, but there will not be a single moment that I will regret or frown upon. 

Many years from now, I very well may have a family of my own. At some point, I’m sure one of my kids will ask me if I ever studied abroad and I can tell you right now, that I will chuckle, smile, remember those still lingering memories, and smile some more with the most profound sense of elation in my heart. 

I stepped down that last step on the porch, quickly glanced left and then right, zipping up my forest green North Face jacket as I did so. I adjusted my backpack and started walking as the heavy metal door slammed behind me. I watched my breath slowly turning into a white mist in front of me as I eased into my walking rhythm.

Cars were moving by, filled with people driving to work and school. I was weaving my

way through the pedestrian crowds near my plaza and on the street at 8am. The sun was not up yet, with only a small sliver of light streaked across the sky. I passed the group of students that always look like they only had two hours of sleep, the preppy girls dressed to the nines and the one nerdy kid with the overloaded backpack that always frantically, exasperatedly sprints down the street as though he will be late for school. I passed the chain-smoking, beer guzzling bakery owner as he stood outside enjoying a morning coffee and a pack of cigarettes with a buddy. I saw the same group of three businessmen, all dressed up in their suits and ties, that I see every day as they make their way to work.

As I kept walking through my normal morning route, sights like these passed my eyes like advertisements on a TV screen. They’re there with that sense of regularity that so often accompanies routine, but hardly acknowledged. 

Eventually I cut through the plaza that smells like bird droppings, making my way around the fountain and glancing up at the tall trees that were just now losing their leaves, noticing a bird or two here and there. Before I could look forward again, I stepped onto that old cobble-stoned road that was set back in the 17th century, that looked like something right out of Boston, and then made my way onto the Arabic cobble-stoned road that was laid out in the 14th century, (Instead of bricks, they would place down small stones about the size of a plastic silly putty case and fill the extra space with a mortar-type mixture) that softly massaged my feet as I pattered along. 

 When I emerged from the mass of buildings, I looked back and saw the tip of the Cathedral of Granada, which was beginning to be built in the 16th century, as the sun slowly peeped over the buildings with a ray that looked like someone spilled orange juice on the sky. I turned back and saw, down the long avenue, the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains looming over the city like a kid leaning over their siblings’ shoulder on Christmas day. I then looked the other way, and saw the old Arabic quarter of Granada, the Albaicín, with all the gorgeous white houses decorated with flower pots and plants, houses that were still there after hundreds of years. Finally, I looked ahead of me, and saw the Alhambra in all it’s majesty upon that bluff, with the slightest hint of sunshine finally touching the tips of its walls and towers.

I’ve spent the last few days trying to figure out what else I have left to do here in Granada. I’ve made list upon list and scribbled through countless pages of my tiny pocket-sized moleskin that I keep with me everywhere I go. Conscious of time flying by and my eventual departure nearing with each minute, I’m scrambling to make sure I’ve fulfilled all that I want to do. 

A week from yesterday (Friday), I will have finished all but one of my exams. A week from today, Saturday, my Mom and my sister Natalie will be here in Granada. A few days later my other sister Angela will arrive and shortly thereafter we will all leave Granada. When we leave, so will most of the Americans that I’ve been studying with will all semester, as they plan to go up to Madrid to catch their flights back home. Meanwhile I will travel to a few other cities here in Andalucía and on into Portugal over Christmas, finishing in Madrid. All told, I have about a week and a half left here before my program is formally over.

Knowing this, I feel quite bittersweet. I’ve been here in Spain for quite a long time and as a consequence, much has happened. I’ve seen so much, shared many a laugh and had a great time. I’ve also had my share of challenges, too. The language barrier is a lot bigger than most people think, and with that so are a lot of the cultural norms that I’ve encountered, too. 

Of course, I am looking forward to my return to the States- to see my family (unfortunately my Dad won’t be able to join us on our Christmas travels), my friends, my dogs, and to return to my more serious studies. In addition to my lists of things to do before I go home, I also have several things that I’ve not been able to replicate here, which I’m eager to resume back home (such as playing euchre with some of my greatest friends and kicking their asses. Kidding! Although it sometimes does happen…) and also things that I want to share with people about Spain. I want to have tapas parties, to teach people how to make sangria or tinto de verano, to use some of the Spanish colloquialisms that I’ve used, and many other things. 

So much learning has happened and there is so much that I’m incredibly grateful for. I like to think that, as a writer, I have a pretty solid command of the English language but I still struggle at times to find a set of words that could even remotely portray the profound sense of gratitude that I feel for this opportunity. The chance to put yourself in an entirely new culture, to expose yourself to new and often challenging experiences while also trusting that you will learn something is truly special. It’s an opportunity that does not go ignored in this world, and it’s an opportunity that should be taken advantage of. 

While I’m certainly feeling ready to go home, but reluctant to leave the lifestyle I have picked up here, time does not stop. Looking back through my photos, I realize in a tangible way how much I’ve done and seen. When flipping through my journal to find the end of my last entry, my fingers brush through page upon page on which I’ve scribbled my thoughts and anecdotes, those little particles of memories that I will look back at many years from now. A lot has happened, and for this I’m content. 

I have a week and a half left, and there is still plenty of time to embrace my experience here in Granada before I leave with my family. Tons of time to share final laughs with friends, rolling eyes at corny statements, having a beer and watching a soccer match while soaking up this place and time. I wrote an earlier entry at the end of October about the sands of time and how the best way to adjust to time’s continuity is to reach down and pick up a handful of sand, for it’s those grains of sand that will remain with you for a lifetime. (I know it’s corny, but it’s true!)

I’m happy to say that right now, I can feel that little handful of sand in my pocket, and it’s a lot more sand than I would’ve anticipated. 

Yesterday, I wore a red shirt. Not because of the coming holidays and my choice to do Christmas shopping for much of the day, but because the Wisconsin Badgers were going to play a very important game that night. As I hope all of you know, the Badgers played one of their biggest rivals (given Ohio State and Minnesota on cold streaks not unlike the Wisconsin winter) this season- Michigan State. The outcome of the game would decide who goes to the Rose Bowl. 

There’s something beautiful about rivalries in the world of sports, if you ask me. Nowadays, rivals are forged from top-ranked teams with the best players, the most money, and ultimately better teamwork and playing styles. In the Big Ten, the Badgers are highly regarded for each of these reasons. Michigan State as well (although the Badgers are obviously better!). In the NFL, the same thing goes for the Packers who are undefeated for obvious reasons. What’s more, each rivalry has a bit of history to it as well. Badgers and Minnesota play for the Paul Bunyan Axe every year, Packers and Vikings are neighbors that hate each other. Packers and Bears fight because the packers are the ones that pack freshly killed bears meat and sell it. (Not really, but you get the point.) Each rivalry has a story behind all of the prestige of the program and so often that story gets forgotten at times. 

Here in Spain, the biggest sport is football. Obviously not American football, but what we Americans call soccer (henceforth referred to as football). Definitely the best sport in the world. While that statement may provoke some disagreement from some of you, you cannot dispute the fact that football is definitely the most watched sport in the world. Each of the major games are anticipated, viewed and analyzed in a manner fraught with passion and dedication not unlike that of the Superbowl for American football. Yeah, it’s pretty intense!

Accompanying this is one HUGE rivalry, arguably the biggest global football rivalry- that of Real Madrid and FC Barcelona. Madrid and Barcelona are the two biggest cities in Spain, and the teams are those with the most money, the best players, arguably the most diehard fans (although that goes for most teams), and the largest global followings. The matches between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid, called El Clásico, is a match that happens at least twice a year in the Spanish league calendar (sometimes more). It’s intense and it is fraught with historical and especially political significance that is far more relevant and pertinent than the rivalries I was referring to earlier in American football.

The city of Barcelona is part of the region called Catalan, a northern territory that prides itself on it’s own unique version of Spanish, with people that tend to be proud, self-centered and like money too much. While I cannot attest to any of these statements and hence cannot verify much fact, there is something true about Catalan nationalism and identity given the language. As a result, FC Barcelona has come to represent this Catalan nationalism and many cultural characteristics of the region.

On the other hand, Real Madrid tends to represent Spanish nationalism, and the unification of the country as a whole despite different versions of language and culture in the various states. It is a more centric team within the country and thus has a greater following. Here in Granada (and in much of the country), there are far more Real Madrid fans than FC Barcelona. The reasons in a traditional sense are more often than not political (with regards to identity) as opposed to technical (meaning players, style, coaching, team ethics, etc.)

However, with time, the true politics begin to be lost (ie What’s the true reason for the intense rivalry between the Bears and Packers?), and are replaced by more modern beliefs regarding the success of a team. These beliefs pertain to money and prestige. Some of the world’s best players play for these two teams- Messi (FCB), Ronaldo (RM), Xavi (FCB), Casillas (RM), Fábregas (FCB) to name only a small few- and some of the best private coaches in Europe lead the teams. Since the players are top-notch, the style of play is high-caliber and incredibly intense. It is not unlike watching a quality Packers vs Bears or, in the case of last night, Badgers vs Michigan State. 

The same goes for America. Some of the best professional players are with the Packers. The Badgers have two players that can make strong cases for the Heisman trophy. Many of the top teams in the country share the strongest players, best coaches, lots and lots of money, and huge fan bases. There’s a culture that revels in the glory of sports and a great rivalry. Families and friends get together to watch games, or talk about the results the day after. The news follows team successes and losses, players and coaches and the politics. Before, I thought this was a pretty American thing but it definitely is not. All of the same things happen in Spain. 

The biggest thing that I’ve noticed in drawing this comparison was how so many people come together and unite under the success of their favorite teams. The last Packer game I went to several years ago, I ended up screaming and giving high-fives to the hunting gear-clad, sausage chewing, Miller Lite drinking fans around me that I didn’t even know. Last night as I watched FC Barcelona play, I was cheering and giving high-fives to other Spaniards that support the team as well, even if I’d not spoken to them at all. Regardless, we were all there, sharing in the experience.

While I don’t go to UW-Madison, I grew up supporting the Badgers. I bleed red. I bleed green for the Packers, too. Since I’m not from Spain and didn’t grow up watching Spanish football, I can’t claim allegiance to FC Barcelona in the same way. However, I can appreciate the rivalry between Real Madrid and FC Barcelona, and share in the enthusiasm of watching my favorite team win. As the Badgers head to the Rose Bowl, the Packers make a strong case for another Superbowl run, and FC Barcelona gets closer to yet another league championship match against Real Madrid, I cannot help but revel in the beauty if a good, strong rivalry. The kind of rivalry that excites and unites the world around me, and leads us all to cheer or jeer together across language barriers and backgrounds. While the politics aren’t as apparent anymore, there is still nothing like a good, old rivalry to make a sport so much more fun to follow. 

Here in Granada, the streets have been decorated with light fixtures in the shapes of bells and snowflakes. Some homes even put up lights in their street-facing windows, and the shops that I pass to/from school have become noticeably busier. Yup, it’s holiday season again!

This is my favorite time of year as I’m usually back at Lawrence, working hard and stressing about finals (with my friends, some of whom are pictured at right), pushing myself to the very edge of my motivation to get things done. When all has been finished, there’s nothing better than coming home and being able to celebrate Thanksgiving within a day or two, to be greeted with all of those fantastic hugs, smiles and my Dad’s ridiculous and eye-roll (with a simultaneous chuckle) provoking sense of humor. Not to mention the food, of course.

While I no doubt miss being home for the holidays, I’m curious to see what it’s like to be in Spain for them. After one of my classes today, my favorite professor stopped me on my way out and said (in Spanish, of course): “Happy Turkey Day tomorrow, Jared! I hope you’ll be able to chat with your family for a bit even though we have classes all day.” It was a nice comment that caught me off-guard, but I was glad that she could appreciate the meaning of the day. She then asked what I would miss most and I said “Well a lot of things. But my Grandma Gallagher (pictured in front and center in the picture above) makes some AMAZING pies. My Grandma Marchant (pictured below in the lower right) makes some pretty fantastic dishes as well” (Notice how I didn’t list anything specific because all of the food they prepare, and that of my entire family, is truly excellent). My professor smiled and said that she wishes her Grandmothers and families could cook as well as it seems mine can. :) 

Spain doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving of course, but given the number of international students (many of whom are American), it’s no secret that Thanksgiving is a big deal. Given this, many people tend to go out of their way to wish us a happy holiday, and my program has planned a nice dinner for all of us to attend. Nonetheless, no matter how intrigued or excited I may be to experience the holiday season in Spain, there is still that pang that wishes I could join in some of the holiday festivities with those that I care about. 

So while I cannot be there in person to join my family at the table or give those plethora of hugs to various family members (although I am, indeed, Google video chatting with my family tomorrow), I’ll give my thanks via this blog. 

I think it’s no surprise that the biggest thing I’m (and many of my fellow study abroaders are) thankful for this year is support. I would not be able to come to Spain without the willingness, trust, love and support that my parents provide. What’s more, I’m thankful for my amazing sisters who continuously impress me with all that they do and who are the ones that helped ignite that flame to travel and explore new places. I’m thankful for my exemplary extended family and all of my truly fantastic friends. All of whom have been so supportive by sending random emails to say “hello”, by reading my blog and responding, by commenting on pictures, or chatting with me via facebook from time to time. Lastly, I’m thankful for my boss at Lawrence Today, Sheree Rogers, for letting me do this blog, giving me advice, and supporting me along the way. The same goes to Laura Zuege for promoting the blog as a way to generate excitement for studying abroad and also giving me great feedback. Two amazing women that support me so much in such a unique way, for which I’m very thankful!

So, THANK YOU everyone!!! 

Thank you all for your marvelous love and support and I wish ALL of you a happy holiday season! I’m so glad for the opportunity to be here in Spain and it makes me happy to be able to share these experiences with all of you even from multiple time zones away. Since I cannot be there to give you all a hug and express my thanks, I hope these words will suffice as will this picture that looks somewhat like I’m about to give a fantastic bear hug to someone:

(if it doesn’t, just pretend)

Enjoy your electronically-given bear hug dear readers! And thanks for reading thus far. Have a happy Thanksgiving and see all of you in 2012!

A few weeks ago, I went to one of my favorite wine and tapas places for an evening with friends. The wine was fabulous as usual and the accompanying tapas was exceptional. It was time well spent, and when we were ready to leave, I went and asked for the bill from the bartender. 

When he came back from the cash register, he told me the price in Spanish, but I hadn’t heard him completely since the place was just starting to get packed, so I asked him to repeat himself and I leaned further so I could hear him better. Instead of repeating what he had just said in Spanish, he tried to use some broken English. I didn’t really appreciate this, although I knew he meant well. We figured out the correct price, paid the bill and left. 

Conversely, the other day on my way home for lunch, I cut through a popular shopping area and weaved my way through the throngs of families that were doing shopping over their lunchtime breaks. At one point, a middle-aged Spanish woman came up to me and asked where a certain church was (in Spanish) and what was the best way to get there. I responded in kind and she happily made her way. I later was confronted by a young woman that was polling the political climate due to the upcoming elections. She asked me questions about what I thought about the candidates and their policies as well as where I saw Spain going in the coming years. I wasn’t exactly expecting these questions, but I responded in the best way I could, and I know she was appreciative of my attempt to answer her questions.

While I can completely understand the first story where the bartender was well-meaning and genuinely wanted things to be clear, I obviously find so much more value in the second two. There is no doubt that I stand out as an American student, or at least an International student (I’ve had people ask me where I’m from in France or Germany). My skin color is different, my accent is noticeable and the way I dress is, while nice and appropriate to the culture, still a little different. 

I’m finding, though, that people are accepting me as a member of the community here in Granada, regardless of my Americanism, politics, skin color or accent. If not, the woman looking for the church would’ve walked up to any of the other of hundreds of people making their way through the streets. Likewise, the pollster would’ve avoided me and sought out the opinion of an actual Spaniard. I suppose that Granada being a large university town with many international students, people like me tend to become a part of the lifestyle here. While I may certainly be treated differently- like in the story about the bartender- or people may speak to me more slowly than they would to others, I’m still a member of the community. 

Before I came to Spain, and after I got here, I was curious to see how people would treat me. On my previous vacations to foreign countries, the locals mostly left me alone and rarely engaged me. Here in Granada, now that I actually live here and know the city quite well, the people treat me as one of their own despite the obvious national difference. 

Occasionally I still get spoken to in English, or asked about things in America but at the same time, it’s pretty nice to have someone come up to me and ask me what I thought about upcoming elections or where certain buildings are, all in Spanish. I guess I could say that while I’ve considered Granada a new home in many ways, I had not had an experience that truly made it feel like Granada was my home until those two women thought to ask me a question as opposed to someone else. So I suppose that, even in a small way, Granada is that much more of a home to me than it was back in September.

Until this past weekend, I hadn’t had the opportunity to visit the mountains of Spain, something I had been longing to do since before I arrived. For those of you who know me well, you might know that I’m an Eagle Scout and also an avid outdoorsman. While I love being all awesome and cosmopolitan, I often find my escape in mountains and the outdoors. Although, given my hectic school schedules, I rarely have time to delve into that crucial part of my life. 

 This past weekend, however, I definitely found my getaway. My program (ISA) organized a trip to Las Alpujarras, a region in the Sierra Nevada mountains that’s actually a national park. We twisted and turned our way on a giant coach bus through the mountain range, often looking out the window to see no road below us (which I loved!). With that view came incredible vistas of high ridges, snow-capped peaks, white pueblos and trees that were changing colors kind of like Wisconsin in mid-October.

Every so often, we would see or drive through a small pueblo (village) of white homes and cute little stores with a lot of local artistry and food. If any of you have had the privilege of visiting Door County, think of that except without a lake and instead located in the mountains. So beautiful!

The program took us on a hike for six hours through the mountains, stopping at the top of a peak for lunch accompanied by beautiful views. As I sat there munching on my sandwich and listening to my friends chat, I couldn’t help but marvel at the vast terrain and all the beautiful sights provided by the hike. I realized how much I truly missed the outdoors after having lived in a large city for the past few months. 

Back at Lawrence, I always have views of a river when I study or eat and I pass through gorgeous green space when going to/from class (except it’s super white and sometimes gray in the winter, obviously). My university lifestyle at home is absorbed with the outdoors, whereas here I walk amidst buildings on a daily basis, with hardly a glimpse of expansive green space. I can deal with that, as it’s not unpleasant or bothersome to me. However, this trip certainly led me to realize the importance of the outdoors and how it’s nice to get away every once in a while; to go to a place that has no cars, loud noises or pollution is, in a way, a sort of refuge that rejuvenates. 

Starting class on Monday wasn’t terribly exciting, as per usual, but I certainly felt well-rested and relaxed. After a week of midterms, a weekend trip to the mountains was just what I needed! And the best thing of all? They were only a 1.5 hour drive away. 

Click here for photos! If you so desire…

This past Thursday (November 3rd) at about 1am, I arrived home from one of the most amazing trips I’ve ever taken. Each year, ISA (the program that I am studying with) organizes a six-day trip to Morocco for its participants, for which we pay extra. And I gotta tell ya, it was worth it.

My trip consisted of the following: 

• Ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar
• Visit to one of the oldest cities, and Morocco’s first Imperial city, Fez
• Shopping in Fez’s famous Medina (market)- a vast array of some 9,500 narrow, winding alleyways
• Visiting Fez’s ceramics district, it’s oldest university (from the 9th century) and the Royal Palace gates
• Seeing a belly dancing show
• Traveling into the Sahara desert via Jeep 4x4s
• Camping in tents among sand dunes for two nights
• Seeing the sun rise over the sand dunes and the brilliant stars in the middle of the night
• Riding camels through the sand dunes
• Visiting a typical desert village 
• Climbing sand dune ‘mountains’ with friends to fill up empty water bottles with sand from the top
• Eating spicy food for once (Spain spices their food with olive oil.)
• Drinking lots of mint tea

Needless to say, all of this was truly amazing. My favorite experience was walking with three other buddies of mine through the sand dunes. We had an afternoon free to explore the desert on our own, so we grabbed our empty water bottles and walked for about two miles to a giant sand ‘mountain’ and climbed to the top. It was maybe 700 feet high and the view was absolutely breathtaking. We filled our water bottles up with sand from the top of that mountain, and just sat there, taking in the sights and having great conversations as the sun slowly began to set. Interestingly enough, the day we climbed that sand dune was Halloween Day. What an awesome way to spend the holiday, eh?

No matter how amazing the views were, how awesome the gifts I purchased are, or how memorable the experiences, one of the things that will inevitably stand out to me the most from Morocco is the state of living. It’s something unmistakable and unvarnished that leaves visitors with a sense of “whoa.” 

The cities had lots of litter, there were hardly any traffic lights, the homes were run-down and the cars were beaten up. Make no mistake, there were plenty of nice cars around and comfortable homes. Even so, the simple way of life and the evidence of minimal materialism or wealth stands out like a bright light in the middle of the night. 

As a result, I often found myself wondering what effect all of this was having on tourists. Morocco benefits greatly from tourism, as it’s a popular entry point for those hoping to visit more than one country in Africa, since there is such an overlap with Europe and many languages are spoken in Morocco. When I was sitting on one of our three coach buses, passing through these cities, I couldn’t help but look around the bus at my friends and watch them look out the window at such a different way of life. What were they thinking? Feeling? What will they do with this experience when they go home?

What we saw was a culture that was very different from our own, and people that were incredibly content with how they were living. There was no desperation for lavish accessories or the newest style of anything. This isn’t to say that Americans are desperate for lavish things, which may or may not be true, but rather that there is a stark contrast between America and Morocco in terms of evidence of wealth, expense and the way we live our lives. Bearing this in mind, will we (as tourists) become more aware and careful of our decisions or purchases from now on? Or will we simply make a mental note of the contrast in living, remember to tell people about it, and then go home and continue to live life as we have before? 

I don’t have any answers or ideas, nor should I at this point. I guess theimportant thing is that I was there, that I saw a place and a group of people living a lifestyle different from my own and that I was aware of the difference. I believe it’s trips like these that make for a ‘global education’ that will somehow, someday impact my way of life and the decisions that I make. Maybe I’ll start changing next week, when I go home, or a year from now. Who knows? This is the benefit of travel and although the sights weren’t always so pretty, I like to think that my thinking has expanded in a new, unique way and I couldn’t be happier with that.

To look at my pictures from Morocco, click here! 

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said: 

“In three words I can sum up life: It goes on.” 

I have this quirk that is all about time. One of my favorite accessories is my watch, which I usually wear on a daily basis and boy do I like wearing it! I feel so strange without it- I can deal, but it´s definitely something that is a part of me. I’m one of those people that firmly believes in being prompt and timely, as it shows seriousness and professionalism. As a result, I usually get to my classes with a few minutes to spare, so by the time the professor comes in, I’ve got my notebook out and am ready to begin.

Yet one thing I don’t normally think about, is how quickly time slips through our fingers. It’s almost like standing in an ocean or a lake and reaching down, picking up a handful of sand, and feeling all of those tiny grains slip through your fingers as you try to bring the sand to the surface, leaving only a tiny mountain in the palm of your hand. It all happens so quickly and effortlessly while you sit there and marvel, staring at each little piece- the white, brown, clear, black, or tan ones- and wondering where they all came from, but also, where did they all go?

I’ve been contemplating this notion for the past few days as I look through my agenda and notice the day of the month while I look to the coming weeks and see what I have before me. Currently, I’m getting prepared to head to Morocco for five days with my program, an optional excursion for which I paid extra for… all the way back in July. I changed some money into the local currency a few weeks ago through my program, thinking “oh it’s still a while off but I’ll get this done now so I don’t forget”, an easily dismissed thought as though I had all the time in the world until my trip. And yet, here I am, typing this blog and staring at my packed bags whenever I’m at a loss for words.

While it has only been three weeks since I changed my money, it seems so long ago that I was at home, setting up times to meet up with friends and family, running errands and relaxing with my dogs while gradually packing. Even longer, it seems like so much has passed before my eyes since I landed in Madrid on that day way back in August (the 28th) and began my adventures here in Spain. I’m now almost halfway through my time in this amazing country, and so much has occurred. I’ve met so many fantastic people, explored a new city and allowed it to become my home, traveled to Paris and different parts of Spain and taken classes that keep me intrigued and on the tips of my toes. 

Essentially, I’ve climbed through dunes of sand, with each particle representing a memory- a joke, a smile, a laugh, a time or a place. Whether it’s a sad memory, a challenge or one filled with excitement is no matter. They’re all particles, making a shape. I have my photos to recall all of these, and the strength of my mind’s eye. I could tell you exactly what I was wearing when I got off the airplane in Madrid, the first piece of tapas I had and with whom, and the first people I met (including what they were wearing and what we talked about). Of course, I may not remember these details in a year, or many years from now, but I will certainly recall the roller coaster ride of fun, the friends I made, the walls that I’ve climbed and the challenges that I’ve endured. 

And still, time presses on. The dune that I’ve climbed through thus far will grow in these coming weeks, but eventually it will recede, too. The rivers of time will come swooshing down, and sooner than I think, I’ll be on a plane bound for the States. It always happens, and it always will. Time never stops for anyone or anything, always leaving you in it’s wake, marveling at the particles left behind. The most we can do, and what I fully intend to do, is to keep having fun, pushing my boundaries and crafting new experiences to chronicle in my journal, my photo albums, or to archive in my mind. All while reaching down and picking up a handful of sand, and putting that little mountain in my pocket to be held on to for years to come so that one day, many years from now, I can find a little piece of sand somewhere, and remember a joke, a smile, a challenge or a laugh. 

Being in Spain and going to such a large school like the University of Granada is a great experience. Coming from a small school in the Midwest, I’m not used to the large crowds, walking 20 minutes to and from school, or the vast expanse of a university. It’s a way of life foreign to me like the language here, but it’s also something I’ve grown accustomed to enjoy over all these weeks.

Granada, a city of some 240,000 people and a University of roughly 80,000 (5,000 of which are international students), is quite the transition from my school of some 1,500. Here, I’ve blended into the system like a poorly painted watercolor; the colors are still discernible, yet the details are lost. In a sense, I’ve become a name, a face and a number. 

My name appears on attendance lists like an item on a shopping list, something to be checked off. You know it was on the list, and in the cart, you see it and you acknowledge it, remembering it was there. And with that name, comes a number– a statistic, money, a percentage. To a university of 80,000, no one of authority knows me except for my professors, and even they struggle to remember my name, much less pronounce it (to some, I’m called “Miguel” or “Paco”) for the time being. For now, I am a numerical value and a name that exists in the vast expanse of technology, meant to be referred to later this year to examine trends and make decisions. 

Finally, I’m a face. Imagine those artistically designed pictures of famous people (such as Abraham Lincoln) that are actually collages of thousands of people’s faces. You don’t realize it at first until you look much closer later on. I am one of those thousands of faces that makes up the University of Granada. I blend in, yet I stand out, too. People may see me, but they may not know my name, who I am, or where I am from other than perhaps that I am American. 

Over the past few weeks I’ve gotten to know the other faces of that collage, people in my program that come from all over the United States, and other international students, too. We all share the notion of blending in, and we are our own little microcosm of students, enjoying the opportunities presented to us. Yet at the same time, something is different.

Back at Lawrence, I (and any other student) am much more than any of these. Of course I exist on paper and I am a number, but I hold so much more value in the community. I’m not just another face in the crowd, a part of a collage. I am a person that is involved in the community, working with other students and administration to sustain the success of the university, to improve the place we fondly call home. And that’s true not just for me, but for every student there. At Lawrence I can walk to class and pass roughly 15-20 people that I am well acquainted with, all of whom will smile, wave or call out my name and stop to chat, with me doing the same. Here in Granada, I will see maybe 2 or 3 people I know on my way to school.

The academics at Granada are interesting (more on that later) and certainly teach me a lot. Yet in a different manner than what I am used to. Here, we go to class, have discussions and explore concepts. Then we do homework that’s either reading a short story or doing some worksheet problems. It’s easy work that certainly is retained, but it’s nothing compared to Lawrence, as this homework only takes one hour to finish…. not four. The student experience at Lawrence essentially compensates for the highly concentrated and prolonged stress, hard work and nerdiness that inevitably prevails. We all endure 10 weeks of rigorous coursework, a struggle that persists for the whole year, backdropped by a dark abyss of changing, temperamental weather patterns. Yet the best thing of all is we’re all in it together. We all understand each other. When I’m stressed, 1,499 other people are stressed, too. 

Yes, we’re all faces in a crowd, but this time the faces stand out, and they’re familiar. What you’re looking at is a family. A family of intellectuals, nerds, individuals, artists, musicians, writers, scientists, academics and friends. For what it’s worth, the University of Granada is a fantastic place with fantastic education, life-changing experiences and so many opportunities and I relish the experience with a hunger not unlike that which accompanies staring at Grandma’s apple pie on Thanksgiving Day. But when it comes down to it, the University has absolutely nothing on the feeling of community that is so easily found at Lawrence.