A couple days ago I found out that I've been accepted to study abroad in Cuba this coming spring. I couldn't be more excited--I was literally jumping and squealing when I found out. The first thing I did was Skype my mom to tell her between breaths, the second thing I did was post about it on Facebook (and now a few days later I'm writing about it on a blog; technology much?)
The responses have been interesting. Some people have asked why I would choose Cuba, others have told me they have always wanted to go there. The Spaniards I have told don't seem to see it as such a big deal. The stigma surrounding Cuba seems to lie mainly with people from the United States. I have never had anything against Cuba. I've wanted to travel there for a long time, and I've studied it occasionally in various classes. To be honest I don't really know what to expect, but that's part of why I'm so excited. As excited I am that Cuba is the country where I am headed, there is a more important point. I was dissuaded from applying for a year abroad from the start, especially to two different programs. I almost didn't apply, because if the chances were slim what was the point? Many people told me there was no chance, it wasn't worth it, and I would regret a year abroad. Everyone is different, and I understand that a year abroad is hard and is not for everyone. However, I've always imagined spending my junior year abroad--it didn't even seem like an option not to. I'm the person who gets overwhelmed by the fact that there are too many countries I want to visit--and not just a little upset, I have had legitimate break downs about this. So when I saw that my school was leading a study abroad program to Cuba it was like a cruel joke was being played on me. I was already going abroad for the fall, there was no chance I could do two different programs in one year. Then this summer the (oh-so-simple) truth hit me: why not? What was actually preventing me from applying? If I didn't apply there was absolutely no chance of getting in. Sure, the chances were slim, but a one in a million chance is better than nothing, and my chances were much better than one in a million. So I went for it. I wrote emails to all the right people, got my paperwork in order, and took the leap. And guess what? It paid off. So as cheesy as this advice may be, if you want something then go after it. Don't sit around waiting for the opportunity to come to you. I'm in college for four years, and I plan on taking full advantage of these four years. I don't want to look back and wonder what if? I am going to be abroad for more or less 10 months of the coming year, and I am pretty much just as excited as I am terrified. I'm not going to pretend that I won't miss home and that I'm not a little freaked out. But that fear--that adrenaline rush that comes with travel--is part of what drives me to keep doing it. So I'm going to go out on a limb sometimes, and maybe that will lead to some regrets, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.
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No, not like that. I'm talking about rekindling one of my first loves. There are a handful of things I have loved since before I can remember: my family, singing (I starting belting it out before I could talk), horses (when I saw Mustangs in the parking lot I would start squealing "horsie! horsie!"), and dance. I have had a tumultuous relationship with dance. When I was six my parents decided I could start ballet classes, and like many young girls I was convinced I would be a ballerina. That dream was crushed when I realized I wasn't dancing often enough (I wasn't at boarding school), I didn't have the technique, and I was too tall. I took a small break in high school, but started back up again in college. You don't have to be the best in the world at something to love it. There is no prerequisite for having a passion, but it took me a while to realize this. It wasn't until this past year that I started to tell people yes when they asked if I was a dancer (thank you Kelly Silliman for making me realize I could claim that). I am not the best dancer by far, I know that, but I love it. My passion for dance leads me to the love that I've found in Spain. Tonight I took my first flamenco class, and it was like the language barrier disappeared for the first time since I've arrived. Sure, there were some struggles with getting loaner-shoes that fit, and I'm certain I missed some of the asides the instructor made to the class. But in a studio it's like there is a different language. Communication happens primarily through rhythm and motion. I was able watch the instructors feet and count the beats of the music, and finally I was immersed in a language I completely understood. This is not to say I'm an expert at flamenco--I definitely have a lot to learn. The beats of flamenco are vastly different from the ones I'm used to--one TWO one two THREE four five SIX seven EIGHT nine TEN, opposed to a simple one two three four, or a waltz of ONE two three (that will make sense if you play music or dance...if not just skip over it and understand flamenco has a unique rhythm to count). The hands--more specifically the motion of your wrists--are completely different as well. Despite all these differences I am ecstatic to start learning a new style of dance. After all, if it were exactly the same as ballet or modern what would the challenge (and fun) be? Image from Microsoft Office Clip Art. Accessed 19 Sep 2012 http://office.microsoft.com/en-us/images/results.aspx?qu=flamenco&ex=1#ai:MP900430702| First off I want to say I love being here--this isn't going to be a post about "woe is me." Yet, there are certain things that are difficult about living abroad. Being caught between two languages and two cultures is mentally exhausting, and once the novelty of living somewhere new wears off this exhaustion becomes very evident. The first week or so in a new country everything is new and exciting. There's new food, a new language, new friends, and uncountable new cultural norms. I was gung-ho about speaking Spanish 24/7 upon my arrival and couldn't wait for all the experiences I would have. Other than Facebook and Skype I was determined not to use English (even my journal is in Spanish). However, I learned that there is a breaking point. This past weekend I took a bit of a linguistic break, and because I was spending time with Americans I slipped back into English. I don't regret it; I truly needed the break because I was exhausted (and as it turns out a little homesick). Despite the fact that I needed to let my brain rest, speaking English actually made both languages harder. Switching between languages (in my opinion) is harder than struggling though a language that you may not know that well. I am constantly frustrated by my limited vocabulary and find it hard to express my thoughts adequately while speaking Spanish. I don't know the translations for words such as serendipitously, coincidentally, delve, impulse, and many others that I don't even notice using in English. What makes it worse is that when I'm thinking in Spanish I can't access the words that I want in English either (the other day I had to sound out independent to spell it in English). Interestingly, your native language and second language are stored in different parts of your brain: "'A second language acquired during the teenage years, which is late in developmental life, is represented in the brain in a separate location from the native language,' says Dr. Joy Hirsch" (Nature). So when it feels like you are trying to access a word in a filing cabinet somewhere in your brain you aren't that far off--you actually are trying to access a different part of your brain. As difficult and frustrating as being limited by language may be, that is why I am here. It doesn't take much time to realize that there is a vast difference between speaking Spanish for an hour in class and using it 24/7. I can't promise that everything I say will be in Spanish over the next few months. Sometimes the need to communicate clearly will get the better of me and I will slip into English--everyone on the program does. That being said, in the long run it will be easier to stick to one language as much as possible, and I will truly try my best to use Spanish the majority of the time. If you want to understand what it is like to not be able to convey your thoughts and feelings then go to a foreign country. In just over a week I've gained an appreciation for how natural communication is and how much we take it for granted. I'll finish things off with a little comic relief from I Love Lucy. It is one of my mom's favorite scenes--anyone who has tried to learn a foreign language probably knows this feeling! Hasta luego! p.s. I had to change the video (the other link was taken down) and this version doesn't have the best sound quality, sorry! Citations:
Nature (1997,388(10):171-174). Accessed 18 Sep 2012 https://docs.google.com/viewer?a=v&q=cache:QoAmIP7N9d0J:www.biu.ac.il/hu/ef/home/rp2/How%2520The%2520Brain%2520Organizes%2520Language.doc+&hl=en&pid=bl&srcid=ADGEESiAxQxmgD9HzQYYgKJmRXNHKoRFzB9wvHAffDozfs7qA4uwbohPv6RRbCWLcp2am3A__N1nujqzOZsYLV6cFRmG8Ci-b-qGWXAGfsZjPiJtyPK1iY0OOFgayxWBFTP_wcKmqLLP&sig=AHIEtbT1O2lECcFxOjV03C4Oxn5Lfw-AbA The past couple days I've discovered a few things while visiting cafes: First, I am going to be amazing at pouring a beverage from one cup to another without spilling by the end of the semester (explanation to follow); Second, I don't know the etiquette of outdoor seating here AT ALL (do you just pick a seat or do you go in and tell them you are sitting outside?); Third, I know tipping isn't customary but I can't leave without tipping at least a couple cents; Fourth, ordering the wrong item can be an amazing mistake.
There are a lot of little differences here--most of them are hard to notice at first. For example, when you want an iced coffee (a cafe con leche con hielo) you get two cups: one with the cafe con leche and one withhielo. It is then up to you to add the sugar you want to your hot coffee, wait for it to be the temperature you want, and pour it into the cup with ice. Due to my coffee addiction I have done this many times already, and I haven't even been here a week. Considering how hot it is I will probably be getting many iced coffees in the month to come. My pouring skills are getting better with each cup, but I'm still not spill free. As for the etiquette at cafes...I've taken the habit of catching a waiter's eye to signal I'm sitting outside, but I still need to figure out what is correct. This is something I'll have to ask a Spaniard about because I truly don't know what is customary. While we're on the subject of customary, let's talk about tips. I know that I am obviously American when it comes to this. If my clothes and accent don't give me away (which they do), then my tipping habit certainly does. I guess I should thank my parents for instilling such a strong tipping habit in me, but at the moment it is very hard to escape from. I don't leave 20% (at the very least I have broken from that custom), but I definitely am leaving more than the average Spaniard. (Come to think of it I might have left 20% the other day because the bill was so small and I just put a coin down, which was probably a euro, oops.) As long as I can get back in the tipping habit when I return to the U.S. I'll be fine. Honestly I would rather tip too much than not enough, so this is a custom I'm ok with breaking. Lastly, this morning encompasses all of these discoveries. I arrived at the cafe for breakfast before class. I decided since it was the first day I could treat myself to breakfast out. When I got there I stood awkwardly on the street corner. Should I go in and ask for a seat? There were plenty of open seats outside, and I probably could just sit down. Instead I opted to go to the door and catch the waitresses eye to tell her I was sitting outside. First awkward encounter--check. After a minute or so she came out and I ordered a cafe con leche con hielo and tostadas con aceite (toast with oil). The coffee arrived first and I had the opportunity to practice pouring my coffee from one cup to another (I did pretty well this time, only a little coffee dripped down the sides). The waitress came back to ask about my order. She wanted to know if I had ordered tostadas com tomate. The combination of my dislike for correcting people and the fact that it sounded interesting led me to say sí. What a wonderful mistake. When my breakfast arrived this is what I got; half of a demi-baguette cut in half lengthwise and toasted with a bowl of a bruschetta. The bruschetta was full of olive oil and tasted like the tomatoes had been picked that morning. Of course there was also olive oil, vinegar, and salt on the table. I had one half with bruschetta, and the other half with olive oil and salt (yes, that is a normal breakfast here). We end with me awkwardly tipping her--she was confused why I gave her more than two euros and I couldn't remember the word for tip, but all in all in was a great breakfast. No pictures again, because I was on my way to class and didn't take my camera (I really should start carrying it with me everywhere, I know). BUT, I will put a link up to my Flickr page and I've uploaded some pictures there. Hasta luego! Three hundred and fifty miles of driving and two flights seem to have done the trick, I've made it to Valencia. Until I got here it all seemed surreal (and to be honest it still kind of feels like I might wake up at any moment). All summer I had been working to save up, and I kept myself motivated by the light at the end of the tunnel--a semester in Spain. I had my reservations like anyone going abroad does, but I also was lucky to have been to Valencia before and have a network of people here for me. My seat neighbor on the plane from New York to Madrid was also going abroad, and she was making a much bigger leap than I. Mary* is going to be in Madrid* this semester, and she seemed very nervous about going. The more I talked with her it became clear why. Mary is a first generation college student, currently attending a community college. She is the youngest of her family, and most of her siblings resent that she has graduated high school and gone to college, and they are jealous of the fact that she is going to be spending four months in Spain. Not only does she seem to not have the support of her family, but despite trying to get friends to attend the program with her she is going alone. She will be the first of her friends to travel outside of the United States, and as nervous as she seemed I believe that she is ready for the experience.
Many of my friends are studying abroad, but some aren't because universities can make it difficult. We need to complete certain credits for our majors and a semester abroad can set you back--a lot. I know it's only my first full day here, but I can't imagine not doing this. Taking this leap to go abroad is probably the best decision I've made thus far and I would encourage everyone to go abroad. I hope Mary has a great semester, and I applaud her for going abroad when she didn't have the biggest support system helping her get there. I'll have more to come (including pictures) when I've been here for more than a day and am no longer fighting with jetlag. Hasta luego! *name and city changed for anonymity |
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Claire AngelineI am traveling the world from October 2017-October 2018, and the plan is to visit all seven continents. I'm a vegetarian foodie, a baker, a dance enthusiast, a nonprofit co-founder, and a huge travel addict. When I'm not traveling I'm putting my MPH to good use and doing public health research. Archives
September 2016
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