Her name was Amparo. Short, stout and sporting the ever-popular and revealing "nightgown-as-a-housedress" and that fiery, red dyed hair-look so prevalent among elderly Spanish women -- from the beginning she was none too easy on the eyes and quite critical of our large suitcases. She was adamant about turning off lights, riding the correct bus line and meticulously aligning the coverlet on our cot-like beds every morning.
My roommate Cameron and I were scared. For about 4 hours.
You see, Amparo could cook. Really cook. We're talking every meal was a personal chef-style, Gourmet Magazine-worthy, Food Network-deserving piece of heaven. And she was hell-bent on pleasing our picky American tastes.
To satisfy us lucky girls, almost every morning Amparo would awaken early to wield her electric hand mixer on the fresh chickpeas, olive oil, salt and garlic which would magically blend into a smooth, flavorful, sublime hummus. It was hard to be afraid of someone who could produce such a pleasure-inducing condiment. We quickly requested that our daily bocadillos (sandwiches) be composed solely of this hummus, a move appreciated at school among the suffering young lads nourished mainly by Heineken and "having it their way," everyday, at Burger King.Now, if you're sitting there wondering why I just used 200 words to describe Amparo and her culinary skills as a rather obtuse introduction to the fact that I spent five weeks with U.Va in Valencia this summer, then let me enlighten you. Save for some interesting digital pictures and rambling emails, crazy Amparo's delicious hummus is probably one of the few memories I will vividly retain from my Spanish adventure in the years to come.I think this phenomenon -- that of holding onto obscure details as a means of making a whirlwind of activity tangible for your mind to package -- is the curse of the collegiate summer abroad.
We packed those weeks as full as possible, juggling train schedules and schoolwork to squeeze as much "culture" and club-going as we could from our free weekends. I will spare you the details, because after all, no one really likes to hear about anyone else's European travels when they've been in a stateside classroom -- or worse, cubicle -- all summer. Yet I do have two critical suggestions should you ever journey to Spain: 1) Valencia is not a tourist destination, but rather a secretly effective study environment if we're going to compare it to Madrid or Sevilla; and 2) Baja Beach. It's a disco. In Barcelona. Go there.
Now back to the hummus. I brought it up, well, because the cathedrals, galleries, palaces, bullfights, concerts... they are a blur. Spain? It's almost like it never really happened. I don't think I even began to appreciate the beauty of the Spanish lifestyle -- dinner at 10 p.m. and clubs till daylight -- until I went to London, where pubs close at 11 pm like there's some mythic shortage of ale. I never really admired the charm of Old Valencia -- until I came across a postcard while unpacking. And though a summer is not nearly enough time to achieve fluency in a language, in hindsight the once frustrating conversations with Spanish taxi drivers seem amusing.
Ultimately, why do I love Spain more now than I ever did while I was there? And why do I have such fleeting memories?
At home in late July, deriving my main entertainment from The Daily Show's coverage of the Democratic Convention and Conan's "Walker Texas Ranger" lever on Late Night, I felt so guilty that I never gave Spain a real chance. Weeks later, I've come to the conclusion that I have an infuriating tendency never to be satisfied in my current location. This restlessness leads to an inability to fully embrace any experience -- or to mentally retain it -- which only results in a romanticization of the small things, like hummus. Unfortunately, there is only one place, in the world apparently, that this doesn't happen to me.
That place is Charlottesville.With that said, I feel I must embark on a "moral of the story," particularly for our fledgling first-years: Think long and hard when choosing if and when to go abroad. My incapacity to fully enjoy six weeks outside the U.S. should be lesson enough. Nevertheless, opting to go during the summer is a great way to escape a life of addictinggames.com and text messaging while stuck in a windowless office padding your résumé for three months. And if you are able to withstand the pitiful excuse that is the dollar's exchange rate, then taking classes on another continent to avoid those legendary humid and quiet Charlottesville summers is even more brilliant.However, do not throw caution to the wind. As you can tell, I feel more than a little unfulfilled from the limited time I spent in Spain. But to really experience a country, to really get to know the people and the language, one would need to stay at least four months. And to most of us who are so obnoxiously obsessed with U.Va, a semester is just too much of a sacrifice. Whether or not you agree with me now, you just might find that Charlottesville is the only place you feel at home.After this summer, one thing has never been so clear: we have only eight semesters in this undergraduate paradise. Use them wisely.
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