In all my travels (which aren’t much) I have realized that apprehension and anxiety fill my last few days at home. I must do everything, see everyone, pack, relax, enjoy home and the company that comes with it only to find that a stressful and overwhelmingly emotional goodbye invariably sends me on my way. As I walked away from farewell, a blurred vision saw that my feet kept moving, step by step to get on the plane that would take me to Sevilla (well, actually Chicago, then Madrid, then Sevilla but you get the point.) A plane, where I sit, for a long time, reminiscing about the people I’ll miss while I’m gone and whether or not it is worth it. Why am I doing this? Where am I going? I don’t know the language, it’s simple, that’s it I’m crazy, insane really. A masochist to say the least.
Travel is like religion. I kept moving forward because I have faith. Somehow, through the unknown, you know that this will be good for you, that no matter what emotional roller coasters, language barriers and potential dangers lie ahead, you will come out on top, a better person in the end.
After a good 19 hours of travel (without a trip through customs, and I’m still not sure how we got away with skipping that seemingly important step) I lugged my duffel bag that can only be described as a 44 pound navy green mass, that was under the weight limit for a checked bag but at the cost of the little remaining integrity I had left, what seemed to be at least ten miles. All the way out of the airport, down the street (which just happened to be lined with palm trees), around the corner to the bus that would take me to my nirvana; my hotel bed.
Following a five hour nap, which I know is against all jet-lag rules, I woke up to a three-course meal (thank you CIEE!), which consisted of a lot of beets. I secretly wondered if an Españole Dwight Schrute was the manager of our hotel. Still feeling disoriented, I woke up a bit when our orientation leaders took us out. Walking through the streets on that first night was surreal. Gorgeous, so say the least. We went to a bar with 1 euro cervezas and shots! Sí, por favor! The Sevillianos know how to “go out,” even if the cerveza did taste equivalent to a Hamms.
I called it a quiet night after one drink and walked around the city con mis amigos. It was at least 85 degrees at midnight. Amazing. Under the indigo sky, Sevilla seems to glow with heat and romance. Each bridge, street and building is unique in its own Spanish accent, colored with bright yellows, blues and greens. As I gawked at the architecture and attempted to stroke the velvety air encompassing me, I felt like I was dreaming.
We walked down by the river, which runs through the city center admiring tall, important-looking buildings and muchas palm trees. As I sat on the edge of Rio Guadalquivir on the warmest summer night I have ever experienced, watching large fish beneath my dangling feet and small city lights bounce off the peaceful ripples of river water, I realized, I am in Sevilla!
Surviving Sevilla 