I began my month-long excursion in Madrid, the bustling capital of Spain, with my group of 10 Americans, 1 Italian, and our Domincan leader. Most of the Spain groups from the Experiment in International Living were together in this city for the first three days of adventure. After 72 hours of intense culture shock, jetlag, exploration and adjusting to our second language, the different groups all parted ways for our respective parts of the country.
My journey took me to the lush region of Galicia in the northwest corner of Spain for my two and a half week homestay. This area, by far the greenest in Spain, has its own provincial language, Galego, which sounds like a blend between Spanish and Portuguese. Luckily, most Galician citizens speak Castillian Spanish as well, though at times with a very heavy accent.
As it turns out, my host family lived in Los Angeles for 8 years. Imagine my surprise the first day when I greeted my 20 yr. old host brother Xurxo in Spanish, only to be answered in fluent English without the slightest trace of a foreign accent. However, I didn't travel 3500 miles from home to speak English, so even when my host parents and older brother switched to my native language, I tried my hardest to keep speaking in theirs. I spent my days in the coastal town of Villagarcía de Arousa running atop Mt. Xiabre, going to the market with my host parents, riding bikes with Spanish friends, celebrating Spain's World Cup victory all night, taking trips to surrounding cities and even Portugal one day, helping my 8 yr. old host brother practice his English, attempting to eat every last delicious bite of the meals my family prepared for me, and going on excursions with my group to learn about Galician culture.
During my time there, I made an effort to get to know the Spanish host brothers and sisters (and their friends) who didn't speak ANY English. Though embarrassing at times, these conversations left me with some amazing relationships. In just over two weeks, I got to know certain people there better than acquaintances I have had back home for years.
The climax of the trip was our 100km trek along El Camino de Santiago, an ancient pilgrimage route that stretches across Europe and ends in the holy city of Santiago in Galicia. We spent every night in hostels, or albergues, scattered across the Spanish countryside. Thanks to Murphy, each one of these quaint little inns was guaranteed to have at least one world class snoring machine who taught me to appreciate the minuscule amount of sleep I get back in Nashville while school is in.
Despite the lack of shut eye, however, this journey was exhilarating. I met and conversed with strangers from all over the country and got to taste the culture from all corners of Spain. I talked with a Spanish teacher and runner from the Basque Country, several girls from Andalucia, a large group from Madrid, and even a couple Italian "pilgrims." The culmination of the trip was our final day in Santiago, which happened to be the holiest day of the holiest year in Galicia, a date that will not come again for another 11 years. Our host brothers and sisters and several other friends from Villagarcía came to meet us for one last night out, a fantastic time despite the bittersweet goodbyes in the wee hours of the morning.
After a 9 hour bus ride back to Madrid and one last party with the whole group together, we packed our bags, kissed Spain goodbye, and returned to our homes and our normal lives. It took me several weeks to recover emotionally from my departure, but now more than a month later, I look back on the trip with new inspiration, wonderful memories, and some sweet-nasty thigh tan lines. I would like to thank the Wilson family for making this amazing experience a possibility. Knowing that more than 20 other guys got to be a part of something this life-changing has opened my eyes to the blessings that flow out of this school and its community. I know my journey doesn't end here. I'd like to think it's just begun.
The way of adventure is always open.
The amazing cathedral in Santiago.
On the camino.
My host brother Anxo (8 yrs. old) and I.
Americans, Spaniards, and an Italian on the beach in Villagarcía.
My host family. Anxo, María, Manolo, and Xurxo.
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