Monday, May 16th, 2005, 11:51 a.m.
This has not been my most graceful departure.
In fact, in terms of saying goodbye to friends and being emotionally prepared for departure, it really hasn't been so bad. But in terms of luggage and logistical preparations, it has pretty much been a nightmare. I also just feel like I've had a truly large number of odd "leaving" moments - those times when you say goodbye to someone and get on the bus to look back just as you turn a corner and they're still there for a moment, waving, and then they're just not anymore - there's just a wall, or the edge of a building, or graffiti. It makes you feel empty and strange for a moment, knowing they're still there but you won't see them again, knowing that that was it - not the words that you spoke or the hug you exchanged, but that that moment, when you turned the corner, was goodbye. So I suppose you could say that I have felt empty and strange and had little heartbreaks several times over the past few days.
My last few days in Barcelona had wonderful moments. I got to spend a lot of time with Nicole and my other friends, and in general I took it easy and enjoyed not working my awful job. I still worked with my private students, who I really like and who both gave me really thoughtful gifts during our last class. It was very touching.
Then all my friends and I went out to dinner on Wednesday night at the best restaurant we've ever been to in Barcelona. It was called Mosquito and it was Indian - Japanese fusion cuisine. For only 15 euros, we got wine, two dishes, and dessert - and the food was *amazing*. I got an authentic Japanese dish that I haven't eaten since Japan (okonomiyaki, for Inga & David), and it was oishiiii. Not only that, but our waitress was from Argentina and she told me that the boys in Buenos Aires are guapissimo, so that's good. After dinner, we got sangria in an outside bar - a first for that. It's still chilly in Barcelona but it's getting warmer. You can sit outside at night without freezing, and it was pleasant just to be in Plaça Real. The only thing I really regret about the evening was not taking one last Diesel photo.
Thursday I hung around with Nicole and I told her we had to talk about everything in the world in three hours, which was how much time we had before she left for work. I'd say we did pretty good, didn't we, Nicole? We covered relationships, future plans, family, friendship, and Stanford. OK so it's not everything in the world, but it's all the important things. I will miss you like crazy, Nicole.
Thursday night was odd. I came back to the flat just in time to have dinner with my flatmates who had cooked a yummy curry chicken dish with rice ... it wasn't entirely clear whether this was actually for me, but I think it was. Anyway it was nice; we listened to jazz while we ate outside on the terrassa, under Spanish stars.
Then I started the big, unpleasant, tiresome job of packing. It was awful. All of my luggage has been awful. OK, yes, I admit that there are certain items that I shouldn't have brought; a pair of shoes, an extra scarf. And I also admit that I have made certain acquisitions along the way - never a good idea to shop when you live out of a backpack. But I have also been getting rid of things and clothes at every single stop along the way. Every time I re-pack I pare down. I leave another few shirts, skirts, scarves, hats, etc. I honestly feel that the nightmare of my luggage has more to do with the fact that I have winter clothes like a heavy leather jacket than that I am a packrat - because I'm not. I am not afraid to throw sh*# away; I do it all the time. And the majority of the things in my suitcases are non-negotiables: scarves people have knit for me, my ski jacket, my leather gloves that I bought at the Chino, my boots, my fleece PJ's which have kept me warm on so many cold nights - things I wear. With the exception of the ballet clothes I took, which take up almost no space anyway, I use most of my clothes. But clearly I am doing something wrong, because my luggage is TOO HEAVY, and I have too much.
Anyway, back to the chronological narrative: So Friday, the day of my departure, I woke up feeling perfectly horrible. I don't know if it was the curry from the night before, my nervousness over the rest of the packing I still had to do, or the fact that I am still weak from being sick, but I was very nauseous, had dry-mouth and a headache, and was extraordinarily tired. And once everything was packed (no small feat), I sat on my bed, looked at my overstuffed pack, extra overstuffed small duffel bag, and overstuffed backpack, and really, seriously questioned whether I was going to make it. Make it to the airport on time, make it through the tournament in Geneva, make it with the pile more of luggage I had there, make it in general. It was the first time I had really questioned whether I was capable of traveling and getting through it, and it was not a good feeling. I just felt so terribly weak and the journey was long -- two metros and a train, with stairs and tickets and connections and crosswalks and in between. I wanted to curl up and cry.
So I did what anyone would do: I called my Mom. She gave me a peptalk and when I got off the phone, I breathed deep, psyched myself up, and did it. And it was hard, but I made it to the airport. Luckily, I stopped feeling nauseous and had time to eat a good sandwich and prepare myself for Geneva.
Ahh, Geneva.
I was originally scheduled to fly back to the States directly from BCN. But I changed my flight to go through Geneva for a few reasons - one, so that I could leave my big bag there and come back through to get it on the way to Paris, where my flight is; and two, (and more importantly), to go to an ultimate tournament and see my team and AIESEC friends.
But I didn't count on getting sick and not being able to train properly for the tournament, and more than that, I didn't count on my impatience to get back to the States and my FAMILY and hot, clean showers and all of the comforts of home, including people to help you carry luggage, fuss over your new hairdo, make you soup instead of having to always make it for yourself, tell you you're they're favorite granddaughter, and just generally be your Mom, Dad, Cindy, Kenda, or Ruthie. I really miss my family and I'm in a hurry to be with them. So anyway, the point is that I had changed my ticket to go to the tournament and after speaking to my Mom, I was convinced that what I really wanted to do was skip the tournament and change my ticket AGAIN to go back early. To make a long story short, that's what I did - after getting past the fact that STA travel SUCKS. Suck suck suck! They won't help you if you're abroad! Don't count on them, they will disappoint.
And although the first day and a half was awful: rain, sleeping in a gym with lights that don't turn off and people who play guitar and throw the frisbee around until 2am, rain, pressure to play when I didn't want to, rain, STA offices that couldn't help me, and more rain, the last day and a half was really nice. The weather improved; I worked the tournament and got to see my team and watch them play; I had a nice dinner with my AIESEC friends, and I was able to stay with a friend in Geneva so I didn't have to use the mass accommodation at the gym by the fields (thank *GOD*).
So anyway, the point is, that I'm doing it: I'm really leaving Europe. Countless people have asked me when I'm coming back, and I have no response. I don't know. I don't even know what I'm doing after this summer/winter. I don't know when I'll see a lot of these people I have met here and connected with again - if ever.
Language spot: In Argentina, they use "vos" as the most informal way to say "you." In descending order of politeness, it goes usted, tu, and then vos. Know how to say eres with the vos form? Os. That's right: it's "vos os bonita."
From "Blunders":
Mourners at the funeral of Anna Bochinski in Rumania were naturally taken aback when she abruptly leaped from her coffin as it was being carried to the grave. Before they could react, the woman bounded into the nearest road, where she was run over and killed by a passing car.
In 1976 a 22-yr old Irishman, Bob Finnegan, was crossing the busy Falls Rd in Belfast, when he was struck by a taxi and flung over the roof. The taxi drove away and as Finnegan lay stunned in the road, another car ran into him, rolling him into the gutter. It too drove on. As a knot of gawkers gathered, a delivery van plowed through the crowd, leaving 3 injured bystanders and an even more battered Finnegan. When a fourth vehicle came along, the crowd wisely scattered and only one person was hit - Bob Finnegan. In the space of 2 minutes he suffered a fractured skull, broken pelvis, broken leg, and other assorted injuries. Hospital officials said he would recover.
