Though I have yet to report on my travels for the last three weeks along both the Costas del Sol and Blanco with my older sister, I feel it is a fitting time to first reflect about my time in Alcalá, my home base for the semester, which I am currently leaving from on a jet plane, because I don’t know when I’ll be back again. It’s April 30^th; my half birthday. You can send me a half-hearted felicitaciones if you wish. At this point, I am getting pretty nostalgic for many a reason. I am halfway through the year that I turn 21, I have completed ¾ of my college career, and I am on the plane returning home to the States to pursue journalistic internships and prepare myself to be a senior and all that will come after, hopefully. After another important chapter of my life has come to a close (though some of it is still in the drafts stage of publication), this day is truly the first day of the rest of my life.

Based on my recent blog posts, it might seem like I didn’t actually study in Alcalá, and that it was all a ruse to just get to jet-set around Europe. Such is not the case. Believe me, my diploma from my intensive language courses hung on my residencia cork board, and if that isn’t enough proof, I had to write an eight-page Spanish research paper and take two final exams in my last weeks in Europe, reminding me why I did in fact come to Spain– to study. They were daunting tasks for someone who has never written more than two pages in the Spanish language in her academic career, but the load was lightened by CRUSA’s Easter feast of homemade churros and onion rings, and another tapas trip to El Tigre with TLW alumnae, the sleep-away camp I once attended and worked at. El mundo es un pañuelo, no?

Though I didn’t update the blog as much about it, I did have the opportunity to engage in the Spanish arts and culture, from museums to dance classes and clubs, theatre and movie viewings, and I FINALLY made it to El Rastro market after my parents’ visit. It was so overwhelming, there had to be nearly thousands of vendors of clothing, leather, jewelry, sunglasses, knick-knacks, screen-print tees, artisan lamps and pottery, it went on and on; the list of merchandise and the streets of the La Latina barrio which they occupied. I went once more since then and upped my purchase-count to finally include a vintage leather backpack and souvenir gifts.

I visited La Reina Sofia museum– free for students on Saturdays! It took me a while to get my bearings but I got to see a lot of Dali work and exhibits about the Spanish Civil War including, of course, Picasso’s Guernica. Guernica’s hall was constantly buzzing with people; it was impossible to get a picture without a crowd bordering at the foot of it, which I guess is part of its draw. It was also really interesting to see a photo series showing the development of the mural little by little, just across from the finished product.

After a semester of anticipation, I took Flamenco and Latin Dance classes each week at Alcalingua. Although I didn’t get paired with a strapping young latin ballroom dancer, I enjoyed learning the moves, listening to the music, and learning new Spanish vocabulary according to direction, gestures, and body parts. A golpe is when you stamp your heel, or tacón, a giro is a turn, a pico is when you tap your toe behind your other foot. I learned it is important to always have your hips, or las caderas, moving during the merengue, which just consists of counting 1-2 1-2, and in salsa, which is counted 1-2-3, 5-6-7, it is best to stay on your toes. The classes were a fun way to meet other international students at the school (I had Chinese, Korean and French girls in the class besides the Americans). I unfortunately missed out on the opportunity to be in a flashmob in Alcala to Shakira’s smash Loca, taught by my dance teacher. I was in Paris, so the trade-off was more than fair.

Though I never got to test out my own flamenco skills, the group did head to Madrid’s famed club Kapital, seven floors of different music themes, including house, funk and hip hop, and other lounges to chill, sing karaoke, and smoke out on the terrace. Complete with scantily clad “dancers” (who mostly just stood there with a Zoolander-smolder slowly gyrating and swaying with a slight head-bob) and a 15-minute increment jet release of cool smoky air, strategically triggered at the height of a bass-pumping build up, and even a trapeze performance, Kapital at times felt like it suffered a bit from ADD. It was one of those places where you need to go once to check out, and if you are ever looking for one night out in Madrid that doesn’t end in, this is your destination.

For our cinema and theatre class, we also ventured into the city to see “off-Broadway,” or I guess off-Gran Via, productions of La Casa de Bernarda Alba and Un Boba Hace Ciento, and caught Gael Garcia Bernal’s latest flick with Oscar and Goya buzz, Tambien La Lluvia. One of our coolest experiences in the class was attending an acting class in Alcalá to observe a theatre troupe work-shopping soliloquies. I also finally visited the museums that Alcalá had to offer, including the birthplace of Miguel de Cervantes (sorry Dad) and el Palacio Laredo Museo de Cisneros, a beautiful brick mini-castle turned-historical exhibit that is completely out of place on the strip of discount stores and pubs leading to Alcalá’s train station.

However, nothing was quite as charming as my interview and guided tour of Alcalá’s ghost of a Jewish quarter, only marked by plaques claiming where the two synagogues were supposed to have been, given by the owner of a small souvenir shop on Calle Mayor. Claiming to not know much about the Jewish quarter but willing to answer my questions for my paper, I spent the next two hours with him discussing the barrio, the architecture, religion, politics and current events, in Spanish. It had to be one of the defining moments of my Spanish education.

The class also happened to have our final bon voyage (er, buen viaje) tapa session and trivia game in a restaurant in the plaza that once held the Sinogoga mayor, the irony. On that note, while I am home in the states I will post anecdotes and photos from my trilogic vacation of the traveling sisterhood, or something like that, and probably be sad and missing Spanish fried-tapas and Sangria as I return to normal portion sizes and exercise routines beyond walking tours and climbing up towers to behold breathtaking views. I’ll once again be worrying about the comical print job market and upper-level classes, and trying to balance it all while attempting to have a life. But living in Spain has definitely shown me that even if it comes together slowly, (seemingly creeping slower than molasses to a New Yorker) everything seems to fall into place. Que será, será right?