Things changed quite fast here--two weeks ago it seemed to rain every time I wanted to go out, go for a run, head to the beach, or hike through the hills behind the Alhambra (yes, I conveniently discovered nature in Granada after only 8 months here!). Spring hardly made its appearance, however, and I now spend half my day sweating and the other half chugging water. I have a very real fear for skin cancer, and also that my classmates will awkwardly change seats when I arrive to class having walked half an hour under this Spanish sun. Whereas the Sierra Nevada was beautifully blanketed in snow just two short weeks ago, now patches of white are interspersed with dirt and a haze hovers over the peaks, giving me heatstroke just looking at it. The upside to these scorching days (ok, this isn't Egypt--I'm exaggerating of course, but what I would not give for a little San Francisco fog right now....) is that the nights are absolutely perfect. It's light out until almost 10, which means dinner on the terrace in a tank-top and shorts as the sun sets. I'm wondering if I'll ever settle to live in a terrace-less apartment/house again? Chances are slim.
Besides heat and the onset of finals, my biggest source of stress here is the prospect that relatively soon I must wake up from this dream. More than once I've had what can only be described as a very gentle panic attack, as I imagine boarding the final bus to madrid, catching two flights, and then eventually touching down in a country I'm not sure I'm ready, or will be ready, to come back to. How does one voluntarily leave a city like this? Speaking English will seem like a cop-out after struggling for so long to express myself in Spanish. Why would I shake someone's hand instead of kiss them twice? I'm sure to be outraged when I order my first pitcher at Gio's and they don't bring me free breadsticks or pizza along with it. When I go to seek help from my professor, I won't get to eavesdrop on his 10-minute (mid-office-hours) call to his brother to chat about last night's Madrid vs. Barca game. I probably won't be able to find two pounds of avocados for a dollar anywhere, or be able to gaze at a World Heritage Site from my roof, or go over to my neighbors' house almost every afternoon for some form of beverage and conversation. And I'll try to shut up about my terrace after this, but I feel like abandoning it in August will be just short of a crime.
I know that there will be many things to look forward to about going home, and there is a very real possibility that I'll be ready to return in three months. But as of now, I would gladly postpone the burritos and greatly-missed faces to make paradise last a little longer.
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