Category: Gwen in Bilbao

The Reality of Culture Shock

Published on by gwenmorgan323Leave a comment

I’ve always considered myself to be a fairly adaptable individual. I love delving into different cultures, trying different foods, and listening to different music. 

Before going abroad, I attended all of the required “pre-departure” meetings. They all told me the same thing: “you might experience something called ‘culture-shock’, don’t be embarrassed if you have difficulty adapting to a new environment right away.” Every single time I would ignore said advice. I told myself, “as someone already between two cultures, there was no way I would experience culture shock”. I was so convinced I would adjust perfectly, that I’d be able to integrate easily, that I’d fall seamlessly into the Spaniard routine. 

Oh how wrong I was. 

For one, I never considered how different my diet would become, especially now as I write this portion of the blog from the bathroom floor, nauseous from a dish served to me by my host family that I had no idea would not agree with me. I was determined to impress them, wanting to be adventurous, but I never considered that my body wouldn’t be fully accustomed to the ingredients in the food here. We are fed copious amounts of bread and cheese (of which I am not complaining), as well as meat and other seafood. Coming from someone who eats a vegetable-heavy diet, however, it’s been an adjustment. 

Besides the upset tummy, I’ve found that I am struggling to adjust to the times of meals. Lunch, almuerzo, is served around 2 pm, while dinner is not served sometimes until nine or ten pm. I am an individual who enjoys an early dinner, allowing me to be in bed by that time. Not to mention the types of food I am served with each meal. Breakfast in our household usually consists of a slice of bread, a spread of roughly blended tomatoes, and some sort of meat to adorn it with. Of course, I can’t forget the coffee, a Spanish staple. I have taken a lot of solace in the fact that my caffeine addiction is still being maintained while I am abroad.

School has been different too. I’d like to consider myself a fashionable person, but the women of Spain are next level. No one really takes backpacks to school either, they all carry large bags and sport well-fitting leather jackets. I feel a little out of place with my American jeans and North Face backpack. 

I also have to admit I’ve had a hard time adjusting to living with so many people, so many unfamiliar people at that. I am, however, grateful that I know Spanish well enough that I have not experienced the stress that comes from a language barrier. Living with so many different personalities is difficult, especially with two young kids. Our host parents are the sweetest people in the world, only wanting us to feel accommodated and comfortable. Our host mom, Ana, was so worried when I got sick, offering me everything and anything I could need. “Si, si, I want you to feel almost like at home,” she texted me once, and I felt so seen and loved. It’s been hard to be away from home, as much as I hate to admit it…I’m definitely homesick. I know it will pass, and I know how lucky I am to be here, but it’s hard. Hard to be away from the familiarity of routine, away from familiar foods, people, places, and names. 

On the days I was sick, both physically and mentally, I felt so silly that I kept making excuses for myself: I’ve only been here for a week! I’ve been away from home for longer periods of time! I was being ridiculous! 

But in reality, I was struggling. SO much had happened in so little time, it was enough to overwhelm just about anyone. 

As I cried on the floor of our host family’s bathroom, I came to the conclusion that most of my frustration was coming from a place of “needing to feel a certain way”, of expecting myself to achieve these impossible standards of immediately adjusting and feeling a sense of familiarity. In reality, I had only been there a week! Even if it had felt like longer, I needed to give myself some grace, as reminded to me by my lovely roommate, who has been nothing but encouraging and understanding since these feelings began to emerge. 

Even now, as I write this in perfectly good condition, I still feel a twinge of homesickness, and you know what? That is okay. It is okay for me to admit that I am uncomfortable, it is okay for me to admit that sometimes I feel a little silly, and it is most certainly okay for me to admit that I might be experiencing a slight bought of culture shock.

Your 20s are the perfect time in your life for just that. For the uncomfortably, for the homesickness, for honestly just feeling awkward and unadjusted.

I am honestly grateful that I have and still am experiencing culture shock, as it has solidified the idea that I am someone who can adjust, even if it is not seamless. It just takes time.

The Familiarity of a Stranger

Published on by gwenmorgan323Leave a comment

I grew up in a big family. Christmas was a big deal. Easter was a big deal. Thanksgiving was a big deal. Birthdays, dinners, lunches, brunches, everything was a big deal with lots of people with lots of opinions and lots of noise. I’ve always been surrounded by people. Growing up, I frequently went to sleep-away camp and was left in a cabin with five to seven other girls at a time. College was no different. I was sleeping with roommates in buildings full of people, full of noise, full of community.

For someone like me, loneliness is an unfamiliar emotion.

Five days ago, I began my journey from San Antonio, Texas to Bilbao, Spain. Upon boarding my second flight (a connection from Atlanta to Madrid), I met a lovely 40-something-year-old lady. She was kind, allowing me to stand in front of her in line. Upon chatting, we soon realized we were in seats right next to each other, and I was instantly grateful.

I had felt nothing but bliss up until that point in my seventeen-hour travel day. Boarding my first flight out of Texas I felt excited; excited for the possibilities that were to come from being abroad. I’ve been traveling my whole life, most recently on my own for the first couple of times to and from Denver. The only international trip without my parents was with close friends, which made it easy to navigate and ease any nerves that may have bubbled up from being away from a familiar space.

It is when I sat in the Atlanta airport that I began to feel it.

The idea of an eight-hour flight, left to my own devices, seemed unappealing in a way I can only describe to be apathy. I felt anxious; was I missing something important like a charger? Toothpaste? AirPods? I felt guilty; Did I spend enough time with my family this summer? With my friends? With my pets? I felt intense unease; would I really be able to do this for three months on my own? Would my host family be nice? Would I be able to adjust?

My mind was a cloud of gray, my nails busy picking at my skin as a way to release the nervous tension I could feel bubbling up in the pit of my stomach.

All of that melted away as I followed closely behind Patricía into the narrow isle of seats lining the plane.

We began to talk, the entire conversation in Spanish. With Spanish as my second language, I was automatically grateful to have someone who allowed me to practice during the lengthy flight. Patricía was flying from Atlanta to Madrid and had been for the past couple of months due to her father’s continuous sick spells. Despite this, she maintained the most lovely and positive demeanor I’ve encountered in a while. She told me all about Madrid, Bilbao and other parts of Spain. How the culture was, as reflected in her own eyes, what the people were like, what the food entailed. Her Spanish accent made it difficult to understand certain words at times, along with the noise from the plane, but I found that we were able to communicate at times simply through hand gestures. I offered her some of my snacks, she offered me her eye-mask when it was time to sleep on the plane. We shared commentary, jokes, and even part of my Snoopy blanket throughout the flight, and it felt like I was back home with my tía, her personality comforting and familiar.

When it came close to being time to land, we exchanged contact information, took a selfie together, and said our goodbyes. I was rushing to make my connection, she knew I was anxious, making sure to direct me to the right place, giving me tips on how to navigate the massive airport.

Loneliness is a strange emotion, one easily felt even amid an airport bustling with thousands of people. We all as humans crave connection, it’s natural. We want to be around someone familiar, someone who feels safe. I am forever grateful for having met Patricía, to have had almost a little reminder of home with me on such a long flight was all I could have asked for. It just goes to show that you should be kind to every stranger you meet; you never know how big of an impact it could have on their life. I don’t know if Patricía realized how much of a comfort she was for me on just an eight-hour flight. Perhaps I’ll tell her over a cup of coffee when I get around to hopefully visiting her in Madrid!