where do I start...
Above exhibit- Photo 1. Front doors of the cathedral in Seville. Photo 2. Abandoned phone booth in Seville.
When you travel, there are the tourist destinations, the things-to-do for each city you visit. Then there are the things in-between, the journeys between one point to another. I think that the in-betweens are the moments that stick with me.
The moment where you’re wondering where the deodorant section is in the grocery store because you’re an idiot and forgot one, and then you have to figure out what’s in the deodorant but it’s in Spanish. The moment where you’re trying to figure out how to turn on a washing machine because the instructions are in French and you are in Spain, and that doesn’t make any sense. The moment where you realize you purchased fruit preservative, not table salt, and you just poured it onto your lunch. The moment when you order chicken at a restaurant, but it’s actually fish, but the fish is called the “rooster fish” and THAT’S not confusing at all, so you try to enjoy your fish strips.
Those are the moments where you realize you are a bit clueless and could really use some help. That is hard for the introverts and the control freaks (being one myself). But you figure it out, and you laugh, live and learn. You find a way to live in this different version of a life you once had, and know it’s temporary and normal will resume- one day.
You also know in the back of your head that things will be different when you get back home- that’s what people say. And it’s true- mostly in the sense that it gives you a new respect for anyone who has to completely uproot their lives and figure it all out with little to no preparation. It makes you feel compassion for anyone who has to learn a new language, a new culture, a new household appliance, a new way to shop for groceries. But, generally, you anticipate a return to normal when you get back. Except, that your new normal begins to feel more normal than the old normal, so much so that considering how things will be when you are back feels like a disruption instead of a righting of a wrong.
Well, the plan to return to the “old normal” has been going really swimmingly- but I now feel that that is another blog post entirely. So, more on that later…
Photo 1 is the cathedral in Seville- grand, epic, impressive, stunning, expansive. Photo 2 is a phone booth in Seville, not far from the cathedral- outdated, run-down, abandoned, obsolete. Two very different object, both a part of my abroad experience.
While in Spain, I would often catch people saying “This is SO different than at home. You can’t find (insert something) anywhere else.”
It’s true that there are many things that are not the same as at home, which is why travel is great- you get to experience new things. You are outside of your “normal” and experiencing someone else’s “normal”. How lovely! But in each different “normal” than my “normal”, I also caught myself thinking about how things are similar. For example, these two items above are different, but they are also the same- they are both relics. Relic: an object surviving from an earlier time, especially one of historical or sentimental interest. You may argue that the phone is not of great historical or sentimental interest, but then, why is it not? I’d argue that these items share more in common than meets the eye. During an evening dinner someone remarked at how the ambiance, the music, the everything just cannot be experienced elsewhere.
My contrarian self had to disagree. I’m having a hard time putting a finger on articulating what it is, but generally, I am simply someone who perhaps chooses to see the similarities rather than the differences.
There is much about Spain that is unique, and different. But at the heart of it, many things are similar. Maybe it’s because we’re becoming a more connected world. Our borders might be more porous than ever before. Or maybe, it’s because we’re all human, and humans do what humans do. At any rate, perhaps it is because I am a dabbler. I’ve dabbled in many art forms and so I have seen different environments. Those tablaos with live flamenco music and dance? Not so different from the jazz club in New York where I went to see tap dancers cut it with the live musicians. Those flamenco dancers were having the same “conversations” to me as those tap improvisers were having across the world. Perhaps in different languages, but not so different.
I thought Spain was fabulous. I ate sea anemone with scrambled eggs and avocado, and calf liver, and lots of ham, and drank plenty of sherry. I bought new shoes and skirts and castanets. I learned new dances, and met new people. But most importantly, the trip showed me that we are far more similar than different.
Let that be the lesson in this current time of a new normal.