Well the current time is 330 in the morning and it is another fantastic night contemplating España. In just 3 weeks I feel as though I’ve nestled in quite comfortably into this little Salamancan corner. Walking in I had no idea what it meant to be “immersed” in a culture, and now that its nearly over, I wouldn’t do it any other way. Spanish at school, Spanish at home, and Spanish everywhere n between. The food, the parents, the schedule, the people; so much that I have experienced was made possible only through living in this summer immersion program. Segovia is a gorgeous and lively town with history that outstretch it’s borders. A few monumental castles and a couple centuries old aqueduct after our arrival t was time to mount up and call it a day. Salamanca was waiting for us, a place I called home by then. Surviving on a lunch packed by mom that I segmented throughout the day, a vacuum anticipated another spectacular Spanish meal upon my return, served by the nine year old daughter of the house Wendy. After every meal she helps with I give her a small tip, and bribe her with chocolate from the local chocolate heaven, Valor, to eat more vegetables (it usually works, too).

Earlier this week I came across a new friend in my travels. He was hobbling through the streets near the Plaza Mayor from heat exhaustion and I was shocked to see everyone passing him by as if nothing was the matter. I stopped to scoop him off to the side and fed him bread and water. He was the most gorgeous little bird I’d ever seen. After some time slowly re-hydrating him from a bottle cap and nursing him bread crumb by crumb, I swaddled him in my shirt and walked him back home (the bus driver wouldn’t let me on shirtless). For the next few days he slept in my shoebox and clung to my back during my walks. Slowly we built his confidence and I had more and more conversations with passerby about my little son Jarrito that’s took under my wing. At some opportune locations he flew further and further. Until finally I took him high enough to soar off on his own. The resident pet bird, Chocoláte, mourns the loss of his short time companion.

Spain has afforded me the opportunity to taste the flavors, talk to the people, and see the history, but living with a family has made it a second home.

Thursday brought the first gift I bought for myself. On the shelf of a store was a shoe for 17 euros, nothing more. I stepped inside and into the pair to see if the fit was fine or despaired. A camino through the store reassured me some more until a sonrisa cut thru my face. My hand in my pocket forth fetched a wallet and out came the twenty to pay. Go figure Carlo named his store D’Carlo and sold me these shoes in his name.

I digress from the rest and on to Oporto long after on a bus ride as long as the plane. I slept through the torment of my ears popping and nausea of changing altitude as we climbed up the mountainous range. As we slid across the divide between Spain and the side of Portugal we cheered and proclaimed our excitement to the heavens and Señora Levin took snapshots of signs for the SPC page.

Pedro conducted the bull of a bus though the streets with no fuss and soon we were upon the hotel. We funneled inside for a spell and a meal and assignments for rooms for the night. The night came and went and after breakfast at 10 we left for a four hour tour. Age was everywhere and still the same dirt from whence the conquistadors first walked the earth.

Home sweet home to the hotel to reflect and to dwell on the strangest place I’ve been on the earth.

We burned through the hours and soon we saw towers of cathedrals we all recognized. The feeling of home washed over in waves and I smiled to see Salamanca. I returned to my family with dulces for after dinner and we partook in un partido a la plaza.

Day 1 and still in one piece. Across the pond Atlantic and through the countryside Hispanic. Several days’ time crammed into a few hours on the cold airport floor and a haze of jet lag sans sleep for two days, we pulled up to a grand edifice of Spain, monument to its history. Our group crawled down to the cobble where we met our respective parents for the next three weeks. Tristan, Brennan and I followed little Nayely, our host mother, to her little car where we packed our huge American luggage and bodies. We drove off to our little house where we packed into the little elevator, and it was there Nayely enlightened us: everything in Spain is small.