Disconnected

I rode a horse for the first time on Saturday and I took a total of three photos. (Did I mention it was on a beach?) I didn’t take that many photos partly because I was afraid of dropping my phone and directing my horse where I didn’t want it to go, but mostly, it was because I didn’t feel it necessary to message anyone or send anyone a photo. Everyone I would want to message was with me or I knew wouldn’t get the message until much later, so, I just save the few photos I took and kept on riding.

I never thought of myself as technology addicted or even remotely close to it. I had gone on so many trips where a cell phone wasn’t permitted and I had done fine. Once I got here, though, I discovered just how connected I am. Granted, the first few weeks here were rough and did require communicating with people back home. But, even though I was more comfortable weeks later, my level of communication stayed the same. I soon discovered how little I was experiencing when my phone was in my hand at all times. I was constantly check my BlackBerry for messages from home, from friends here in Spain, for anything.

I told myself when I was on the plane here that I would come back with so many stories. The first few weeks in, though, I felt like I had absolutely none. I was always jealous of those people who could tell story after story and never run out. I have discovered that it isn’t because they live such an extravagant, crazy life (well, maybe just a little); it is because they live in the moment and no one, except for the people who were present, knows what comes next. No one saw the live-feed of what was happening on Facebook, no one got text message after text message of what was being said and thought. The story is new, except for the storyteller. That’s why it’s so exciting - because everyone anticipates the next part and the storyteller is often telling it for the first time.

Maybe it took adjusting to Spanish time, where no time is set in stone and plans are made in the moment, or maybe it was forcing myself to put my phone away and not allowing myself to check it every few minutes, but let me tell you, I have so many stories to tell now that I’ve disconnected  a bit.

Peace!

-Nicole

Photo #1

Photo #2 (turns out they were pretty much the same)

Photo #3: My horse Andalus

Feeling at Home

As I was sitting on my computer this afternoon, I had a very odd thought cross my mind: I'm glad I'm home. I stayed out pretty late last night, as is normal in Spain, and so it was nice to be in my room, relaxing. But what was odd about it is that I referred to this small apartment I once hated be in as my home.

When got to Sevilla, I refused to call this small apartment "home". I only referred to it as "the apartment" or "Ana's place" (Ana is my host mom). I was so miserable and wishing I could go home that I did not want to adjust to the differences of my living situations. I knew I could adjust; I just didn't want to. Adjusting meant I was here for a while and it meant that I had to make a life for myself here.

Let's just say I've come a long way. I am now thoroughly enjoying my time in Spain. I've stopped counting the days I've been in Spain. I finally put up my pictures I brought with on my bulletin board (the photos don't make me sad anymore). I have a bus pass and I know the system pretty well. I have my favorite places to shop and my favorite places to hang out. I've discovered that Spanish coffee makes my heart feel like it's about to explode and that I should probably stick to tea. Heck, I even made friends.

So I'm home. I have fallen in love with Spain and what it has to offer. Looking at my calendar, I'm starting to feel like there isn't enough time here. So, I guess I should starting living it large, right?

Peace!

-Nicole

Here are some photos from the past few weeks.

Roaming around Aracena

In Granada

Cathedral in Sevilla

Cathedral in Córdoba