The Ghosts of June Present: 2016 Edition

It seems there's always something to worry about, isn't there? Worrying is one of those very human traits that we just can't seem to get rid of.

At about this time a year ago, I wrote a post about the random worries I'd been plagued with in the past, and how insignificant they seemed from where I was standing in June 2015.

Well, now that another year has gone by and June 2016 is over and done with, I feel like it might be nice to continue the trend of laughing at my silly past self. She wasted so much time worrying about such insignificant things that turned out just fine!  I'd also like to provide fodder for my future self to do much the same. I'll always have worries, but knowing that future me will be here laughing at them at this time next year (or in five years, or ten...) makes them seem less scary in the present, and it's always nice to be reminded of that.

So, Future!Alisa and Past!Alisa, this one's for you.

At this time last year, I was just about to leave Europe for the last time and make the big move back to the United States, for good. Understandably, I was rather nervous about this. I had no job lined up and no idea where I really wanted to live. I also had next to no money, and I was craving the stability that I'd been without since I'd moved away from home eight years before. These last two things, in particular, set the stage for where I find myself now, in June 2016. So did my worries about being jobless and homeless come true?

2016

I have just finished my first year as a Spanish teacher in my hometown in the States, and I'm currently on summer break. I'm spending my time planning a big trip to a new area of the world for me--Oceania! I'm very excited to finally be traveling abroad again after almost a full year of not leaving the USA. If I were to tell my teenage self that not quite ten years after making my great escape into the big wide world, I would find myself living not only in the town where I was born but also in the very house where I grew up, she would probably cry out in disbelief. Yet here I am. While it's never where I'd have pictured myself in a million years, I have to admit that it's not all that bad. A year ago I was craving stability, and it turns out that stability DOES feel really good. Having a steady job and not having to constantly stress about money is nice! Am I rich? No. Do I want to live in my parents' house forever? No way. But this year of being able to see my family and old friends whenever I want and not having to worry about moving halfway across the world or searching for a job was good for me, I think. This is the first summer in ten years that I haven't had to move myself and all my belongings between 2100km and 6700km (1300 and 4100 miles) across land and sea. Not having that kind of stress in my life has been really calming. While I'm still bursting at the seams with wanderlust, knowing that I have a steady home and job to come back to makes the idea of traveling seem more like fun and less like work!

Struggles: Trying to plan a long vacation in some of the more expensive countries in the world without spending ALL my savings, making new lesson plans for next year that improve upon those from this year (and they say that teachers have the whole summer off, pfft)

Fears: That I will crash into another car while trying to drive on the WRONG side of the road in Australia or New Zealand and kill someone à la Matthew Broderick except that I am NOT Ferris Bueller and will most certainly go to jail for my crimes (paranoid much?), that I will never meet an interesting gentleman caller in my tiny hometown where most people my age are married and/or do not share my main passions in life (namely, travel and foreign cultures)

Hopes for the next year: To find a way to move out on my own again, to join clubs and activities where I will meet interesting people in my town and make some new friends, to practice my foreign language skills more so they don't atrophy

So there we have it, the ghosts of June Present: 2016 Edition. I'm just as much of a worrywart as ever, but I also feel more equipped than ever to handle my problems with aplomb. For most of these issues, I know the solutions, I just have to find the right time and place to employ them. It's certainly easier than facing the great wide unknown. What a relief!

Alisathome Answers Travel Questions

In all honesty, I've thought a lot about laying this blog to rest over the past few months. After all, I'm no longer abroad, so it seems a little silly to keep writing in a blog called Alisabroad. Wouldn't a more appropriate name be Alisathome?

Alisathome's adventures are a bit more *ahem* tame...like exercise in the woods!

If I'm no longer an expat having international adventures, how can I maintain a blog devoted to them? Is there really any point in trying? Mightn't it be better to just give up? Wouldn't I seem like a fraud?

And yet, it seems a shame to just abandon something that I've been working on for over 6.5 years, especially when I feel like I had just been starting to find my voice and connect with other people.

But if I were to decide to keep writing, about past adventures, about potential future adventures, or even about life in the United States (which I do realize, IS 'abroad' for most of the world, and still feels pretty damn foreign to me after all these years away), I'd have to first get over something. For the past few months, I've been continually wrestling with that mean little voice in the back of my head that says "You're not that good of a writer anyway. Quit bothering people with your whiny expat stories, because no one wants to hear your humblebragging. That life is over now. Get used to it."

On the best of days, that voice is no more than an annoying whisper that I can easily tune out. But when I'm feeling low and not sure that the decisions I've made were the right ones, it screams in my ear with force enough to knock me off my feet.

And lately, that terrible voice has been roaring at me with gale force winds, and I've spent most of my time falling arse over teakettle, trying desperately to stand back up again and usually failing.

Is it any surprise, then, that I haven't had the courage to blog about my transition back to living in the United States? That I abandoned my resolution to blog once a week, every week, all year long? That instead I haven't written in over four months?

And to be honest, I could have just slunk away quietly and pretended that this blog had never existed, that I didn't care about giving up on it entirely. But instead, I'm dragging myself back up and writing this right now because I have the support of some great friends. I can't pretend to be that wonderful of a long-distance friend (or in-person one, for that matter), as I continually forget to respond to emails and texts for weeks at a time and get so wrapped up in my own stuff that I don't reach out to people when I should.

Luckily, not everyone out there is like me. I have some wonderful friends who won't let me fall off the radar, accidentally or otherwise, and for that I am so grateful. There have been numerous lovely people reaching out to me while I've been burrowed away in my little personal cocoon these last few months, but there is one in particular to thank for my trying blogging again, and that's Linda from Indie Travel Podcast.

Me and Linda at about this time last year

Linda was one of my work buddies last year in Alcalá de Henares, and I was delighted the day that I learned that she and her husband Craig were travel bloggers, like me! Of course, their podcast is all, like, famous and really really good and stuff and I'm still too lazy to bother to do a lot of things that bloggers are "supposed" to do, but whatever. As fellow members of the international travelers' club, we formed a bond that I still look back on fondly.

Linda wrote a blog post a few weeks ago about 10 awesome female bloggers. As I was reading it one day during my lunch break at work, I found my name on the list, and I was quite touched. She then wrote me a message saying that she hoped I would continue blogging as she'd missed reading my updates since I stopped. Although I still struggled with silencing my fears, I felt like I owed it to her to keep writing. If nothing else, I had to at least answer the questions she'd put out on that post, being that I was so honored to have made her list at all!

So that's what I'm doing today, answering her ten questions about traveling and hoping doing so will help to quiet that jerk of a voice in the back of my head. Perhaps her little prod may end up being to blame for starting me blogging regularly again! As they say at Hogwarts, "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus," never tickle a sleeping dragon. ;-)

So without further ado, Linda's travel questions and my answers.

Questions: 

1. Why do you travel?

I travel because I can't think of anything else I would rather do. Because the world is so big and interesting, because I love to learn about anything and everything, and because I have a ridiculously long list of places I haven't seen yet (not with these eyes). It's a yearning, it's a passion, and it's the only thing I ever think of when I get asked "What would you do if you won a million dollars?"

Nothing makes me feel more alive than experiencing new parts of the world!

2. Suitcase or backpack? 

When I move abroad to live for a year or longer, I usually take one of each. But once I get there, for all my trips I take a Patagonia 30L backpack, which I am quite talented at stuffing to the brims and still getting on Ryanair flights for free.

3. What luxury item do you take with you? 

I'm a pretty bare-bones traveler, especially because the majority of my trips are of a duration of two months or less before I check in at my home base (wherever in the world that may be at the time). I can't fit a lot besides basic clothes and toiletries in my tiny backpack, but the one "unnecessary" (except to my mental health) item I always have is my daily journal. I go nowhere without that. Quite often, I also have a paperback book to read when my phone's battery is dead, and I have, on occasion, backpacked with my laptop (although that brings the weight of my poor little backpack WAY up).

4. Who do you like to travel with? 

This is actually a really hard question. Without a doubt, the people I have traveled the MOST with are my parents, but, with no offense meant to them, the way I travel with them is rather different from how I travel on my own. There are a lot of improvements, of course, but I also miss out on some more "funky" things I would do if all by myself. Actually, probably the majority of my travels at this point have been totally solo, but while that can be really amazing, it can be really lonely too, especially for someone as shy as me. I've had some really good trips with different friends, but I'd say I'm still looking for that perfect travel partner. In a perfect world, I suppose it would be whoever I end up marrying someday!

Again, not at all to diss traveling with my parents...we had a blast in Estonia this past summer!

5. What’s great about your hometown? 

It's kind of funny to be asked this question, since right now I'm actually living back in my hometown for the first time since I was 18. I have lots of memories here, but I'm currently struggling to figure out what it might have to offer someone in their mid-twenties who's traveled the world and come back again. There are a few new interesting places that have opened up since I left, including some craft breweries, and even when I was younger I loved visiting the local Japanese gardens.

6. Do you ever feel tired of traveling? 

Absolutely. I've learned that I'm not really cut out for long-term travel because after a certain point in long trips I get tired of packing up my things and changing locations. I even start to feel like every destination looks the same! At these moments, all I want is a lazy day alone at home in my pajamas watching movies on my computer! There are ways to combat this travel ennui while on the road, of course, but it's also good to know how you travel best, and for me that's in shorter spurts.

7. What’s the most challenging thing about travel?

Probably how difficult it can be to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. Learning how things work in other places is part of the joy of travel too, but when you're already worn out from a full day of travel, just trying to find somewhere decent to eat can seem like a huge mountain to climb. And that's not to mention dealing with rude and intolerant people, language barriers, currency issues, strange opening hours, difficult-to-read train timetables, or immigration paperwork.

8. Tell me about a moment when you felt really happy. 

Hmmm....when I was backpacking around Morocco during Semana Santa 2013 with a group of Spanish friends, we ended up hiring a local guide to take us around Fez's medina, since it was almost impossible to navigate on our own and we were tired of being harassed by locals trying to sell us things. After doing a fantastic job all day long taking us to the most interesting places around town, he invited all four of us to his family home for dinner. That evening was one of the most enlightening experiences of my life, and I remember feeling so very lucky that a family who cooked all of their meals on a hot plate was generous enough to share what little they had with four people they had never seen before in their lives. We ate without utensils, we laughed, they taught us how to dance using mainly our shoulders, and I was so happy that I got to experience such a unique and special moment.

Delicious tea in our Moroccan guide's home

9. What have you only recently learned about travel or about yourself? 

I've said for a long time that I will eat literally anything, at least once. But I recently learned while in Mexico this summer that I just CANNOT do spicy breakfast. It seems like a weird thing, but I kept saying over and over to my Mexican friend "But does EVERY meal have to be spicy? Even BREAKFAST??" Nope nope nope. That early in the morning, I only want coffee with cereal, bread with butter and jam, pancakes, waffles, etc. No salt, and please god no habanero peppers.

10. Which travel destination would you love to go back to? 

You mean besides wanting to move back to Vigo? Well, there are so many places I'd like to see more of, even in countries I know well. The UK will always have more things for me to see (if you're tired of London you're tired of life, after all), there are so many places I'd still like to go in France, and there are even a few places left on my Spain wish list. I guess if I have to pick just one I'll say Iceland, because I feel like I was only there for a hot second, and the whole time I was limping and kind of miserable due to a misfortunate incident at the Blue Lagoon, so it kind of needs a do-over.

If only travel were as easy as hopping in a blue police box...

Looks like I still have a lot of places left to get to (or get back to)! So here's to hoping that, despite being back Stateside for now, there are more travel adventures in my future...as well as plenty of ganas to write about them! 

The Ghosts of Junes Past

Sometimes, in order to see where we're going, it helps to see where we've been. At least, that's what I believe. In my daily handwritten journal, I quite often take a moment to look back and see what exactly I was doing on this day a year ago, to observe what I was thinking about, to read about my worries and laugh at how much things have changed. 

Although I'm not going to share any of those exact journal entries with the whole wide internet (far too embarrassing), I thought I'd take a moment today to take you on a trip down my memory lane to where I was on this date years and years ago. 

I first left home at the ripe old age of 18, so that's where we'll start. 

2007

In mid-June 2007, I had just finished high school and was taking a trip out to Maine for orientation at my new university. I was the perfect picture of teenage angst, having just broken up with my high school boyfriend and feeling like I would never love again. I couldn't wait to be an adult, to kick the dust of the Midwest off my feet, and start all over in a new exciting place, but I was still incredibly annoyed that my mom wanted to take pictures of me in Acadia National Park.

Struggles: Not having a summer job, missing my ex-boyfriend

Fears: That I wouldn't like my new roommate, that my new classes would be too difficult, that I would feel homesick in a new place all alone

Hopes for the next year: That Maine would fill all my lofty expectations, that I would find amazing new friends, that I would finally feel grown-up and independent when I left home

2008

By the time June 2008 had rolled around, I had settled quite nicely into life in Maine...so much so that I almost considered not coming home for the summer! I thought I had made those amazing lifelong friends I'd always dreamed about, my classes the previous year had gone well, and my homesickness had mostly dissipated after the first few months there. Going back to the Midwest for the summer was a slight culture shock, but I made up for it by exploring places in my hometown that I'd never been before, seeing everything with new eyes.

Struggles: Readjusting to a summer of Midwestern life after being away for a year, trying to become close again with my high school friends, starting to learn Spanish

Fears: That my Mainer boyfriend would find someone else while I was away, that my friends in Maine would forget about me over the summer

Hopes for the next year: That I would continue to grow closer to my friends in Maine, that I would find a cool yet cheap place to study abroad in

2009

Summer 2009 found me living in Spain for the first time, glad to escape Maine for awhile after a huge blowout between my boyfriend and my best friend there. After much deliberation, I'd chosen to study in Bilbao. This was because it was close to France, which I thought meant that they would be similar culturally. I was very, very wrong. I was trying to get better at Spanish but having a really hard time. I wasn't alone in my struggles, however, as I learned to do new (also super difficult) things like surfing with my fellow American study abroad students.

Struggles: Not being able to express myself in Spanish AT ALL and constantly mixing it up with French, not immediately loving Spain and regretting not studying abroad in France like I'd wanted to

Fears: That I'd made a mistake in coming to Spain and that studying abroad wouldn't be the experience of a lifetime like I'd always dreamed

Hopes for the next year: To become fluent in Spanish and travel all around Europe

2010

In June 2010, I had been back in the States a few months. Even though I had mixed feelings towards Spain at the end of my time studying there, once I was back in Maine I missed being in Europe and traveling so badly it hurt. I was spending the summer working a retail job that I hated, which really brought me down since I wanted something more for myself. There were only a few bright spots in that otherwise depressing summer, which were watching Spain win the World Cup and finally exploring Portland, Maine. I even went to a cool gay pride festival! 

Struggles: Feeling inadequate because I was the only person I knew who didn't have a cool summer job in their chosen field of study, missing Europe and my life there

Fears: That I wouldn't be able to find a professor to advise the thesis I wanted to write on the translation of poetry, that I would get stuck working retail forever, that the majors I had chosen would make me unemployable

Hopes for the next year: To find a graduate program that would lead me towards a job that I would find more fulfilling than working in sales

2011

In summer 2011, I had just defended my thesis, graduated from university, and left Maine for good. I had forgotten all about going to graduate school. In the end, my desire to go back to Spain won out, and I had been accepted as an auxiliar de conversación in A Cañiza, Galicia. So I went back to Illinois and spent the summer with my family and old friends, waiting to leave. That was a little dull at times, but I did take a couple of cool trips, like one to the rolling hills of West Virginia! There, my sister, her husband, my nephew and I went ziplining with Ace Adventure Resort, which was--in a word--awesome. I loved swinging through the trees like George of the Jungle!

Struggles: Being single again for the first time in nearly four years, leaving behind all my friends in Maine, trying to gather together ridiculous amounts of paperwork for a Spanish visa

Fears: That I would hate Spain again, that I had forgotten all my Spanish, that teaching would be a nightmare

Hopes for the next year: To travel a lot more around Europe, to finally have Spanish friends

2012

After my second year in Spain, by June 2012 I was feeling very comfortable there. I had no desire to go home for the summer when I had the legal right to stay, so I took a position as an au pair in a suburb of Madrid. Before I left Galicia everyone told me I was going to asar (fry) in the capital, but I had no idea how much! The heat was unbearable. That coupled with being stuck in the suburbs was a bit difficult, but I was able to spend some time exploring Madrid and learning more about day-to-day Spanish family life. My Spanish also improved quite a bit!

Struggles: Feeling lonely because I knew no one my own age in Las Rozas, getting broken up with in Spanish via text message, dealing with the summer heat of Madrid

Fears: That I would never make close Spanish friends in Vigo, that my living situation would be as miserable as the year before

Hopes for the next year: To join a weekly Couchsurfing meeting and make friends there, to live with Spaniards, to become more integrated at my work in A Cañiza

2013

The summer of 2013 found me leaving Spain again, this time with a very heavy heart. I didn't want to leave behind the amazing life that I'd built for myself in Vigo, with fun activities, great friends, and some incredible Spanish and German roommates. But I also realized that opportunities to realize your life goals (like living in France) don't come around every day. I knew that if I didn't go to France, I would always regret it. So I reluctantly said my goodbyes and faced my destiny. But before heading back to sweet home Chicago to get my French visa, I got to go on an awesome Eurotrip with my parents to gorgeous places like Lake Bled, Slovenia! That made the pain of leaving Spain lessen ever so slightly, and I was glad.

Struggles: Saying goodbye to my wonderful friends and life in my favorite city in Spain (Vigo), packing two years' worth of possessions into one suitcase

Fears: That I would hate living in France and regret leaving Galicia, that my French was awful and no one would understand me

Hopes for the next year: To become fluent in French and have a year in France that would fulfill the fantasies I'd been having since I was 14

2014

At this time last year, I was doing some final little trips around Brittany (like to Brest) before leaving France. I had incredibly mixed feelings about leaving, as I'd had a real rollercoaster of a year. I didn't feel quite finished with France. It seemed like there was still more to learn, and definitely room for improvement with my French. But at the same time, Spain (like the jealous ex-boyfriend it is) wouldn't let go of its firm grasp on my heart. So I was going to be heading back to the States soon, a pitstop on the way to my fourth year in Spain. I was starting to feel super nervous about being a graduate student and was a bit uncertain whether teaching was actually for me. I'd just finished a year working at a really difficult school, and wasn't sure whether my struggles were a reflection of my inadequacies as a teacher or just the result of a hard situation. 

Struggles: Feeling sad over a relationship that was about to end, already missing the friends I had just said goodbye to, getting tired of changing countries just as I was beginning to feel comfortable

Fears: That it would be really difficult to get a Master's degree, that everyone else would know more about teaching than me, that I would hate living in Madrid

Hopes for the next year: To feel integrated and fulfilled in my new teaching job, that my Master's classes would be interesting and informative, that a graduate degree would make me more employable

2015 (The Present Day)

So here we are in mid-June 2015. I'm spending my time saying goodbye to all my favorite people and places in and around Madrid, because as far as I'm aware, I'm leaving Spain for good this time. Of course, I thought that two years ago, and six years ago as well, so one never knows. But that's the plan. I'm working on finding a big-girl teaching job without the title of "assistant" attached to it, in a place I can legally live for more than one year at a time. I've just finished my very last Master's class and I'm getting ready to graduate next week. Then I'll be off on (perhaps my final) big European Vacation with my parents! Getting ready to (I think) end my years in Spain is a big step for me, but my heart isn't quite so heavy at the thought of leaving this time. It feels like the right decision in order to further my teaching career and accomplish my life goals, so I'm going more or less without regrets. 

Struggles: Trying to plan a big vacation while also doing 2-3 interviews a week, saying goodbye to all my beloved little students

Fears: That my Master's degree will be very difficult to validate in the USA, that I'll never find a job because of my lack of American teaching certificate, that I'll really miss living in Spain and struggle a lot with culture shock wherever I end up

Hopes for the next year: To have a more permanent job working with the age group I prefer in a place I could see myself living happily for several years, to feel more stable in life, love, friendship, and everything else

So what have we learned from this exercise?

One, I should be incredibly wary of romantic relationships in summer. I have literally never broken up with anyone significant at any other time of year. Weird, huh?

But more importantly, the real value of seeing the things that haunted me in Junes past is noticing how insignificant they seem now. We humans sometimes get lost in the all-consuming concerns of the present. We forget that our worries of today are our silly anecdotes of tomorrow. 

It's hard to remember that the things I'm so worried about now will eventually resolve themselves. It seems impossible to imagine a world in which I have other things to think about. But looking at my past problems and knowing that everything worked out just fine makes it easier to know that the fears gnawing at my soul today will seem funny on this date in one year, five years, ten years. 

Does that mean I can forget about them now? No, of course not.

But maybe it will help me to feel just a little bit less scared of the unknown. And every time I feel a little less worried and afraid, it makes it easier to move forward. 

In the end, that's my biggest hope for all future years: to know that qué será será and to learn to embrace that with open arms. 

Where Is Home?

I seem to have an innate inability to give a simple answer to a simple question.

What's your name? That depends on your native language, what country we are in, and the language we are currently speaking. Probably about half of my friends don't actually know my name, since I hate the way non-native English speakers mispronounce it. So I introduce myself in a more Spanish/French way, which is not my real name but sounds better to me than their butcherings. Bref, it's really /əlɪsə/. A homophone of Alyssa, not Elisa.

How many brothers and sisters do you have? How long have you got for me to explain it? It involves divorces and remarriages on both sides, and either way I answer it's confusing. In short, I grew up basically an only child, yet I still have a crapload of nephews and nieces.

Where are you from? Where are YOU from? My answer will depend greatly on that. Most times in my expat life, I say "near Chicago," but it's always really embarrassing when I meet another Illinoisian and they ask for more specifics. Ahem, how near is "near" to you?

And lately, I've been doing a lot of deep thinking about that last one. Not where am I from, but where is home? I have a hard time coming up with an answer, even a complicated one.

Is home the little town near Chicago where I was born and raised?

But I haven't lived there in 8 years. This past summer, I cleaned out and packed up the majority of my things from my childhood bedroom, knowing that I had officially moved on. My parents are going back to live where they consider home, up in Wisconsin. So although Northern Illinois is where I was raised, I'm not sure if it's home anymore.

Is home Alcalá de Henares, where I currently live?

As sad as it is, I've never felt particularly at home here in Alcalá. It's an all right town, I suppose, but I'm not very happy here. I don't feel very integrated into society, and I don't have a lot of friends. I'm not miserable, but I am rather bored. I'll be happy when my Master's degree is finished in a month and I can move on.

Is home Orono, Bilbao, Vigo, or Saint-Malo?

In the past 8 years, I've lived in 6 different cities. Just doing simple math, I think it becomes obvious that I haven't been able to stay in any of them very long. I've been a nomad for a long time, trying on different cities for size but moving on relatively quickly from all of them. There were things that I loved about all of these cities: Orono's student culture, Bilbao's alternative vibe, the friends I made in Vigo, the language I spoke in Saint-Malo. But were any of them home? I don't think I was able to stay long enough to find out.

I'm getting really tired of this itinerant life. I will always love traveling, but I'm not the type that can do it continually. My heart is bruised from being fractured into pieces every single time I move. I need a stable home to come back to at the end of a long journey. I want my comfy warm bed to fall into, my car in the driveway, and my long-term friends to meet for coffee the next day to share my stories with.

So right now, my task is to build that permanent home for myself. To find a place where I can stay legally and make it mine. The question is, where?

Back to Northern Illinois or some other part of the American Midwest, where my permanent ties still are? Where I speak the language and know the culture like the back of my hand? Where everything is easy? Where I've traveled more than anyone I know? Where I've felt like an alien when I've visited every summer for the past 8 years?

To some other part of the States? To explore something new and yet still be "at home"? To make a new part of the country my own? To still be at a great distance from my family, even after all these years of missing them?

To a new country? To learn a new language or dialect? To explore a new part of the world? To be in a place where I'm all alone, again? Where I still need a visa to stay? Where I'd have to learn a whole new set of cultural paradigms? Where I'm far from everyone I love?

These questions have been running continually through my head for months now, and I still have no clear answers. I've been trying to listen to what my soul is telling me, but it's coming through like garbled static on a badly tuned radio.

I heard a quote recently in one of my meditations that I really liked. It was from a man called Philip McKernan, and it went "In the absence of clarity, take action." He was saying that if you don't know what to do, just do something. Even if it turns out badly, at least then you'll know one more thing that isn't right for you!

So I guess that's the plan. I have no idea what's right or where my home should be. So until I do, I just have to take some action, any action, and hope for the best. I have one month left of living in Alcalá de Henares, and then...

Once more unto the breach!

Takeaway from My First Blogging Conference

This past weekend, I went to my first-ever blogging conference, TBEX Europe 2015. I honestly wasn't sure what to expect before I went, and I felt increasingly nervous about it in the weeks leading up, as I thought more and more about what it might be like. 

Would I be the only non-pro blogger there?

Would the others laugh at my silly little "hobby" blog?

Would I find the information useful when I have no real intention of monetizing my blog?

Would I actually be brave enough to try to talk to a large crowd of 400 strangers?

Something you have to understand about me is that I'm enormously introverted as well as shy to boot. Large crowds of strangers make me extremely nervous, especially when I perceive them to be "better" than me somehow. So this conference had the potential to be a perfect storm of awkwardness for me. But I'm determined to overcome my social anxiety and become better at making new friends, so the weekend was also a perfect opportunity to practice that! 

The first day was extremely overwhelming. We arrived later than other people on the day after the official welcoming party due to work schedules, so things were in full swing as we walked in. Lots of others seemed to know each other, and while I was introduced to some people right away, I felt so self-conscious about making a bad first impression that I probably didn't make one at all. 

After a couple of sessions on improving the writing style of our blogs and a big lunch, I felt slightly more at ease, so during the afternoon when other people were networking with airlines and tourism boards, I was trying to build up the courage to talk to some strangers and make new friends. I kept circulating throughout the room, ostensibly checking out the pastry selections on the various tables scattered throughout the hotel lobby and continuously downing and refilling my glass of water. In reality, I was scoping out whether there seemed to be any friendly-looking people whose conversation I could easily join. A couple of times, I awkwardly stood next to groups of people, waiting for a good moment to jump into what they were saying, but finding none, eventually slunk away. After awhile, I found myself sitting at a table in the corner by myself, furiously scribbling away in my journal, disappointed in my lack of social skills. 

The more I wrote, though, the clearer my thoughts became, and I eventually came to the conclusion that although I need to work on starting conversations with strangers, I haven't given up yet, and that is admirable. Despite my clear lack of ease in this area, I keep putting myself in situations that will require me to practice conversing with new people, and for that I was proud of myself. I realized that although I had been a bit of a failure so far in the conference, the remainder did not have to be predicated on what had already happened. There was still opportunity for improvement. 

Just realizing this felt like a huge weight being lifted from my shoulders. My anxiety didn't dissipate entirely, but I felt more courageous about spending the rest of the weekend chatting with strangers. 

That night and the whole next day, I made a great effort to jump into people's conversations, even when it felt awkward or strange. And I began to find that people didn't really seem to mind. Bloggers are a pretty friendly bunch, after all. 

Of course, I would be greatly amiss if I didn't mention that I was greatly aided by the fact that I happened to have come to the conference with two of the biggest names in the travel blogging world, my friends Linda and Craig from Indie Travel Podcast. Just mentioning their names with new people gained me instant recognition, and they spent the whole conference introducing me to all the most important people in travel blogging, who also just happen to be some of their best friends. I have to say, it was kind of weird to be chatting with new people one night and then realizing the next day that they were giving some of the most important talks in the whole conference (including the closing night session)! 

Still, in general, I think I learned a thing or two about small talk with strangers, and I'll be interested to try to put that into practice in the future (with or without a buddy there to hook people with "Have you met Alisa?")!

I also learned that I'm just a wee bit different from a lot of other bloggers. I've never felt so out-of-step with the times as being asked hundreds of times in one weekend for my Twitter handle, when I still don't really "get" why I should be on Twitter in the first place, and therefore don't have one! I also don't have business cards about my blog, the other big currency at a travel blogging conference. Oops. 

It seemed like the majority of other people at TBEX were trying to make contacts to be able to sell things from their blog, or use their blog as a means of advertisement so they could go on comped trips. Now, I don't think there's anything wrong with that--there's obviously a need for companies to promote their product (vacations), and many bloggers have become unwilling to provide for that need using money out of their own pocket. I get that. It makes a lot of sense, and I found the weekend immersed in this whole new world of advertising through blogging and of people who travel for a living absolutely fascinating. 

That said, I have no real desire to make money from Alisabroad. I don't really care if I make a name for myself, I don't give a damn about SEO, and I don't intend to make this blog my full-time job. I'll never say never, because no one can ever know what the future will bring, but for now I'm really, genuinely only writing for myself. That's not to say that I don't appreciate that people want to read what I write, but I'm here for the community, I want to share my experiences because I think it brings me closer with people, and I have no desire to try to convince people to do anything, except maybe learn English as a second language. Seriously. 

Still, despite occasionally feeling like a fish out of water, I had some lovely moments at the conference. It was nice to be surrounded by people who really "get" my lifestyle, who are also constantly on the move, who haven't settled down yet in a permanent home. When we met, it wasn't "Where are you from?" but rather "Where are you currently based?" and "Where have you been recently?" 

One of my favorite moments from the whole conference was on the last night, standing with a group of women, discussing the nitty-gritty practicalities of traveling long-term. "What do you do about shampoo?" one of them asked. Suddenly we were trading secrets about refilling travel-size shampoo bottles with luxury shampoo, debating the practicalities of checking a bag occasionally, and lamenting those times when we'd had to throw away a half-full shampoo bottle before getting on a plane. I felt like they truly got what my life is like in a way I haven't in a long while, and that was good. 

So even if I may never use some of the marketing tools I learned at the conference, it was definitely worth it for me socially, if nothing else. And besides that, it was lovely to have an excuse to get away to a beachside town like Lloret de Mar for the weekend. Have I mentioned yet that I really miss the ocean?

I was also incredibly impressed by the welcome we received from the Costa Brava tourist board, who gave us adorable gift bags with the best present inside--a free portable phone charger! 

And then there was the food. Oh my god, the food. I was blown away by the amount of food put in front of my face, free for the taking, in one short weekend. I spent the lunch buffets stuffing my face with seafood, and then got to the dessert table and went only slightly overboard with a desire to try absolutely everything. Buffets are dangerous for the adventurous eater, oh yes they are! 

I was honestly shocked by not only the quantity of food given to us, but the incredibly elaborate way in which it was presented. Behold the butter dolphins on the seafood table, which seemed so elaborate and extravagant that I felt like I was at a fancy wedding. 

I was also impressed with the hotel I stayed at (chosen by me and not affiliated with the conference at all). Slightly out of the way at the other end of the beach from the conference's hotel complex, it was a rundown mom-and-pop place where the receptionist seemed incredibly relieved that I spoke Spanish, because he clearly couldn't communicate in anything besides that and Catalan. I'm fond of authentically Spanish places like this, especially after the slightly jarring feeling of being surrounded by other English speakers at a conference in Spain, leaving me unsure what language to speak in to the conference's hotel staff. But my shabby little 25€-a-night hotel had one major perk--free continental breakfast served on their garden terrace. Toootally worth it. 

Another great thing about the weekend that had nothing at all to do with the conference itself was the discovery of a bunch of food trucks on the town's main square. I had both authentic Mexican food as well as my first galette bretonne avec du cidre in nearly a year. So ridiculously good. 

And getting back to the conference itself, I was also amazed at the effort put into the official parties. Free sangría on the hotel rooftop? A party overlooking the beach at night, complete with Galician queimada? Wow. That even gave me a chance to impress people with my stories of exactly how this firey drink is prepared, and all the times I had it while living in my beloved Galicia. 

So, overall, was TBEX worth it? Although I was somewhat at counter-purposes with the actual raison d'être of the event, I still had a really good time. I thought the information sessions were mostly of high quality and very interesting, regardless of whether I ever put that information to good use or not. The food was excellent and abundant, the parties were tasteful and culturally appropriate, and the other bloggers were not as scary or snobby as I had initially feared. So, was it worth my $129? I'd have to say without hesitation, a huge resounding YES. 

Will I go again to a future TBEX? I don't know yet, but I would absolutely consider it, for the food and friends alone, if nothing else!

Sometimes I Wish I Weren't an Anglophone

It feels blasphemous to even think this, let alone say it out loud. It's almost like a dirty secret, one that I'm ashamed to admit. Of all of the blessings I've had in my life (and there are many), one of them that has most deeply affected my path in life has been the fact that I speak English as my first language and that I come from a rich and powerful nation. My passport currently opens doors for me with no visa required in around 160 countries, and my native language is the lingua franca of basically the entire world.

And yet I sometimes wish I didn't speak English as my first language. 

I don't mean to sound like an ungrateful brat. I'm aware of how much speaking English has helped me thus far in life, and I do realize that I actually make a living just speaking my native language. (Of course, I know the grammar as well; that helps!) But there are moments when I wish I could trade in the status of "native speaker of English" and just speak it well as a second language instead.

Being a native English speaker, especially in Spain right now, means that I am a hot commodity. Spaniards are desperate to learn English, the one thing that they all seem to agree will protect them against the country's current staggering unemployment. Well, either that or it will allow them to move to some other country to work, whichever happens first. Professionals want to learn English to get a better job, and parents want their children to learn English so they will be employable someday too. And all of these people agree that there is no one better to learn from than a native speaker. After all, our pronunciation is perfect, right?

A few weeks ago, in the shared car on the way back from Galicia, we were all talking about our careers, and one of the university students in the back mentioned that he was trying to learn English. The driver threw out the idea that he should try to find a language exchange partner to improve. Unimpressed with the idea, he said "ya tengo un nativo," I already have a native.

Something about that sentence really rubbed me the wrong way, although I kept quiet about it in the moment. He has a native already? Not a friend who helps him with English, not a conversation partner, a native. As though all native English speakers were different models of the same device. What are we, like the latest bit of technology, a talking English machine? A walking interactive dictionary?

It's frustrating enough that just about every time we go on public transit, the people around us are really obviously eavesdropping to see if they can understand a little of what we're saying, as though we were a live-action roleplay for their English exam. But of course, I've learned the hard way that trying to make new friends here when you're a native English speaker can be a minefield as well. Whether it's online or in person, it's really annoying to be talking with someone in the language of the country I moved halfway around the world to be in, only to mention where I come from and have them palpably brighten.

"Oh, you're American!?"
"Yes."
"Wow, I've always wanted to travel to New York City! I'm trying to improve my English, you should help me! Let's get together again sometime!"

If they haven't already, cue them switching to (usually terrible) English on me and me plastering a fake smile on my face and saying "yeah, maybe..." while thinking to myself "NOT!"

Rereading that exchange, I know I sound like a real jerk for not wanting to help these poor people who just want to learn my native language. But is it so wrong of me to want people to be my friends because of who I am, and not what language I speak? Am I a jerk for being annoyed that I've had that same exact exchange, almost word for word, hundreds of times in my five years in Europe?

And most of all, is it a crime to not want to teach English for free when I know I could get paid to do so? Helping people with their English is my job; I do it all day every day with my preferred age group for good money. When I get off work, I just want to relax and think about other things besides explaining when to use the present perfect versus the simple past. I want to talk with people and just have fun. I really do not want to give free English lessons to adults! The way I see it, people asking me right off the bat to help them with their English is like if I were to meet a shopkeeper and immediately ask him if he could give me things for free from his store. No, probably not, right? So why should I have to feel bad about not wanting to help everybody with their English all the time?

 And the thing is, I've been on the other side of the whole 'trying desperately to learn a language' thing, and there have been lots of kind souls who have helped me. So I do often feel guilty for not wanting to return the favor with everyone I meet.  But doing so makes me feel used, like a tool rather than a human being with interests and feelings. I don't mind helping my friends occasionally with their English, but that's because our friendship is based on things other than my native language and their desperation to learn it.

The other annoying part about these people switching to English on me like this is that I feel like since I'm the one who moved halfway around the world to learn another language, I should be allowed the chance to practice that language when I'm not at work. I do often tell people this, and most people are gracious enough to take the hint that I would prefer to speak in their language with them, but some others are really persistent about always trying to practice their bad English on me, and that's when I start to get really annoyed.

There are, of course, ways to practice languages that are of mutual benefit to both parties, like language exchanges. That way, I would be helping the other person with their English, and they would be helping me with French or Spanish or even Galician. I've done a fair amount of these, and they used to be really helpful. In French or Galician, they still might be. But in Spanish, as conceited as this sounds, I feel I've moved past the point where I really need to have someone correcting me all the time. My Spanish is at a level of C1.4 according to the Common European Framework (one microstep away from C2, or totally bilingual, argh), which I know since I took the practice test put out by the Cervantes Institute just the other day. So, I really feel like I'm on a tier where I don't really need language exchanges, because the benefit to me is much smaller than the effort I would need to put out in helping others with their English. Maybe I just need to find partners whose English is at the same level as my Spanish, but those are fairly thin on the ground in Spain. Anyway, I'd rather just have regular conversations in Spanish with people here, without worrying about giving equal time to both languages. Does that make me selfish? Maybe. But like I said, I moved halfway around the world to speak Spanish, so that's what I want to do!

Funnily enough, this was almost never a problem in France. Maybe it's because they're so stereotypically snooty about speaking any language other than their own. Or perhaps it's because they're embarrassed that they have the worst English in Europe (apart from Russia, the Ukraine and Turkey, which...are not really Europe, not to me). Hardly anybody ever forced me to speak in English, although they made an awful lot of mean comments about my French at first. But at the same time, they love to take English words and franglais them because c'est cool. I don't know, France is bizarre. But at least I got to practice a helluva lot of French while I was there!

If I weren't a native English speaker, I like to imagine that I wouldn't have these problems. People wouldn't give me so much unwanted attention for my native language. I would probably be really happy to speak English, because it would be a chance for me to practice too. I could feel proud of my English, as something I'd worked hard on, rather than something I was basically born with. Alas, earwax that will never be the case. For better or for worse, English is and always will be my first language, and I can't escape the fact that the downsides come with the enormous advantages. I guess I'll just have to learn to concentrate more on the benefits of it, like the fact that when I go to Prague for two days, no one expects me to learn Czech, and I get to just speak my first language the whole time with no problems.

I do have to say, as well, that even as I was writing this I was feeling the obnoxiousness of my privilege. "Waaah everyone wants to learn my native language to improve their lives, and I just want to either be left alone or make a profit off of them and they won't let me!" Also, "Waaah people won't let me practice a second language that I'm only learning because I think it's fun, when in truth I have no real pressing need to learn any foreign language because I'm a native speaker of the world's lingua franca!" I know, poor poor me.

But I would love it if people would see me for who I am, instead of as an English machine. That would be pretty awesome. Just sayin'.

10 Times When Foreign Languages Felt Impossible

I think most of us who have ever tried it can attest that learning to speak a foreign language well is no easy task. Even just making mistakes in front of our peers in school is pretty embarrassing for most language learners, let alone us few brave (crazy?) souls who have moved to a foreign country and look foolish speaking another language every single day of our lives. 

So innocent, if only I'd known what was in store for me...

Of course, it gets easier with time and a great deal of practice, but unfortunately foreign language learning is a lifelong process. Even after years of practice, when you think you know what you're doing, little things can surprise you. You still make mistakes. Silly ones, yes. Things that you thought you should have down by now. Things that will forever give you away as a non-native speaker. 

 Even more annoyingly, there are certain moments when speaking a foreign language is SO MUCH HARDER than it is at others. It's these moments when you feel like everything you've learned has been a waste, when you're completely lost for words. The times you trip up seem to always be at the EXACT moment when you need to sound your best. 

What I've learned is that strong emotions and making sense in a foreign language do not mix. 

I've had a LOT of these uncomfortable instances, some worse than others. To give you an example of the types of moments that make my ability to speak a foreign language go right out the window, here is my list of the top 10 moments when speaking a foreign language felt utterly impossible.

At First:

Getxo

1. I'd just arrived in Spain for the first time, ready for 9 months of studying abroad in Bilbao. I was reasonably confident in my Spanish skills, having taken a few semesters of it before leaving. So the very first day in town, I'd been told by my study abroad program that I needed to make my way to my new apartment on my own and sign the paperwork with my new landlord. I was a little annoyed at not being given more help (even the address indicated on a map would have been nice!), but I thought I knew enough Spanish to figure it out. So I hailed a cab to take me to the little town of Getxo. Except the cabbie didn't know the address I'd told him, and couldn't find it on his GPS. He ended up dropping me near Getxo's main square, telling me to try calling someone to help me. Yes, great idea, if I had a phone OR the landlord's phone number! So, dragging my heavy suitcases behind me, I started walking until I found someone to ask about the street. One terribly annoying thing about Getxo at this time was that all the names for everything had recently been changed into Basque on the street signs, but none of the people in town actually used those names when referring to said places, they still used the old Spanish names. So, almost no one knew what street I wanted. But finally, one little old lady knew where I needed to go, and was happy to give me directions. One problem though. I had no idea how to say the words left or right. So...her directions made absolutely no sense to me. Pretending I'd understood (being too embarrassed to say I hadn't caught a single word), I went off in the direction she'd pointed, hoping for the best. After dragging my suitcases around what felt like half the town, and following several more pointing fingers, I did eventually make it there. And later that night, I looked up "a la izquierda" and "a la derecha" and committed them firmly to memory!

The double RR in Calle Gobelaurre didn't help my cause, I'm sure!

2. A few days later, my new roommates and I were trying to order a pizza over the phone. In general, speaking a foreign language on the phone is utter torture, although I didn't yet know this at the time. But I was about to learn how the absence of body language and hand signals makes a HUGE difference in comprehension. I started ordering the pizza, thinking everything was fine, but the girl on the other end had no idea what I was saying and was getting increasingly agitated. My Spanish was so bad that the worker at Telepizza thought I was a prank caller and hung up on me! 

3. I had lots of problems eating at first! Another day not long after that, I was starving and wanted a chicken kebab. However, I couldn't remember if the word chicken was masculine or feminine in Spanish, so I just took a chance and said one to the worker at the kebab shop. But of course, I picked the wrong one. Pollo means chicken, but change that last O to an A, and suddenly you have a slang word for penis. So yes, I asked for a roasted penis kebab, and the look on the man's face was priceless!

Bilbao

4. My second semester in Bilbao, after many situations like these and realizing that my Spanish needed some serious help, I decided to change from living in an apartment with other Americans to a homestay with a Spanish family. I imagined them taking me in like one of their own, teaching me about the Spanish language and their culture at the same time, like my own parents had done when we had exchange students when I was little. However, that was not to be. I was soon introduced to the world of people who host foreign exchange students mostly for the money said students pay them. I barely saw my host parents in the first few months I was living with them, and we rarely talked. 

By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I wanted to try to rectify the situation and get closer with them, so I asked them if I could try to cook them some traditional American Thanksgiving foods so we could have a little celebration, and they seemed excited about the idea. I'd never cooked Thanksgiving dinner before, so I decided to give myself plenty of time and start in the morning. I was making my way pretty blindly, following directions my mom was giving me on Skype. Around 2pm I'd just taken a squash out of the oven, and my host mom came home, upset. "What are you still doing in the kitchen? My husband will be home any minute wanting his lunch, and you can't still be in here! He's going to be really angry! Finish this up, fast! What do you still have left to do?" 

Surprised, I tried to explain that I was going to pick the seeds out of the squash, then leave it to cool while I made the pie crust, then put that in the pie pan, then I needed to mix the rest of the ingredients together with the squash, and put them in the crust, then cook it all. O sea, not a quick task. I offered to take a break while her husband had his lunch and continue later. But she wasn't having any of that. I'm pretty certain than my explanation of what I had left to do had left something to be desired, since she picked up the bowl of squash, seeds and all, and dumped it into the pie pan. "Finished! Now move it!" Frustrated, I tried once again to explain just how many steps I had left to complete, that there couldn't be seeds in the squash. But now she was angry. "Your Spanish is awful. You don't make any sense. You're not improving at all, and no wonder, you're always on Skype with your American boyfriend and your parents," she yelled. "And what is this nonsense, 'cups, tablespoons?' This is Spain, and if you want to be here, you need to use the metric system!" She went on and on. 

Holding back tears, I continued trying to work and explain to her what I needed to do, but it soon became impossible. I'll never forget the helplessness I felt in that moment, when I just wanted to explain myself, defend myself against my host mom's attacks, and the words simply weren't there. Even if I HAD known the cooking vocabulary I needed, the strong emotions brought up by all the yelling made thinking about verb conjugations and the gender of nouns seriously impossible. All I could think about was not letting her see the tears in my eyes, and how the lump in my throat made it feel like I was choking with even the smallest attempts to talk. Eventually, I had to tell her I was going to stop for awhile. Then I went to my bedroom so I could cry about the whole situation on the phone to my mom. This remains, to date, the hardest time I've ever had speaking Spanish, and that awful feeling will probably never fade from memory completely. 

Yes, the pie did eventually get made, thank god, and I gave most of it to my friends instead of my awful host family!

At Work:

5. A few years later, I was getting off the bus from the airport in Vigo, ready to start working as an auxiliar de conversación. My new boss came to pick me up from the bus station and take me to A Cañiza, where I was going to be working. I'd seen on the internet that the place was remote, but as we headed off into the mountains, I began to realize just how far from everything it really was. He got me all checked into a hotel and told me he'd see me the next day, at the school, which was just next door. "Just walk in and ask for me with the secretary, she'll know where to find me," he said. Jet-lagged out of my mind, I agreed without thinking and made my way up to my room and collapsed into bed. 

A Cañiza

What felt like moments later, I heard a knocking on the door. Confused, I saw the cleaning lady poke her head in. "Son las 12, tienes que irte." It was already noon the next day! I quickly got dressed and checked out, leaving my things at the front desk, and headed over to the school. The secretary did indeed lead me to the director, who quickly introduced me to my new colleagues. So many new people! My head was spinning with all the names. I was quickly led off by the head of the English department, who wanted to know what types of lessons I had planned for the high school students I'd be working with. Huh?? I thought I was just an assistant?? When it became clear that I had never taught before and had no idea what I was doing, she led me back to the staff room, where people suddenly started asking me where I was going to live. "Uhhhh....I don't know," I said, completely overwhelmed. I had thought about it, of course, but I didn't really know what I should do, and I'd been hoping there would be people there to advise me. Soon enough, there was a group of teachers gathered around me, arguing about whether Ourense or Vigo was better, while I tried desperately to follow the conversation through my jetlagged fog, unsure whether I was actually going to get any say in where I'd be living or not. I couldn't figure out how to break into the conversation to give my opinion since they were speaking so fast (not that I was really sure what my opinion was anyway). Finally, it was decided that I would get a ride from one of the English teachers back to Vigo. So that was where I ended up living! 

As we drove 45 minutes back towards Vigo, I indexed my mind for topics to chat about. It had been years since I'd had to make small talk in Spanish, and I had forgotten a lot. I felt super rusty, in addition to still being so jetlagged. We covered the basics in about 10 minutes, where I came from and why I wanted to be in Spain, etc. And then? Wanting to make a good impression on my new coworker, not wanting to be known from the very beginning as the "Awkward American," and not able to remember enough vocabulary to talk about more complicated topics, I started rambling about the only Spanish words I could think of at the time--family. So I talked at length about my nephews and niece...for a full 30 minutes. 

Eventually, as we drove an hour and a half together per day several times a week over the next two years, my skills in making small talk in Spanish got better...a little. And my poor coworker learned a LOT of random things about my nephews and niece! 

One of the best views of Vigo

6. When I was working in A Cañiza, one of my coworkers was always trying to convince me to have lunch with everybody in the comedor. I did sometimes, when I was too lazy to pack myself a lunch, but most days I didn't feel like paying to eat school cafeteria food. However, I also had another reason not to eat with them, which was that it was SO AWKWARD. Most of the time at school, the teachers who didn't speak English would talk to me in Spanish, which was fine. I understood them well enough one-on-one, and my Spanish was improving enormously. However, at lunchtime, when talking to each other, many of them would revert back to their native galego, the beautiful cousin to both Spanish and Portuguese spoken in Galicia. I have no problem with galego, I think it's a very pretty language, but back then, especially at first, I couldn't understand a word they were saying. And this was exacerbated at lunchtime, when the cries of the children were mixed with forks clanking on plates, when there was a group of 15 Spaniards all excited to talk to one another and constantly interrupting in increasingly louder voices. I would sit there, trying with all my might to follow along for about the first 10 minutes, until I got too tired and gave up, staring off into space. This isn't the only time I've felt bewildered during a mealtime conversation surrounded by foreigners, but I've rarely felt as lost as I did when surrounded by people shouting and interrupting each other in galego.

Xa.

7. One morning earlier this school year in Alcalá, I woke up to a terrible text message from my mom. "Grandma fell. Not expected to live." Distraught, and knowing that they would be flying out to Arizona in the morning and I couldn't call until they arrived, I was distracted all morning at school. Finally, at lunch time it was late enough that I could go outside and try to call. Cursing Skype for not connecting me immediately when I felt like I was going to go crazy if I didn't hear something soon, I eventually got some more details via Whatsapp until I had to go back to eat some lunch before my next class. Unable to stop thinking about it all, unable to cover the distress on my face, the second I walked into the lunchroom everyone knew something was wrong. A group of teachers gathered around me as I sat down, wanting to know if I was all right. Although I appreciated their concern so much, trying to explain the situation in Spanish seemed impossible, when I needed technical medical vocabulary that I've never learned. The second the first words left my lips, tears started running down my face. A hug from someone helped more than she probably knew, but I was incredibly grateful when they let me stop talking and eat my green beans in silence, dabbing at my eyes as I chewed. It was so embarrassing to have cried like that in front of everyone, especially when Spanish culture is so much about showing a proper face to the world, but in that moment I was a sad emotional American, and I didn't care. But once again, I learned that speaking another language when you're crying feels almost impossible.

In Love:

8. I wish I could say this has only happened to me once, but it's a recurring incident. I'm single, so most of the years I've been in Europe I've been dating, or flirting with, or had a crush on different guys. Dating is hard enough in your own culture, but add different body language and a foreign tongue on top of that, and you have a guaranteed recipe for looking stupid. Something you have to know about Spaniards is that they touch each other WAY more than Americans do. Most of the time, this overly touchiness just makes me feel vaguely uncomfortable, but there have been several occasions where I got confused and thought that the fact that some guy kept touching me meant he was into me. So, I thought, I would try to flirt back. Except, oh my god is flirting about a million times harder in another language. You have no idea what the typical expressions for flirting are, you want desperately to sound smooth, except that with every word that leaves your mouth, you cringe, knowing you sound like Tarzan. "You boy. Me girl. We date?"And then, it turns out, he was just touching you because he's Spanish and that's what they do. Uffda! 

9. Last year in France, I actually did go out with a guy for awhile. Long enough for him to introduce me to first his grandparents and then his parents. His grandparents were adorable and hilarious, particularly the grandpa, who kept telling me funny stories about fighting in World War II and his American penpal who may or may not have been dead, since he hadn't heard from her in awhile. He immediately put me at ease with his humor and his incessant conversation, which didn't require me to talk very much. Meeting the Frenchie's parents, however, made me infinitely more nervous. Was I supposed to use vous with them or not? Would my French hold up to extended conversation? I was lucky, because I ended up using tu and they weren't offended, and they were very nice. However, sounding good in French with them wasn't easy, especially when they fed me tiny sea snails while we were doing so, which I was supposed to pull out of their shell with a safety pin, put on bread, and eat. Goodbye, any hopes of not sounding OR looking foolish! 

10. A couple of times here in Europe, I've gone out with a guy long enough that we felt ready to say the L word to each other. Except, in a foreign language, it's not the L word. And that's really hard. If expressing your emotions in general in another language is bizarre, because the act of using that other language turns off your emotions and makes you more rational, then trying to express this particular emotion is SUPER difficult. In my experience, having someone tell you te quiero or je t'aime just doesn't, can't, mean as much as if it were in your native language. To me, those words will never have the same impact as saying, in English, I love you. It is what it is, but that doesn't make speaking another language in this situation any easier!

In the end, this is the only solution to sounding like an idiot in a foreign language, whether the situation is happy or sad. Laugh it off, there's nothing else you can do about it!

Please, god, tell me I'm not the only one to have had these ridiculously hard moments speaking a foreign language. Am I???