Hasta Luego, España

To say that my second year in Spain didn’t go quite how I expected would be an understatement. It makes me more grateful for the whole, uninterrupted first year I had. Traveling to another country every month, riding the metro around the city on the weekends, meeting friends at cafes, taking the train or bus to new cities in Spain.

But I approached this year with a different perspective from the start. Not only was I busier because I was working consistently as a freelance writer, but I also was taking the bus to and from school — which added a significant amount of time to my commute compared to last year. However, overall I was feeling more settled-in to my life in Madrid. I felt that I had the luxury to take things slower this year. I was planning trips around Europe for the spring, waiting for winter coats to be replaced by sundresses and sandals.

Plus, all year I’d been planning my triumphant return to Madrid for this upcoming fall. No longer would I be bound to a school schedule or a daily 6am bus ride. (Though I would miss the kids, a lot, so I was planning to visit my former school often. But I’d take the bus at a much more reasonable hour, of course.)

Most importantly, I was looking forward to bringing Matt back to Madrid with me. We’d been talking about it all year. He was learning Spanish, I was casually browsing apartments on the weekends and sending him the best listings. “Just to get an idea of what’s out there.” Two years of long-distance, three visits to Spain of varying lengths — between four days and four weeks. It finally felt like our end goal was in sight. We’d both be working full-time as freelancers, struggling through the Spanish bureaucracy and self-employed tax regulations. But morning cafes con leche, evening tapas, and weekend trips to Amsterdam or Zagreb would surely be worth it.

Obviously, I don’t need to tell you how coronavirus came in like a wrecking ball, because I’m sure it did the same thing in your life.

I wrote a bit in my last blog post about how our plans have had to change. Instead of packing light and leaving two years’ worth of accumulated items with a friend in Spain for the summer, I’m bringing everything home. Because I don’t know when I’ll be back, or under what circumstances.

And while the logistics of leaving Spain is one thing… the emotional perspective is another.

In some ways, over the past few months, I felt like I had already left Spain. During those two months where I literally couldn’t leave my apartment, not much about my life was Spanish. Other than the fact that my groceries were labeled in different languages, and I knew that if I got coronavirus, I wouldn’t go into debt trying to pay my medical bills. So much of what made Spain SPAIN was forbidden during that time.

And then in May, we were finally allowed to walk. Just walk, for the sake of walking, but not actually go anywhere. And only during very specific hours. That helped remind me where I was for just a bit. So then I had an entire month of walking. Experiencing Spain only through the exteriors of homes and buildings and flowers, cobblestone streets, and snippets of conversations overheard from fellow pedestrians.

Over the past month, as Madrid moved into Phase 1 and Phase 2, I finally felt like Spain as I knew it was back. During Phase 1, I was able to meet with friends at restaurant terrazas over a glass of tinto de verano and plates full of Spanish olives. In Phase 2, I could go back into my favorite cafes for breakfast (thankfully because I was tired of the same old breakfasts I’d been eating for 3 months). We can go to parks and we can have picnics. We can be outside whenever we want and do pretty much anything we want — as long as we wear a mask. Which everyone IS. So just as Spain settles into its new normal, which doesn’t seem that different from the old normal except for the masks, I have to leave.

I remember how hard it was to leave London after studying abroad 6 years ago. That was hard after only being there for 5 months, but at least I knew I was leaving. I knew I wasn’t coming back, and I got to experience everything to the fullest with this information in mind. Also, there wasn’t a global pandemic. Leaving a place that I’ve established a life as an adult for two years is obviously going to be more difficult, especially a place I was planning to stay for longer.

I AM excited to be home in Kansas City, but the feelings just aren’t that straightforward. Simultaneously, I’m devastated about leaving Spain and excited about going home.

I’m excited about the new adventures Matt and I are planning for this summer and beyond. I’m excited about getting fully onboard working for Brent. About traveling around the U.S. for Matt’s friends’ weddings and for fun. About seeing my friends and spending time with people I love that I haven’t had much time with during the past two years.

But I’m still sad about leaving. (LOL I think you probably get it by now.) As I’ve slowly packed up my apartment over the past few weeks, condensing two years’ worth of life and memories into two very large suitcases, of course it’s hard to see another chapter of life come to an end. It was a chapter that I’d been planning for two years before it even started. It was one of my proudest accomplishments and best things I’d ever done for myself. And now it’s just… unceremoniously… over.

I’m coming home on Monday. It was supposed to be Wednesday, but then my flight randomly got canceled and American Airlines didn’t even notify me (I just realized it myself when I logged into my account to double check that, yes, I get TWO checked bags). I don’t mind leaving two days earlier. The more time I have to be nostalgic and emotional, the worse.

So this chapter of my life is officially ending on Monday. A chapter in which I visited 14 different countries — 7 for the first time — including Gaia’s family in Sardinia, Italy, and my cousin who was studying in St. Petersburg, Russia. I made new friends and had 5 different friends besides Matt come visit ME from the U.S., as well as my family, and my mom even came back another time. And I became “Teacher Cathy” (spelled ‘Cazi’ or ‘Caci’) to 120 little Spanish (and Moroccan, and Romanian, and Venezuelan) kids that I will never ever forget.

I thought about titling this blog post “Adiós, España,” but I realized that’s not a very Spanish thing to say. When you leave a restaurant or a shop, or the Uber Eats driver comes to drop off your gigantic bacon burger from Goiko Grill, they don’t say “Adiós,” when they leave.

They say, “Hasta luego.”

See you later.

Even if they’re likely to never see you again.

So in this case, the only thing that makes sense is to say “Hasta luego, España.”

I don’t know when I’ll be back.

But I will be.

 

-Cathy

Originally Published on June 26, 2020.