Allow yourself to be enchanted

by Cecilia Sarthe (Argentina)

A leap into the unknown Spain

It was September 24th, at eleven in the evening, when I got into the plane that would take me across the ocean and into a whole new year of experiences. I didn’t know that yet. What I knew was that I was scared to death and most certainly out of my mind. Why leave behind my country, my job, my friends, my family and my boyfriend for the sake of studying abroad? Of course that was not it. Even though I didn’t know it yet, going to a foreign university was just a small part of it. A reasonable yet mere excuse for something much bigger. But once again, while handing my passport to the immigration officer, while looking for my seat, while bucking my seat belt and crossing my fingers in hope of a safe flight, all I could do was cry thinking that the whole business was probably an enormous mistake. Twelve hours later I had arrived. Barcelona shone with all the strength of its inner sun. From El Prat, the city’s airport, a got on a cab towards my destination: Passeig Pujades 33–37, the student residence “La Ciutadella”. I remember feeling excited, yet overwhelmed, thinking of the unknown months that waited ahead. After going past the Barcelona cemetery in Montjuic, the sea came into view: shining, sparkling, infinite blue. One of Catalunya’s most important poets, Joan Maragall, called Barcelona “la gran encisera”, the great enchantress. I couldn’t agree more with this epithet. For when I finally got to what would be my room for the next year and stood in front of the big square window which overlooked the city’s biggest park and the sea beyond, Barcelona was already casting its spell on me, presuming the wonders it had in store: Parc de la Ciutadella lay at my feet, its golden Gaudí cascade shining in the late afternoon sun, Montjuic rose high to my right, its cableway running to and fro from its summit to the port below where large numbers of boats swayed gently over the calm sea. Nearer, the pointed towers of the Cathedral and of Santa María del Mar rose above the Gothic Quarter and to my left the Poblenou began. Beyond my eyes’ reach the Eixample and Sagrada Familia, Tibidabo, Raval, Sant Antoni, Sants, Gràcia, Les Corts… places I didn’t know existed. Places I would know as the palm of my hand, better than my own Buenos Aires, in just a few months. Turning back to my room, my chest dancing with expectation and still ignorant of what lay ahead, I sat on the bed and sighed thinking of my people back home. Little did I know that I was beginning one of the best years of my life… Now, sitting on my old bed back in Buenos Aires, I sigh remembering my year in Barcelona. I miss walking alone through the Gothic Quarter late at night. I miss the engulfing, deep sound of a lonely skater near dawn. I miss the guys who offer beer in several languages, taking them from under the pavement. I miss walking along the ramblas in winter. I miss my morning walks to the beach. I miss my residence friends, the support we gave each other, our little, international family. I miss jokes in University and swimming with my friends in Sitges. I miss the parc, my own majestic backyard, with its tap dancers and runners, and its guiris and its Modernist buldings. I miss walking and walking, yet never being tired. I miss the sidewalks and streets. I miss its people. I miss their own way of speaking Spanish and their unique Catalan tongue. I miss paella with buddies. I miss pa amb tomàquet and vermut, El forn de María, the castellers and the fonts. I miss the metro, the scooters and the skateboards. I miss the freedom and the city’s warmth. More than anything, I miss its never-ending surprises. I returned to Argentina on July 22nd. My family received me at the airport and my boyfriend came soon afterwards for lunch. I even got my job back. Everything which I had feared to lose was still here. Everything was (almost) the same.