Murcia, the least known region in the country.

by Gladys O (Netherlands)

A leap into the unknown Spain

I lay with my eyes closed, hoping to nap away my woes but the wind whistled determinedly as it knocked against my front door whose chipped, wearing blue paint revealed its age. The song of the hostile wind mirrored the fear of uncertainty that occupied my mind persistently. I had quit my safe, stable accounting job with no plan. Unsatisfied with the monotony of the daily commute through London’s grungy network of underground tunnels and working long, never-ending hours in the pitiless winter that likened me to a crepuscular bear. I had countless questions unforgivingly nipping away at my peace of mind. I found myself conflicted. Did I make a mistake? Some suggested my discontent stemmed from the problem of the millennial. After all I had a good job so what did I have to worry about. Just then the recognisable chime of my phone notified me of an email. I initially ignored it but curiosity led me to investigate. It began: “…Dear Gladys, I am writing to inform you that you have been accepted as a Language Assistant. Start date: ASAP Location: Murcia…” I knew my geography was not the best, ironic for someone that claimed to love travel but I had not heard of Murcia. However, as I ‘googled’ Murcia and scrolled anxiously through the thread of responses, I found console in the response “Murcia is the least known region in the country”. Having decided to take a leap into the unknown, just two weeks later, I was sitting in the car of my host family. We continued beyond the city. Proceeding cautiously through the tight winding roads defined by the flourishing orange trees, and charismatic country houses that basked in the Spanish winter sun. We slowed down as we approached a compound surrounding a warm yellow house; a contrast from the dull, beige skyscraper that I called home in London. On the agenda for my first evening was dinner in the cosy garden. The table was boasting with an array of vibrant Murciano dishes. Now it made sense why Murcia was described as the ‘vegetable garden of Spain’. It all smelt as lively and enticing as it looked. Befitting of the captivating mountains whose peaks, covered subtly with mesmerising snow dominated the clear, calm sky. As striking as this all was, I could not help but deliberate on the emotional paradox I felt. I was in this foreign land with strangers, no friends or family, not even acquaintances. But grandma Elena’s daily embrace changed this. Every morning, before mum, dad, son and I left for school and work grandma Elena greeted us. This morning ritual became a constant in my adventure that comforted me, that provided me with a sense of familiarity. Every morning, there she was. Hair curled with precision. Outfit and jewellery matched meticulously. For an 83-year-old woman she moved in an agile manner as she approached us, compared to our sluggish, sleepy manner. Every morning she embraced us with two kisses, her warm soft cheeks gently rubbing against mine as she addressed me “Buenos días Guapa”. Despite not speaking the same language, her embrace represented continuity for me. At school each week, I taught English to 24 different classes each with up to 30 students. In the first few weeks I struggled, with all the new names. I grappled with finding my way between each class. I’m sure appearing clumsy as I hurried through the door exclaiming my triumph when I finally managed to get there. In the first few weeks, I struggled with my lack of attainment of the Spanish language. As beautiful as it sounded, the foreignness of the lingo unsettled my mind as I tried repeatedly to grasp the conversations of the animated students but failed. In the first few weeks, I just struggled. Here I was in Murcia. A city I knew not of, before coming. A place I knew not one. But the daily embrace of grandma Elena enabled me to get accustomed to my new world. A previously unknown land with strangers became a safe space with familiar faces. Murcia, a city I came to know well.