Grown-up Study Abroad: Eating Life and Flawless English (Part II)
Intense, Hard, Fun, Trying, Spirit-Renewing
What to say about the opportunity to spend 27 days away from most responsibilities where the primary directive is to focus and learn? There was a secondary directive, though, which was to experience different cultures - Barcelona’s as well as my classmates and those I crossed paths with. For this reason, I think if possible, mid-career folks should really think about an extended bit abroad just to appreciate everything from linguistic privilege to understanding just how wide-ranging the stereotypes are about the US
I also have some thoughts about what adulting back-packer moments are (vs. the idiotic stuff that I did when I was in Barcelona actually backpacking 22 years ago!, such as carrying a bottle of Listerine in my bag to wash out the new tongue piercing I had acquired days before in Madrid)… but I think that’s for another post.
I spent most of my time with a crew of students who were between 25-31, mostly PhD students and young working adults. I could kind of fake it …. until I couldn’t. Whenever I was asked where I was “taking my PhD” - well, there was no way I was going to pretend for a second I didn’t have one already. So the story came out quickly: prof at University of San Diego (not the giant public one), retraining grant.
In most of these rooms, I was the only American. People were surprised to see me in their midst - I guess coming all the way for summer school in Economics to Barcelona isn’t common for Americans - but it was also lovely to be a novelty for folks. My favorite moments of being both outed as old and American include some of the following:
I was asked how my English was so flawless and where I learned it - “You’re just so clear, using the right words when you ask questions” - at which point I had to admit that American English was indeed my native tongue. I will admit I ask questions and have to sit in the front row or I can’t focus. I know this about myself - it’s how I process. But I guess my question-asking showed off my flawless English.
I was told that my English sounded like I was on Friends, which is beloved by many Europeans. People told me I had no accent, and I was delighted by their imitations of American accents. Also people are super into How I Met Your Mother, and seem to believe that this stands in for New York and the US more generally.
After a night of tennis out in the far reaches of the city, the subway ride back to the center was both filled with tennis players heading back but also…long…and at some point in this trip, the new tennis friend I made, Lisa, who is Russian but lives in Barcelona, turned to me and said “I think that if you don’t work and don’t want to work, you should get healthcare no matter what” - in other words, access to health care is a basic human right, not something to be litigated about regarding whether someone is trying hard enough. We ought to think about the image of rights and responsibilities we project out there in the world when we fail to give basic healthcare to people as a human right.
On the magical Moon Fútbol Night described later, I took my button down off to play in my sports bra, to which a 20-year-old said “nice abs” which - really is not about cultural commentary, but may have genuinely been surprised that someone of my gravitas/age/? could still have muscle? Dunno. But yeah, that’s the kind of comment that you probably would not ever say to someone you didn’t know in the US.
When out at the giant Pride concert, I had to show my phone to a few folks for some reason and one of the students gasped, “Why is the writing on your phone so big?”
Also at this Pride concert, the beat dropped and one of the students turned to me and said, “That was Madonna… like from when you were a youth” - and everyone burst out laughing, as this wasn’t intended as an “you’re so old” sort of comment, but of course, it was a reflection on my age. You know what, I still managed to stay out later than ALL of them so WHATEVER.
An extended conversation about why Americans were so friendly - with an Italian friend asking me “like, when you are standing on the lines or at the airport, why do Americans just start talking to people?” - The gist was that we were friendly, that this was a good thing, but I tried to explain that I too hope that I do not have an American begin an extended conversation with me in a semi-public space like a plane.
Sometimes in English we have just one word while Spanish speakers might have variation on a word. Or sometimes in Spanish there are eight words for one word in English. By far and away, my favorite almost-perfect translation is the professorial question asking, “Have you any doubts?” - “Any doubts before I move on?” and - I have so many doubts, so so many doubts. For fluent English speakers who grew up in Spain, the word doubt has become the stand-in for question.
“You look like Ellen” - I didn’t bring any going out anything - for dinners, for clubs, etc. I had some dress long sleeve shirts and my gold boat shoes but even late into the night, those were sweltering. So along with half of Barcelona, Friday evening fast fashion was in order. I have never seen such lines at a five story H&M or Primark or Zara… Shopping in the women’s section for speed/fit, I of course accidentally gravitated toward what is standard dude club wear: dress shorts in light colors and shiny fitted linen button downs. Smart casual, but in sidestepping dress land and especially floral midis, the South African women I met for the first time for drinks said hello and … this. Ellen is an amazing dresser and I guess an icon but …
The many Erasmus conversations - what my friend Dan describes as conversations conducted in a shared language (English) that lack deep fluency and as such, do not have the depth of what a conversation might otherwise be in someone’s first language. These conversations are funny to have because I don’t often talk about my favorite blockbuster movies (I so understand why international audiences are critical for Hollywood!) or my exercise habits or my social media preferences as a matter of new-hangout conversation - not sure what I talk about but favorite foods for lunch often doesn’t make the top of the conversation list.
There were two or three experiences that just came together in the kinds of moments I think of as “eating life.” I hope you know this feeling - where you are so fundamentally present but you also know that this moment is fleeting, but it is perfect - your mood, your joy, the surroundings, the joy of others around you - and these little moments of life that you want to just swallow and hold on to because these are the moments that bring the sweetness of what it is to be alive into full relief: to feel joy, community, hope, endless potential, and the active awareness that what you are experiencing is a moment you will never forget in the recall that this feeling is possible and you have had it.
Late night beach fùtbol
It was around 10:30 after the weekly BSE beachside school dinner, which featured paella/arroz, various tapas, and open wine and beer bar. A large group was headed either for the next round or an amble back to respective crash pads. I spotted an abandoned beach volleyball. Somehow a group of about 10-12 of us, most of whom I had not met, began playing. A woman with her boyfriend? from Azerbaijan randomly happening upon us asked to join. After some false starts (hard game for those not accustomed to sport ball), Fred, a Brazilian PhD student grabbed my shoes and his and announced we were playing a Brazilian game of beach fùtbol… and I do NOT soccer, but am a competent enough athlete, but it didn’t matter. For 25 mins or so, we just played and played - no score, a Russian 20 year old woman owning the show. (After 3 mins, the shirts were off on those comfortable with that, and wearing a gray nike swish sports bra one could run in without a shirt, at 900 degrees, included me). Me being me, I noticed the incredible super bright orange super moon beginning its rise, and yelled, “wait, is this the moon?” It was that bright (A light? A boat??) - we stopped, marveled, snapped a few photos, knowing full well we couldn’t capture it, and then resumed our game for another 20 or so minutes until we were all, sort of collectively zonked. As the game wore down, we were absolutely filthy, covered in sand and sweat. There were people either from or affiliate with countries including Sweden, Ghana, Italy, Venezuela, Russia, Brazil, our Azerbaijan ringer, Germany, India, and I maybe missing a few. Fred made us take a fùtbol team pic, but - we were there, just present, just being, living….
I have learned when traveling that if I am tired but have the inkling I should get it together and rally because something looks interesting, I am never disappointed. The famous club Razamatazz, right near my hotel, was having a queer night my very last evening in Spain- and I was deeply curious about this club the whole stay but who clubs alone at my advanced age and clubbing really got started at 12:45 a.m. so….. But! I saw a lot of hot pink and heels headed in with no real line at 9 pm whilst returning from the grocery store with a dinner baguette (for jamón serrano, ok?) …I knew back in my hotel I had a hot pink t that I had cut to make interesting for Pride. After fortifying myself with the aforementioned baguette/serrano, I headed out around 9:45 pm expecting an empty room.
I found myself in one of the most artistic and queer and gender bendy drag experiences of my life. Pure queer joy of burlesque, runway, Eurovision style group dances, breakdancing, Bowie and Sam Smith and Classic Drag queen glory, arial acrobatics, and my absolute guilty pleasure, Euro EDM. Between the performances, that music pumped and pumped. The bouncer generously let me in with flip flops, which were a danger given the omnipresent platform heels, and I had asked before surrendering €25 if cover if the night was worth it. The bouncer said he thought I would enjoy it.
And against all better judgment the night before a flight, I danced and watched and just was so collectively part if this moment of queer artistry and joy and beauty and I was sober, alone, dancing with myself as Billy Idol must have meant it (at least in the PG interpretation). For two hours, I just was, stopping for water, and at 11:48, still so early but on a Sunday night even Spanish clubs have an earlier schedule …I tore myself away to finish packing, as it was about the fourth time I had adjusted my personal curfew, extracting myself from the experience of being in art, in joy, in beauty, in underground expression of subaltern resistance, at once part of this collective cosmos, yet totally and completely by myself.
I’ll add photos later (maybe) but on the week anniversary of this last night, I sm up in the wee hours, and wanted to capture this before it was no longer as sharp descriptively in my mind, though I know I will be able to conjure the memory of knowing that eating life feeling happened here.
Thanks DeRemer --- I think this problem you identify re the summer schools and funding is a huge one, but that US arrogance, well, that's intractable....
I had some similar experiences when I did summer schools in Europe (age 28 after 3rd year of PhD). I was also the only American, though there were a couple Europeans in US PhD programs. At the time, I'd only been to Europe twice as a tourist and thought it was absurd to specialize in international economics while barely having ever left the US.
Probably main reasons for fewer American participation are (1) funding — I was able to fund mine with as part of a faculty member's NSF IGERT grant, and all these European programs had tuition fees. I also did a US summer school where I only needed to fund travel costs. (2) need — summer schools are good to gain exposure to methodological or research frontiers that may not be available in your graduate instruction, but some may feel satisfied with the instruction they've had already (3) phony hierarchy — lots of US Econ PhD students may think they're better than Europe, before they learn better.
Now 14 years later, I've lived & worked in Belgium, Hungary, and Kazakhstan, and the popularity of Friends to practice English is universal. Everyone in Europe knows the lyrics to the 1995 song Lemon Tree by the German band Fools Garden, because it is widely used in English instruction.