I would allow myself two guilt- and judgment-free weeks to adjust to the culture, new job and - most importantly - language barrier. After two full weeks, I thought, I should be reasonably in the swing of things. The mental snarl of switching back to Spanish after spending the last four years studying French should be more or less smoothed out. Congratulations, me! You're going to waltz through all the embarrassment and self-criticism and anxiety of this adjustment period unscathed!
Because I am, don't you know, a pro at living abroad. I mean, I moved to Africa fresh out of high school. At 18 I was living in a world where I had to learn how to draw water out of a well, fight off daily marriage proposals, snap at the end of handshakes, feed monkeys, and struggle through basic phrases in Ewe. This time I'm 5 years older, 4 years more educated and moving to a European country instead. ¡Que fácil!
JA JA JA HA HA HA.
(That's me laughing at myself in both languages.)
I am solidly proficient in Spanish. I have lived in a place with significant language barriers before. I am educated in a communication field. Even so, nothing quite prepares you for the exhaustion of getting used to functioning in a second language. I like to fancy myself something of a fearless adventurer, and yet the thought of crossing the street to buy a new printer cartridge suddenly became a veritable landmine of missing vocabulary words. I went to the bar and realized I didn't know a single local beer brand or the name of any mixed drinks in Spanish.
On top of which, being an au pair presents some unique challenges. There is no going home from work. You're never truly off duty. There's not the usual line between Katherine the 23-year-old who comes home at 5 a.m. on Sunday after a night out, and Katherine the childcare professional who picks Little up at school on Monday. There aren't many forms of employment in which you're guaranteed to run into your boss at 9 a.m. when you're drinking coffee in Mickey Mouse boxers.
I had passed the two week mark and it definitely didn't feel like I was over the (first) hill. Then something magical started to happen...
Yesterday, for the first time, I got that little thrill of butterflies for Oviedo.
I fall in love with places. It's the only accurate phrase for what happens. Just like in relationships with people, my relationships with places have highs and lows. I learn things from them and in some ways they are changed by me. It happened with Aflao and it happened with Marquette.I tried to give myself 14 days, but it would seem it took 24 for that first little root to take hold in Oviedo.
I hadn't explored much before yesterday. I can't navigate worth a damn and getting myself lost seemed like the least appealing thing to do. Nonetheless, it's what I've spent the last two days doing.
It was like turning a key.
I discovered an incredibly charming city with hilly, cobbled streets and gorgeous old buildings and a 1700's cathedral as the perfect orientation point. It's full of little cafes and tapas bars and plazas with fountains that invite you to take an umbrella and a book and wander for an entire day.Oviedo and I barely know each other, but I already know this is going to be love all over again.
Over and over and over again, I keep learning that the best things come from getting lost. The more willing you are to lose, the more opportunities you have to find something unexpected. So lose the thread of a conversation. Lose your way. Lose sleep. Lose your pride. Lose the limitations.
Suddenly the Michigan girl who was incapable of navigating, wouldn't eat a bite of seafood and couldn't dance a step of bachata... is nowhere to be found.
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