To be lying on the sidewalk of Passeig de Gracia (the equivalent of Saks 5th) in pajamas and ripped boots, with nothing but a plastic bag full of apple juice and a cigarette you don’t know how to smoke.
To go out with a pair of heels, and come home with one, the only clue of its whereabouts being sand in your purse.
To be broke for 3 out of the 4 months in a strange country, and to resort to begging for metro rides from sometimes merciful strangers who shoot you the “Stupid American” look.
To not shaving your legs for days and exposing them to the world, only to notice a cute guy staring at them in horror. Twice.
To use your intermediate knowledge of a language and attempt to conduct an entire visit to the dentist (which you were promised would be in English), in Spanish. Only to find out your wisdom tooth is growing in infected, and to therefore be on 3 drugs for 8 days - 2 days before you fly out of Barcelona. To fly into the new city, to have no choice but to then mix this medicine with other substances and to…
To somehow fall asleep when you are no more than 30 seconds away from your bus stop, and walk backwards to get home.
To turn the 3-second rule to the 20-second rule, or sometimes to the finders-keepers-I’m-eating-it-anyway rule.
To be groped by an old man when you are trying to read a book in the park, and to sprint up the mountain to get home and away, thanking yourself for whipping out your go-to outfit of sneakers and gym shorts that morning. To sticking true to yourself and your style.
To be lost in translation one night, and accidentally tell your host mother you are sexually aroused instead of regularly excited. And to subsequently never hear the end of it.
To be lost in translation one night, and accidentally tell your host mother you are sexually aroused instead of regularly excited. And to subsequently never hear the end of it.
To faceplant on the daily trek you thought you had by now mastered, breaking your favorite ring and creating feminine-looking gashes in your legs and arms.
To try and pour the water out of the top of your yogurt, and end up dropping the whole lump in the trash. To realize that was your food for the next 6 hours.
To know that these happenings are beneficial – no – necessary, to your life abroad. For if each bruise came without a story, you would never be an interesting enough character for one.
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