I can't believe I spent a mere week (less, really, since I arrived late) at the Pueblo Inglés in Galicia. We've all said our goodbyes, shed many a tear (some of us more than others) and gone our separate ways. In some ways, it felt like we spent a lifetime together. Bonds were formed that can only come from being forced to spend every waking second with a group of people, sharing thoughts about everything from your hopes and dreams to your views on politics. |
Photo scavenger hunt challenge: olympics |
Yet at the same time, it was as though we had no time at all. The days blurred together and the week rushed by in what seemed a second. We were constantly moving; running around from 1 to 1's, to 2 to 2's, to group meetings and theater practices, and all the dinnertime conversations in between. |
Find someone who... |
I slowly watched as the Spaniards came out of their shells little by little each day. They became more confident voicing their thoughts and opinions in a language that was not their own. We developed our own inside jokes and learned what made the others laugh. We truly became our own little tribe. Spaniards and Anglos, isolated on the rainy coast of Galicia, our own strange little family.
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Excursion - group shot by the river in Vilalba |
Now that I've returned to Madrid, and am en route for my Italy/Germany week-long trip with my dad, it's starting to sink in that I've left the little safe haven that was my home away from home for the week. We've exchanged emails and skypes, promises to write, email, and keep in touch, and all our goodbyes. I've made good memories, and even better friends - both that I will carry with me until we meet again.
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