Touch down in Barcelona

Barcelona, Spain.

These words still seem so surreal to me as I try to recall everything that had happened since I left Seattle-Tacoma Airport on the first day.

It's been a while since I boarded a plane, and I forgot how awkward and uncomfortable it is to jostle around people in the tight aircraft, trying not to bump into someone's shoulder or butt, purposely avoiding making eye contacts with random strangers. Getting up to let the person furthest in use the bathroom, and watching movies at an angle when the seat in front of me was pushed way back, causing the screen to end up inches from my face. In some painful yet hilarious ways, plane rides allow us to get use to the awkwardness that comes when each of our personal space gets forcefully taken away.

During the 9 hour flight from Seattle to Paris with Air France, I dozed off successfully without bonking my head into the guy next to me. I was stunned and amazed by the technology of Air France! They have partnered up with the European Space Agency (ESA) to provide passengers with satellite images of countries and cities, with pop-up windows explaining significant locations and attractions. I could view the terrain we flew over from different angles in the plane including the cockpit!

We landed at Charles De Gaulle Airport in Paris, but waited to disembark for so long that I started to glance at my watch anxiously, calculating the time I have left to find my connecting flight.

I followed the signs and the people out into the airport, but found myself getting momentarily confused and, feeling like something was definitely wrong, retraced my steps and began searching frantically for my gate number. I latched onto a man in an uniform, and as he pointed towards the direction where a massive crowd of people have gathered to go through security, my heart almost stopped. I didn't realize that I had to go through security again and I stumbled into the line, heart thumping wildly. Nervousness and fear knotted in my stomach at the thought of missing my flight. My dad would kill me.

I thought about pleading to a staff that my gate is closing in fifteen minutes and to let me bypass the ginormous line. Suddenly I saw a new security line opening in front of our section! Thank goodness, I cried out, as hope sprouted within me.

As I emerged through security and turned a corner, I paled when I saw the endless stretch of floor and duty free stores lining up in the hallway. Normally I would have preferred to not make a scene in public, but there was no time to save face. My pace turned into a full on sprint and I wormed through the crowd with my black backpack bouncing clumsily behind me, finally spotting my gate number and breathlessly arrived as one of the last stragglers boarding the plane.

That 2 hour plane ride from Paris to Barcelona was rather torturing. I was still running on Seattle time at 2 am and was trying in vain to fall asleep, for the family next to me had a little girl that was crying piteously. Her wails turned into screeches and shrieks and the high frequency sound penetrated straight through my eardrums. As annoyance and irritation bubbled within me, I tried hard to calm myself down and reassure myself that the little girl was going through much more pain than I was, hoping that her troubles could be soothed.

When I located my luggage at baggage claim and dragged into the entrance lobby, I was searching for my study abroad sign but could not find it anywhere! I called the program center number as a last resort and thankfully someone picked up and told me to stay put. Finally, an ALBA representative named Filippo, who was sent to pick me up at the exit lobby, found me slumped on a cafe stool, tired and worn out. He graciously took my luggage and drove me to my apartment located on the outskirts of the center in Barcelona.

We exchanged light conversations over culture, language, local lifestyles and excursions waiting for us during the next few weeks. Filippo informed me that I just happened to arrive on the craziest day in Barcelona: the Sant Joan Festival (also known as the midsummer festival that celebrates the summer solstice every year) It is annual tradition for friends and family in Spain to gather on the beach and party around massive bonfires until morning of the next day.

After squeezing into the vintage iron-framed front door and up 2 flights of stairs, I gasped when I saw my apartment. Yes, the bathroom and shower stall was ridiculously tiny and dim, but the common area featured a sunny green couch and a cozy dining table covered with a color-pencil printed tablecloth. Two small balcony with iron railings jutted out of the apartment, welcoming in a cool, fresh breeze and overlooking the merry street from which the distant chatter of pedestrians dining down below could be heard. It was a tremendous relief to put down my bags and I immediately knocked out on the first bed that I could find.

Then I was awaken by an ear-blasting sound that closely resembles a cannon firing and exploding in the air. I jolted upright, tense and apprehensive, After listening to countless booms and bangs that followed the cannon-blasting sound, I figured out that they were fireworks and firecrackers celebrating the Sant Joan festival. I guess I'm not sleeping tonight, I thought wearily, but it was also fascinating to have fireworks exploding outside my window as I gazed out into the night. I was having my first culture shock right there, jumping every time a firecracker sounded too much like a gun firing and a bomb exploding.

The first night in Barcelona.