Home: more than a geographic location
The Sevillan barrio that I’ve come to call home is known as Triana, and it’s exactly the kind of Old World European neighborhood that you would picture to be almost the same a century ago as it is today: People mill around the boutique-lined streets; freshly laundered lingerie flutters in the breeze; children chase pigeons down cobbled sidewalks as their parents clink glasses of Cruzcampo nearby.
Our language lessons take place at a school called Centro de Lenguas y Intercambio Cultural, or “CLIC.” The classes are small, conversation-based, and taught by smiling, winking professors that embody the vivacious spirit of Sevilla. Because neither of my two professors speaks English, there is never a danger of lapsing into explanation in our native tongue. Interestingly, after a few days of immersion in Sevilla, I essentially forgot that my teachers and I do not share a first language – and when I finally did remember, I was also pleasantly surprised to realize that this has not affected the quality of our interactions.
Northeastern students are not the only demographic represented at CLIC: People from various cultural and linguistic backgrounds flock to the school to study not only Spanish, but also English, German, and French, to name just a few of the other languages offered here. Some of my classmates at CLIC attend college in Utah and Georgia, while friends of mine learn alongside German exchange students and middle-aged Spaniards. The school makes an obvious effort to introduce students to Spanish culture and each other. There is a café in the main lobby where people can purchase refreshments and mingle, and students can sign up for a number of excursions. For example, many of us plan to attend a CLIC-led trip to Huelva this coming Sunday.
Socially, a Dialogue of Civilizations is a strange experience that I can only compare to freshman orientation. In both situations, you find yourself in a strange and beautiful place that invokes profound feelings of both homesickness and wanderlust. Suddenly, somebody who was previously an acquaintance (or even a stranger) starts to look like a close friend – someone to help you devour a dish of paella or explore a cathedral – and these unfamiliar people become a comfort, the closest thing you have to home. Since these feelings are mutually recognized, group members gravitate toward each other and bond quickly. A week ago, I didn’t know most of my traveling companions; now, we meet up to walk to school, dance the Sevillana, and go out to tapas.
A week ago, I wouldn’t have thought it possible to feel a sense of belonging in this country. Now, I reflect on how easy it would have been to not sign up for this trip, and I can’t believe that I ever considered such an option. As I settle into my new neighborhood, my new friendships, and the rhythm of life in Sevilla, I feel increasingly happy that I sought out this experience.
