In the Madrid Airport

Its no secret that the US and Spain are completely different cultures. I thought, whatever, I’m from the US, I should be used to this culture. I thought my study abroad experience would be completely cultur shock free. How silly I was to actually believe I could re-enter a country like the US and not feel it’s paranoia. Seriously, you don’t realize how paranoid they actually are until you’re awaay from it for a while. I thought I’d be safe in a spanish airport. Silly me. I wasn’t spared tat all. In line to check my bags and retrieve my boarding pass, the security guy starts asking me questions. No pasa nada, its notmal security for international flights, right? Wrong. The questions got more and more interrogative, from “How long were you in Spain for?” to “ I need the exact street address of the place you stayed in spain, the exact dates of travel, the full names of the people you travelled with, I need proof of your studentship in granada I need proof of your studentship in the US what is the name of your college. If you were studying in spain, why didn’t you buy a round trip ticket ? Why didn’t you know how long you wanted to stay in spain for? Who were you living with? Did any family members visit you. Why don’t youhave any student ID? Did you work when you were in spain? Do you work in the us?” and on and on. And of course, silly me, I thought being an american citizen with a valid american passport and a visa that won’t expire until next moth was all I needed to travel internationally. It didn’t occur to me to bring official university of granada transcript, or my hamilton college student ID. Apparently my lack of “proof” was sufficient enough for them to let me on the fucking plane, so they decide d to search me, and all of my bags. And when I search, I mean SEARCH. Every piece of colthing or random article I had in all 4 of my bags was inspected, exrayed and god knows whatelse. I wish I had a backbone, I wish I would’ve said something like “I’m sorry I didn’t know I needed an official transcrip to get back into my own country” but I didn’t. With every article the more angry I got. I can’t believe how paranoid that country is. Furthermore, I can’t believe that it’s supposed to be my country. If this is how they treat me, I can only imagine how they treat foriegners. What every happened to innocent until proven guilty? That guy went at me like I had “terrorist” plastered on my forehead. And so I must say that I am completel y and 100% culture shocked. I’m sitting here infront of my boarding gate “B25” and I swear to god the only thing that’s keeping me from making a break for it is the fact they already checked my bags and I don’t know how to get out of this fucking huge airport. What am I doing here? I don’t want to go back to the US. I really haven’t stopped crying since I got to the airport. It’s been 4 hours. People are looking at me like I’m crazy. I’m sure I look crazy.
There are so many beautiful things that I’m going to miss about spain. The cab driver fivured it all out for me this morning, and though it was just a joke, I realized that it was exactly what I wanted. The conversation went something like (translated):
“You going far?”
“Yeah, the United States”
“Wow, that’s really far. Why are you leaving”
“I don’t know. To finish school”
“School? What are you studying?”
“Psychology”
“That’s so great. You don’t like granada?”
“Oh man, I love it here. I don’t want to leave.”
“That boy who helped you with your bags, he’s your boyfriend?”
“No, we’re just friends”
“Friends not boyfriend?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend”
“Why not?
“I don’t know. I don’t want one“
“He’s american too?”
“Half french. He lives in Morocco”
“So you’re american, eh? But what are you really?”
“My family is italian”
“Italian american. That’s so great. My name’s Antonio, that’s an Italian, spanish, portugese name. Is it an american name?”
“There are americans with the name antonio if that’s what you mean.”
“that’s great. You going to come back to granada”
“Yes!”
“Well my friend Jessica, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to finish studying psychoilogy, you’re going to come to granada, work, find a nice granadino boy, get married and have a wonderful life.”
“ha!”
“No really. Work first then marriage. It’s better that way.”
“Yeah I think so too.”
So here I am sitting in this airport, in a terminal surrounded by americans speaking english and I just feel really uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. I don’t know why, I don’t know exactly what it is, but I just don’t feel like one of them. And it’s such a strange feeling because I am so obviously one of them. Who are these people, and what are they doing here? To some people it’s just a vacation, to me it was so much more than that. I know I shouldn’t judge, that I can’t tell anything about a person’s life or experiences by the way they act in publilc, but I feel like I’ve picked up a bit of spanish culture , or maybe it’s just that I’ve lost a bit of american culture. Eitherway I feel alienated in both cultures. It reminds me of the flamenco song laney and I used to sing together “No tengo lugar, no tengo paisaje, lo menos tengo patria.” Sometimes I really feel like that. Now is one of those times. I’m terrified about what will happen when I go back. I really want to make a break for it. Go to Malaga, extend my visa for forever and just find a house to live in in some beach town like tarifa or some pueblo somewhere ourside of granada. Or maybe in one of the pueblos of the alpujarras or sierras. It’s like Rob, the guy who I met in the hostel said when he first got here “This city is perfect. Why am I not living here?” Why am I not living here?