Chapter 1

It is Thursday morning, day four of our travel, and I am already sick.  It is a helpless disease to be sick when you are away from your loved ones, even more so in a foreign country where the language is vital to your success. I miss you all, but realize that it is only the beginning and of course anxiety and frustration overwhelm all else.  Both my Mothers have given me a two week period of mourning and tears, assuring that I will soon prevail! Maria Luz Rabasco is my Spanish Mother, yet only answering to "Luz," like light (The z is pronounced like "th").   She is maybe five feet, but has a mouth to make up for her lost length.  She is a fire cracker with a style to match, having worn a tip to toe red outfit adorned with a large gold belt, and matching red lipstick upon our first encounter.  Her hair barely touches her ears, and black as coal.  English is rare in the house, for she does not speak a lick of English.  Even the dog, Tisón, is unable to comprehend my coos and baby calls.  I suppose this is best, full immersion is the key to learning a language that I have been struggling with for almost 15 years of my life. Ay Caramba! Our days are filled with sleep,  believing it is a combination of both jet-lag and avoidance of failure (failure in communication).  Our day begins around nine, following the scheduled program, and ends around lunch time (between 2-3 in Spain). So far, we have encountered an excruciatingly long entrance exam in español, only proving the impatient nature of Americans, a tour of the city (including the gyms, nearby park, pharmacy, post office, hospital, and animal shelter), and an orientation of the Spanish culture. Naturally, by mid afternoon, we are aching with hunger and pain in our lower half, anxious to return to our homes.  Our walk from the post office or los correos (meeting point for the CEA program) to home is about a fifteen to twenty minute walk, each time we have chosen a different path, completely out of ignorance.  I believe that today we will successfully make it not only on time but with a familiar pattern.  Our arrival is greeted by Luz and Tisón, and a plate of food.  Our options so far have been macaroni (pasta with sauce and small cut veggies), pork and french fries, potaje (soup with potatoes, lentils, and some veggies), and hot ham and cheese.  This meal remains the largest meal of the day, and Luz has become accustomed to my eating habits. "Como poco" or No tengo mucho hambre or -what I think is the best one - Mi estómago es pequeño.  To my advantage, there is a young girl, Darsali from the  Sahara who also eats very little and has the same habits I do, no veggies, fish, etc.  Luz detailed Darsali's first days in her home, explaining her lack of commitment to food, relating our feelings of homesickness, and proudly pronouncing that over the course of two weeks Darsali was eating MUCHO! I thought, "Great I'm going to have this woman force feeding me until I end up un-buttoning my pants at the dinner table before the meal is even over." Reminds me of Teita, eh?  Luz's intentions are wonderful, and her laughter and patience is contagious, she makes me smile each day, welcoming me into her slightly hazy smokey home with open arms and dos besos (two kisses). Today, we retire this room and enter another -not in the poetic way- seriously, we are moving to another bedroom and boy am I excited to unpack my things! I forgot to mention that upon our arrival on Sunday we were greeted by two American boys, who have been living in her home for the duration of their winter session. Sean and Mark, yet introduced to us by Luz as Sam and Matt, are sophomores at the University of Delaware. They left yesterday (Wednesday evening) around 3 a.m. to return to the states, and today we move into their rooms! No longer will we be hidden in the front away from all and without windows! I'm hoping this cures some of my sad feelings, being able to unpack and settle into a permanent room that we will call "ours" for the next four months.  Today shall be a good day, and I hope the same for you.