Barry Time

As family, friends, and acquaintances have known for many years, I have a very poor sense of time management.  I would like to say it runs in my family, actually--a learned defect. Some friends like to call it Barry Time.

It may help to think about it mathematically:

STh + .50h = ATh

(Let STh be Scheduled Time, h = hours, and AT = Actual Time)

Translation: I am typically a half hour late everywhere I go.  But not for lack of trying and many guilty apologies.  These things just happen to me.

The Sevilla oranges don't care if I'm late.  They are delicious regardless.

Since studying abroad in Spain, my character trait has since been forgotten.  Here, that´s just Spanish Time.  However, now I realize that I possess something even more dangerous than previously thought: Courtney Barry has zero sense of time.  My semester in Spain has flown by so quickly that I honestly feel as if I've dreamed it all up.  Any minute now I'll wake up back in my twin Sevillana bed, where I've probably been creeping Sarah out with all the giggling I apparently do in my sleep.

But then, when I consider the first days here when no one knew each other, I couldn't even order a meal in a Spanish restaurant, and my roommate Sarah thought I was an interesting combo of lesbian-hick-beauty queen, (due to advance facebook creeping--can't say I blame her) it seems like years ago that we were unpacking our suitcases and trying churros con chocolate for the first time.

I would say it was unfortunate that the last week of our program was finals week...but who am I kidding.  That was the least amount of studying I've had to do since 7th grade P.E.

Here is a brief repaso of our final week as Spanish locals:

Sunday

"It's 80 degrees--let's go to Isla Magica!"

"I have a paper to write...but *YOLO!"

Because 75 degrees is basically winter in Sevilla, we had the entire park nearly to ourselves.  We rode El Jaguar until my head was literally pounding.  Spanish theme park rides evidently have different safety standards than the standard smooth rides we are accustomed to in the U.S.

"That cookie ice cream bar made me a ltitle sick...but hey, who's up for Mexican food?"

Another paradox.

Spanish "Tex-Mex" is an interesting concept. They somehow manage to combine all the basic elements of a taco into something that does indeed look and act like a taco...without tasting remotely like anything that's ever come from anywhere south of Michigan.

*YOLO = Dirtbag expression for You Only Live Once

Monday

"Alright, no more playing around. I'm really going to write that paper now."

3 hours later

"Look, I finished my journal! 500 pages full of study abroad secrets. I shall call it Gretchen Wieners."

"How's that paper coming?"

YOLO!

Tuesday

Start and Complete: 4-page Spanish paper about the links between food, emotion, and memories.  I knew I wrote something similar last semester for a reason!

Wednesday

"I have a Spanish grammar test tomorrow."

"It's 91 outside...let's go paddleboat!"

YOLO!

And oh, what fun we had on the Guadalquivir. It's only €15 for the unlimited amounts of pure joy you can have in an hour on a boat.  Why didn't we do this every day??

Unfortunately, here is where the "last times" really start to kick in: 

• Last time Sarah and I walk to class together.
• Last dinner with friends.
• Last time walking home across the puente at night with this group of people.
• Last time I have to study for  Spanish grammar test (not all "last times" are bad).

Thursday

Spanish Grammar: So maybe it isn't my best work, but that thorn in my side has now been collected along with the final exam.

Photography: Final projects turned in on the Flickr account made especially for fotografia: Nearly all of my assignment interpretations (It is art, therefore there are no rules) are of me and others playing in Europe.  We all toast with the sherry our professor (and dear friend) Pablo brings.  Not to brag or anything, but I'm definitely in his Top 5 Favorite Students. Kudo points are easy to score when you are one of three to show up to class field trips.

Memory Project Cover: The time we went to a Sevilla futbol game.

Rosa makes a traditional Spanish favorite: Salmorejo, a cold, refreshing, and rich cold tomato-ey soup dish. Thank goodness, because I haven't stopped sweating since I woke up at 9am in 85-degree heat.
I meet for the last time with Elena, my intercambia.  Elena is quite possibly my favorite person in all of Spain.  Besides always telling me how good my Spanish is (debatable), we can drink Coca-Cola for hours and talk about everything from Magic (her boyfriend is a fan) to **canis.  Look for me on Twitter soon, because I'm going to make an account specifically to stay in contact with this wonderful person who has taught me the ways of the Spanish culture and language.
Last night experiencing Spanish nightlife, as it's unlikely I'll be toting my mom around to the bars after midnight when we visit next week.


**Cani: Basically, the Spanish version of a guido.  Gold chain, music like "oomp-ss, oomp-ss," exhibits many qualities of a tool.

Friday

NO.  There is no way it's our last day.  First of all, how on earth to fit four months of stuff into three bags...
Sarah and I keep our minds off the task at hand (packing enormous amounts of stuff) by blasting Call Me Maybe and Boyfriend on repeat.  I'm not proud of our recent musical obsession, but I'm not ashamed either.

When we leave the house after our last lunch as a study abroad family, it is 101 in the swimming pool of humidity that Sevilla has turned into.

Last ice cream at Rayas with our traditional Wednesdays at White group. Typically, we meet at our favorite café for tostada and a decent amount of petty gossip. However, this emergency meeting was called in order to say--not adios, but--hasta luego.

Our little familia.

Rosa, Sarah, and I sit down to our last meal as a family in front of the TV as always. The only thing that's changed since January in that regard is that we no longer use the estufa that resides under the table. To a resounding cry of "¡Aye, mis niñas!" Sarah and I leave Rosa a framed picture of the three of us, and she gives us traditional Sevilllana abanicos (fans) to ward off the heat but attract the hombres.  

For the last time, we bid buenas noches to a semester of familial love, Spanish women drama, and a lot of hilarious cross-cultural misunderstandings.

At this point, I know that I will return to Sevilla in just a few days to show my mom the sights, but this feels strange nonetheless.  My inability to grasp the concept of time has become abundantly clear as I reflect through all the adventures we've had in the last four months.

Today

I mean hey, it's not over yet.  At this moment, it's time to give in and shut off the light as Mom and I have some serious relaxation to enjoy on the beach early in the morning.  I am back in Sevilla, living in my house in the neighborhood of Triana for the last few days before I say goodbye for good an indeterminate amount of time.  But not forever. 

Sevilla, you've been good to me. 

Yeah...I lived here for four months.