I’ve reached my breaking point. All those things about the United States that I longed for while I was away, I’m done with them (except for maybe peanut butter). I’ve spent enough time acting like an American and am beyond ready to get back to Spain.
|One off the SoCal summer checklist|
|Disneyland fireworks. Yeah yeah I’ll stop whining|
I’ve done the obligatory trip to Disneyland, the Mexican food, the California beach, and the sprawling out on my carpeted floor. I’ve celebrated birthdays with friends in Vegas. I’ve driven down to San Diego to visit old friends and watch surfers at Ocean Beach. I’ve had meals with over-the-top customer service from servers sucking up for tips. I’ve enjoyed, and then gotten sick of, driving a car.
I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my summer at home. However, I’ve reached a point where I’m desperate for Spain. For Europe. For travel. Three months in America appears to be more than enough for me. I try to eavesdrop on every Spanish conversation I can. I switch to Spanish at work with customers whose English is fine, but I overheard them speaking Spanish before and want to use mine. I stalk distant friends on Facebook who have pictures posted from international travels, even if I haven’t spoken with the person in ages. A silhouette of the Eiffel Tower on a commercial makes me nostalgic, so I go look through my Paris pictures. When my brother’s girlfriend mentions studying abroad next summer I immediately start firing off twenty questions and want to plan the whole thing.
I’m ready for pueblos blancos like this:
and balconies like this:
and restaurant decor like this:
Sigh. My life will be back to this travel-addict’s pleasings soon enough. In the meantime, I’m going to go look at some Ryan Air flights.