Madrid Moment

PREVIOUSLY seen on BABY'S FIRST EUROPEAN ADVENTURE: I went to Madrid!!

I wish I had a better opening picture for you, but this one pretty much sums up my experience--profoundly historical (I think), beautiful, blurry, and taken on my way to find food after dark. 

I arrived at my AirBnB in Madrid's center (after a flawless Metro commute 💅🏼) just in time to see the sun setting between buildings. I was sharing a room in an apartment with two other Fulbrighters--Fayeza and Sara--that I'd met waaaaaaay back in ~December in the infamous Slack chat I mentioned in my first post. After about a week of speaking to almost no one but myself, and just saying "perdón" to strangers a lot, I was so excited to see them. I rolled my SUPER LIGHTWEIGHT CARRYON-SIZE suitcase into the room and we talked nonstop for over an hour about our application experience, traveling, and placements. Eventually, the intrepid Sara (who had flown into Madrid from POLAND where she had been teaching!!) offered to lead me to one of her favorite places to eat, and I followed her like a lost puppy. At that point, I was way past hungry and running on fumes, and also lacking the patience for a sit-down meal, so her suggestion of Walk To Wok was absolutely perfect. I stood glassy-eyed watching two incredibly talented guys make noodle stir fries over roaring flames, and before I knew it I was vacuuming up my very own takeout box. At that point, my last 3 brain cells were begging me for anything but sodium, but I hushed them and happily carried on. 

The next morning, we got up and made our way out to Alcalá de Henares, the birthplace of Miguel Cervantes and home of 2018 Fulbright Spain Orientation. Though we had a good time hauling Fayeza's suitcases through the Metro stations, I was so thankful that burdened travel was firmly in my past. As we boarded the bus that would take us ~40 minutes east, we ran into a bunch of other Fulbrighters and jumpstarted the conversations that dominated Orientation: "Where are you from?!" "Where are you placed?!?!?" "Have you been there yet???" It was so great to finally put faces to names and so wild to think that all of us were on the same sort of precipice. Finally, my post grad plans of moving to a tiny island to work in a school weren't so crazy! 

After checking in with the Commission staff (who had apparently been studying our photos so they could greet us by name), we were treated to a fancy lunch at our hotel complete with ¡¡Spanish Wine!! I decided it was finally time for my immature taste in alcohol to put up or shut up, and thoroughly enjoyed a couple of glasses. Even at my most hydrated, well-fed, and well-rested I still have the tolerance of a flea, so the results weren't very pretty, but A Great Time Was Had By All. 

That evening, we were all scheduled to attend inauguration and other celebratory events on the campus of la Universidad de Alcalá, which was founded in 1499 and declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998. We knew we'd be hearing from the US ambassador and program heads on a beautiful campus. What we didn't really know was that the campus was roughly a ~20 minute walk away from our hotel! I was ashamed of being repeatedly schooled in airport fashion by Europeans (why is American culture the only one that encourages looking like a slob while traveling??) and eager to try out a new dress, so I threw on some heels and a brave face, even when we were warned about the walk right before departing. Whatever! I could handle it. 

As a self-described "huge fan of ceilings", this ceiling really did it for me 

Spoiler alert: I could not handle it. After a long walk there feat. cobblestones and multiple hours of standing/mingling/ice-breaking, I was ready to tap out. When our Canarias group mentor apologetically told us that the restaurant was another 25 minute walk away, I cursed my poor decision-making and looked around for another person in my situation. There was no way in hell I could make it through that walk AND the walk back to the hotel in these shoes. However, I was also really upset that I was making myself look like Someone Who Hates Walking. I love walking!!! Please believe me!! I'm simply incapable!!! 

After a few minutes, I teamed up with two other girls in the group who were also in desperate need of a shoe change. We decided that we would walk the 20 minutes back to the hotel, change our shoes, take a taxi to the restaurant, and then walk home with the group. Looking back, it's evident that the Universe had a plan, because it was during this walk that I met my new great friend Sarah!!!! We talked a mile a minute the whole night and then stuck together for the rest of orientation. She's placed on the big island next door to mine, and has been warned that I will descend upon her as soon as I have my residency/ferry discounts. 

Once we had switched into our vastly more comfortable white sneaks (pictured), we were ready for a wild 10 pm dinner at Restaurante Rus. The English-translation menu they gave us speaks for itself: 

The rest of Orientation was a blur of Not Wearing Heels, panels, new friends, and important information. Also walking a lot. I call this the Fulbright Effect: 

When we had free meals, all ~165 of us spread throughout Alcalá and ate incredible amounts of bread and ham. In fact, the water making up ~50% of my body was almost completely replaced by bread and ham after just 4 days in Madrid. Though I was born and raised dangerously close to America's breadbasket, I am poorly conditioned for mass bread intake thanks to the loosely Atkins Diet lifestyle of my household. But when starving and in Spain.......

if you're ham museum and you know it clap your hands

The last night of Orientation closed with a formal cocktail where we all dressed up again but few wore heels. I had eaten a big lunch with some great program friends, so I wasn't all that hungry for dinner and decided to make a meal out of the hors d'oeuvres being served. Every time a waiter walked by with a new offering, I was on it like a cartoon character putting on disguises to get more free samples. The wine was once again flowing, and I think we were all feeling grateful to be together. 

Fellow Canarias TA Claire is placed as far away from
me as she could possibly be without leaving the
province but... distance means so little when someone
means so much < 33

Lillian and I thoroughly enjoyed heckling each other all week

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

When all was said and done, I headed back to Canarias feeling ready to engage. Though I'm the only Fulbrighter on my island, it's so exciting to think that I know people living on the six other islands, AND in basically every part of Spain. I mean, look at this network!

I'll let these two pointy trees close the show, because they earned it.

Blind Date

As soon as I sat down and slowed my breathing, heartbeat, and mind from the whirlwind 46-hour journey (COUNT EM: 46 HOURS) and took in The View To End All Views, I was sold on La Gomera. Didn’t take long. I don’t know that I believe in love-at-first-sight, but I am prone to… um.. throwing myself head over heels upon a good first impression.

I remember when I first found out that I’d be in Canarias, I began obsessively researching each island to create a ranking of where I’d like to be placed. Definitely not a great practice, given that it was completely out of my hands and I was probably just setting myself up for disappointment, but it passed the time until I got my carta de nombramiento. I read about each island’s quirks, crept through the streets on Google Earth, and followed the Instagram accounts associated with each. At one point, I came across one of the best sunset photos I’d ever seen, so beautiful that it stopped my scroll dead in its tracks. The location was Valle Gran Rey, La Gomera. The tiny, round, 14-mile diameter island slid into my #1 slot and stayed there as I read about its unique biomes and its strong connection to the traces of indigenous culture that escaped the fukú of Columbus. I’d like to say I thought my dream into existence, but I think I just got lucky. 

Photo by NASA's MODIS-AQUA satellite

Upon arrival, the bilingual coordinator of my school gave me the contact of a teacher, Elena, who could answer any questions I had that weekend. I asked her for a restaurant recommendation for an early dinner (apparently forgetting I was in Spain), and worked up my strength to walk across the valley to Playa de la Calera. The website for the restaurant she recommended said it opened at 6:00 pm, the sign on the door said 6:30 pm, and when I asked the hostess, she said it wasn’t until 7:00 pm. Okay! Knowing what I’ve learned now about Spanish dinner customs, I’m very lucky they’d take me that early regardless.

As I waited for 19:00, I wandered through the streets, going in shops and getting a feel for this specific part of the valley. The entirety of Valle Gran Rey is so small it would be considered no more than a town in the States, but there are distinct little sectors with their own names and features. As soon as I understood that, I was oriented. It was even easier than orienting at Bowdoin, which basically just required knowing where the Polar Bear statue was located. Definitely helps to have the ocean as a border. God help me in Madrid. 

I stopped by the main beach in town and planted my feet in black sand for the first time. I was so excited!!!!! Even long after the sun’s intensity had peaked for the day, the sand was hot on the bottoms of my feet. The water was cool (thank you North Atlantic gyre!!) but not cold (thank you, low-latitude sun!!), and the contrast of the white foam against the dark sand was so beautiful. 

Finally my time came, and I sat down to a meal of fried pork and vegetables. It was not a plato típico, but it was one of the best meals in town according to Elena. I was beyond famished at that point and eating at breakneck speed—I figure I probably looked like Eleven from Stranger Things when she walks out of the Upside Down and into Benny’s restaurant (the sole purpose of this reference is to make my brother happy). Going against Spanish custom, I asked for the check right away and walked home alongside the ocean as the sun set. The waves crashed against the smooth, round rocks that line much of the coast, producing an amplified sound and rhythm as it pushed them up and pulled them back. 

Predictably, I fell deeply and profoundly asleep that night for 11 hours straight. I woke up so dehydrated that my vision was blurred, which would’ve been terrifying if A.) this hadn’t happened to me before while traveling and B.) I hadn’t worked at an ophthalmologist’s office this summer (I love you The Eye MD’s!!!!). I chugged some water with electrolyte powder, put in some lubricating drops I scored at the office, and I was good to go. After having a photoshoot with my first Canarias papaya for a series on my instagram (please validate me @phoebelinnea22), I went out to explore again. 

With fresh eyes, my new home was even more beautiful. Every step showed me a slightly different angle of the cliffs, and every turn presented me with 10 photos I had to take. To get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time, I have to remind myself that I have 9 months to photograph all of these scenes. But some can’t wait. 

I’ve truly never lived somewhere that shows so well every day. It’s like I can’t take a bad photo. Having the anchor of these cliffs in every shot is something I could really get used to. I’ve been notorious for neglecting the land in favor of the sky in my shots, but these rocks refuse to step out of the spotlight. 

I walked over 15 miles my first three days on the island, getting my bearings and taking in the scenery. It’s still hard to believe I’m really here. And that it really is incredible and more than I expected. I knew things were going well when I was a little bit heartbroken over having to leave to go back to Madrid for Orientation. I’ve never been on a blind date, but it kind of feels like my friend J. William Fulbright just wingmanned me into a best-case scenario match. I have the sun, the sea, and the earth in one of its most spectacular forms. Checks all my boxes. 

There and back again

Well, I’m writing this post from a ferry I just barely caught back to Tenerife (the larger island with major airports), where I will catch a bus, then the metro, and then a plane to go back to Madrid for Orientation. While I’m very excited to see Lillian and meet other people in the Fulbright program, I am in a bit of a funk about having to turn around and do all this traveling again so soon. But, on the plus side, I now know where I’m living for a bit, have opened a bank account, got the lay of the land in Valle Gran Rey (through walking ~15 miles in three days), and have made contact with multiple teachers. That makes it all worth it. 

My first look at my new home!

Anyway. Let me talk a bit about arriving!

Upon landing in Tenerife, my wonderful AirBnB host Mari sent her roommate to pick me up from the airport. With as much luggage as I had and how incapable I was of speaking Spanish at that point, I was so relieved to not have to figure out the late night buses or taxis.

packing light is not living my truth

I got to their apartment and collapsed before I could go into full-on breakdown mode, sleeping soundly until my alarm went off at what I thought was 7:45. I woke up disoriented, looking around and realizing it was pitch black outside. I immediately googled “sunrise in Canary Islands”, which told me it should have been happening right around then. Hmm. After thinking on it for a few minutes, I finally realized I had never changed my phone over from Madrid time, which is an hour ahead (the Canaries are 5 ahead of EST, Madrid is 6). Well, thank goodness I didn’t wake up an hour LATE. I may have lost some sleep, but at least I had given myself a huge pad to make my ferry. 

“Why does she need a huge pad?”, you may be wondering. Or, “why is she acting like it’s so hard to take a ferry and then a plane?” Well, let’s just say that planning this trip is NOT for the geographically challenged. When I was booking my flights a couple of months ago, I had a vague awareness that there were two airports on Tenerife—one in the north and one in the south. What I did not realize, however, was that they are SEPARATED BY OVER 50 MILES. And the only port with ferries going to La Gomera is on the southern tip of the island, conveniently located near the—you guessed it!--southern airport. Where am I flying in and out? The northern airport. Which means that I, resident backwoods ignoramus, have to navigate public transportation for that distance.

I tried and failed my first time, running into huelgas, which is the name for what happens every Thursday when public transportation operates on a bare-minimum schedule as workers demand higher pay. I had no idea about this until I got into a desperation taxi (after taking the wrong metro line and ending up in the wrong part of a midpoint city) and the driver patiently explained to me that it didn’t matter anyway—there were only two buses going the long haul south (red line on map) that morning. One had left at 8 am (long gone), and the other wouldn’t leave until 11:30 am (when my ferry was long gone). Did I end up taking a taxi ~45 miles? Yes. Am I proud of it? No. But if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have arrived in Valle Gran Rey until probably ~8 pm. And with just three days there, I wanted to maximize my time. Like I said! Worth it. 

views of Tenerife from my chariot

I arrived on La Gomera a little after noon, completely ragged. I had decided that after my Tenerife taxi incident I would NOT be taking another to save me the ~20 minute walk from the port to my AirBnB. That was the price I had to pay (#self#care). So I gritted my teeth and hauled roughly my weight in luggage off the ferry and down the street, incapable of seeing anything but the finish line in the distance. I’m not saying this entire journey was the hardest physical challenge of my life, but I’m not not saying that. Finally, I made it, hauled my cinderblocks up the stairs and around the corner, took a dumb mirror pic, and collapsed on the terrace. 

When I opened my eyes and saw this view, it hit me: I MADE IT!

 

First impressions of Spain

Wednesday, September 5th was a day spent entirely in transit. I arrived in Spain in late morning (by their standards), with the sunrise sneaking up and over us as we flew east. I could tell my body did not agree, though, especially not after remaining completely conscious for the whole 7-hour flight. I know economy isn’t really comfortable for anyone, but times like this are when I really curse my height. Whatever, though! I planned on hitting the sack (a real bed!!!!) as soon as I could upon touchdown on Tenerife, though it was around 6 pm Ohio time. Maybe the secret to beating jet lag quickly is to pull an all-nighter on the plane? 

Though I was seated in the middle row of our huge Boeing 757, I could still catch a few glimpses of the country beneath the curved Dreamliner wings once it was light enough. My first thought was “wow, that’s dry!” As my mom said, it’s bound to be a harsh transition coming from the lushness of a wet Ohio summer. I like it, though, with its sharp lines and earth tone palette dotted with shrubs. As we descended into Madrid, the sky was an odd gray-tan that had dissipated by the time I left the airport. My friend Lillian—fellow Bowdoin grad, Spain Fulbright chaos partner, and city expert—was kind enough to write me (pathetic country bumpkin) step-by-step instructions on how to navigate Madrid’s Metro all the way to her new apartment so that we could meet up during my layover. I was so nervous about this on the flight across the Atlantic, especially because I had yet to purchase a Spanish SIM card and therefore was unreachable/incapable of googling when not on WiFi. I honestly didn’t even know the Metro was a subway and not a bus until I was leaving passport control. But Lillian’s instructions paired with the fact that the Metro is actually great made everything easy. 

My only prior subway experience had come from spending time in Boston, which did not exactly warm me to this particular mode of transit. To me, the T felt rickety and incredibly confusing. Plus, every Bostonian I know makes fun of me for liking the Blue Line best (it just has the nicest atmosphere, ok?). In contrast, the Metro and its stations are well-lit, spacious, and make it very hard to miss a stop or lose your way. Plus, the relaxed no pasa nada Spanish attitude means no one is sprinting down stairs or anything crazy. To T sages: I respect your craft immensely but I’m good luv, enjoy. 

appropriately patriotic color scheme

I arrived at Lillian’s apartment after an unintentional but pleasant walk around the Argüelles/Moncloa area, during which I was convinced I had stumbled upon some famous Madrid landmarks I’d seen in movies. I think they were just nice buildings. [Side note: this ties into a larger issue in my life, which is having INCREDIBLY poor long-distance and mid-range facial recognition. More on that at some point] After I refreshed and pulled myself out of corpse mode, we set out to find my first real food in ~15 hours. We ended up at a place called Cilantro Madrid, where we ate gazpacho, bistec a la parrilla (steak), pan, and sandía (watermelon) from their menú del día. 

We then walked around the area in search of a certain wireless carrier store for my SIM card. We passed hundreds upon hundreds of darling boutiques, hair & nail salons, cafés, and restaurants. There was a fresh breeze blowing and a blue sky over our heads, making the architecture even more enjoyable. Running on no sleep and just being generally overstimulated meant that during our walk I had to constantly remind myself that I was in SPAIN! I’d finally made it to Europe! All the movies set in Madrid that I’d watched for my Hispanic Cities in Cinema course no longer had to be abstract. The language that I’d spent 16 semesters studying was suddenly surrounding me. I may have been tired, but I was not too tired to revel. 

As my plane for Tenerife took off this evening, I thanked my lucky stars that my usual randomly-assigned-seat gamble planted me by a window. My favorite airplane activity is to listen to music and watch the world pass by below me, and this was a particularly special opportunity. While taking off, I listened to one of my all-time favorite songs, “Hasta la Raíz” by Natalia Lafourcade, and then queued up “Tajabone” by Ismaël Lô. This song plays in a very powerful scene in Pedro Almodovar’s film Todo sobre mi madre (1999), and has always stuck with me. As it was playing, I looked out of my window and happened to see a train pop out of a tunnel JUST LIKE IT DOES DURING THE SCENE IN THE MOVIE (set in Barcelona, but w/e!). I almost lost it. As we rocketed southwest, we were treated to a long sunset that my phone could not begin to do justice to. 

As the great Lizzie McGuire once said, this is what dreams are made of. 

It's the cliiiiiiiimb

Well, I am officially underway! I am coming to you live (kind of) from the international terminal at JFK. There seems to be one computer at one group of desks that belongs to my airline, and atop it sits a handwritten note to return in a couple of hours to check in. Predictably, my travel plan to get to the Canary Islands is just about as drawn out and complicated as my application process was—“streamlined” is probably not an adjective I would use to describe my life. Part of that can be attributed to having my home base in rural Appalachia, where things like next-day delivery and walking-distance grocery stores are unheard of. On the other hand, Nate is currently trying to get to the airport to hang out with me during my layover and is having one hell of a time with the train system. What would be a mere stone’s throw in the country is an almost insurmountable, undriveable, very expensive distance to travel here in NYC. With all its relative isolation and inconveniences, I’d pick the country any day. But that’s just me!

As in my last post, I thought it might be fun to outline my path to give some insight into what’s actually going on in my life. As many people have noted before, the pictures people paint on some social media platforms (Instagram, for one) can distill life into only its sweetest moments, leaving out all the twists and turns. I personally find too much comedic gold in the less-than-ideal parts of my life, and I definitely don’t want it to go to waste. 

So! Have you ever wondered how one would travel from Whipple, Ohio, USA to Valle Gran Rey, Canarias, Spain? This is how I’m doing it:

1. Drive from Whipple to Columbus, OH, approximately 2 hours. 
1. a. Stop 45 minutes in to pick up ailing hawk from random farm for transport to Ohio Wildlife Center (not required unless your mom is the valley's preeminent bird lady, of course). 
2. Fly from Columbus to New York, NY, approximately 2 hours.
3. Take AirTrain from terminal 8 to terminal 1. 
4. Wait 8 hours in JFK. 
5. Fly overnight from New York to Madrid, Spain, approximately 7 hours. 
6. Wait 9.5 hours. Try to find your friend, lunch, and a SIM card in the mean time. 
7. Fly from Madrid to Tenerife (one of the larger islands), approximately 2.5 hours. 
8. Take a bus across the island to the southern side with the correct port. 
9. Take a ferry across the water to the smaller island of La Gomera.
10. Take a smaller ferry/catamaran around to the other side of the island. (I have no idea how long any of this will take)
11. Walk…….. and then……. collapse???

To the seasoned traveler, this probably sounds like a cinch. I’ve traveled quite a bit within the US thanks to my parents’ birdwatching careers (see photos), but have only traveled internationally once before. 

North Dakota...

New Mexico...

...and Maine! (clear foreshadowing)

Luckily, though, I think the enormity of this trip is such that my mind has turned on some kind of autopilot or enforced tranquility. I have been remarkably relaxed about it all, which is …atypical of me, to say the least. Anyone even remotely close to me has probably picked up on the fact that I am a very emotional person. 

I am also capable of displaying some Type A tendencies, though I think this is changing for a couple of reasons. Back in 2015, I fell into an almost year-long bout of significant anxiety, which was previously something I had never experienced for more than just a few minutes. There were multiple factors at play, some that I’m only just starting to understand. At the core, though, was my tendency to imagine and expect every event and scenario in my life to go a certain way. In this sense, I had been ~cruisin’ for a bruisin’~ for a long time, and finally, it had all come to a head. After suffering the consequences for many months, I had to claw my way out of the whole mental and emotional mess using tools and tricks recommended by my friends and family, my counselor, books, and the internet. Once I finally found what worked for me and climbed out of the metaphorical hole, I looked around and realized I was never going back there. If that meant letting things go to a point way past my former comfort zone, so be it. My semester abroad in Panama helped me immensely with this, as the entire country operates in a Type B reality. 

This photo taken just before we all got drenched by an aguacero (extremely heavy downpour) right before meeting our host families.

There were a few drawbacks to this transition in my way of being, of course—the days of turning in essays and projects a week in advance were far gone (after the way my senior year went, it’s hard to believe they ever existed). I also found that, in general, my reaction to events (good or bad) was much more measured, which was certainly an adjustment, but not necessarily a bad one. For the promise of general stability, I was glad to sacrifice a little bit of my emotional range. 

As my dad always tells me, worry 80% less. If I stop to check in with myself when I’m worrying, I almost always realize that fretting does nothing to improve the situation. So, here I am, cool as a cucumber, miles and miles from home. It’s all good!

yes I am crying but yes it's ok!!!!!!

*freeze frame* *record scratch*

You're probably wondering how I got here. And by "here", I mean less than 48 hours from embarking on a multi-day journey across an ocean to settle on a tiny island where I will be charged with helping Spanish-speaking youth learn English.

Yeah, me too!

In mid-July 2017, I was living on Bowdoin's campus, soaking up my first Maine summer and working in the Office of Events & Summer Programs. I had no plans for the future, but at this point on the twenty-something timeline, that's okay! My roommate Nate (who bravely suggested this blog be named "Scooby Doo on Zombie Island") and I had started to have joint late-night panic sessions about our impending senior year and the idea that we soon had to make CAREER DECISIONS when neither one of us felt certain about a path. I had met with Career Planning a couple of times but couldn't seem to motivate myself to research consulting firms; Nate had been devoting his entire summer to an honors project that ended up being an incredible year-long labor of love (and hate?). We had heard through the grapevine multiple times that some of the other seniors on campus had arranged meetings with the Office of Student Fellowships & Research to begin applications for big name post-grad national fellowships: Marshall, Mitchell, Rhodes, Watson, Fulbright. On the morning of July 10th, I scrolled back through my inbox and found e-mails from the office sent in May encouraging us to make appointments before the end of the academic year to get the ball rolling. Oops. I booked the next appointment slot that worked for me--August 1st--and hoped no one would notice.

(I was easily distracted...)

Cindy Stocks noticed! That night, I had an email from the director of the office gently noting that August 1st was "a bit late" to get started, but that I could make up for lost time by reading through fellowship information and thinking about what I might be interested in doing. I don't remember all that much about how our first meeting went, but I know I came out of it feeling genuinely excited and like I just might have some direction. Cindy had taken my directionless rambling and distilled it into a plan, and before I knew it, I was applying for a Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship to northern Spain. It was the first time I could remember feeling like all of the pieces of my personality, passions, and aspirations fit together toward a common goal. There was no stretching the truth or highlighting one part of myself over another. Though it sounds incredibly cliché, this was something I felt like I was destined to do.

Those who have been close to a Fulbright applicant or who have applied themselves know that it is a LONG process. The typical timeline (at least for Bowdoin students) goes something like this:

• End of junior year (April/May): Identify award type/country/angle & begin application
• Summer before senior year: Draft essays
• Early September: Submit initial application to advising office
• Mid- to late-September: Interview with campus committee
• Early October: Submit final application to advising office and resubmit to Fulbright after last-minute edits 
• Late January: Receive notification about semi-finalist status; successful applications forwarded on to individual countries
• Mid-March to April: Receive notification about finalist status

Looking back, maybe my late start set the tone for my experience, because my timeline broke the mold in January. I had been on the edge of my seat for several weeks, to the point where every notification on my phone made me jump. On Thursday, January 25th, Cindy sent all applicants an email to let us know semi-finalist decisions were on the way (a week later than normal), and would arrive before the end of the day on Friday. I decided I would go to the gym that afternoon to burn off nervous energy before 5 pm. This ended up being a poor idea--I almost fell off the treadmill at 7:20 mile pace when an email from Career Planning came in at 4:58 pm. 5 pm passed, as did 6 pm. Many of my friends had already received their notifications. I was a wreck, wandering around the quad in sub-freezing temperatures until my sweat froze, awaiting disaster. I returned to my dorm and drove my roommates crazy before exiling myself to my bedroom. I was just about to throw in the towel and go to dinner when the email came in.

After that, it was a good Friday night.

With the initial notification out of the way, I could relax for a bit. In fact, I almost forgot about Fulbright until mid-March, when the first of ~160 countries sent out finalist notifications. In the past several years, Spain had been in the front of the pack, notifying around March 15th. That day came and went with no news. In the interim, I had joined an online chat/support group full of speculation and stress, which served only to ramp up my anxiety each time I checked it. My worst fear was that I would log on and see Spain applicants celebrating long-awaited emails, only to switch tabs find a rejection lurking in my inbox.

By the time April rolled around, I was feeling fairly jaded. I realized that checking the applicants chat for news was largely a waste of time--one that I couldn't afford in the midst of senior spring. For the time being, I just decided to let it go and focus on school. This was increasingly difficult, though, because deadlines for summer internships and permanent jobs were looming, and I didn't want to expend a large amount of energy focusing on those when I still had a bid in another pool.

Despite my ironclad will, on the evening of Friday, April 9th, my worst nightmare (partially) came true. I was taking a brief break from reading about C3 and C4 photosynthesis (thanks, Phil!) and decided to quickly glance at the chat. The first thing I saw (before going blind from panic for a few moments) was a string of Spanish flag emojis and exclamation points. Multiple people were reporting finalist status for Spain. Others were posting about rejections. Shaking, I checked my email. Nothing. I checked my other email. Nothing. I checked both spam filters. N o t h i n g. I looked at the time stamps on their messages: the last one was posted around 7 pm. My clock read 11 pm. I fired off a hysterical email to Cindy and Kate, my other beloved advising guru, and then had to be forcibly calmed down by Nate. By the next morning, we had deduced that there were one or two remaining regions still making decisions, and rather than hold up the entire Spanish Fulbright program, they would announce later. Cindy said that based on previous years, it could easily be another 2-3 weeks. Way back in October, I had submitted my application with a preference noted for a rural school in either La Rioja or Asturias. The one common thread I could find among the handful of Spain applicants still waiting for notification was that we had all applied to these areas. But much to my dismay, these two regions had already notified their finalists. Technically, though, it appeared I was still in the running.

This meme reached peak popularity just when I needed it most <3

April came to a close with no news. I had long since given up the ghost and began applying to jobs in the US. I had several interviews lined up, and was beginning to envision my post-grad future in another way. I realized that mentally, I was dealing with Fulbright much like I would deal with a boy who had trouble committing: if it's meant to be, it'll be, but in the meantime, I'll pursue plan B.

I entered my last week of undergraduate classes with no decision to speak of. Only 1% of Fulbright semi-finalists were still waiting for news, and I was one of them. Early in the week, I received a strange email from the Spanish Fulbright Commission celebrating the fact that the country's program had been distinguished by King Felipe VI with the highest award of civil merit in Spain. I figured it was a glitch of some sort, or maybe even highly personalized spam, but the last line said "As a former grantee of this Commission, you have been part of this journey and therefore share this accomplishment." I shrugged, forwarded it to Cindy and Kate, and went on my way. Later that morning, Cindy sent me an email saying she thought it just might be good news. I ran upstairs from the dining hall to her office, where Kate joined us and we all cried. Well, I know I cried. Enough for all three of us. But after wiping my eyes, I resolved to treat it as if nothing had happened. After all, I still had no official decision in my inbox. And if life had taught me anything in the past year, it was to be patient.

For the next couple of days, I held my tongue and my breath. I am a chronic oversharer (which should already be obvious to you), so this was incredibly hard. On my final day of classes, May 9th, I suited up to go to the Giant Stairs (a natural stair-step basalt formation on Bailey's Island, ~20 minutes from Bowdoin) with my beloved Oceanography students for my last lab section as their TA. It was a blustery day, warm and sunny on campus but cool and gray on the coast. We climbed around on sedimentary rocks, admired tiny garnets and huge quartz intrusions, and watched the waves crash against the jagged coastline that had once been connected to Africa before Pangaea rifted apart.

Toward the end of the lab period, I was standing on the basalt pictured above, right next to Collin Roesler, professor of Oceanography, who had changed my life through her teaching and advising. I pulled out my phone to take a picture of the waves and foam, and right there on the screen was the email notification I had been waiting for since October 2017. I gasped, turned to Collin (who immediately knew what had happened and threw her arms around me) and burst into tears as our class cheered. In that utterly perfect moment, all of the stress and frustration evaporated. For this, it was all worth it.

Happy people...

...and my happy place.

After receiving my notification, I was deliriously happy. So much so that I almost forgot I had no idea where I had been placed! At the end of the next week, I received an email from the Commission that made my head spin: Instead of being placed in La Rioja or Asturias, I would be a part of Fulbright Spain's first year in the Canary Islands. At first, I panicked a little--I hadn't even remotely prepared myself for this possibility. But then, after some quick googling, everything began to make sense. These were volcanic islands where the people spoke Spanish... And I just so happened to be an Earth & Oceanographic Science/Hispanic Studies double major! I've researched and found thousands of other reasons to be excited, but I'm so close to arrival now that I might as well ground truth them before sharing. 

Image taken from PMF IAS

And thus the Canary Current was born! Thank you to my dad, namer of all things important, for the brilliant idea. One part eastern boundary current in the North Atlantic gyre, one part life update blog for friends and family who would like to follow the next 9 months of my life. If the lead up was any indication, it should be anything but usual.