Day 60-62: Whirlwind Weekend Part 2: Bye bye hair, hello Brussels again!

Here’s Part 2 of my trip to see Gillie in France via traveling through Belgium: A big change. 

         I’ve been wanting to cut my hair for a while now. Having as much hair as I do makes upkeep while traveling a real task, and plus, with the promise of a really hot summer coming up, I knew something had to change. The real question became not if I was going to cut my hair, but where. The spanish don’t exactly have my hair type, and so I was concerned about getting anything done to my voluptuous mane in Spain, plus what’s the fun of actually being able to communicate with your hair stylist? I decided that my trip to Lille was the perfect time for this major haircut. So with the appointment set, Gillie as my translator, and a few pictures in hand, we headed to Hexagon Coiffure on Saturday morning. 

         I was nervous, which was noted by the hairstylist. Much of the nerves were coming from the fact that I couldn’t understand what was being said and that I didn’t have my glasses on. A great comfort during all of this was knowing that Gillie was there as my translator. Of all the people in the world to have by my side during something like this, Gillie would have been my first choice, hands down (which is why I did it); she helped keep me calm and documented the whole event. After over an hour of cutting, shaping, blowdrying, and trimming I put on my glasses to see the final product. In the end she cut over 12-inches off, and do I love it!

        

We celebrated afterwards with a fresh pastry from the bakery across the street and made a stop at an open-air market to grab some rhum gofres. We sat in Lille’s Grand Place enjoying our treats and marveling at what a wonderful job the hairstylist did with my hair!

         That night was St. Patty’s day so we went to her friend Olie’s for dinner and a party where green, of course, was a requirement for entrance. Quite a few people came and I ended up chatting in both english and spanish. I really enjoyed that crowd of people, Olie and her boyfriend were amazing hosts. Afterwards we went over to another party, this one was being thrown by some Irish & English students, some of whom were painted green and wearing irish flags. We met some interesting people, I even ran into a girl from Portland, and I met Gillie’s mentor Fahim. Parties with international students are always interesting events. It’s like taking a trip around the world, you hear all kinds of languages, you meet people from a variety of backgrounds who are from a whole slew of different countries.  

         The next day we went to a crowded open air market to check out the sights, smells, sounds, and fares of that culturally rich area. After that, we attempted to go to a zoo but ended up finding an art museum instead where I got to see a Picasso piece, beautiful sculptures, and some gigantic paintings.

         Here’s where I’ll be a little honest with my French experience, I wasn’t too impressed by some of the people we met in public. It may be that I’m just used to the general open and welcoming nature of the spanish, but overall I found the people a little standoffish. Understand this, we met some great people, but we also found our share of brusque French people that actually did fall into the category of the typical “rude French” person. The overall experience was a good one, but keep in mind that if you go to France that you may have a similar experience, so just be prepared! 

         That night we stayed in and cooked one last delicious meal together, another fun activity that I have been missing since I don’t cook ever here in Spain. We watched another movie since we had to get up at 6:00 so that I could make it to my ride share back to Brussels. 

About to take off for my very long day of travel, goodbye Villeneuve d'Ascq!

         The next day was full of travel which it was exhausting and stressful, to say the least. I had to take a metro to catch my ride share that took me to Brussels. After some walking around the southern part of the city, I took a bus to the center. I had just enough time to duck into some chocolate shops, enjoy some freshly fried & delicious Belgian Frites, and snag some more photos of the Grand Place before I headed to Brussels Central. I bought my ticket for a train that would take me to another station in Charleroi, so that I could hop a bus to the airport. It was at this point, as I was waiting for the train, that I realized that I had underestimated how long it would take me to do all this. So, on top of juggling numerous modes of transport, I was now concerned that I may arrive just in time to watch my plane take off.

         Luckily, because the bus/train combo was faster than what the man at the counter had told me, I arrived at the airport in time to get my visa stamped, go through security, and find my gate with plenty of time to spare. After 2.5 hours of flying (aka sleeping), I was finally back in Sevilla. The only thing between me and a hot meal at my casa was another bus ride to Prado and a twenty minute walk. 

         It was during this walk that I realized how much at ease I’ve come to be here in Sevilla. I felt those same waves of comfort that I feel when I head back to Greensboro after being at away for a while. I walked up the stairs to the apartment. Gumersinda was there, Paco too, dinner was just about to be served and she greeted me with a big hug, dos besos, and a smile. I was only gone for six days, but it was enough time away for me to realize how much I truly enjoy living in this city. This isn’t my home, but I do feel at home here. 

         That walk was an interesting experience, one that allowed me to reflect on my feelings of comfort and to reflect on what that term home actually means. Being so far away helps you realize what you love the most about you’re real home. Distance makes you realize what you’re missing the most, and through those feelings you learn. I am changing here. Already I can tell I’m going to be a different person when I get back and that I’ve only been here for two months means I still have a lot more growing and learning to do. Something I am also painfully aware of is that I’m not the only one who’s changing, that while I’m in Spain, you all across the pond are having your own experiences. 

        They say that coming home is the hardest part of your experience abroad, reverse culture shock and adapting to all those changes; realizing that your ideal of home is just that: an ideal. You have to learn to adapt to that, you have to re-learn what home has become. Home is a term that, like many of the terms used to inspire an idea of stagnancy and permanence, in all actuality is constantly changing and redefining itself. Tradition, history, and culture are living terms that all rely on real and complex human beings in order to allow those terms to exist. This means that the terms are actually being impacted by the people responsible for continuing them; people mixed with the factor of time mean that they’re changing too. 

         I guess that what I’m trying to say, to conclude a much too long blog post, is that I have found comfort here in Spain, I love it here, and am enjoying myself. Traveling abroad has already, in just two months, made me realize that there’s nothing like coming back to the familiar. There’s nothing like returning to the people you love and know. Nothing like walking the streets, that were once so unfamiliar and strange, and realizing that they seem much less foreign and even offer a bit of comfort. Like knowing that while you were gone, people kept living their life. They kept living their lives, but they were also glad to greet you again, and to welcome you back after a long journey away. 

Home. Four letters, but loaded with meaning.