“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese

Let me first preface this blog by saying that I’m definitely no English major.  If you’re looking for a daily read that will satisfy your deepest literary cravings I regret to say you will be severely disappointed.  The purpose of my writing is simply because I enjoy sharing my humble, random anecdotes with anyone who might have the slightest interest in hearing about them.  And, after spending a semester in Spain almost two years ago, I’ve come to realize it as a painfully easy way to keep memories for myself.  So there you have it – set your expectations low and we’ll all have a good time.

About a year ago, I began the search for universities in Spanish-speaking countries after a nonchalant suggestion by a teacher that I take my studies to the next level and consider a major, an impossible idea at the time because of the inflexibility of my primary major, nursing (for all the good they teach you to impart in those classes, it’s got to be one of the most selfish majors offered at SLU).  Or so I thought.  With the help of a supportive advisor and Spanish teaching staff, I started taking the idea more seriously and began my research with the scholarly college student’s best friend: wikipedia.  Finally stumbling across a university with a name that probably has more letters in it than people in the town it quietly sits in, I initiated contact in May, and, after a year long period of excitement, frustration, and having to be way too patient, I sit here next to a suitcase jammed with bottles of sunscreen (notice I said “suitcase” singular…my first accomplishment of the trip) and summer clothes just a few hours before my first flight officially takes off from Kansas City… 

My home away from home for the next three months

My journey officially begins today, Friday the 13^th (for all you superstitious folks out there, this is actually a very benign day in the Hispanic world. Tuesday the 13^th is their day of mala suerte…i.e. bad luck) in a smaller province of Panama called Los Santos: http://panamabeachlife.com/pics/Los_Santos-big.png I’ll be taking three classes at La Universidad Católica Santa María la Antigua (USMA for short).  To give you an idea of the nature of this rural, quintessential Panamanian town, my class options consisted of courses in farming, religious life or psychology.  Though the first two were tempting, they didn’t quite sit well with the Spanish department back home, and I instead enrolled in Oral Expression and Literary Culture, Psychoeducational Evaluation, and Christian Ethics and Morals, a diverse enough mix of topics to keep me entertained.  I’ll be living with a woman in her forties, Vanessa, who says that I already “form part of the family,” and her 13-year-old son named Jose in a house with apparently no number (any mail to her must be addressed with her telephone number so the post office workers can call when she has a letter or package…yet another indication of just how different this little town must be).  Rumor has it I live about five minutes from the beach (tough life, I know) and the high every day is 95 degrees with close to 100% humidity.  At least I won’t stand out when I’m sweating profusely (I don’t think Hispanic people were born with sweat glands) and turning bright red from the heat.

The view from the back porch...just kidding. But a beach supposedly nearby casa

I can truthfully say that I have no expectations set for this quickly approaching adventure and am ready to embrace whatever moments of language blunders and culture shock may come my way.  The one thing I do know and fully expect to happen is to step back on American soil a little over three months from today a (hopefully) wiser, more fluent and sunburn-free person.