by Will Tan
Ten minutes ago, I thought I was going to have a relaxing night listening to my favorite Minnesota Vikings podcast. I had finished my homework for the night and was prepared to head to bed after dinner. Instead, I heard a knock on my door. While that usually meant my host mom was coming to tell me dinner was ready, I was a bit shocked when I opened the door and my host brother Marcos appeared. “You want to go out with Lucas and me to a birthday party tonight?” he asked in Spanish.
I stood speechless for a second. “Uh, yeah sure I’ll go,” I responded. I tried to not visibly show my surprise.
He nodded. “Ok, sounds good. We’ll leave after dinner!” I closed the door, sat back down in my seat, and stared at the wall for a second. Two weeks in Spain and I’ve already been invited to a party by people I’ve just met? I trembled at the thought of what could go wrong. At this point, I barely knew the language and none of my classmates would be there to help me. What if I can’t communicate with anyone? I pictured myself awkwardly standing in the corner with nobody to talk to. Somehow, after playing out a bunch of different scenarios in my head, I managed to convince myself I might as well go.
A few minutes later, I sat down at the dinner table to eat with my family. As I filled my plate with patatas fritas, pollo, and croquetas, I tried prodding my brothers with questions about the party life in Spain. “What should I wear to a discoteca?” I asked in Spanish.
“C’mon, haven’t you ever been to a party bro?” Marcos responded. Well, of course! I’ve been to college parties, I thought. However, college parties are… different. Seemingly hundreds of bodies pile into a tiny space while everyone jumps around to random music and steps on other people’s feet. Not exactly the kind of environment I dreamt of while thinking about my Spanish experience. Additionally, the parties I had been to typically start around 10 and end at midnight. I carefully, but not super successfully, tried to explain the logistics of college functions in Spanish to my host family.
“The party is dead at midnight,” Marcos responded, “we won’t even get there till 1 am and I suspect we’ll probably be there until 5 am as well!”
“Ok, sounds fun!” I said, showing a fake smile. I pictured the look on my professor’s face if I missed Friday’s class because I was partying. What have I gotten myself into? Unsure of what to do next, I pondered while staying relatively silent for the rest of the meal, with ambivalent thoughts flowing through my head.
#
As one would expect with study-abroad programs, the transition to living in a different culture was, to say the least, a new experience. My life and routine basically turned upside down. At my normal college, my days would typically consist of swimming, classes, swimming again, and homework. While this schedule is busy, reflecting the fast-paced culture of the US, I became quite used to it over the past couple of years. Spain, on the other hand, was a completely different story. I would sleep in, head to two hours’ worth of classes, and then have the rest of the afternoon and evening free to explore. Despite wanting to try new things in Spain, partying until 5 am on a weeknight seemed flat-out wrong since I had never experienced that before. I was comfortable within my schedule, and part of me wanted to stick to it.
#
After dinner, I threw on jeans and a black polo shirt, then my brothers and I headed to the Canal metro station. The streets were still vibrant with bustling cafes and lots of people chattering while walking to their destinations. After 30 minutes of train rides, we arrived in a quiet alleyway. I followed my brothers up to a seemingly random building and opened the door. “This is where the pregame and birthday celebration is happening,” Lucas said. My host brothers pranced up the stairs as if they were about to enter a candy store. I followed, dragging my heels. When we reached the top floor, we entered an apartment full of other college students. While this looked like any other pregame, my smile faded as I quickly realized that, unlike every other party I had been to, I did not know anyone.
My brothers dapped up each guy and greeted the girls with dos besos. I followed suit to try and blend in. I hope this doesn’t end up being super awkward. My Spanish still sucked, obviously, and I trembled at the thought of it. After grabbing a drink in the back, I returned to the main room. Much to my surprise, I was immediately approached by a bunch of my brothers’ friends who seemed excited to talk to me. I tried introducing myself in my broken Spanish. I sighed of relief when one of them smiled as he responded.
“I’m Carlos. Also, don’t worry about speaking Spanish all the time, it’s good for us to practice our English too!” Carlos said in English.
“Okay great! I’m still getting used to Spanish a bit,” I chuckled. Much to my relief, as we continued talking, we all immediately found common ground despite being from vastly different cultures. As the conversation shifted to politics and economics, I suddenly felt a sense of comfort. That’s crazy we have so many things in common, I thought. I felt relaxed continuing to converse with people I had just met as if we were old friends. Our talking was later interrupted by the group singing Feliz Compleaños, after which Latino music filled the room, and we enjoyed slices of chocolate cake.
After the birthday celebrations, my brothers rounded up their friends and we left the apartment for the discoteca. The streets were still vibrant with people, with bars seemingly packed to the brim. I peeked at my phone: 12:45 am. Pretty late for me, I thought. While I was excited to explore the environment of the discoteca, I still pictured what would happen if I missed class the next morning. I went up to Marcos, who had clearly had one too many monster energies. “I’ll go to the discoteca with you guys, but I think I might go home around 2:30 am because I have class tomorrow,” I said in my broken Spanish.
“Yeah, right, that’s what they all say. Don’t worry, you’ll have so much fun you’ll want to stay till 5 am,” Marcos exclaimed energetically. I stumbled at the thought of being surrounded at a club by hundreds of strangers.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the discoteca, a massive multi-story building perched right in the middle of the city. I could faintly hear the vibrant rave music and see the neon lights through the windows. After waiting in line and scanning our tickets, my friends and I entered what seemed like a whole new world. As we turned the corner, my eyes surveyed a massive room, far larger than a college townhouse, complete with a bustling bar, arcade machines, and tons of open space for dancing. Colorful lights glowed on every wall and the almost deafening roar of R&B music filled my ears. While the environment of Madrid was upbeat at night, this was a whole new level. Clearly, I wasn’t in in my college town anymore. After grabbing some drinks at the bar, our group decided to head over to the dance floor. As we were walking over, I brushed shoulders and made eye contact with a random girl who was with a group of her friends. I shrugged it off as we dashed to the middle of the dance floor, stood in a circle, and started dancing and talking. I began to feel my body slowly start flowing with the upbeat music, matching the other members of the group. I was having a blast, but part of me still felt the responsibility to sleep before class. After a while, I looked at my phone to see the time. After a few more songs, I should probably head out, I thought.
A few minutes later, I was in the middle of jamming out to a Spanish song I finally recognized when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and locked eyes with the girl I had bumped into before. My soul nearly jumped out of my body. She was a couple of inches shorter than me, with brown curly hair, and wore a red top with black jeans.
“Are you American?” she inquired in English.
“Uh, yeah, how did you know?” I responded taken aback.
“Spaniards don’t dress like that,” she teased. I looked down at my Under Armor polo for a second.
“Shoot, yeah, you’re right. I’m a college student from Minnesota,” I half-laughed.
“Wait, like the Minnesota from Mighty Ducks?”
“Yes,” I responded, “I love that movie!”
“I’m Clara by the way! What’s your name?”
“Soy Will,” I said. We began chatting about life, both of us almost screaming to overpower the music. We exchanged a lot of information, in both English and Spanish, especially about what life was like in the US compared to Spain. Aside from my host family, this was the first real conversation I had one-on-one with a Spaniard around my age. It turns out we shared lots of common interests. Once the conversation neared its end, I realized that time had flown by.
“Wow, your Spanish is pretty good,” Clara said in English. I smiled.
“Same can be said for your English,” I responded in Spanish.
“Well, hey it was nice meeting you! Make the most of Spain while you’re here, it’s a beautiful country!” Clara said before turning to leave.
True, you only live once, my mind echoed. I powered off my phone completely and ran back towards my host brothers. As I entered the dance floor, I seamlessly rejoined the circle. As I was about to chat with the guy next to me, Marcos tapped me on the shoulder.
“When were you supposed to leave again, Will?” Marcos asked in Spanish, almost screaming because of the loud music.
“I’ll be here for a while,” I replied, the lurching feeling in my stomach gone. My body flowed with the melody as I began to reestablish the feeling of the music.
