Mom, 18 months doesn't count!

Me in Indonesia....I have no idea why this picture is turned this way, because it looks proper in the file on my computer.

I’m finding as my date of departure draws nearer that my nervousness is becoming stronger as the reality of this venture begins to strike me. In fact, at times when my thoughts run a little bit wild, I would have to say that my feeling borders on terror. Why in the world do I think that I’m ready to fly across the pond by myself and spend nearly a year in a country where they don’t even speak my mother tongue? I’ve never been to Europe!

(Here my mother would interject that I have, in fact, been to Europe. This argument, however, is quickly countered with “Eighteen months old doesn’t count!” By her logic, One might say that I have also been to China. Excuse me, but I was still some form of developing cells at that time. Not sure that counts, either. But, if we must insist on remembering baby Emily circumnavigating the globe before she was in possession of even two years, then I will allow for this: I have ‘been’ to Europe. Before I had memory. Back when my verbs were all in Indonesian. Which leads to funny stories of me insulting all the Americans by using baby-mispronounced Indonesian words which sounded vaguely like profanities in English…. But the point is this: I have never been to Europe, and, therefore, the unknowns of this trip are rather….unknown? Indeed.)

The university has found me an apartment. I don’t know the address, but I was looking at a map, and the street is really close to the university, as well as to a couple of parks. I guess that, and the fact that I leave in a little over three weeks, has made me really realize how soon I’ll be over there. Like, a month from now, I’ll be in Spain. And I have no idea what it will be like. No clue whatsoever. And I know that all the things that worry me won’t be problems for very long, and within a few weeks I’ll be doing great, and I really believe that. But it’s not the after a few weeks I’m thinking about. It’s the getting from one part of the Madrid airport to another thing. The getting from the airport in Pamplona to my apartment, learning to navigate the Spanish way of street names while dragging nine months worth of luggage. Speaking of luggage, that’s another thing. What do I take? What do I leave? What will I be able to buy, for not too much, and which things do I think I need? And is it really that important? I feel like a dumb girl spending so much brain power on something like clothes.

Eh. I guess I’ll get to see how all of these things go soon enough. No use in worrying.

On a good note, my cousin Margaret Hoelzer won some medals in the Olympics. And by cousin I mean like third cousin twice removed or something like that. But it’s still cool.

Well, that’s about it. Not much purpose to this blog. But I guess it’ll give me something to look back on in a few weeks and be able to count my progress. Bueno.

Cheers