That Andalucían Feel

I was walking through Central Park with my family when my sister asked me, “What’s the matter with you?”  It was one of those cold, sunny winter days between Christmas and New Year’s and the city was buzzing with tourists, and urbanites all seeking to take advantage of the holiday festivities.  There, in the city where I went to college and held my first job, in a place replete with wonderful memories and friends, I was feeling depressed. Or more precisely, “numb.” I don’t mean numb from the cold, though it was positively freezing, but I mean “numb” to the excitement of an otherwise exhilarating cosmopolis.

A seasoned traveler, my sister quickly diagnosed the problem: reverse culture shock. Apparently the most common symptoms of this ailment are exactly those that I was experiencing: boredom, frustration and an inexplicable, unwarranted irritability. Coming home for a short break I wasn’t expecting to feel any kind of cultural gap, much less miss my life in an Andalucían pueblo. But then, I’d never come home in the middle of living abroad either.

Even now, three weeks back into my teaching routine, I am surprised by my own sentiments. Why do I feel a sense of excitement when I return from traveling and my plane touches down on the runway in Jerez? Or when the bus to Arcos begins its winding journey down carretera A-382 past kilometers upon kilometers of wheat fields?  Why do the skyscrapers of New York City seem to pale in comparison to the white-washed, centuries-old, poorly insulated edificios of Arcos? Am I crazy?

One of the most inaccurate stereotypes of Andalucía, at least among my friends and family, is that the climate here is mild almost year-round. I am willing to admit is not nearly as cold here as Boston or New York, and I believe it when the locals tell me that the three weeks of straight rain we had is not normal. But Andalucía and Arcos lack the luxuries of home; namely central heat and air conditioning. When it’s hot, it’s caluroso. When it’s cold, it’s friísimo. When it’s raining, my piso is wet and (ewww!) moldy, inside and out. Here, the hills are steeper, the music is louder and the weather really can feel more extreme. And yet, for it all its challenges, I really “feel” life in Andalucía more profoundly.  So although Arcos is merely a dot on the map to the tourists who pass through on bus tours of the pueblos blancos, for me it is every bit as challenging as New York City, and by some measure, even more alive.