(Our sincerest apologies for not having blogged in forever. Here are the excuses: 1) We've been busy with travels & family/friend visits; 2) We've been very focused on planning said things PLUS our imminent exit from Spain; 3) Facebook ate our homework. We may or may not go back and recap our trips to Barcelona, Oxford and Morocco and our visits from Dad & Arelys, Brian & Christina and Autumn. That's life.)
Fast forward to 2009. We have four days left in Granada! People have been asking us how we feel about leaving, moving back, etc. Here's my take.
No plan is perfect and no real choice easy. When we moved here, our plan was hazy, based as much on a desire to get away as one to go somewhere new. Spain was a lark, a compromise based on nothing more than a couple of guiding (and misguiding) principles that put it in an easy crosshairs; our trip built on an abiding faith that the universe would provide, regardless of which way we turned. And it did, in ways we could not have anticipated before we started.
I had a romantic notion of the expatriate life informed, I must admit, in large part by the expat literature—'A Moveable Feast,' 'A Year in Provence,' and so forth. The reality is not quite as glamorous. In fact, as anyone living in a foreign country can tell you, it can be quite hard. And Spain is not France, which it turns out makes a difference. Lesson number one.
Lesson number two, as you might infer from above, is: have a plan. In hindsight, it's a measure of my ambivalence about immersing myself in the international trade of wine that the idea fizzled before it even started. I consider that a blessing in disguise as much as a disappointment. The reality is that we needed—and got—a sabbatical, but if we had been planning for one from the get-go, we would have made a lot of different choices. Like, for starters, not picking a country whose currency was strong—and getting stronger as the year progressed—against our dollar savings.
It's necessary to say all that to put into context how I feel about leaving. I loved our experience in Granada and will miss what we've had here for many reasons. It is an amazingly beautiful city with the Alhambra as its crowning jewel. The second is lesson number three: it takes (at least) a year to settle into the groove of a place. As we're leaving, we're finding the folks that in time could have become our community and our friends. I will miss these people and the experience of staying, which would certainly be easier than leaving, and more rewarding in a lot of ways. Having figured out the basics, I've had the humbling realization that I'm just scratching the surface in getting to know a culture I thought I had pegged months ago, and an area with so much history and ecological diversity. Of course, it turns out there is always more to know and explore—a lifetime's worth, but that borders on cliche.
I will also miss the way life is conducted on the street here in Spain: the tostada and coffee breakfast taken standing at the bar; the bustle of the markets in the morning; the leisurely approach to meals, especially the lunch break; and the way people stroll about in the evenings and overflow from cafes and bars into the sidewalks to socialize after the heat of the day has passed. I would have liked to have had the disposable income to participate in that more frequently, but relish the times that I did. It made me feel alive and uniquely Spanish.
Our farmhouse existence, though I hope to replicate it in Vermont, was also really special. You've already read about our garden and tree harvests. Those of you who were able to visit know what a quirky, special place it was.
There are also things I am eager to be experiencing for the last time, some of which are universally Spanish, others particular to Granada: dismal customer service; the (relatively) provincial attitudes and cuisine—at once charming and exasperating for a former city mouse; the too-hot summers and the uninsulated winters; the shameful disrespect many a Spaniard (not all!) has for they have here at this moment, joined with an unhealthy pride in what they no longer do; and the absence of a Jewish community with which to pray and celebrate, indeed the wiping out of which still makes me mourn 500+ years later. If you'd caught me on a bad day a few months ago, this list would have been much longer, but I've been in a fairly benign mood lately, and frankly don't remember my other beefs at the moment!
Mostly, though, I'm feeling impelled to move on and move back by the decisions and plans we've made since we've been here, which is why I am so grateful for the time & space to do so. Had it not been for self-imposed exile (both from home country and city center), we would not have had the emotional and mental space to decide to adopt our future family or to embark our family on the journey that will be my rabbinical education and subsequent rabbinate. Which is to say our reasons for leaving wouldn't have become obvious if we hadn't come in the first place. Lesson four: the universe provides in unexpected ways.
For the first time in a while, I feel like I'm not just moving forward, but moving forward with a plan. Which makes leaving, overall, a positive, exciting prospect. Undoubtedly rough times lie ahead as we choose town, community, and work in the coming months. I'm looking forward to finding the right combination so we can put roots down in an intentional way and embark on those journeys mentioned above. We've always been, individually and together, wanderlust, but as I think about what I want in my life, I realize it comes from rootedness and sense of place. That's not to say there aren't more traveling adventures in store—we can hardly wait to have our first infant so we can take her or him galavanting before toddlerhood sets in—but now with a firmer foot planted home.
So that's how I feel: grateful for the experience, a touch melancholy about what we're leaving behind, but really excited about what's yet to come. Stay tuned, perhaps we'll repurpose this blog to document that, as well.
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