Barcelona Anniversary

Today marks the two month anniversary of my arrival in Spain. On September 1, I flew in from London, starry-eyed from Buckingham Palace and baggy-eyed from jet lag. One week later, I was in Tuscany riding horses through an Italian vineyard.

Two months later, I can say I feel like a different person. I realized it this week, doing something completely mundane and random. I needed to go buy sweaters (apparently it does get cold in the Mediterranean. Who knew!), so I Googled the location of Primark (equivalent of Marshall's or Burlington Coat Factory) and hopped on the metro. As I grabbed a seat and plugged in my headphones, it hit me. This was normal. Riding the metro was normal. Beyond that, riding the metro by myself was normal. 
This is all coming from the girl who, a few months ago, couldn't figure out how to get to the Boston Aquarium without a desperate phone call to her father.
I know it seems like a small thing-riding the metro. But what became so significant in that moment was that I hadn't thought about doing it. It was simply routine. Living in Barcelona had ceased being foreign and started being familiar.

I take the metro to class on Mondays and Wednesdays; get on the red line, change at La Sagrera, get on the blue and stop at San Pau Dos de Maig. Walk three blocks and there's campus.
 On Tuesdays, I go to the supermarket and get my groceries for the week. I walk back from class at 7:30 each night and seeing the towers of the Sagrada Familia against the sky is not something I notice anymore. Thursday nights are get-yourself-a-treat night; it's okay to splurge on dinner. Weekends are constantly in motion; you never know where you will find me, in Barcelona or elsewhere.
I remember a few weeks ago I was talking to one of my friends here and I was telling her how I always feel bad when people stop me on the street and ask for directions, because I never know what to say, it's not like I live here or anything. She laughed and said, "Well, you do live here." I remember being surprised at that statement, that my brain had instantly snapped to, "No, but I don't really. I'm just staying here for a while."

Well folks, it has been a while. Two months. And exactly two days ago, on October 29, was the first time I felt like I lived in Barcelona. All because I had to go buy sweaters.

Riding the metro is certainly not a pleasant experience. In fact, I usually tune out and listen to my iPod, ignoring everything around me and leaning casually on the side of the car. But if I stop to look around, that's what everyone else is doing, too.

I wish you could see me now
I wish I could show you how
I'm not who I was 
-Brandon Heath, I'm Not Who I Was