how homesickness led me to the most embarrassing moment of my life (so far)
Welcome back to the Intensive Clare Unit!
After suffering an unusual bout of homesickness this week
for the first time since September, I decided that for my second post, I wanted
to provide a bit of a reality-check on what living abroad is actually like. Yesterday,
I posted a photo on my Instagram story of the view from the top of the Castillo
de Santa Barbara, a medieval fortress perched on an urban mount overlooking La Playa del Postiguet.
Many of my friends commented on how beautiful the view was, and how lucky I
was to be there. And they were right, I was lucky to be there. But what they
couldn’t have known is that I had taken the trip up to the castle with my friend
to distract myself after a week of intense homesickness.
Now, I love tapas, I absolutely adore the weather, I thoroughly
enjoy (attempting to) speak Spanish and I would die for a café con leche, but
sometimes, I just miss home. I miss going to my granny’s house and listening to
her talk about how her cousin’s neighbour’s dog has (tragically) passed away at
the age of 98 (in dog years, of course). I miss my local nightclub whose
clientele resembles everyone and anyone living in my town under the age of
25(ish) plus that one random old guy who has had a particularly colourful night
and wants to relive his youth on the dancefloor. I miss waking up the next
morning and cringing at the conversation I had with the taxi driver on the way
to the club, and cringing even harder at conversation I had with a different
taxi driver on the way home (we’ve all been there). And sometimes, most of all,
I just really, really miss a roast dinner.
However, in saying that, I’m no stranger to homesickness. Moving
to Spain wasn’t really my first rodeo. Last year, I lived in Budapest for four months
during a study exchange and through both of these experiences, I have come to
the conclusion that there is one particular problem that you can have while
living abroad that massively exacerbates the feeling of homesickness. A
particular problem that leaves you wishing you had taken the probiotics your
mum insisted you bring with you in your suitcase. A problem that leaves you
praying to God that if He fixes it, you will go to Mass twice a week for the
rest of your life. One that leaves you yearning for a process that seemed at
the time, like a dystopian nightmare, but one that you would gladly go through
now (getting a GP appointment through the NHS). A problem that leaves you itching
and burning and chugging litres and litres of cranberry juice in the hopes of
salvation. A problem called thrush. And
luckily for me, that is the exact problem that I had the privilege of experiencing
during my first month in Spain.
You probably think that I’m being dramatic. That it’s not
that hard to stock up on medicine at the pharmacy and wait for this particular
ailment to pass. And yet somehow, this problem led me to experiencing the most embarrassing
moment of my life.
Picture
the scene: It was a sunny Thursday morning in the suburbs
of Alicante city. The fruit and vegetable market was in full swing with stalls
lining both sides of the street. Abuelos and abuelas were feeling their way
through every peach, pear and plum in order to find the ripest and best quality
produce, only to finish by piling all their purchases on top of each other in
their ‘granny trolleys,’ and inevitably bruising everything to a point of inedibility.
I was on my way to one of the many pharmacies in my
neighbourhood. An elderly lady was walking in front of me at a snail’s pace,
dragging her overflowing trolley behind her and I became increasingly
frustrated trying to avoid clipping the wheels of her trolley with my sandals.
As I walked I racked my brain for any Spanish vocabulary that I had learnt over
the past month that could possibly help describe my symptoms to a pharmacist. As
I began to panic that I had no idea what I was going to do, the elderly lady
pulled in to the side of the path, ‘Pass by
me, pass by me,’ she told me. I thanked her and passed by her quickly. Google
maps told me to turn left and before I knew it, I’m was standing in a bustling
pharmacy full of people of all ages.
I stood in the queue and waited to be called. When it was finally
my turn, I looked up to see two empty tills- a female pharmacist behind one
till and a male pharmacist behind the other. I wouldn’t normally be religious,
but I suddenly found myself praying. ‘Please
God,’ I said to myself, ‘if you give
me the female pharmacist, I promise I’ll go to Mass every day. I promise I’ll
go to confession, I promise I’ll say the rosary every night, just please God,
let me have the female pharmacist.’ However, it seemed that on this
particular morning, God was otherwise engaged and from behind his mask I heard
the male pharmacist direct a friendly, ‘Hola!’ in my direction. As I made my
way towards the counter, I realised that I had absolutely no idea how I was
going to communicate with the pharmacist. It was my second week in Spain, and at
this point, ordering a coffee in Spanish was an achievement for me, how on
earth was I supposed to describe thrush symptoms?!
What unfolded next was the most horrifically cringe worthy moment
of my life. I greeted the pharmacist and struggled in Spanish for around twenty
seconds before finally giving up. I was out of ideas but I could feel my brain
whirring. Suddenly, to both me and the pharmacist’s extreme embarrassment, I
began to mime out my symptoms one by one. A sound effect here, a bit of hand
action there. The pharmacist watched my performance with a pained look on his
face, and after what seemed like an excruciatingly long amount of time, stopped
me with a short, ‘I understand,’ and disappeared to find the medicine I needed.
He came back with a box and pointed to the English instructions. It was the
right medicine. ‘Thank God for my GCSE
Drama skills,’ I thought (not).
At this stage, you’re probably wondering why I didn’t just
use Google translate and honestly, half way through my fun game of charades, as
I was looking this poor man dead in the eyes, desperately trying to communicate
what was wrong, I thought the exact same thing. In my stress and panic, I had
got so flustered that I had completely disregarded Google translate and it
seems, my own dignity.
It is in these moments that I question my decision to move
abroad. I question why such mundane tasks become so complicated and in this
case, so horrifically embarrassing. I think about how much more difficult
everything is when you don’t live in your own country and how much easier my
life would have been if I had just stayed at home. I begin to think about how
hard it is to be a ‘real’ adult and how much responsibility it is to actually
look after myself, especially in a foreign country. But then I remember all the
amazing things about living abroad. The incredible people that I have met, the
food, the culture, the language and the beautiful experiences that I would
never be able to have had if I had stayed in my hometown. I remember how living
abroad pushes you to do things you didn’t even realise you were capable of, simply
because you have no choice in the matter, and how you have the opportunity to
reinvent yourself time and time again without judgement. In the end, it becomes
glaringly obvious that the good outweighs the bad.
P.S. Just in case anyone else
finds themselves in a similar situation to me, the Spanish for, ‘I think I have thrush,’ is ‘Creo que tengo candidiasis.’
Gave me a right chuckle
ReplyDeleteLol love this!! You’re doing amazing Clare xx
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ReplyDeleteamazing as always 👏👏
ReplyDeleteAh sorry to hear you had a bad week but in true fashion you were able to see the funny side of it all. Delighted that your Spanish now extends to medical emergencies , although I suspect you may have been equally awkward trying to explain your condition to Sean the chemist in Mc Keagney’s in Lurgan!! Keep up the great work , looking forward to the next edition all ready. God bless. MD.
ReplyDeleteThis is brilliant! You write very well! On the plus side, now you don't have to go to mass or say the rosary!
ReplyDeletePoor crater having to go through that 🤣😂 Clare the burn will be here the next time you’re home so keep living your best life in sunny Spain 🇪🇸 😘😘
ReplyDeleteOh I laughed out loud the whole read. Just brilliant Clare !! 👏
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