Being abroad is, in concrete terms, a complete whirlwind of experiences and emotions. One minute, you’re unstoppable – the sun is shining and the world is at your feet, tempting you with promises of adventures not yet had. The next minute, you want nothing more than a Chicago-style pizza, a plate of your grandma’s chocolate chip cookies, and a lazy afternoon at home watching movies with your parents and siblings. Nostalgia happens differently for everyone, and especially for someone like me who has a tendency to get homesick, I have no greater gift out here than that of my Spanish host family.
Families walking hand in hand around Zaragoza
The host family experience is a very unique thing. It takes a certain specific personality type to be able to welcome a complete stranger into your home, to share your life/lives with that stranger, and to say from the start with real meaning, “You’re a member of our family now.” It’s very humbling, and has given me the opportunity to have a different kind of familiar bond/living situation than I’ve ever had before. I’ve heard both horror stories and success stories about host families, and I couldn’t be more grateful to be able to brag about what a wonderful fit I have in mine.
The Spanish are known to be very warm, hospitable, and family-oriented people. Things like eating daily meals around the table together or living within the same vicinity as grandparents and other extended relations are of high importance in Spanish civilization, and evidence of the strong family bonds that exist within this society are visible everywhere you go. It’s not unusual to see daughters or granddaughters guiding their mothers down the street arm in arm, or to see sons, fathers, and grandfathers gathered together over a table at the bar. Couples are very affectionate (sometimes shamelessly so!) and children are often doted upon by their parents. In fact, it isn’t uncommon for children to live with their parents until they marry (and according to the Census Bureau, the average age for marriage in Spain among men is 31 and among women is 27.)
Couples, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, all ages...
Family is king here, and especially in a time where the government and the economy are laden with more corruption and bad news than I ever would have anticipated, it’s those bonds within families that hold Spain together as a primarily optimistic nation full of friendly faces and genuine kindness. Being submerged in such a close-knit culture, I’ve felt both humbled and honored to be welcomed so fully into my host family’s home. It’s the little things that make the apartment a cozy and welcoming place to live. Mini vocabulary/history lessons or talking sports with my host dad, daily tongue twisters and jokes with my host brother, the constant actions of motherly kindness and care that my wonderful host mom demonstrates – (she makes me coffee in the mornings, chases me out the door with a scarf when it’s cold, has the patience of a saint with my Spanish speaking abilities, scolds me when my room is messy, lets me pick what to have for dinner some days… you know, mom-type stuff.)
None of these daily occurrences are really out of the ordinary, but day by day, they change the environment from being a strange place to an adopted home away from home. And as time has passed, I’ve been able to make my own little place within the family, bringing simple elements of my home in the States to my Spanish family. For example, I made banana bread for them the other day, and I’ve never seen three people so excited to try a cake that took less than ten minutes to assemble. It’s those simple, culture-merging household memories that set the host family experience apart from all the other living environments I’ve ever (and probably will ever) experience – bridging gaps through the most basic and familiar daily occurrences and experiencing a friendship that’s cemented while chatting around the kitchen table or while watching a movie together in the living room.
Little by little, I’ve felt myself change from a stranger to an adopted part of the family, and it’s a wonderful feeling to have, especially on days when I’m feeling blue and am missing the people I love back home. When my host mom called me “mija” yesterday (a Spanish term of affection that means “my daughter”), my heart melted. I am so blessed to be experiencing firsthand what it means to really be a part of a family here in Spain.
Also. I tried taking a picture with my host family tonight, but they were camera-shy. I’ll be sure to get at least a few by the end of my semester!
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