Collectivism

I am surprised it took this long.

Today, I finally stepped in dog poo. The streets of Granada, while being extremely charming and mostly very agreeable, are also spotted with the bowel movements of many a canine. The sidewalks must be completely blanketed in a thin film of excrement. Normally on my walks to and from school, I take note of these deliberate, steaming piles and slide around them. Occasionally I see the remnants of someone else's misfortune - a smooshed slid-through pile. The poster child of a really bad day.

Well, today it was me. But this wasn't just any old pile. This dog got into something. Chili cheese dog? Indian food? Laxatives? God and dog only know.

Walking home with the festering stench of feces sticking to me was the kicker. I have become disenchanted with this place. I have now fully realized and acknowledged that there are things that I do not like about Granada. I do not like that dinner is always after ten - at which I promptly emerge from my room, pale and shaking with hunger. I don't like that the people here lack a certain spatial awareness that does not appeal to my Midwestern, German sentiments. I think Paella, with all its shells and bones, is more difficult than it is delicious.

I don't want to use this to complain, although that is exactly what I am doing. It is just that no one includes this part in the obligatory, and mostly cliche study abroad blog. Whatever anyone tells you, wherever they studied is not the perfect place. It is not a lush, magical valley where fairies dance above your head and the rivers run with beer or chocolate or both. There are problems everywhere and there will always be something you don't like.

I have moved past complete and idiotic delight to an understanding that Granada is not perfect. It is a city like any other. This realization is very similar to that first time you hear a boyfriend fart. Ah, they are human. So that is what I mean to say: Granada is... human.

But today, after grumpily wiping off my shoe, I decided in an unexpected surge of optimism not to linger on the bad but to focus on the good. This doesn't often happen to me, so enjoy this rare moment of poignancy.

There are a lot of things that I like about Granada, and I could spend hours (well, minutes) listing them here. There is one particular thing, however, that stands out for me and I am not even sure what to call it. At first I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was, but the small things began to add up.

Once, I got caught in a rainstorm on my way home - a rare event in Granada. All of us who had the misfortune of being on the street gazed up at the sky, dazed and confused, and collectively shuffled under an awning to wait for it to let up. No one had an ipod in or a cell phone to their ear. Instead, we talked to each other. Just a collection of people meeting briefly to discuss the weather. It struck me as strange and wonderful and I spent the rest of my walk home feeling as if I had witnessed a rare moment in the history of humanity.

Often when I ride the bus, the person sitting beside me will strike up a conversation with me. One older man dedicated the ride to telling me about his time in France and ended it by giving me advice on my own travels. Enjoy yourself while you are here because you'll never get to do it again. It's not like I haven't heard that before, but it felt much more fateful and significant coming from a complete stranger.

There is a bar by my apartment that is diligent about showing soccer games. Whenever a game is on, the bar fills and tables spill out onto the street. When the tables fill, people stand - a crowd huddled in the street, flooded with light from the bar. The amount of people there always surprises me. Watching the game alone is not a possibility or even a fleeting thought. You watch together.

The only word that comes to mind is collectivism, although even that is not quite right. Whatever it is, it is something I will miss when I leave. I am not trying to say that this is not the case at home. But it seems to me that in the U.S., where individualism reigns proudly, it is easier to fall behind.

I am fortunate at home to have all the people that I have and, of course, it is true you can find yourself alone anywhere. But here falling through the cracks appears to be more difficult. People are more inclined to catch you. They always say hello to each other. Children aren't rushed out into the world at eighteen. Neighbors know each other by more than name. There will always be someone around. I like that.