You Travel...And Then You Come Home

 

My recent trip to the northern part of Spain was different from other trips I’ve taken in the past (pre-COVID). The hiking and eating portions might have been similar, but the learning part was so different, and so welcome and interesting. 

Of course, it helped that the school (Peak Me) was in a small town (Panes) in Spain, nestled in the breathtaking Picos mountains, and that our class comprised a small group of five compatible people: a lovely couple from Wales who had walked many caminos in Spain, a widow from London, a widower from Seattle who had bicycled in Germany before arriving in Panes, and myself, from Canada. There was another small class next door, more advanced, with an American couple from New York and two Swiss women.

Picos de Europa

Some of us, myself included, were staying in apartments a ten-minute walk from the school, and three in a hotel. The two groups sometimes intersected on the afternoon hikes and in restaurants and bars. On the afternoon walk with our Spanish guides, we fumbled in our newly learned Spanish, listening as the guides explained, slowing down if they saw puzzled faces or switching to a few English words. The morning classes too were conducted entirely in Spanish. I found the experience of listening constantly to the language you were trying to learn was enlightening and encouraging. Even if you missed most of the sentence, you could understand the meaning by picking out words and gestures. The enthusiasm of the teachers and guides (a shout-out to Julian and his passion for his orchard) in introducing their part of the world to us was infectious.

In Julian's Apple Orchard

I could not help wanting more and more…of the experience, the food, the joie de vivre (okay that’s French).

When I initially arrived in San Sebastián and found my way from the bus terminal to my little pension in the old town, I was a bit anxious about my first trip across the Atlantic, alone, post-Covid. What was I doing here all alone? What if something happened? But of course, nothing but lovely experiences happened, (except for the home flight cancellation, see further on).

San Sebastian

Bilbao

By the next morning I was in my travel frame of mind, recognizing it from years before, wanting to get out and explore – San Sebastián and then Bilbao. Ah, here was Pearl the Traveller. Nice to meet you again. Mucho gusto, qué tal?

Everyone I met was kind and helpful. The food, (pintxos in the North instead of tapas), was nothing short of fantastic.  Forget eating healthy. That’s for home. My modus operandi when travelling: try everything, eat often, eat well, eat whatever appeals. I feel sorry for those who won’t eat adventurously or indulgently because they’re too worried about calories, content, or their figures. Allergies and religious reasons are one thing, but constantly being too precious over what you consume can be limiting. I ate extremely well, along with mucho vino tinto. In my view, the reason to travel to other countries is to experience other cultures, lifestyle, and food; to take it all in, enjoy, appreciate. At a long, leisurely lunch on our last day after class, the five of us tucked into massive, juicy, gourmet hamburgers, washed down with wine, and followed by dessert. Buen provecho!

The food!!

I tried my broken Spanish everywhere I went – in restaurants, with taxi drivers, with my fellow students (although by the end of the day, over dinner and wine, we switched to English), and with the landlady at my apartment who spoke only Spanish. Somehow, in each situation, we cobbled together a conversation and got by. We understood each other (mostly). We connected.

Hiking up to Sotres

Oh yes, that canceled flight out of Bilbao in the morning, putting me on an afternoon flight, missing my Toronto connection, and requiring an overnight in Dublin. It all turned out okay, but the hotel I hurriedly booked for an overnight in Dublin was quite creepy, with long winding hallways, small window, and stuffy room. I politely asked for a table fan. I expected more for 160 Euros, and got out of the hotel as soon as I could the next morning.

Travel fills you with new delights and experiences, but also with a sense of gratitude and humility. How comfortable and safe is our own life and home; how little we really know about the daily lives of others; how feebly we try to understand and walk in their shoes. And why is it that non-native English speakers are able to switch fluently from one language to the next, while we, mostly uni-lingual North Americans, struggle with a foreign language? These are questions you ponder when you travel, along with: Where should I eat my next meal?

More food

You travel…and then you return home. And how sweet is that homecoming. There’s a deep appreciation for the sense of comfort and belonging when you return home after a trip. Home. But what about those who lose their homes – to natural or man-made disasters, or the homeless who don’t have a place to call ‘home’, or migrants and refugees who have lost that sense of belonging? To not be able to lay claim to that word ‘home’, to not be able to use it, to not be able to say, “I’m going home” – what a heavy sorrow that must be to carry.

I am forever grateful to this country for the gift of ‘home’: to be able to look down from the plane when approaching and have your heart swell with pride at the sight of ‘home’; to be able to walk confidently through the airport, Canadian passport in hand, knowing that you are home and they cannot refuse to  let you in; to be able to hail a taxi at the airport and be driven ‘home’; to insert your key in the door, walk in and say, “Hello home, I am home.”