hello, good friend

A year ago I was in Spain studying at La Universitat de Barcelona. It was an incredibly fulfilling (read: sometimes fun, sometimes scary, sometimes homesickness-inducing, always challenging) experience. Seriously, I must credit Messiah’s EpiCenter for making experiences like that so accessible to students. My abroad term didn’t cost me any more than a normal semester…besides the hundreds (maybe thousands?) of euros I invested in the Spanish textile industry. (I’m still in debt to my parents for my less-than-wise use of funds.)

Lately, however, I’ve felt nostalgic for Spain. (I attribute this renewed longing to the recent, ubiquitous re-runs of America’s Next Top Model, the Barcelona season.) Since I’ve yet to devise a plan for spending yet another semester abroad, I’ve decided to reminisce in another way: below I’ve posted an excerpt from an e-mail I sent from Spain exactly one year ago. Enjoy.

”You may recall my art-major, Manhattanite roommate Tiah? Right-o. I live with Tiah in my host mother’s home. She’s an American exchange student, too. We have fun together. Tiah makes me laugh. Intentionally. I guess I make her laugh, too. Probably unintentionally. One time she smoked at the dinner table. She is Jewish. She does not speak Spanish. I am not lying. Sometimes we buy English fashion magazines and exchange them. Sometimes we go to Starbucks. We share toothpaste. And a bathroom.

Tiah has been having problems in the bathroom. She describes them as such:

“I actually haven’t been able to use the bathroom for three weeks.”

Yesterday Tiah returned home from Berlin with laxatives. (She did not go to Berlin specifically for the laxatives.) As Germans apparently down pills the size of micropixels, we decided to read the dosage instructions so as not to induce explosion. (I felt that my personal involvement - i.e. sharing a bathroom - merited genuine concern.) Alas, neither Tiah nor I understand German. So when the instructions read (phonetically) something like \Doff heinerschmitzle droogen blat\ we decided to hold off.

Tiah proceeded with her rather torturous day sans laxatives. Cum fibrous buildup. Being classy women, we discussed these conditions in great detail.

This evening Tiah returned home late. She threw herself, rather dramatically, onto my bed. She was wearing a Weezer T-Shirt and a white Prada overcoat. I knew something was desperately wrong.

“Will you puuuh-LEASE go to the pharmacy with me and translate my problem so I can get some medication?!” (Also a direct transcription.)

This was serious business. I was happy to oblige. First, I had to do some research. I looked up “constipated” in my Spanish-English dictionary. Then “build-up”. “laxative”. “digestive tract”. Now I was fully armed.

We left without delay.

Tiah led the way, but, to my surprise, we did not visit a medical pharmacy. Oh no. Instead we ventured into the world of Spanish Natural Foods Stores. This was uncharted territory. I had yet to encounter “green” Spain. Or Spanish “Natural Foods.” (I’m admittedly wary of American Natural Foods. Give me bleached wheat and processed grains, please.) As Tiah does not speak much Spanish, I initiated conversation with a curly-headed bald guy behind the counter. Before I could utter “constipation” (the dreaded word), however, Tiah proclaimed:

“No puedo ir al bano! No puedo ir al bano! Por tres semanas! Tres semanas!”

That broke the ice.

The man stifled laughter. “That is a very serious problem,” he said.

I used my new vocabulary to explain to him that my friend had been unable to…use the bathroom (”cargar”, in case you’re wondering)…for a very long, painful period of time. He was sympathetic. He began pulling items off the shelves. Muesli. Herbal supplements. Dried prunes. To me, they all sounded great. Pick one and leave. I was anxious to get out of there.

Tiah wasn’t having it.

“No quiero mas fibre! No quiero mas! No quiero fibre!”

(Sometimes when one believes that foreigners do not understand, one has a tendency to yell. Loudly. Repeatedly. Thus, all the organic food junkies in the Spanish Natural Foods Store knew that Tiah did not want fiber, already had enough fiber, and had been trying to flush the fiber out for three weeks.)

Tiah’s public declarations of fiber-cloggage must have worked, though, because the light bulb suddenly clicked on in Natural Food Man’s head. “Ah ha!” he cried, finally grasping the desperation of the situation.

And then he theatrically unlocked a tiny magic box and removed the glorious pill of heaven. I heard an angel chorus.

“This pill,” confided our ally, “will cure everything. It will flush everything out of your system!” (Ooo!) “It will unclog your bowels!” (Aaah!) “It will arreglar everything in just six hours!” (Gasp!) Our facial expressions must have read uber-relief because he gave us the Miracle Laxative for free.

Tiah and I skipped home holding hands. (That is an exaggeration.)

When we arrived safely from our adventure, we braced ourselves for the unveiling of The Laxative. Much to our dismay, it basically looked like a dog bone of vacuum-packed prunes. Tiah ate it all.”

And that, my friends, is the value of a Messiah College education. When they claim that your global communication horizons will broaden over your four undergraduate years here, believe them. It’s true.