The Old Man and the Apartment

6 months ago I had incredible anxiety about deciding to stay in Salamanca for the year.  Now, with a little over a week to go before I depart, I am incredibly anxious to go back home.

Sometimes I wonder: what will it feel like to be back in Vermont, to drive down the highway, listening to my ipod, hearing songs that remind me of Spain?  Will I be sad because it is behind me, or happy for the memories?   Okay, obviously I am beyond excited to see my family again. I mean, we haven't been together in Vermont since June of last year!  What I am most excited for:

1. To eat a meal together as a family. And to drink fresh milk
2. To sleep in my own bed, in my own room
3. To walk my dog and see my neighborhood again
4. To get a whole wheat bagel with cream cheese from the Bagel Market. YUM.
5. To drive in the Vermont countryside

But is is moments like THIS that I am going to miss, that I hope I never forget:

Dusk is settling as I walk home for dinner.  Though I have only been in Salamanca for a few weeks, it already feels as though I know this city well.  I have walked around the pond with the ducks, past the apartment complex with the old Franco symbols, and after the next corner and beyond the bridge is the entrance to my flat.  As I pass the bus stop, a flicker from above catches my eye.  I look up to see warm, golden light spilling out of a second story apartment window, illuminating the chilly October sky.  

Walking closer, I can see that decorations cover the interior walls.  "That's strange," I think, because my Spanish family keeps their walls white and stark, making for a very clean, very organized apartment.  Because that is all I know, I figured all Spanish homes were the same; predictably bare and boring.   From what I can see, old maps, certificates, paintings of landscapes, old portraits, and war metals clutter these walls. I can just barely make out a bookshelf and a fireplace against the opposite wall. But what grabs my attention is the outline of a man, sitting by the window in an armchair.  Is he listening to music, reading a book, having a conversation with somebody sitting across from him? I will never know, because it is just far enough away and so far up that I can only see the decorated walls and the outline of the chair.

I pause only briefly, because I need to hurry home for dinner, and it is getting chilly outside! Walking home, I would like to think that he must be an interesting old man with quite a story to tell.  With all that artwork and so many books, how could he be boring?  I have since walked down this sidewalk many times, and when I remember, I like to look up and find that 2nd floor window.  When the window is illuminated and when he is sitting there, it gives me a sense of peace and comfort.  I have left to travel,  I have gotten lost in so many cities, I have had adventures, I have met so many people, and I have had so much fun.  But whenever I return, I can always find him there, sitting, waiting, watching the world go by, and that makes me feel at home again.  That the simple things never change, that is when Salamanca felt like home.  

I will leave soon and say goodbye to this city, until, possibly...forever.  I'll go home, return to school and begin another chapter in my life.  He will never know who I was; I am just another person outside the window.  Yet when I recall memories of this place I have called home, I will always remember the old man in the apartment.