Spain interrupted: Seville cut short by COVID-19

Originally published by The Pittsburgh Post Gazette.

I adjusted to Seville’s slow life quickly. I learned to seek out the scenic route to class, sip my coffee and linger at the table for post-dinner conversations. Ironically, my primary stressor was the lack of stress in my routine. It pushed me to question the hectic lifestyle that I had built for myself at home in Pittsburgh. On Jan. 15, I arrived in Spain for a four-month, Spanish-immersive study abroad program through the Council on International Educational Exchange. I chose to stay with a family because my main goal was achieving fluency in Spanish. My host family was my “dad,” Juan, “mom," Ani, and “brother,” Jose. While I spent most of my days surrounded by the language in class, my host family is what truly immersed me in not only Spanish culture but also their family dynamic. From Sunday soccer games to debates at family dinners, I began to feel less and less like a visitor as my host family became my primary support system. With each of us working or studying full time, we measured our time together in meals. The dinner table became our space to connect as unfamiliarity faded and bonds grew. My host family turned on the TV news at each meal. While I initially found this distracting, it often became the center of our conversations. It was just three weeks ago that news broke of Italy’s coronavirus outbreak. I remember because it was one of the first newscasts that I fully comprehended in Spanish. As they described the severity of the situation, I realized that I had just met one of my goals in language acquisition. Two months into the four-month journey, I felt as though I had finally built a foundation of support and knowledge that prepared me for takeoff as I approached the second half of my experience. “Don’t worry,” my host parents said as the TV news became saturated with statistics and eerie looks into the desolate streets of Italy. I tried not to stress as I looked forward to my first Semana Santa (Holy Week) alongside Jose, who had spent months preparing for his role as a costalero in this Sevillan celebration. In Spain, costaleros from various Christian churches spend months practicing their roles in biblical scenes and processions that attract tourists from all over the world in the week leading up to Easter. Jose had been attending practices as a costalero for the entirety of my time there, and I and his parents eagerly anticipated seeing his hard work finally come to life. In retrospect, I was in denial, soaking up the last few days of anticipation and ignoring what was to come. At 2 a.m. March 12, the slow-paced, stress-free life that I had grown into was uprooted by urgent texts from back home. “Megan, you need to get out of Spain right now!” my friends and family frantically texted me. I paced my bedroom, contemplating whether to awaken my host family. At this point, it was believed that all travel from Europe to the U.S. would be suspended starting at midnight Friday. Does that mean midnight tonight or midnight Saturday? I wondered, still hoping for just one more day in Seville, just one more walk to the Guadalquivir River and just one more dinner watching and discussing the news with my host family. As I ran out of floor to pace, panic settled in. I hesitantly navigated the dark hallway to awaken my host parents and inform them that I had to leave immediately. For just a moment, I felt ashamed. Realizing I was someone prone to stress, my family had committed to teaching me not to worry. In my last moments with them, I felt as though my growth had reversed. As Juan and Ani woke up, the panic on my face was all they needed to understand the severity of the situation. This was no longer a newscast tuned out by our dinner conversations. This was an emergency, and it wasn’t going away. In just four hours, I was in a taxi heading to the airport. As I passed through the narrow and cobbled streets that I had learned to navigate, I was overwhelmed by unfinished plans and unspoken gratitude. Seville gave me a community that was eager to help me learn and a culture that taught me the importance of rest and reflection. Then, at what I thought would be the turning point in my experience, it was over without closure. I had measured my time with my host family in meals, not knowing that dinner the night before would be my last meal with them. After months of learning to slow down, my thank yous were rushed. Passing all of the places that I had come to know, I wondered if I would ever get the chance to properly thank the people who had shared those moments with me. I now sit on my couch in Pittsburgh. Images of empty cities in Spain flash across the TV screen as journalists discuss the numbers of cases and deaths. “Is Spain the next Italy?” they ask. It’s unsettling to watch from 3,000 miles away as the streets of Seville become vacant just weeks before what should have been the most festive week of the year. But as I look closer, I see videos of Sevillans leading workout classes from their balconies and neighbors singing Spanish hits to pass the time. In these moments I am reminded of what I really learned in Spain: making meaningful connections and facing uncertainty with faith that, no matter what happens, there are good people to help us through it. As we long for normalcy, I focus on the unique strength shown by our global community in crisis. I remind myself that when this passes, all of that good will still will be waiting for us. We will be grateful for what we once viewed as normal and mundane, and we will realize that the good was there all along.