Spain: A Pre-trip Reflection

What distinguishes Weber’s Spanish immersion travel program is its focus on every country’s greatest monument: people. The gallegos with humidity-tossed hair who strum, sing, and clap their ancestors’ traditions alive. The husband and wife nature guides who seek refuge in the remaining foliage of a precarious planet. The flour-dusted bed and breakfast owner whose smudged apron reads like a newspaper. The senior citizens dotting park benches with worn down shoes from years of shuffling along cobblestone. The rosy cheeks of school children in a windy town that teeters on cliffs facing the Atlantic. A world-class musician who drops his hand-carved instruments to lean over his bubbling pan of paella to exclaim, “Mas que la música, me encanta cocinar. Me encanta compartir.” More than music, I love to cook. I love to share. 

These next two weeks, we’ll drop our own version of hand-carved instruments—our beautiful and passionate individualism—to intentionally share in a slower, less productive, and more collective way of living. And what makes us ready for this experience is that we already started doing this six months ago. This is why we call ourselves a program, not a trip. Through monthly pre-trip culture classes and excursions, we don’t wait for Spain to experience Spain.

We have slowed down through Spanish-style espresso. You can’t hold a ceramic espresso cup, plate, and spoon in your hand while weaving through traffic on GA 400. Spaniards will drop their pens, rags, stethoscopes, and whatever else their fingers wrap around to walk to a bar (much like a cafeteria) across the street, catch the replays of the previous night’s soccer game, and joke around with the bar owner as they nurse a coffee. We’ve started to do the same, either with coffee or Cola-cao (adult chocolate milk—it’s magic).

We have slowed down through embodiment. I love to play. I love to move. This year, we knocked cups on the ground in a circle while singing a Spanish nursery rhyme and swirled scarves and arms in the air to practice flamenco. We will continue to play every day of this trip (I may or may not have packed a travel-sized karaoke machine) because it opens us up to the joy of the present and the joy of others’ presence. The dates for this trip fall in the shadow of Purim, but this being a leap year in the Jewish calendar in which we are essentially given two months or Adar, we are invited to start the party early. I can think of no more important time than now for this generation of Jewish teenagers to experience embodiment and joy in the midst of an unprecedented weight of darkness.

We have slowed down through breaking bread in family homes. Much of our itinerary is orchestrated around the ability to stay in small homes rather than a hotel, and our classes have been no different. A great joy of my career over the years has been teaching students in my and other students’ homes. Elbow to elbow, we cook Spanish dishes, sing in Ladino, and learn about the rich and complex culture and history of Spain. Homes make you sit closer, stand closer, be closer.

This year, I’ve worn an orange house key around my neck that says “TRANSFORM.” A friend gave it to me last summer. To be honest, the necklace is annoying. The orange matches very little, it swings back and forth on my neck as I rush down the hallway to class, and it gets tangled up in my teaching lanyard. But I wear it every day to remind myself that true transformation necessitates vulnerability. It requires opening internal doors with rusted locks. It pushes me to set fear and perfectionism and productivity aside and give others a key into my life. And this is what all of us—the Spaniards and the Americans, the teachers and the students—are invited to do in this program. 

Let’s get to unlocking. 

(Reflection photos and videos here)