Spain for a Month, Part 2

We arrived at our local airport amid swirls of snow, but the flight was still scheduled on time. As we settled into our seats and the airplane filled with other passengers, I was relieved to finally be on our way.

Two hours later we were still sitting on that airplane at our original departure gate. Our plane had been defrosted and moved toward the runway only to circle back to the gate. Weather at our destination airport too? Mechanical problems? Another vague explanation? I don’t quite remember.

The kids were patient and calm. We chose to laugh, of course this would happen. But, sitting on the ground in an airplane as you anticipate nearly 24 hours of international travel with little kids has a way of zapping enthusiasm.

Luckily, my husband is a whiz with airline schedules and booking sites. As we finally took off, he had both our phones in hand and spent the duration of the two hour domestic flight rebooking our trans-atlantic flight. He managed to find the seats we wanted on a flight that night, routing us through Amsterdam and then onto Madrid.

By the time we reached Madrid midway through the next day, we were exhausted but everything had gone smoothly. In order to get to our destination in Salamanca we took a short bus ride to a train station, grabbed sandwiches, and settled in for a two hour train ride.

It can be disorienting to arrive in an unfamiliar city. Thanks to Google maps, we navigated our way from the train station through various city streets to the apartment building we would call home for the next several weeks.

That mile long walk may have been the longest part of our entire journey, so it was with great relief that we opened the apartment door and found ourselves in a simple, tidy, Ikea-filled space that matched the images we’d seen online during the booking process.

The only remaining complication from our re-routed travels was luggage. To make a long story short, our bags arrived at our doorstep five days after we did. We picked up a few pieces of clothing, some underwear, and socks for each of us, but it was still a grungy few days. In that time we also wandered the central square and surrounding streets, found our nearest grocery store and bakery, and settled Louisa into her first days of Spanish preschool.

The first day of school was hard. She was nervous to be in a new environment and away from us, and I felt bad leaving her only days after our arrival. It was immediately clear that her teacher was both deeply compassionate and kept an orderly classroom. She swept up our crying, resistant three and a half year old, and incorporated her into the preschool class.

Louisa was cheerful when we picked her up a few hours later and delighted when we made our way directly to a bakery for a you-made-it-through-your-first-day treat. She napped hard that afternoon. I didn’t know what to expect the next morning, but she skipped all the way to school, proud to know where she was going and talking in excitement.

I can’t say every day of her three week attendance at Spanish preschool went smoothly this smoothly, but there was consistency. Mostly, she resisted being dropped off in the morning, and beamed pride at her experience when we picked her up. She claimed the school as hers, and was soon talking about another little girl whom she identified as her friend. Her teacher, Pilar, made a strong impression - Louisa spent the evenings filling us in on the puppet shows Pilar performed, the upcoming celebration of fall, and practicing the morning calendar song they used each day.

A primary intention of our trip was to give Louisa some Spanish language immersion, but I think we were skeptical as to how much impact only three weeks would really have. Three year old brains are pretty amazing. It was quickly clear to us that she was comprehending quite a lot of what happened throughout her school day, and most exciting she was far more eager and relaxed in her repetition of Spanish words and phrases than we’d ever witnessed back at home.