Page 5 of My Spanish Love Affair

“I still don’t understand why it has to be Spain,” my mum frowns. “Are you sure you don’t want to just take a break and stay here?”

I look at her, at the fine lines on her face and the worry etched in her eyes. “I’m sure, Mum. I need this. It’ll be good for me. Besides, I only get to be twenty-five with no real responsibilities once, right?”

Her expression softens. “Right,” she agrees, stepping forward and pulling me into a tight hug. “I just worry about you beingso far away, love.”

I squeeze her tightly. “I’ll be okay. I promise. It’s quicker to fly to Spain than drive to London - I’ll let you know when I arrive.

I step back and give her a cheeky wink. “Be excited for me, mum,” I whisper. “Please.”

“Always!”

∞∞∞

The drive to the airport is quiet.

I gaze out the taxi window and watch the familiar streets blur past. It’s cold, dark, and raining - no surprise there for the miserable January weather - but as much as I’m ready to leave, a pang of nostalgia stirs in my chest.

I plan to return, of course. It’s just strange to think I won’t be back for a good while.

By the time I reach the airport, nerves hit me with full force. My palms are sweaty, and my stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults. Still, I power through it, refusing to give into the small voice in my mind whispering for me to turn round and run back to the familiar comfort of my childhood home.

I check in for my flight almost three hours early, but the staff don’t so much as bat an eyelid. Despite the early hour and the dreary month, the airport is as busy as ever, and I clutch my boarding pass like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.

∞∞∞

My flight lands in Madrid slightly ahead of schedule, and as I make my way down the airplane steps, I’m greeted by a wall of warm air and sunlight. I had removed my coat on board, and though it’s hardly bikini weather, it’s still strange to register that I’m more than warm enough wearing only an oversized hoodie as my outer layer.

Thanks to my parents both being born in Ireland, I still have an EU passport, and nobody takes too much notice of little old me as I make my way through border control. The airport is an unfamiliar maze of chatter, announcements, and hurried footsteps, and once I’ve collected my large rucksack from the baggage carousel, I follow the signs to the taxi stand.

It’s not the most glamorous look, but that’s not really what I’m going for here anyway.

“Hola,” I say tentatively to a taxi driver after finding the line.

I studied Spanish to a decent enough level at school, but I’m admittedly a little rusty. Not wanting to push my luck so early on in my trip, I lean over and hand him the address of the hostel I’ve booked to stay in for the first week. I’d noted it down on a piece of paper - prepared and organised as always - and I wait until he nods in confirmation and motions for me to get in the back of the car.

I send out my messages to Laura and my mother, letting them know that I’ve arrived safely; and with the turn of a key and the stutter of an engine, we’re off.

Madrid unfolds before me like a vibrant painting. I’ve watched so many vlogs in preparation for my visit, but nothing compares to actually seeing it for myself.

I’ve decided to document my own journey so that I can lookback in years to come at this adventure, and I hold my phone up to the car window and record as we zoom through the streets which are lined with trees, grand plazas bustling with people, and buildings adorned with intricate wrought-iron balconies.

I stop recording, feeling a twinge of excitement.

This is it. This is really happening.

It takes around an hour or so to reach the hostel, which is exactly what I expected: small, clean, and crowded with plenty of other travelers. I’ve never stayed in a hostel before, but the idea isn’t all that terrifying - after all, this seems like the obvious way to meet other similar-minded people.

I’d been nervous about communicating given my rusty Spanish, but so far, so good. The man at the reception is friendly enough, and he makes quick work of checking me in and showing me to my room.

Unfortunately, all of the single rooms had been pre-booked, meaning that my bed is within a shared dorm. The air is thick with the scent of someone’s overly floral perfume and faint traces of sweat, but at least it’s clean and tidy.

It might not have been my first choice, but it’s a start. Besides, this way I’ll be more likely to actually talk to people and make friends. Right?

There’s nobody around, and I’m tempted to lie down and close my eyes. After all, it’s been an emotionally overwhelming morning.

But outside, the spring sun is shining and there is much of the day left, so I decide to push through and set out to explore -

I’m just not quite sure where to start.

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