I boarded the airplane heading to Barcelona, frightened because in a matter of hours I’d be landing in a country populated by people who all spoke a language I was completely oblivious to. Not only that, I’d be spending the next two weeks there.
All the butterflies I had in my stomach immediately flew away because as I arrived to the warm, colorful campus where I’d be living for the next fourteen days, I felt like I’d found myself a second home. Counselors and other staff members welcomed us at the gate, introducing themselves, and just being all round friendly.
I made my way to my assigned room only to find a crying girl and two other girls calming her down. Little did I know how many memories I’d make with these three girls, how close we’d become over the next couple of weeks and how many times the camp director would have to come to our room at 3:00a.m and threaten not to send us shopping if we didn’t go to bed immediately.
In the mornings we took Spanish classes and a guy admitted he learnt more Spanish over these two weeks than he did for the past year at school. During the day, I formed life-long relationships with people from all corners of the globe, and mostly visited the breathtaking Barcelonian beaches.
During the nights, we had parties or as the Spanish call them: “fiestas”. After that, a group of friends and I would sometimes pull all-nighters, we’d stay up all night laughing until breakfast.
Speaking of breakfast, the meals were restaurant-worthy, the choices were endless and people with special food needs were well catered to.
The staff always found some way or another to surprise us, whether it was having a surprise water fiesta at ten pm or having an unannounced watermelon-eating contest, they always had something up their sleeves.
By the end of camp, everyone was so sad sad they had to leave, there were enough tears to fill up an Olympic-sized pool.
I am without a doubt going back next year. I would strongly advise you to do the same.
Adios for now.