I had just settled down on a plane when I began to feel a deep sense of guilt over my head. A voice over the intercom told me in fluent Spanish that I was not ready for the trip, which made me believe what I already felt I could do. My three years of college in Spanish would not prepare me for a semester in the Republic of Panama.
My training in Spanish benefited me a little, and any LonelyPlanet book assured me that English was spoken almost as much as Spanish, though I was sure it was just a mathematical formula. The school I was going to attend was to be in English, but I had not yet been selected to listen, and I did not know anyone who would study. I was leaving everything and everyone I knew behind for four months.
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Getting off the plane was very bad. The tradition was something I had never done in my own language, let alone one I did not know. Still, I was happy. This was my opportunity to learn this truly new language. The symbols were similar to those I was accustomed to from home, only the Spaniards counted first instead of a good print. This I can get used to! As long as I can get past Customs.
Very relieved, I found that the customs officials did not need to speak to me at all, as long as I filled out all the paperwork, so I went and got my suitcase and passed out. The metal detector later, and I was free to go out to the station and was hit by a wall of hot air that quickly burned as I searched for the face of a program director I had never seen before.
He was there, with a shiny sign indicating that he was there to pick us up. Apparently, it was the lamp that flew in from Miami, and one had arrived by plane from Costa Rica earlier in the day. “You know, he's the first person I've ever seen come in with just one suitcase!” he exclaims. I tried to bite the panic, “Well, I packed one inside.” He admitted that it was indeed a good idea, and suggested that I wait with my Costa Rican compatriot, which I did. “He has a surfboard,” he said, “and you'll see him.”
It was not easy to believe that he would be found easily. This was the smallest airport I had ever seen, other than the nearest airport. And I found him and found him, without much stretching. We chatted as the other girls met our leader, and loaded us into an old white van, which we would soon learn to love as the main mode of travel for any kind of group trip, with the same style vans used as buses.
This was the beginning of an unparalleled experience, in which I learned more Spanish than I thought I would ever be able to do. I made some friends that I never thought I would have. And I made a history that I will never forget. The hardest part was getting off that plane. Other? Some history.
Well, that's what everyone says. And when I got on that plane, all I wanted was to hear over those little words of encouragement. When I heard someone tell me it was “a time of their lives” or “an unforgettable experience,” I thought I would scream.
I wanted someone to tell me how things went, how they met new people, and what they saw. It's just that some parts are hard to explain. You meet new people the same way you meet all young people, but the only obligation you can find that you have with people in the system is that you are all together. Usually, that would be enough.
Things are going well, and you are all working together. One of my most memorable experiences was trying with the help of 3 girls and a Spanish-English electronic translator to explain where we were going. We should have found the only kabbie in the whole town that didn't know where we were trying to go, but we got there in the end.
I can’t say that there was one thing that made this a unique experience, but the top thing I remember was that we all had to work together to get where we were going. That is the kind of thing that can help to build bonds and friendships and truly unite people.
