I think one of the trickiest things a person can do is take a final exam in Spain when he is actually in the United States. Unfortunately, that seems to be the dilemma that will face me next week, given that my nostalgic brain has lately been more and more occupied with memories of life across the pond. Next week's exams concerning the cultural traditions of Spain will be met by thoughts of basketball, Virginia and peanut butter. Indeed, barring further geological disturbances in Iceland, I will be on a plane bound for the good ol' U.S. of A. next Friday.
Oh, Lady Liberty, how I long for thee. You and your SUVs, hardware stores, professional bass fishers, English speakers and fat people - I want them all! I miss Wendy's, Wal-Mart, reliable Internet connections, Natural Light, Comedy Central and Wheat Thins. Hell, I even miss Miley Cyrus.
Upon stepping off that plane at JFK Airport, I'm going to deal with my long-dormant American customs like John Daly handles and Coors Light - all at once and in vast quantities. First, I'll seek out some run-of-the-mill chain restaurant like T.G.I. Friday's, a place that four months ago seemed about as original as Soulja Boy lyrics but will now appear as majestic as something breathed on by Chuck Norris. There, I'll give the waiter two words - "the works." I'll wolf down massive amounts of ribs, hamburgers, steaks, cheesy fries, hot fudge sundaes, triple decker dark chocolate fudge gummy worm brownies and whatever else they throw at me. Then I'll gobble up a couple bottles of Tums Extra Strength antacids and before kicking back at the bar where I'll watch 27 straight hours of ESPN. Full of vigor, I then will rise from the barstool and let loose all the patriotic emotion that had been bottled up inside me for the past four months, yelling something blatantly American like, "Canada stinks!" I'll dish out deafening high-fives to everyone in sight and, feeling something powerful taking control of my insides, puke my guts out in the men's room.
I should point out, though, that all my gluttonous American desires are coupled with plenty of trepidation. To be honest, I'm not ready to leave Spain. Although I've undergone so many incredible experiences, a lot remains undone. For instance, I have skied the Alps, traveled to four different countries and seen the best soccer club in the world play in person, but I still haven't been to Madrid. More important, I'm all too wrapped up in the Spanish way of life - the Spaniards have abducted my soul and made me one of their own, convincing me that their laid-back, easy-going attitude is the one to live by. If an American, for example, were to inexplicably lose access to one of his 9,000 iPhone apps, he would probably flip over his desk, systematically kick over every trash can in the office and demand a refund on his phone. Meanwhile, a Spaniard would simply say, "No pasa nada, t
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