Now that I am back, I realize that I can tell stories and offer alternative points of view but it is true that you just have to experience some things yourself to fully understand the differences.  Words are not strong enough to convey it all, but unfortunately they are the sturdiest thing I have to keep my memories alive.  I apologize for writing some epic posts but I just don’t want to forget the details.  Even now I need to look at my entries and pictures to remind me of those four months.

Thank goodness I took good notes and forced myself to sit down for a few hours after each adventure editing pictures and collecting my thoughts to write an entry.  Countless memories of people, architecture, and beauty in seven countries are scattered throughout my adventures, trickling every so often into a conversation or accidental thought.

Yet I have so quickly adjusted to living back at home that looking back, my memories seem just as foggy as at the conclusion of any semester.  You would think my brain recognizes that I was abroad last semester (I was only away 129 days and 3700 miles from the country I know for goodness’s sake) and therefore should put some precedence on preserving those precious experiences.  Geez, I can already feel them fading.

This will be my last post about my semester abroad.  I hope you enjoyed tagging along with me for the adventures and I thank you for all your comments and support.  Do you speak Alyssa now?

Every country I visited had some sort of manifestation of counter culture.  Variations of weirdly cut and colored hair, dangling chains, screaming banshee music twanging out of cellphones, piercings in painful-looking locations, baggy and ripped clothes were sported by the populace’s rebellious youth.  While each subculture was trying to be unique and as shocking as possible to the “normal” people, they were nearly all the same across borders.  Teens will always be teens, finding ways to defy authority and distinguish themselves.  And America is no exception to this either.  We have just as strong of a counter culture.

I wasn’t expecting to notice this global commonality, so I suspect that’s why I find it interesting.  As much as I knew Europeans wouldn’t be that different, I was anticipating some awkward (or enlightening, depending on your view) interactions and culture clashes.

I can’t think of a single instance my entire time abroad that I wished I had a car. Everything was accessible via public transportation or walkable (at least by my standards). From my house I could walk to a Metro station, transfer twice and be at the airport in less than an hour, all for less than 2 euros.

Granted, Madrid was the cheapest city to stay in, but no matter what airport I used I could easily catch a shuttle or bus into the city center for a reasonable price. I would never plan those details because it was always safe to assume that there’d be a convenient way to get where I needed from the main station or airport. The flights themselves were not that expensive either, averaging around 70 euros each direction (some places I went to were really expensive, pushing up that average). In Italy I rode the train everywhere and could easily do a roundtrip for less than 20 euros.

This accessibility is not limited to the major cities, as I caught buses or regional rail trains into small towns for a few euros. Most people don’t even own cars and if they do it’s most likely a family car that was bought way beyond the teen years. It’s nearly impossible to avoid using public transportation—that’s how handy and ubiquitous it is.

The daily commute to work is certainly easier and getting around with subways or buses is usually more environmentally friendly. The majority are quite clean (especially for the number of people using them) and safe. Just hop on and sit back with your newspaper (always handing out free ones on the streets) while someone else deals with the traffic and solves the parking problem.

I used the systems to such an extent that I think it’s safe to call myself an expert in public transportation. Finding platforms, purchasing tickets, determining which line to take on that complicated map of colors, and figuring out what the big status signs mean is something I can do in any language.

Of course, there’s nothing this extensive in the US. Some of the major cities have Metros that work alright in terms of locations reached, cleanliness, and travel time, but that’s barely worth noting. At first I thought I was simply overlooking the public transportation options available here, but when I got back I found that there would be no way to get home (or even nearby) from the airport without my parents picking me up. How about a trip up to Boston from Philadelphia without a car? Nope, only outrageous prices for excruciatingly long commutes.

Public transportation is simply impractical. In fact, more than impractical, it’s stupid to use. There is no way to get from point A to B in most cases without using a car at some point in the journey. We are a nation dependent on cars. As much as I grumble about it and watch the environment degrade despite the ever-increasing gas prices, our towns weren’t built to be public transportation friendly and there’s really no going back now. I miss my freedom!

I don’t drink very much.  It’s a not-so-common thing to find for someone college-aged, but it has never really been a problem for me.  While abroad, though, part of me certainly felt like I was missing out on a lot.

Alcohol is at the center of so many cultures and is around whenever people get together.  Tapas are an integral part of the Spanish culture, whereby you go out for drinks and nibble on shared platters of really good food.  Often, you can only get the tapa if you order a drink. In Germany, the beirgartens are chock-full of cheery people clinking glass steins over long wooden tables.  My cousin referred to the pubs in London as her living room while she was an au pair because they were the only place she could watch TV and chat with people her own age.  No matter what city I was in the nightlife was buzzing with young people going bar or club hopping.

Of course, we Americans have our own festivities where drinking is a big part of the entertainment.  I have grownup with these traditions and know the difference between “responsible” and “reckless” drinking firsthand.  Sometimes it’s awkward to turn down a drink in the US, but I at least can tell myself the lame excuse that it’s illegal and also not a good addition to my already overflowing list of health concerns.  There are smokey rooms with music or TVs blasting and the crowd roaring, fighting for sound waves with the band so that every other word is a “What?”  Or the even less classy fraternity party on campus in the dank corridors of a house where your shoes stick to the beer and vomit stained floors in corridors packed with drunk people doing stupid stuff or playing beer pong.  Nope, not interested in meeting people that way.

But abroad, I had trouble telling myself that I just wasn’t interested like I do here.  You meet someone you want to get to know more about and the logical place to go is to the bar.  At the Nigel Kennedy concert, I kept thinking how amazing it would be to go have a drink with him and see who he really is outside his aura of fame (quite a surprising thought for me).  Every town I visited I wanted to get to know the locals–the essence of any place–and where is a more likely place to find them to chat for a few hours than the small-town bars?  You’d never have to plan a trip again; just go right to the source.

The relaxed, friendly atmosphere of a pub brings out all those hidden thoughts.  Oh the things I could have learned about the people and places I visited in the bars.  Conversations flow and time flies.  Hearty outbursts of laughs and chinking glasses slip out the doors.  It’s a whole new world back there, but those doors were closed and locked by me.