Más Dias! Más Momentos

I write to you from the terrace. It is October 8th, 2025, at 9:07 pm. I have written this next part with brevity in mind. You don’t need to hear about every dang breakfast. This post is less of an everflowing story and more of a collection of moments spanning from where we left off to the first of September. Chronological but separate.

Oh! Also, if someone could explain to me the basic grammar rules for using the past tense, past perfect tense, and past progressive tense, that would be phenomenal. Additionally, I’m using colons and semi-colons interchangeably and placing commas and dashes based on vibes and vibes alone.

Bear with me, will you?

¡MÁS DÍAS! ¡MÁS MOMENTAS!

On August 28th, my third day in Spain, my new friends and I drank fresh-squeezed orange juice out of plastic jugs. We were seated on a couple of park benches, eating prepared meals from the supermarket across the street. We fashioned chopsticks and forks out of plastic knives because that was all they had left. I jabbed a knife into a piece of salmon and leaned over to look at Livie’s phone. She was showing the group pictures of the man that she was messaging with on Hinge. Good-looking guy. They flirted in Spanish. He asked her if she was having a “smile day.”That one cracked us up. There was a homeless gentleman a few paces from us. He circled a blanket and took sips from a glass bottle. At one point, he stumbled over to us, spewed a few syllables in Spanish, and then gestured to his things. We shook our heads. He may have seen me raise the OJ to my lips and then up to the sky. A proper cheers, I thought, Here’s to our new lives! And many more smile days to come!

Ximena and Toby, another orientation leader, lead the group on another city tour, this time of the East side. We were in Ximena’s old neighborhood. She showed us her old apartment and the places she frequented. She pointed to a little hole-in-the-wall convenience store. “This was my go-to bodega. God, I miss it.” We walked to Retiro Park in search of a place to sit. Retiro is a grand and wonderful park in the middle of the city. As a noun, retiro means retirement. As a verb, I withdraw. We withdrew to a quiet corner. Seated in a circle, we talked through possible teaching scenarios.

Toby asked, “What may be some common difficulties with elementary school children?”

“What about holding their attention? They may be easily distracted,” a girl suggested.

I fiddled with a stick, found great pleasure in poking it through a leaf. I watched Jacob drill a stick into the ground and begin piling grass on top. Later, I artfully wove different grasses and weeds together to create a bundle. I wrapped it up with a delicate bow. Satisfied, I looked up to see Jacob top off his little tree. He did so with a flourish.

I slowly learn the backstories of those around me. Jacob is from Massachusetts, played pretty serious track and field in college, studied philosophy, and is severely allergic to pistachios, peanuts, and cashews but not walnuts or pecans. He is doing this program with his girlfriend, who is set to arrive at the end of September.

Sebastian is from Mexico, has beautiful black curls, and impeccable style. A new acquaintance, I don’t know too much about him at this point.

Cole was born in Maryland to a couple of “closeted hippies.”He was homeschooled for four years. They have a honey farm. He has two brothers. He has a Ralph Waldo Emerson passage set as his lock screen. He considers himself an “all-natural guy.”

Kyrra is from southern Florida. She has fancy red nails, is a self-acclaimed sports fanatic, studied speech therapy, but has no interest in that path. Her eyes remind me of those of a friend I miss from high school, big, beautiful, and expressive: eyes that can command a room.

After the park, we piled into a wonderfully named Steak Grill House Halal. We pushed four tables together and crammed into the seats. Cole ordered aqua del grifo for the table. Sebastian remarked, “In Mexico, to be grifo is to be high.” We talked about pot. We talked about cigarettes. Pot is illegal here. Cigarettes are abundant. Sebastian told us that at home, he smokes Reds.

“They call those cowboy killers,” Kyrra said.

Cole turned to him and asked something sly in Spanish.

Sebastion tilted his head. “What are you trying to ask me?”

“If you are a cowboy, ¿Eres un caballero?”

“Caballero means gentleman. Vaquero is a cowboy.”

“Oh, vaquero…vaquero..” Cole trails off.

I turn to Sebastian. “Well, are you a gentleman, then?”

He grinned.“Well yes. I’d say so.”

This ragtag group of cowboys and gentlemen, happily full of kebab and falafel, wandered the streets until we stumbled across a little alley bar. They had baskets hanging from the ceiling and handwritten menus on the tables. There was a group of thirty-somethings celebrating a birthday by the window. We plopped down at a table by the bar. After dinner, our group had thinned down from 12 to 7. The majority of us ordered Estrella Galicias, the most popular Spanish lager. Sebastion got a Cerveza 1906, a more robust beer. Fancy. I ordered a lemon soda and tried to stay awake. The crash had hit me hard at dinner, but I was on a mission to secure solid post-orientation friendships, and I wasn’t going to let a couple of droopy eyelids get in the way. Stay alert. Stay lighthearted. Now listen! Someone was explaining the rules of a drinking game I’d never heard of. I tried to catch the tail end of what they were saying.

“I don’t understand,” I said

“It will make more sense once we start. Let’s play a round.”

We played a round, and then many more. I slowly caught on. The game involved counting to 21 in Spanish. At 21, a new rule was assigned to a number. If we messed up the rule, we drank. If we messed up the count(which I often did; My Spanish was a lot worse than I had hoped), we drank. Three rounds later and a table full of empties, our once even count had turned into a synchronized song and dance of eyebrow raises, high fives, bottle clinks, pointing, dabbing, and yelling “Es mi cumpeaños!, followed by “Feliz Cumpleanos.” I’m sure the actual birthday girl by the window gave us some serious side-eye. In a spirited moment, Kiera leaned in and asked the group, “Want to see my special freckle?” We all turned to her. With wide eyes and warm cheeks, we said “Yes!” She threw us a backwards middle finger and smiled. And there on the tip of her finger, I saw it: A lovely brown speck. “That is a special freckle!” someone exclaimed.

The bar closed. We cleared out. Making our way back to the hotel, we wove through windy streets, breathing in that warm European air. I made a note not to forget this moment. I remembered our nature, how quickly we adapt, how soon we forget how wonderful it is to be. I am so lucky to be here. I am so lucky.

We get back to the hotel lobby. “Wait! Are we going to bed?” Jacob asked. Reinvigorated by my lemon soda sugar high, I said, “No way. Let’s play some hacky sack!” I searched through my fanny pack for my nice hacky sack, the one with the medal fillers.

“Do you always carry that around on you?” Cole asked

“Of course, I was the RIT hacky sack event coordinator for Pete’s sake. You always have to be ready.”

We formed a loose circle in the parking lot. I explained the rules: “No hands, no arms, no self-service, no sorrys. The goal is that we all touch the sack at least once before it falls. That’s a hack.” We started a highly uncoordinated foot dance. I saw the security guards smirking at us. I wondered what they thought of this goofy group of Americans. We got closer and closer to a hack, but kept dropping it. Jacob grew more and more frantic, shaking his arms out, hopping up and down.

“We have to get it before we can go to bed,” he said. “We have to.”

We kept going. It wasn’t looking hopeful until…

Jacob caught the hacky sack between his thighs and lowered himself into a squatted position.

“Wait, everyone, come touch it with your foot. ” He turned to me. “That counts, right?”

“Sure, I’ll allow it.”

“Guys, quick! I don’t know how much longer I can hold this.”

We all took turns tapping our shoes onto Jacob’s thigh sack, and then we hit the sack.

On the fourth day, I opened a Spanish bank account with Luis, the bank teller at Santander. I was supposed to have 50 euros for a cash deposit. He accepted my 30.

Wearing my cutest dress and green wedges, I strutted to the subway. It was my first solo metro ride. I wore headphones, strummed my fingers on my knees, and pretended to be a local. I managed to get off at the correct stop, navigated through the crowd up onto the street level, and then followed my GPS to a rooftop bar for our last CIEE orientation goodbye. When I got there, I asked the doorman, “Dónde está el grupo grande?”He said, “Arriba.” I squinted at him. He pointed up, opened the elevator for me, and pressed the top button. Ohhh, arriba means up. Arriba, I went, and with a ding, I entered the room to see everyone there. Shit. How late am I? One of the CIEE program heads greeted me and handed me two free drink coupons. I cashed them in for tonic water and peach soda. I mixed my drinks, handed the bartender the empty, and then made my way over to my friends. Jacob was telling the group about the time he did stand up in New Haven last summer. “Whoa. Was it scary?” I interjected.

He was humble. “No. It really wasn’t so bad. All I did was tell a story. It only took 8 minutes or so.”

“When are you going to do your routine for us?”

“Next time we have 8 minutes to spare.”

Back at the hotel in sweats and sneakers, Jordan and I sat with Piper and Katherine, two new friends. They were looking for more roommates. So were we. We had met them in the hotel lobby the day prior. I had said, “If you guys are serious about living together, we should meet up later and look for apartments.” They were serious. So there we were, laptops and phones out, fingers flying around, typing, scrolling, sighing. Piper studied Spanish in college, so she was put in charge of calling landlords. She didn’t have much luck. Busy line here. No answer there. One picked up, but then the line dropped. Piper scowled, “I think she just hung up on me.” We decided to pause the hunt for the night and grab some dinner. We may have been homeless, but we didn’t have to be homeless and hungry.

After another supermarket meal, I met up with the whole crew in the hotel lobby. We piled onto the metro sporting two twelve packs of cheap beer and a couple of wine bottles tucked away into our free CIEE tote bags.

Livie was hosting. Having scored an apartment early, she was proud to show off her digs. We oohed and ahhed as she gave us the tour. The group settled on the couch and the floor. They drank wine straight from the bottle, and a few of them shotgunned beers in the kitchen. Someone placed a can of beer on the coffee table and stuck a playing card under the tab. Going around the circle, we took turns placing more and more cards. Eventually…POP!

“Ohhh shit, Jacob, you gotta drink that,” Kyrra said.

“I mean, only if I have to.”

We chanted, “We like to drink with Jacob cause Jacob is our mate! And when we drink with Jacob, he finishes at 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! We never made it to one. Jacob may be our mate, but it doesn’t take the whole eight.

Cole was my party buddy. He drank for me. He was wearing a red and white striped shirt. Upon seeing it, I said, “I found Waldo.”

“Ha…ha”

I told him, “You look like a carnie.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Pull out your phone and look up carnie.”

He does. “Fuck.”

We walked to a bar around the corner called La Via Lactea( The Milky Way). It had two floors. There was a heavy punk vibe, a pool table, a record player behind the bar, rock and roll posters, and black lights. The wall art featured a lot of tentacles, phallic alien shapes, Spanish babes, and of course, nipples that could cut glass. Kyrra and I tag-teamed the bathroom, which featured pee-stained floors and metallic toilet seats you ought to hover over. After a strategic pee, I went over and sat with Piper at the bar. She sipped her drink and told me, “I was disappointed that they don’t have pickleback shots here. I really wanted a pickle back shot. That’s the only way I will take a shot at home.” She rolled her eyes.

I frowned. “What’s a pickle back shot?”

“You’ve never heard of a pickle back shot? God, they are the best! It’s when you take a shot and then follow it with pickle juice. I do it all the time at home. It’s the best chaser.”

I wanted to hear more Piper pickle lore, but a couple of guys came over and interrupted us. They were older, late thirties maybe. They leaned in and asked where we were from. We answered curtly and readjusted our seats. They kept talking. One of the guys put his arm around my back. I recoiled from him and moved my hand past them to make a desperate come here hand motion at Jacob, who was standing nearby. He took the hint, broke through the guys, spread his arms wide, and greeted us with a loud “Hola, Annie and Piper! Que tal? How are you?!” Thank god for Jacob.

Friday, August 29th, Jordan and I checked out of the hotel. The new gang was splitting up for the first time; Cole, Jacob, and a few others were headed to a hostel in Malasaña. Piper and Katherine were off to another inTribunal. Jordan and I were crashing in Atocha for the next few days. I was experiencing a bit of separation anxiety. What if we stop hanging out or slowly grow apart? What if they do things without me? How will I make friends here? I don’t know enough Spanish! We called an Uber to come get us. The driver pulled into the lot and helped us load our suitcases into the trunk. On the drive over, he nodded his head to the radio. When Billy Jean came on, he pointed and said, “Michael Jackson!” Jordan and I said “Sí! Sí!” The three of us laughed when MJ sang the part that goes “hee-hee-hee, no-no, hee-hee-hee, hoo.” I said “Michael Jackson canta en inglés pero no comprendo! ( Michael Jackson sings in English, but I don’t understand!) It’s always hee hee, ah, ah, aha, hee hee.” The driver laughed. Who needs fluency in Spanish when you can just hee hee ha ha your way through any conversation? Shitty Spanish or not, I got a laugh.

Later that night, Jordan was out with friends. I was happy for the alone time. I picked up some things from the grocery store: A ponzu salmon bowl, a bag of Brazil nuts, shaving cream, and aftershave because I’ve decided that Annie in Madrid uses aftershave. ( Aftershave and perfume, and maybe even a proper face wash.) I arrived back at the hotel only to realize that I didn’t have a fork. I went up to the front desk and asked the lady, “Tiene un tenedor?” She shook her head. I went back to my room, washed my underwear and socks in the sink, and hung them up to dry on a few hangers in the closet. I used the aftershave tube to scoop salmon and rice into my mouth, washing it all down with water from the bathroom sink. I was grateful that Jordan wasn’t around to see this.

Saturday, August 30th, I woke up early around 7:30, took a long walk to Malasana, one of the more beautiful areas of Madrid. I got breakfast at a cute cafe called Brunchit. Expensive for Madrid, but wonderful for my taste buds. I enjoyed an oat milk cappuccino and Cilbir eggs: a Turkish dish with a savory garlicky yogurt base topped with poached eggs, olive oil, and spices. It came with a grilled-cheese-like sandwich that I dipped in the yogurt. A strange and memorable meal. I read my book and jotted a few notes in my journal for an hour or so. When I was all set, I flagged down the waiter to ask for the check. That’s something to note: In Spanish restaurants, the staff never asks if you are ready for the bill. They give you your food and leave you alone until you approach them. There’s not so much of a rush here as there is back home.

Later, I met Piper, Katherine, and Jordan for breakfast number two. I had toast with marmalade and cherry tea. After breakfast, we searched for more apartments online. Piper called a couple of landlords. We secured a tour for Monday with a woman named Lali. The three of them went shopping. I wrote in my journal for a while and then went back to the hotel.

That night, I felt a bit numb and detached from my surroundings. I had a hard time forming sentences, answering questions. I decided to roll with it. I was supposed to go out dancing with friends, but I took myself out to dinner instead. I put on my grandpa’s jean jacket and walked to a Japanese joint down the road. The sushi was okay. I ate quickly, paid the bill, and stopped for a moment to rest on a street bench. I watched the people walk by, a good-looking couple, a group of teens laughing about something I couldn’t understand. God, I miss eavesdropping. I started to cry, one of those quick but mighty cries that reddens your face and opens your heart, opens it just enough. Wiping my cheeks, I let out a giggle. My feet felt a little lighter on the way back to the hotel, and then suddenly I was running. I ran fast, past the dog walkers, past the young boys playing futsal in the park, past the couple playing cards on the corner. My hair was down. I had to cross my arms to keep my jean jacket from sliding off. I reached the hotel sweaty and out of breath, with a hot face and a renewed sense of attachment.

On the seventh day, we rested… Kidding. We met Lali at an apartment just south of the city center. She is a short woman, mid-60s, very warm, very direct. She let us into the apartment. I noticed Van Gogh paintings on the walls, old green leather chairs, and a terrace overlooking the street. The place was fully furnished with four bedrooms, each with an en suite bathroom. Free wifi, no rental agency fee, one month’s security deposit, and the first month’s rent required at signing. We asked a few questions. I peeked into the kitchen cupboards, and then she showed us out. She lives in the unit next door. We stopped at her place to meet Rex, a scraggly little white dog.“Hola Rex. ¡Qué lindo!” Piper spoke for us, told her we were going to mill it over, and let her know our decision..

“Oh my god. I love her.” Piper said on the way to Nomade cafe, a brunch restaurant right around the corner. We entered the cafe and found a table near the window. The sun was shining. The coffee was brewing. What more could I ask for? Plus, our server was cute. I complimented his sleeve of tattoos.

“Aw, thank you! Do you have any tattoos?”He asked.

I showed him the dainty heart on my shoulder. “I know. Pretty badass.”

He laughed and left us. Piper, Katherine, Jordan, and I talked about apartment logistics. We decided that for four bedrooms, four bathrooms, and free internet, 2400 euros a month was a pretty sweet deal. We addressed the different-sized bedrooms. I said. “I’ll take the smallest room if I can pay a little less. I did not come with a ton of money.” They agreed. We settled on a fair price for everyone, shook hands, and then Piper called Lali. She said, “Nos gustaría el apartamento. ¿Qué necesitas de nosotros?”( We would like the apartment. What do you need from us?) She said that to hold our place, we would need to give her 240 euros in cash. Deal! Jordan had cash at the hotel, so we paid our tab, walked fast to Atocha, picked up the money, and made it back to Lali’s within the hour. She thanked us and told us that at noon tomorrow, we could come by to sign the lease and collect our keys. Ahhhhh! It’s all happening!

That night, we emailed Lali scans of our passports and our proof of income. I settled into my bed, felt my throat getting scratchy, drank some water, and went to bed.

The next morning, Monday, September 1st, I woke up feeling like dookie. My scratchy throat was properly sore now, and my body ached all over. This was to be expected. The orientation flu had hit Jordan a few days before. Six nights together, I knew I was next. Jordan offered me an Advil Cold and Sinus pill and a Liquid IV packet(electrolytes). “Liquid IV is a lifesaver,” he told me. I dumped it into my water bottle, popped the pill, and said, “Alright. Let’s go do this thing.” We met Piper and Lali at the apartment(Katherine had a meeting and would come to sign later). Lali had made up two copies of the lease agreements, one for her, one for us. I scanned the pages on Google Translate, read everything over. My first apartment lease. Can’t screw this up. I sniffled.

Lali looked at me and asked, “Tiene un frio?”

I waved her off. “No, no. Todo bien.”

I set the paper down. “Looks good to me. What do you guys think?”

Jordan and Piper agreed. We initialed and signed the pages. Lali handed us each a set of keys. She said( in Spanish), “If you need extra blankets in the winter, come find me. I will give them to you, and Oh! Be careful with your hair in the shower. It will clog the drain.” I gave her a thumbs up. No hair down the drain. Free blankets in winter. Got it.

Jordan, I walked back to the hotel, and Piper to hers. We all took an Uber back to the apartment. The two of them started unpacking. I told them, “I don’t feel well. I’m going to lie down for a while.” I left my suitcase unopened on my bedroom floor and passed out, waking up a few hours later to a text from Piper, “Going to Ikea. Text us if you need anything. See you later!” I sighed, got up, hauled my suitcase onto the bed, and started unpacking. I live here. This is home now. That’s crazy. Woah! I just moved too fast there. Yeah, too fast. Ha! I feel like shit. My stomach grumbled. Damn, that’s some serious hunger. Okay, I can address that. I dragged myself to the nearest Burger King and ordered an Impossible Whopper at the self-service kiosk. Whatever. I just need to eat something quickly, finish unpacking, and go to bed. My order number appeared on the “Ready” screen. I picked up my greasy paper bag and walked back to my new home to find the doors locked. I felt my pockets for the keys, then remembered hanging them up on the hook in my room. Crap. I knocked on Lali’s door. No answer. I sent her a text, plopped down on the floor, and waited. The motion-activated lights turned off on me after a few minutes. I didn’t have it in me to stand up and wave my arms, so I just sat there. Sick and tired, I ate my Whopper in the dark.