After several months of taking endless wrong turns, tripping on cobblestones, bouncing around in buses, struggling to speak a foreign language, sampling mysterious dishes, imbibing local brews and beverages, and exploring the back-alleys of Prague and Quito, two broads abroad have reached the end of their respective journeys. Weary from their travels but invigorated by the worlds they have stumbled upon, they prepare for a bittersweet departure.
Dani’s Thoughts on Leaving Prague:
Contrary to what I predicted, the strangest part of this entire experience was not arriving in Prague—it is the prospect of leaving. I was positive before I left in September that the hardest part would be setting foot into a foreign, unknown city with no idea what to expect, but I’ve been proven wrong. It’s difficult to stomach the reality that I am leaving a city of which, after an entire semester, I still feel I have barely scratched the surface.
From the frantic excitement I felt as I stepped off the airplane to the frustration navigating narrow unmarked streets and desperately trying to communicate in Czech, this trip has been a series of emotional extremes. In many ways, I feel I have grown into the city and become part of its smooth, quiet, slow-moving energy. Leaving Prague will require a certain disengagement from this energy I have grown so accustomed to, and it is this feeling of leaving something so special behind which, to me, is the strangest part of the experience.
It’s the little things that have impacted me the most her: small moments of perfect equilibrium in the midst of a chaotic ride. I’ve felt the most connected to this city walking across a silent Charles Bridge early in the morning, listening to a live classical performance in St. Nicholas Church, taking my first sip of a sour cherry micro-brewed beer, watching tall, beautiful Czech women walk past cafes with their children, looking up from anywhere in the city to see Prague Castle lit up at night, becoming accustomed to going deep underground to find the best pubs, and hearing someone say “na shledanou” whenever I walk out of a store. These smaller moments and intricacies have made Prague worth every second of disorientation and doubt. These moments will create a void when I leave; a void that could only be filled by this beautiful, bizarre city that has become a part of me.
Perhaps Franz Kafka phrased it best, and after reading his wacky and neurotic novels, short stories, and sketches for the past three months, my connection to Prague has grown at least partially through his work. Kafka is somehow able to capture the specific eccentricity of Prague through his estranged yet undeniably strong relationship to the city. So, in the words of Kafka, “Prague never lets you go…this dear little mother has sharp claws.”
Liza’s Thoughts on Leaving Quito:
Although my appearance might suggest the contrary, I live in Ecuador. I joke with the security guard next door, I scream “Obselio!” when I drop things, and I even understand that “ya mismo” does not mean “right now,” but rather “it is possible that this will happen today.” (Note: I still haven’t bought rhinestone jeans, but that is because I will have to buy a bigger size than normal and I am not prepared for that reality).
When I leave Ecuador in two weeks, I will be leaving my home. I will be leaving with memories of meeting a 101 year old shaman, barely surviving a hike at 13,000 feet with asthma and a cold, falling into a river in the Amazon, working on the largest environmental case in history, and screaming “your mother is a prostitute” collectively with thousands of Ecuadorian fans when we did not qualify for the World Cup. I have traveled through the many nooks and crannies of Ecuador and have fallen in love with the impressive mountains and rich grassy fields of the Parámo region.
After four months living in Ecuador, the most important lesson I will bring back to the US, other than how to make Encocada—a delectable fish curry—will be how to live to live. Ecuadorians do just that. I have long valued “The Fun” above most things, but now I know of an all-new type of Fun. The Fun in Ecuador is laughing, dancing, eating, and drinking with friends and family. It is in the street, on the bus, on the beach or at someone’s house on any given afternoon. It’s always somewhere, you’re always welcomed, and, it’s all free. Fun is being grateful for what you have, not being sad for not having enough, and celebrating this with everyone who shows up. My 21st birthday was spent dancing and carrying on in Latacunga, my favorite Sierra town, for the Festival of Mama Negra. From 10am until late in the evening, we danced, drank, and made new friends with people from the town and people just there for the party. I was pushed into the parade not once, not twice, but three times by revelers so that I could dance with the people and receive a traditional blessing—a cuy, or guinea pig. The fiesta was free and open to everyone. While I’m not suggesting that I close down cities and demand a Mama Negra Festival, I will certainly bring back the impulse to celebrate life at every moment possible; that is how it is done in Ecuador.
Our Final Thoughts:
For both of us “broads abroad,” once so determined to adapt to our new cultures and climates abroad, we are now quite clearly in the midst of a sort of identity crisis. Our basic English vocabulary skills may have significantly deteriorated, but we will never forget how much fun it was to try and ask for directions in broken Czech or Spanish and watch the expression on the receiving party’s face shift from illness to confusion to sheer amusement and sometimes—with luck—to some sort of understanding. Perhaps the most bizarre sensation we are faced with is the prospect of returning to a place where we have already lived for 20 years and yet now feel like peripheral strangers. For our final weeks abroad, we are determined to soak up our cities—their smells, sounds, traffic, and noise—and take these things with us. If we’ve learned anything this semester, it’s been to simply enjoy the moment, to have an open mind going into any new experience, and to live—to live.
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