I’ve been away for so long that I don’t really miss home. But I’m not of that breed to begin with. What I do miss is Seville.

I miss being woken up around 7:00a so that we could both, Elliot and I, stumble about until we could make it down the five flights of stairs. I miss the walk to class in the morning over the Los Remedios Bridge and through the Maria Luisa Park. I miss waiting for the hombre verde at the traffic light, telling me to when to cross the bus– scooter — taxi line. I miss trying to figure out what the numbers on the taxis meant. Still don’t know. I miss racing into class drenched with sweat to be the first to turn on the A/C. I miss being hungover and having to swallow even more grammar, and then regurgitate only the grammar on exercises and exams. I miss not laughing at Jennifer as she struggled through grammar she didn’t have to take after a whole lot of “WHI KEY” shots she should not have taken the night before. I miss how Susanna Jakfalvi would always say “bueno” after correcting us. I miss how we would all take turns taking bathroom breaks during classes just to make the time pass more quickly. I miss John, the Scot Spanish culture professor!

I actually miss the 100+ temperatures. I miss the siesta, which was actually deserved after that heat and the pounds of food we were shoveled for not “el almuerzo” or lunch but “la comida,” which I now understand to be two different meals/times. I miss the Martinez’ gazpacho. There’s nothing like it here in Elche, and there will be even less like it in the States. I will do my best. I miss how Ana would ask Elliot questions and he would just nod and say “Si, si,” not knowing what he was agreeing to. I miss how that used to get us both in trouble later on when we found we now had something to do or place to be. I miss how many ways the two of us would come up with to communicate how penetrating the heat was in our small room. Again, trying desperately not to laugh. I miss the bonobus card for the public transit, and never knowing how many rides I had left. I miss the good company I kept while I was there. And how we would all almost inevitably end up on Calle Betis at night, drinking at el Descansillo, where we met Francisco that first Monday night.

And I miss AIM, a little.