I’ve officially been in Freiburg, Germany for three months! Since I arrived, I’ve written about mental health and everyday life, about travel and identity and making friends, but I haven’t yet talked about the city itself and all the fun things there are to do here. Posts about Freiburg and pretty much every city already exist out there on the internet. Lonely Planet and Atlas Obscura are my favorite sites, but all you need to do is search “Freiburg” or your city of choice in Google to find the right information.

Tonight, or rather early tomorrow morning, I hop on a flight to El Calafate. For almost the last time in my four months here, I’ll get up after barely three hours of sleep, call a cab, and arrive at the airport sleepy and excited for the adventure ahead. I’ll go through security with my full water bottle, I’ll probably buy an overpriced airport coffee, and then I’ll sit at my gate until it’s time to board. Every other time I’ve done this, I’ve had friends along; there have always been people to giggle with in the airport and shoulders to nap on in the cab.

I passed two little boys the other day, walking with their dad down the glacier pathways and discussing what would happen if the glacier was turned on its side and came crashing down into the lake like a tower of blocks. They were going at it passionately, and I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen as I listened to the crashes of the calving glacier. Seeing the boys trotting alongside their dad reminded me of my own family vacations as a child, bickering with my siblings and tagging along behind my parents.

Rome is a city that is full of hidden gems for food and shopping. At first, it was really easy to get caught in tourist traps with their English menus or attractive pictures of food; but after a while, I learned that the best places to eat either require a reservation or are off the beaten path, and the best places to shop require a little research. Lucky for you, I’ve done all the dirty work this semester and have narrowed down my top places to eat and shop!

Gelato

Guttilla

I am sitting in the Santiago airport. These are my last few hours in South America. I fly through Miami and then I will be in my hometown, on the same roads and in the same spaces that I have existed in since 2004. I’m thinking about how things wear over time, like your favorite pair of shoes or the spot you put your elbow on your car’s center console. By the time I was 15, my dad’s elbow spot had worn through the leather on his and you could just see the meshy fabric underneath. All that is to say, that doesn’t really happen with places.

I’ll start by saying that Caroline’s money was too wet to buy ice cream after the music festival. I’ll start by noting that my shoes didn’t fully dry for four days, and I’ll start by letting you know that my hands were so pruney they started fully peeling off like a human snake. If you’ve ever been to an outdoor music festival, you know there’s a few things that could make the experience go downhill quickly. First of all, if it’s too hot and you’re wandering around a huge field in the baking sun. Second, if the bathroom crowds are bigger than the concert crowds. And lastly, if it rains.

So much of my past four months has been made up of music of all kinds: Impromptu concerts, hours of mid-2000s music in every boliche, my own playlists pumped through my headphones during the morning walk to class, and shared music moments on the bus with friends. So I thought I’d share a soundtrack to my time in Buenos Aires, complete with music from a few of my favorite Argentine artists:

1. Introduction

Song: Accidente, Las Ligas Menores

In honor of the end of my time in Buenos Aires and the end of 2022, here’s a little Study Abroad Wrapped from the past few months. 

Total minutes spent in Argentina: 188,700

Cities traveled to: 9

Food

Milanesas eaten: At least one a week, so maybe 15 

Empanadas eaten: Probably close to 100 

Milk:Coffee ratio in my lattes: 4:1 

Dulce de Leche consumed: 1,600 grams

PedidosYa orders: 13 

Transportation

Hours spent on the bus: 70 is my low estimate 

It’s 11:53AM and I find myself in the Madrid airport, again—but, this time, I’m flying to Washington, DC and not Granada, Spain. Other than my destination, though, everything is eerily similar: I’m sitting at the same gate where I wrote my first blog, Ojitos Lindos blasting with a bocadillo de jamón in one hand and laptop in the other. Minus a handful of new piercings and tattoo (sorry mom) and a moderately improved accent, it might as well be September 1st again.

Here in Spain, where life moves slowly and meals can take upwards of three hours (half of which is spent trying to wave a waiter down for the check), I sometimes like to say that it feels like time doesn’t exist. So, as one might imagine, I’m in a bit of disbelief that my time here is coming to an end.