By Bailey Hosfelt

Follow former culture editor and current abroad correspondent Bailey Hosfelt as she sets up home base in España and bops about Europe for the semester, looking to save a buck and learn a thing or two along the way.

I never thought I would say this, but I recently came to my organizational sensibilities and surrendered to Google Calendar. Up until this point, I relied on my noggin and nothing but to remember countless deadlines and responsibilities, fingers crossed, hoping nothing would be forgotten along the way.

But in the past month or so, I have become something of a Type A hybrid inputting all of my looming assignments and exams into one streamlined digital system.

It’s equal parts frightening and exhilarating. The same can be said about my fall semester altogether.

However, the reason for this revamped practice is rather Type B of me. In the final four weeks of my academic career abroad, I chose to line up four trips outside of the confines of Spain on whimsical instinct alone. I have five finals, which breaks the rule of three, but hopefully helps put my impulsivity into perspective.

With two trips down and two to go, I’m certainly walking a fine line between a breakdown and being okay.
But with budget airfare and the sense that I can sneak a few more stamps onto my passport before packing up and shipping out, it’s been hard to say no.

Two weekends ago it was Edinburgh where the sun set at an alarmingly early 3 p.m. and English comforted my not-so-fluent in Spanish self despite a heavy Scottish accent being attached to it. I saw the restaurant in St. Andrew’s where Kate met Will (for coffee) and listened to coverage announcing the official end to the Royal Family’s token wild child’s single life.

After that it was back to Berlin to prove to the people of Germany that I can pay for the U-Bahn before incurring a fine, even though the BVG has left my email inquiry about ridding my aforementioned debt on read. Here, in the ambiance of a converted warehouse space, I experienced house music where the bass rattles your entire body and the strobe lights make it look like everyone’s head is in three places at once. I still have that nightclub’s “ no pay, no play” stamp fading on my hand says, which feels like a subtweet to my previous visit to the city but I’ll try not to interpret it as such.

Thanks to three days off this week to celebrate the immaculate conception of, not Jesus, but Mary herself, I’m off to Paris with a fellow Ram whose French pronunciation is far better than mine. And courtesy of an enticing offer made by my Brooklyn-bred, Edinburgh transplant of a friend who assured me she too often sleeps through the daylight in Scotland, 24 hours in Copenhagen are in order for next Thursday.

Amidst making my latest plan of (panic) attack list to prevent totally veering into breakdown territory before and after each trip, it has come to my attention that because The Fordham Ram values responsibility and the success of its editors during finals season (unlike the self-destructive behavior happening in Barcelona), this is the last issue of Volume 99, and, as a result, the final edition of En Busca Del Buen Viaje.

It’s interesting to reflect on the experience I’ve had abroad, especially because I’m still here for another month.

In retrospect, I know that I will look back at my time in Barcelona under a nostalgic lens, likely thanks to the many rolls of film I have shot along the way. But I want to remember the bad times (and boy, are there plenty of ’em) as well because those are what have made me most appreciative of this experience.

Crying at Oktoberfest didn’t feel great in the moment and neither did getting my bag and the lifelines that lived inside it stolen. The rowdy bachelors on the plane weren’t wonderful and neither was powering through two hours of an anticipated American release dubbed in another language.

There have been miscommunications from across oceans and letdowns from across café tables. But with every misstep and moment of feeling idiotic, frustrated or upset—often all of the above, all at once—came a subsequent sense of accomplishment. A feeling that I would get past it, whether it took an hour, day or month.

We’re more resilient than we give ourselves credit for and sometimes it takes a large leap outside of your comfort zone to realize the personal growth that can come with it.

There are countless things that I will miss, both about being in Barcelona and Europe altogether. One Euro coffee, legally drinking and the ease of continental travel being at the forefront.

But there’s so much I’m looking forward to back in New York City. Ram’s Deli Plus, bagels and the beautiful disorder of the subway to name a few.

Silly things that I took for granted like having professors with open doors at office hours and the ability to communicate effortlessly will have newfound novelty when I return to the States.

Being removed from my home country and university four months has revitalized the way I view my surroundings and my desire to seek out exploration, corny as it sounds.

The Canadian border is right there, and a flight from New York to Reykjavik is quicker than going to California. I don’t always have to play it safe. There’s always going to be more to see and say, even when my day-to-day existence feels incredibly suffocating.

Sometimes it’s okay to say yes even when your Google Calendar would strongly advise against it.

Who said you can’t pass your finals and have a little fun along the way?