The smell of fresh bread and flowers

After settling back into the grind that is Grinnell, I'm still noticing this strange void that permeates everything I do here. I don't want to slap some senioritis excuse onto it, or blame Iowa for anything. But I'm quite sure that it comes from the rude juxtaposition of Europe and America (can you believe it?). In Madrid, as well as in London, Amsterdam, Paris, and all the places I've gone across the pond, of course there's that element of excitement that sparks the air and every step I take; after all, these are big, cosmopolitan, and famous cities. But something about the grand buildings and the ridiculously maze-like streets combined with the air of compassionate indifference imbued in its people make Europe a very sensorially-indulgent place. There are so many scents flying around everywhere, people rushing by in a whirlwind of conversation, pockets of grungy cafeterias and swanky bistros, ornate hotels next to worn-down wrought-iron gates. I like the interplay of old and new, of chic and modest, of buzzingly fast-paced and yogic calmness. It provides people-watching at its best, especially on those days when I decide to walk down Alcala in Madrid and stop for a cafe con leche at a little corner cafe, where everyone stands at the bar with their coffee and the door is constantly revolving. I can stare out the window at the matronly housewives taking their sweatered dogs around town, or I can sit back and listen to the daily buzz of people's lives around me. Then I can duck down a little avenue and run into a tienda de jamon, a leg-of-ham shop, where the attendant scrambles around weighing kilos of cured pig for women in white sunglasses and lace-up boots. On a Thursday, I might take a night train to Cuenca or Sevilla, wander around another new town for a day, run into some crazy twentysomethings outside a club and join them for flamenco and caipirhinis. After class on Monday, I bid my petite and model-featured brunette friend goodbye as she throws on her helmet and jets down the street in her Vespa. My confident walk and icy stare shoot down, yet appreciate, the blunt honesty of the men I walk by on the way to my office. I grab a sandwich of tortilla de patatas, linger at Loewe's new wedding-gown display, and head upstairs to translate a project proposal and join a lunch meeting.

Things I wish I had done:

1. Kept a travel blog. I wrote in my journal constantly, but I should have also created a space just for my observations and experiences.

2. Mixed it up over a summer or two during college--I feel like my resume and academic background lacks variety that would bode well for grad school aspirations.

3. Taken more leadership initiative at the beginning of college, like joined student government or ftp.

Anyway, it's not the end of the world. And it's a real eye-opener to have my peers, some of whom also majored in philosophy, had a steady job, and just generally did well academically, are now getting into Columbia and Berkeley law schools. I guess there's something to be said for Grinnell after all. Nothing wrong with a little quaint rigor.