Twenty-seven days, eight hours and a few minutes. That’s how long I am into my 19-week study abroad program in Madrid, and I’m still firmly planted in the honeymoon stage. Despite the relentless rain that has shrouded the city in gray, I find myself falling deeply in love with it. Why? Because people air-kiss to greet you, there’s a supermarket full of undiscovered treasure on every corner and my new favorite bar serves gummy bears with sangria — a combination I never knew I needed.
Yet beneath the glow of novelty and excitement, I realize this experience is more than just creating a transitory home for myself; it’s about discovering new rhythms, habits and maybe even a new version of myself. Every small detail of daily life here is a revelation, a quiet lesson in how to live differently.
When I first accepted my place in Duke’s Madrid program, I was introduced to the standard graphic showing how emotions might unfold during study abroad. It starts with the excitement of arriving in a new country, figuring out how to arrive to your homestay and the beginning of the honeymoon stage. Then comes the realization that you’re still the same person with the same issues, even if you’re 5,000 miles away from home; followed by adjusting just as your time abroad is ending and, eventually, reverse culture shock.
After a 12-hour flight from Buenos Aires to Madrid via Air Europa, I go from sweltering 90-degree heat to the crisp chill of the mid-20s. Immigration’s a breeze, and my suitcases arrive even faster, but I have no clue where to find a taxi, and at 5 a.m. Madrid time (1 a.m. in Buenos Aires), I want nothing more than a bed. Stepping outside, I find 40 taxis lined up, all eerily empty, like a scene from a macabre cyberpunk dystopia. After walking up and down the road trying to locate a chauffeur, one finally catches my eye, and I gladly drag my two overpacked suitcases toward him. Exhausted and sleepless, I’m finally headed toward my homestay — my home for the next five months.
Now, a few weeks into my time in Madrid, I’m still floating in the euphoric feeling of being abroad. I’m enchanted by the late-night tapas, the moonlight on cobblestone streets, and the novelty of everyday life in a new city. Yet, beneath the Instagram-worthy moments, I’m navigating the quieter, more personal work of finding my rhythm in an unfamiliar place.
Before Madrid, my days were dictated by efficiency. At Duke, my life revolved around a tight schedule: back-to-back classes, a few jobs, a never-ending to-do list, meals eaten in ten minutes and the constant rush from one commitment to another. I measured my days by how many tasks I could squeeze in before collapsing into bed. Madrid, however, doesn’t rush. It lingers, stretches and embraces pauses. It’s teaching me to do the same.
Even so, as I slow down, I wonder if I’m just viewing the world through rose-colored glasses, stuck in the dopey-eyed honeymoon stage, before homesickness and the inevitable frustrations of cultural adjustment take hold. This period is often revered and feared — in love, travel, or moving abroad. But is it something we should be chasing, or is it just another phase that inevitably fades?
The enchantment of the honeymoon stage doesn’t entirely erase the underlying uncertainty. It lingers in the background, whispering questions: How do I move from being a wide-eyed tourist to someone who truly belongs here, even temporarily? Who will I grow closest to in this new chapter of my life? What pieces of Madrid will stay with me long after I leave? And the biggest question of all — who am I becoming in the process?
And so, my journey begins, and the first shift is the simple act of walking everywhere. In a city designed for pedestrians, the metro and my own two feet have become my primary modes of transportation. What once felt like an errand — getting from point A to point B — is now an experience in itself. I take in the golden glow of the buildings at sunset, the laughter spilling out of cafés and the way metro musicians turn the most mundane commute into a mini-concert. Walking here isn’t just about movement; it’s about being present.
My hour-long train and metro commute to classes at the University Carlos III of Madrid lets me stand still in time. I can escape into a fictional world with my Kindle, ponder where my fellow travelers are headed and create backstories for every conversation I have the pleasure of overhearing.
Then there are the late dinners — an adjustment I’d never been able to make back home in Argentina, but have found myself falling into seamlessly here. Dinners at Duke were often squeezed between study sessions or club meetings, more out of necessity than enjoyment. Here, it’s a ritual. Eating at 9 or 10 p.m. no longer feels absurd; it feels right. The table has become a space for conversation, connection, and slowing down. My homestay mom, who has hosted students for over 25 years, effortlessly fills my silence. Whether recapping her day out on the town, discussing the latest opera she’s been to, or showing me photos of her nephews, she’s teaching me that food isn’t just about sustenance — it’s about bonding. She is a reminder that while places shape us, it’s the people who truly leave their mark.
While the honeymoon stage of studying abroad is often dismissed as a temporary infatuation — a blink in time before reality sets in — I’m starting to think it’s worth more than we give it credit for. We cling to its magic for a reason, because we fear the inevitable unknown. But maybe, instead of resisting its transient nature, we should embrace it for what it is: a rare period where we are most open to discovery. When everything is unfamiliar enough to make us question our default settings — the habits, assumptions and beliefs we never thought twice about before. And maybe that’s the point.
The wonder and curiosity that have swept over me in these first few weeks of falling for Madrid have made it effortless to shed my anxieties and embrace each new experience wholeheartedly. These weeks have allowed me to reassess the habits I’ve clung to — questioning which still serve me in this fresh chapter and which are ready to be left behind. This stage is the essential first step in transforming an unfamiliar place into home.
It isn’t just about being swept up in the beauty of a new place, but about rethinking how we live, who we are and how we want to devote our time. It’s a time to reevaluate our routines and create new ones, rather than falling into what we’ve become accustomed to. This isn’t just a shallow, wide-eyed phase — it’s the foundation for everything that comes next. Without the honeymoon stage, our conscious adjustments would never get the chance to become second nature.
Right now, my friends and I still rely on Google Maps to get around. But I know that, in a few weeks, we won’t have to think about whether to turn left or right to get home — we’ll just know. In the same way, I hope this slower, more intentional way of living won’t just be a phase but something I carry with me long after I leave Madrid. And so, I’m savoring the honeymoon stage — not as an illusion, but as a beginning. I know that no matter what wave of emotions comes next, I’m stepping into them stronger than before.
If you told me a month ago that I’d be perfectly content wandering aimlessly down side streets, lingering over a two-hour meal, or showing up somewhere without a meticulously planned agenda, I wouldn’t have believed you. But Madrid is changing me. And I’m learning to let it.
Valentina Garbelotto is a Trinity junior. Her column, “Dear comfort zone: It’s not me, it’s you. Time to break up…”, typically runs on alternate Wednesdays.
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