This blog post is dedicated to my mom. Not my real mom, but my Spanish one. Isabella. An unlikely pair; I spoke no Spanish and she spoke no English. Our first month was hard. We wanted to communicate with each other so badly, but we were still creative in showing our appreciation for one another. She cooked for me, cleaned my room, and did my laundry, and I tried to show my thanks with flowers and wine. She would look up English words to compliment me– “Enchanting!” “Gorgeous!” “Beautiful Girl”– all in a thick, heavy Spanish accent. I would try to write little cards and texts to her, as my written Spanish flowed more freely than my spoken Spanish, my obnoxious American accent obscuring my words to the point where she would tilt her head and repeatedly say “Que??” (What??).

My mother was always kind and patient with me. But don’t get me wrong, she was a Spanish woman through and through. Her quirks highlighted the cultural differences between the functioning of Spanish and American homes and sometimes, I learned the hard way what not to do. I learned from Isabella that electricity in Europe is insanely expensive, and if my showers were too long she would pop her head in and ask if I was dead in the shower because I was taking so long. I learned that I have too many clothes and do too much laundry, and that our little laundry line outside our eighth-floor window surely couldn’t hold it all. I learned that she eats on a schedule, and a terribly late one at that. Lunch was always at 2:30 p.m. and dinner at 9:00 p.m. The former was the hot meal of the day, and she paired all five courses with at least one or two bottles of wine.

I knew Isabella was an intelligent, independent woman who was strong-willed to the point of arrogance, but I loved her for that because I saw myself in her. While she was fun and loving, she was oh so mom-like. Always making sure I had eaten enough food for myself and a nonexistent baby I was carrying, making sure my outfits looked nice and that my room and clothes were clean. She would take pictures of me to show her friends and buy my favorite foods and snacks from Mercado Central. She would pinch my cheeks and laugh at my terrible Spanish and would bring me tea and soup when I was sick. She was the best host mom I could have asked for, and I am so incredibly thankful to have had her during my time abroad. She positively shaped my international experience and the friendship that blossomed between us taught me an infinite amount about intercultural communication and the cultural differences that shaped us.