"Hola Claudio, me llama Juan y me hijo se llama José". After living in Granada for a few days, I have absorbed so much that looking back to the first day here is like peering down a tunnel filled with scraps and vivid recollections.
      I can remember the anxiety that I had while flying in from Chicago, nervous and with little idea what to expect. Getting on the bus to Granada, meeting my host family for the first time, even the first meal, where I spoke with my broken Spanish to Juan and Jose over a lunch of gazpacho, salad, and a small glass of sherry, the traditional drink made in the town where both father and son were born. Already it feels as if I have appropriated another identity and fashioned a story for myself, and that the way I live now is how I have always lived.
    Granada is amazing. The small and well-paved streets, the cafes, and weather, the language, and the people. "Me encanta Granada;" I love Granada.
   No doubt, there are things that are irksome, like the high prevalence of American fashion and English, but there is a wealth of conversation and enjoyment in the activities of the everyday. I am unconditionally glad I came here.