I opened my inbox to find mail with the words, “Application approved!” in the subject line. I blinked, and then it dawned on me that I was finally going to Spain. It was happening, for real. Let me explain, I’d been scouting the net for weeks for a programme that would allow me to travel abroad and immerse myself in another culture. While I had pushed a few pins on the map, I’d always just been a tourist. This time I wanted more. I wanted to live with the locals. I wanted to be one of them.
To make this happen, I had looked up various volunteering options in various locations. And I came across many – Now while I would’ve liked to work with animals, I wasn’t trained to work with tigers or even kittens for that matter; while I would’ve loved to be part of marine conservation projects, or archaeological excavations in remote locations, I didn’t qualify (Surprising!). Given my limited skill set, the options too were limited. Finally I hit upon Pueblo Ingles (or Diverbo as it is now renamed). All they asked for was the gift of the gab, in English. But I still didn’t qualify - Being Indian, I am not considered a ‘Native English speaker’. I ignored the fine print and filled up the online application. I pressed the send button and never expected to hear back. But then I did. I will admit that as I read their approval letter, I was thrilled yet apprehensive. After all, I’d found this programme over the internet. “Don’t do it. You’ll be shipped off to Algeria in a metal trunk,” warned a well-meaning friend. But a month later, I was in Spain. To be precise I was in Cazorla, Jean (pronounced kha-yen. I spent the first few days calling it Jean with a ‘J’. Getting on the right bus from Madrid to Jean wasn’t easy. Wouldn’t want that to happen to you.)
At Pueblo Ingles, I was one of 20 English ‘teachers’, and 20 Spanish students. There was no black-board, no classrooms and no books. The only rule was – speak no other language but English. In return for our time, we volunteers were provided three fancy meals a day, and boarding at a four-star. (nah, that wasn’t what lured me in given that I had to pay my air-fare, visas etc. It was the experience that I was willing to pay for.)
The students, all working professionals, knew English, and most just needed a refresher, or a confidence boost. For an entire week, we spent many hours with our students, walking across the little town of Cazorla, talking to them; playing games; organising skits; teaching them phrases and of course partying. By the end of it, many students confessed to ‘thinking in English’, while I began to understand Spain. I learned about their culture and lifestyle; I learned that much like us, they are all about their families; I learned that in Spain you’re special simply ‘cos you’re a woman; I learned that sweet sangria is very potent; I also picked up a few steps of the Sevillanas. But most of all, I came back with memories and friends for life.
On the flight back to Mumbai, with hours in transit, I began
to think about my life. I love to write and I felt blessed to be a journalist at
a major Indian publication house. I am still grateful to my editors for having
given me that opportunity. And I quite liked my colleagues. But I also wanted to
travel. So on my way back home is when I first began to dabble with the idea of
becoming a travel writer. I had written several travel features before, and
doing this full-time was what I felt ‘almost’ ready for. It’s been a couple of
years now since I began freelancing full-time. How’s it been, you ask? Like discovering
a whole new world.
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