Studying abroad invokes a range of emotions, including exhaustion and burnout. Continue reading for a brutally honest appraisal of a semester abroad in Granada, Spain.

I haven’t spoken Spanish since I was a sophomore in high school. I passed Spanish IV and never took a language class again.

Fast forward five years, and I decided to study abroad for five months in southern Spain, where the Andalucían accent is thickest and la malafollá is most prominent, the latter being a notorious attachment to irony and black humor that comes across as unwelcoming and brash to a foreigner. Nevertheless, I was determined to truly assimilate into a foreign culture.

Besides some prior research, I didn’t know what to expect from my semester abroad. What is the American study abroad experience supposed to be? Visiting as many cities as possible while completing homework on buses, trains, and planes? Going out every night and finding fellow English speakers to help me navigate through unfamiliar places? For so long, this stereotype has infiltrated the value of what studying abroad could grant; it has twisted the concept of opportunity to some kind of expectation that, for most people, is either unrealistic or superficial. How can we characterize a semester’s worth of experiences in various countries and cultures for students of all subjects under one blanket, claiming “this is what it should be?” We can’t.

This was an exhausting train of thought for me before coming to Granada. I was constantly considering cities I wanted to visit, activities I wanted to do, and foods I needed to try. Then there were the additional stressors of travel — expenses, nightlife, visitors, and, of course, my studies. Maybe it’s because of social media, or maybe it’s because we were cooped up in our houses for a year, but it seems that among American university students, studying abroad in Europe has become less about immersion into a specific culture and more about visiting as many nearby countries as possible. But doesn’t that fracture the value of studying abroad? If I’m not in Spain for half of the time that I’m here, how can I say that I truly allowed myself to live life as a Spaniard?

Since I arrived, I’ve considered the most valuable moments from my time studying abroad. These, of course, vary from person to person, but for me, they aren’t the aspects of my experiences that people usually ask me about. I’ve found the most common questions I get are, “Have you visited many countries?” and “Is it cheap?” In case you’re curious, the answer to the first question is “I suppose,” and the answer to the second is “No.”

It’s true — this experience is once in a lifetime. You may be lucky enough to have the opportunity to study, work, or live abroad again, but a semester of undergraduate studies is a very different exposure to the world than that of any other world traveler. 

Study abroad burnout is not something that I’d heard of before coming here, but I’ve found that it is very much real and consists of three parts, stages if you will: culture shock, homesickness, and exhaustion. Naturally, these can overlap and provoke each other, but they are ultimately subsequent.

Culture shock is the most predictable hurdle one will face abroad. Spaniards have a very different lifestyle compared to Americans. Punctuality is unimportant, social life is of much higher significance than professional life (lively conversation is highly valued), and personal space does not exist. Everything meal-related occurs several hours later in the day than it typically does in the States. La sobremesa — post-meal conversation — can last well into the night after dinner (which already begins around 9 p.m. or later). These are unfamiliar customs to one used to an American lifestyle, but they are far from insurmountable obstacles. In fact, among my friends, we’ve found that culture shock tends to be a rather brief hindrance in the overall experience. After you’ve bested any jet lag, and especially once you’ve established a routine, culture shock pretty much fades into the background.

Homesickness isn’t quite as easy to shake. I’ve found that it isn’t a period of time that strikes and then fades. Rather, it comes and goes with specific events or states of mind. Personally, I’ve felt most homesick waking up in the morning. I open my eyes and stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling, hearing the neighbors on the floor below already arguing, and the cars going by outside. I miss being the first one awake in my house in Williamsburg, the birds singing as I get ready for the day and my roommates trickling out from their rooms as they get out of bed. But the feeling always passes rather quickly. I get up and wash my face, and suddenly I’m on the cobbled streets of Granada gazing at the snowy mountains of the Sierra Nevada above the city (not so different from the Appalachian Mountains that overlooked my high school), and I’m in awe that I could ever feel anything other than grateful for the opportunity to be in this amazing place.

There are days when homesickness creeps back. In brief moments of culture shock when you experience something new and foreign. On a day you didn’t sleep well the night before and you crave the comfort of home. When you get physically sick (which I guarantee you will while abroad). Homesickness will come and go but, once again, the novelty of the culture around you rescues you from falling into any deeper melancholy.

Exhaustion is the only part of burnout over which you have control. My original fear that hopping around Europe would threaten the cultural immersion I sought was very, very wrong — I’ve been able to visit multiple countries, and I’ve made so many amazing memories that I will treasure forever. I am currently writing this article in Granada, having just returned from Morocco, after having just returned from Portugal, after having just returned from Italy. And I am exhausted. I have never been happier to be home.

That’s what Granada has become to me. It’s not just that I am now comfortable speaking Spanish, that I know the layout of much of the city, or that I feel safe walking by myself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from being abroad, it’s that there is no place or material item that truly makes you feel at home — it’s the people. It’s the companions I’ve found from all over the U.S. and, frankly, all over the world. It’s the pseudo-family I’ve established with my host mom and 5-year-old host sister: the meals we share together and the ensuing sobremesas. It’s the ability to walk the city by myself, knowing that I belong in this place enough to feel comfortable and content with only the streets and thousands of (mostly) Spanish strangers as company. It’s the locals, the language, and the culture (despite la malafollá). Did I have to surmount culture shock and homesickness to feel this way? Of course. The fundamental thing, though, is that when I am exhausted — when I’m tired from travel, school, or the return of homesickness — I don’t yearn for the States. I don’t seek my American friends. I don’t call my mom three times a day.

I look up at the Sierra Nevada, the snow-capped mountaintops peaking above the city, and I feel wide awake.