9 years ago today I boarded plane in Los Angeles, passed through Washington DC and Frankfurt and eventually landed in Malaga. I had just broken up with my boyfriend and was about to turn 30 years old and a couple months on the beach combined with Spanish classes seemed like a good idea to get away from it all. So, I decided to take it a step further–I quit my job at the American Heart Association and planned to travel indefinitely after a 2 month Spanish course in Nerja.

I arrived in Nerja after about 24 hours of travel: 3 flights and a 2 hour bus ride! I was exhausted and sweaty as I got off the bus with my backpack. I had the address of the house I was to stay in, but nothing more so I approached a group of old men standing at a bar and managed “donde esta…” and pointed at the piece of paper I had! Fortunately, they were able to help and soon enough I was at Maria’s home, my host for the next two months.

Maria didn’t speak a word of English and I had just a few memories of high school Spanish, but somehow we managed to understand each other enough. I remember that on that first night, she walked me through the village of Nerja and showed me the “Balcon de Europa” and I thought it was one of the most beautiful villages I had ever seen.

A week later, I celebrated my 30th birthday with a group of newly made friends–many of whom I’m still in touch with. The rest of the summer was a fabulous combination of mornings at the beach, afternoon Spanish classes, the Costa de Sol party life at night and weekend excursions all over Andalucia. Not a bad way to begin your thirties…

9 years is a long time to live in another country. At first everything is interesting and exotic. Then, you go through a period where you just feel foreign. Then finally, you adapt to your adopted country so much that when you go home, you feel a bit foreign there. As one writer once put it “you’re neither here nor there.”

So today, I not only celebrate the Independence of my home country, but 9 years in Spain, my adopted home.