I should start with a disclaimer: My trip to Spain has been my first real trip outside the United States, and, for that matter, off of the Eastern Seaboard. Despite an orientation session, my expectations and preparation for study abroad were nonexistent. The weeks leading up to my departure were full of questions from interested family and friends: “But do you speak Spanish?” “Are you going to like the food?” “I’m guessing I’m not going to get my DVDs of “The Wire” back until January then?” I brushed them all off, thinking that everything was going to work out and that I just needed to go into the whole experience with an open mind. Fast forward to Aug. 26, 2013, at 9:30 a.m. I am standing in the Madrid-Barajas Airport arguing through my jet lag with the desk worker about why my bag ended up in Miami and not Madrid in a weird mix of Spanish, English and vigorous hand motions. In this moment of crisis, my six years of high school Spanish went out the door, with the exception of