Let's go for a paseo.

There are some things that grow on you, others that don’t. When I was little, I hated eating raw broccoli-I used to spit it out in my napkin, hide it under the table, and sneak off to the trash can after dinner when I thought my dad wasn’t looking. I still loathe the bitter, dry taste of raw broccoli in my mouth, but I also try to force it down every so often in the name of calcium. With that said, there are some things in life that only grow sweeter with time.

As a girl, I also strongly disliked going on walks without a destination. To me, the idea of spending all that time and energy to walk in a circle, or a straight line, or whatever shape aimless walks seem to make, was as pointless to me as driving somewhere and turning back around immediately after arriving at the destination. Naturally, I hated hiking as well, which was infinitely more boring due to the predictable green and brown scenery.

Thankfully, I grew up and grew out of my narrow-minded views on the art of walking. Little by little, I learned to appreciate my ability to wander. When I was fourteen, I was stranded in bed for a week after a car accident that damaged my upper back. It was the first time I ever experienced immobility, and it opened my eyes to what it’s like to be trapped: I wanted nothing more than to simply go outside and move.

I thought I had learned my lesson, but four years later I developed a stress fracture in my hip from running too much and was confined to crutches for two months. It was one of the hardest experiences of my life, but I sure did appreciate walking after two months of going without. In fact, I loved walking so much I would find excuses to go on walks. Soon after I was off my crutches, I walked forty minutes to the beach and forty minutes back twice in one day.

At this point in my life, I didn’t think I could become any more of a walking aficionado. But then I met my boyfriend, Tim, and I soon realized that I was mistaken. In my mind, five fingers in mine equals walking to the fifth power- it is exponentially better than taking a stroll solo. We’ve had many amazing walks together over the past year and a half: we’ve sauntered through Sunday morning Mexican flea markets in LA, strolled along the beach in San Diego, ambled along the star-lit roads of Bend, Oregon, and marched through the rainy residential streets of Portland.

When I first arrived in Granada to study, I was so very lost- literally. Both of my parents are directionally challenged, so it’s no surprise that it wasn’t until the third grade I finally had the whole “left hand”, “right hand” thing down. With that said, my anxiety to venture out and explore the city on my own was, in my opinion, very valid.

Soon after I arrived, month-long language preparatory classes began. Tim walked me home from class everyday, even though he lived on the opposite end of the city, about a thirty-minute walk each way. One of the first times we walked to my house together, he stopped in the middle of a plaza about a mile from my house and told me to direct us home. I turned to him with a smile, but soon realized he wasn’t kidding. “It’s for your own good,” he told me.

Initially, I was a little mad at him. Tim knew I was horrible with directions, and that I still hadn’t oriented myself with the city. Nevertheless, I started walking to the left, down a narrow street painted with shadows. “Is this the right way?”, I sighed sarcastically. Everywhere around us, people were hustling home from work, or picking up their kids from school. It seemed like the whole world was out, itching to make it home. And I was right in the middle of it. The arches of my feet ached, my back hurt from carrying my bookbag, and I suddenly I felt overwhelmed from the crowds of people that enclosed me.

Somehow, I managed to find my way home. I admit, Tim had to help me a little, but nevertheless I made it back safely. After that experience, something changed. Little by little, I learned my way around the city. I began to wander the infinite collection of alleys without reserve, and begged Tim to go on walks with me in the old Muslim neighborhood, The Albaicin- a maze of whitewashed homes and walled gardens nestled in the hills next to the Alhambra (an ancient Moorish castle).

In my mind, every unknown neighborhood was transformed from its previous form of an eerie breeding ground of danger to an infinite playground. I would saunter past store windows to peek inside at whatever treasures were held inside: sewing shops with an antique dollhouse in the window, tiny clothing stores with handmade dresses and local artwork, and warm bakeries with mouth-watering pastries displayed in glass cases.

A few days ago, Tim and I decided to wander through the Albaicin’s shopping district, filled with Moroccan teahouses and street vendors selling colorful quilts, lanterns, and leather slippers. We climbed up the steep, cobblestoned alleys and soaked in the warm afternoon sun, stopping at whatever shop or wall of graffiti caught our attention. As daylight began to fade, we sat on an ancient wall in the Albaicin and watched the sun’s shadows stain the Cathedral in the distance. We walked home in the dark, stopping at a park along the way with a lighted fountain and past a gang of stray cats who scattered when we passed by.

We walked for about four hours that afternoon, up and down the streets of Granada. We had no place to be, no reason to hurry. All around us, people were rushing to get home, as usual. But when I looked closer, I realized that many people weren’t in a hurry: cute old couples strode side-by-side with groceries in hand, hippies with dreadlocks were out for a walk with their dogs, and young fathers and mothers proudly pushed strollers with the newest member of their family nestled inside.

In Spanish, the word for “walk” is paseo. Recently, I came across a travel book of Spain on the bookshelf in my bedroom. It explained that, in Spain, a paseo is more than a normal walk. In essence, it is a walk with no destination- a ramble. Every weekend, you see hundreds of Spaniards out for their weekly (or daily) paseo with friends and family, even though all the stores are closed on Sundays.

After living in Spain for two months, I now have a new definition of walks. I think “paseo” is so much more fitting. You “walk” to the store, to the school, to a destination. You “dar un paseo” around the city with someone you love, aimlessly wander, let the sea of people on the street wash you up in the rhythm of shuffling feet. I really believe that there is no better way to see the world than to walk everywhere and soak up each neighborhood you enter.

Today, why not go for a paseo? Take in the sights, the smells, the sounds- the good and the bad. People watch. Walk. Stop and pet random people’s dogs. Walk. Wander through corner shop without anything in your pockets. Walk. Watch a sunset. Walk until your legs are heavy and your feet feel like they are going to fall off. There really is nothing sweeter. And finally, when it’s all said and done, add the word “paseo” to your vocabulary. Let’s start a paseo revolution ☺