Fleeing Spain in the Middle of a Pandemic

Leaving Spain During Covid-19

Before I left for my semester abroad in Spain, I prepared for anything that could go wrong. This included having dozens of copies of my passport hidden throughout my luggage, along with various sources of hidden cash, and even an anti-theft purse to help prevent pick-pocketing. However, nothing could have prepared me for what did happen.

In early March 2020, I wasn't sure when or if I would even be leaving Spain early. Everything happened so fast. On the Thursday of my last week in Spain, I was still having classes in person. That Saturday, less than three days later, the president of Spain declared a state of alarm. This meant that businesses, classes, and restaurants would be closing and everyone would need to stay inside. Not long after, my program was officially canceled and I bought my plane ticket back to the US.

Saturday, at around nine o'clock at night, my roommate and I heard a strange noise coming from outside. We headed towards the window as it got louder and louder. Everyone had come out onto their balconies and started clapping. At first, I was confused, but later my host mom explained to me that they were applauding for all of the nurses and doctors fighting the rising number of corona patients.

I bought my plane ticket Sunday and was scheduled to fly home the next day. I was supposed to fly from Granada, where I was living in Spain, to my first layover in Madrid. However, the night before my trip home, I got an email saying that my flight to Madrid had been canceled. 

I was stuck in Granada with no plane ticket to my connecting flight that was scheduled to leave in less than 24 hours. That night, I learned many new Spanish cuss words as my host mom called every airline trying to get me a new flight. However, it seemed that Covid-19 had stopped every flight out of Granada during the time I needed it. 

Funnily enough, I was more upset about having to leave Spain early than I was about my canceled plane ticket. To me, the idea of being stuck in Spain for an indefinite amount of time sounded like a much better option than returning to the U.S. For some reason, no one else seemed to agree with me about this and I still had to go home. 

Eventually, my amazing host mom ended up booking me a bus ticket to Madrid. My bus would leave at two am and arrive with just enough time for me to make my connecting flight. 

A little before one am that night I grabbed my bags and hugged my host sister and roommate goodbye. My host mom drove me to the bus station. We got there a few minutes early, and as we were waiting for the bus it finally hit me that I was leaving Spain and my family. We stood there hugging in the bus station, crying like fools, unprepared, with no masks for protection.

My bus finally arrived a little after two and I was finally on my way. 

During the plane ride home, I had filled out a mandatory form they passed out, asking me what countries I had traveled to and if I came in contact with anyone who had Corona. I knew that I didn't have any symptoms but I was still scared to go through the health screening, afraid that I might get rejected even though I wasn't sick.

My turn came and I had to walk up to an intimidating man wearing a large apocalyptic face mask. He asked me how I was feeling, to which I replied, "I feel great, super, super healthy!" He took my form and waved me on after handing me a giant stack of papers about quarantining.

I made it home safe and sound and spent two weeks locked away and finishing my classes online. Now I'm just counting down the days until I can leave the U.S. and return to Spain again.