The World Record: Madrid, Spain

For about a month, I had been checking my mail religiously, or at least continuously, urging my host mother to check hers. She rarely has the keys to her padlocked mailbox on hand, and has only emptied it out once to my knowledge. The fate of my absentee ballot lay in her hands. As Nov. 4 drew closer, I grew nervous. I blamed the inefficiency of the Spanish mail system - something I had already experienced first-hand when a package from home arrived much later than it should have. Ultimately, I was driven to paranoia by the thought that I would miss my first chance to vote in a national election. I considered the possibility that my Senora, influenced by her conservative leanings, was sabotaging my attempts to vote for a liberal president.

I had only recently come to realize that my Senora's political views were the polar opposite of my own. She and her elderly father, despite the general sentiments of most modern Spanish citizens, still have pictures of Franco displayed in their home. One of her most prized possessions is a signed letter from Franco thanking her father for his "great sacrifice" to his country. Apparently the adorable elderly man we know as "Abuelo," or grandpa, had been a soldier and then a spy for Franco during the war. He was captured and spent a few years as a prisoner and emerged a hero upon his release. He has a bullet hole in his arm and a massive collection of war decorations to prove it. I had been incredibly uncomfortable when she, beaming with pride, showed us Abuelo's old medals, many of them German because of Spain's political leanings at that time, and launched into a speech about liberals and communists.

I was shocked when she made excuses for some of the most heinous aspects of Franco's dictatorship, such as censorship and mass arrests. I tried to explain how fundamental freedom of speech and press is in the eyes of most Americans. My host mother explained that her primary concern is always safety, and that, in her mind, security is more valuable than greater freedom.

While I was not sold on her all-too-familiar freedom for security trade off, I did come to understand her reasoning. Living alone in what was once a wealthy neighborhood in Madrid, she had seen her circumstances change a great deal. While under the iron fist of Franco, Madrid had seen its crime rate drop to almost zero. Her family had been able to leave the door unlocked and their windows unbarred when she was growing up. Since then, Madrid has become more dangerous, though no more so than any other modern city.

Learning about the Spanish system of government and hearing about the effects of the Franco era on Spanish society only further fueled my desire to participate in the upcoming U.S. election. I could feel that history was in the making, and had heard enough about bad government to make me anxious. I joked that if the election went the wrong way, I would be looking into a four-year study abroad plan.

Having decided that I would take my vote into my own hands, I Google-mapped the American Embassy's location. The next day before I went to class, I made the trek to its less-than-central location. The guard at the gate did not speak English and was busy warding off a large disgruntled homeless man who claimed to have an important meeting inside. Foolishly, I had forgotten my passport, but my old New York driver's license and my comparatively less threatening appearance was enough to get inside. I filled out my ballot along with the hordes of ex-patriots who had flocked there. The severe woman in Gucci glasses and a black trench coat in front of me in line surprised me by asking for a pen in a cheerful southern accent. As I waited, she recounted a romantic story of how she had studied abroad in Madrid years ago, fallen in love, and then never left.

On election night, all politically conscious American students and ex-patriots in Madrid found themselves at a large museum in the center of the city that had been converted into a four-floor party venue with massive screens to watch the countdown. The viewing areas were soon so packed that additional floors were opened to accommodate the massive influx of enthusiastic students.

It was an epic event - not only because of the significance of this particular election but also because everyone's interest seemed to have been heightened by their distance from the election itself. My friend Sam had noted that he spoke more about American politics with his Senora and his Spanish roommate than he ever had at home or in Boston. In the weeks prior to the election, I was surprised by the degree to which the Spaniards spoke about what was going on. (It was a Spanish girl in one of my classes who referred me to a YouTube video to hear Sarah Palin's now infamous embarrassing prank call.)

Seeing something so fundamentally American as a presidential election take place from afar was both sad and vastly rewarding. Being abroad has given me a new perspective on how the world perceives the United States, and has also made me realize how close to my heart I hold the American system and its ideals.