I once ran 84 kilometres home from university just to avoid taking the bus. Most people called it madness; I call it low-emission transport. Somewhere between mile 50 and a hallucination of a talking sheep, I decided sustainability wasn’t just a cause; it was a kind of stubborn optimism. Maybe that’s why I’m bringing that same mindset – plus a lot more deodorant – to Madrid this year.
I’m studying Economics at Queen’s University Belfast, but for the next twelve months I’ll be swapping the drizzle of Ireland for the golden chaos of Madrid, studying at IE University and sharpening my Spanish. I’ve already taken 20 night classes to prepare, so I can confidently mispronounce “empanada” with flair.
My suitcase for Madrid won’t carry much, mainly glass jars for overnight oats, a bamboo toothbrush, and a patched-up rucksack with more stories than zippers. Each item represents a quiet rebellion against convenience. Growing up in rural Ireland, I watched a local farmer regularly burn rubbish behind our house. At first, I didn’t think much of it but over time, the acrid smoke and oily stench stuck with me. That was my sustainability wake-up call. Pollution wasn’t just happening on news channels; it was literally in my backyard.
Now, sustainability means conscious consumption. It means choosing to walk, even when it rains (which it does a lot in Belfast). It means taking time to reuse and repurpose glass jars, old clothes, leftovers into something mildly edible (the best I can do on a uni budget). These habits are small, but they’ve shaped how I think about impact, especially as I prepare to live in a country I love, but also one that’s vulnerable to climate extremes.
Madrid won’t be entirely new. I’ve visited a few times with a summer job I acquired last year. But this time, I won’t be a tourist. I’ll be a student, a walker of unfamiliar streets, a first-time flatmate, a constant language learner. I’m excited to taste life the way it’s meant to be tasted: slowly, sustainably, and hopefully with a side of paella.
Sustainability doesn’t have to be sacrifice. It can be joy. It can be eating locally, embracing public transport, or learning how to cook traditional dishes with minimal waste. It can even be running through the Spanish countryside if the metro’s on strike, though I probably won’t do 84 kilometres again. Probably.
The Suitcase Manifesto isn’t a set of rules. It’s a reminder that the way we travel and live, matters. And while I may not be fluent in Spanish yet, I’m fluent in hope, action, and the belief that even small steps (or very long runs) can take us closer to a better, cleaner world.
