Pyrenees

My lack of entries has NOT been for lack of anything to write about. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I have had so many experiences, revelations, and self-discoveries that when thinking about synthesizing them into a few words for an entry I have felt so overwhelmed that I have avoided it completely. Yes this is the ultimate procrastination, and every decision to wait longer makes finally starting even harder. After Morocco, Italy, Granada, Madrid, and Barcelona, my good friend Kendra finally reminded me harshly the benefits of making yourself document and synthesize traveling experiences and I am once again motivated to start, although I have some serious catching up to do. Although I keep this blog to update the people in my life who I love and who care about me, I am selfishly also keeping it to develop the way that I process life. Through writing about my experiences I hope to gain the capability to see life in new and unique ways, to capture more irony and humor in the day to day experiences, and to be able to look back at my adventures and thoughts and monitor personal growth.
Skipping all the previously mentioned adventures (perhaps I will be motivated enough to write about them later), three friends and I trekked out to the wild Pyrenees mountains for a long weekend of hiking luxury. We appropriately call European hiking this for its emphasis on convenience and comfort that I have never experienced before in the ¨Great Outdoors¨ of the United States.
To begin, our rental car was called the Panda and was about the size of one too. The car fit perfectly in our vision of a European road trip, and we eagerly crammed our four backpacking backpacks and our oversized legs into the undersized legspace. We brought an ungodly amount of food including Chorizo, olives, and full loaves of bread. Feeling very Spanish we set out for the town of Torla and only made one pit stop for a ¨cafe con leche¨, realizing that while Americans have big gulps and tar-tasting coffee at every gas station, Spaniards allow you to have espresso and liquor along with tapas (small apetizers, typically involving an overabundance of mayonaise).
We eventually set out on the trail about two hours behind schedule and hiked into the pitch dark, following a friendly group of Spaniards who had been to our refugio once before. At first we thanked God that we found them because in the dark we would have been lost, but we spoke too soon, because the too ended up lost, and the seven of us wandered aimlessly with excessively heavy backpacks for at least an hour at the top. Luckily it was a pleasant temperature, the stars were magnifiscently radiant, we were all in decent shape, and highly accustomed to staying up until 2 in the morning, because we didnt happen upon our refugio until 1:30 am. The luxury began as we took off our hiking boots and stepped inside the warm refugio to recieve comfortable slipper-sandals provided for us by the Federacion of Aragon. We slept in comfortable matressed bunks with warm blankets and hot coffee ready by 8 in the morning for us. Due to the weather we were not able to do our planned route, but instead lounged around, explored a new view of the striking canyon and ate lunch next to a huge waterfall in the sun with our new Spaniard friends. Now that we could see where we had hiked before in the sunlight we were blown away by snowcovered mountains, waterfalls, impressive rock formations, goats, marmots, lizzards, and a gigantic canyon with snow on the top and a river running through it.
We spent our next night in a little hostel run by an old couple. It was clean and quaint, and the best part was that it had the most amazing view of the Pyrenees mountains and was close to the hike we wanted to do the next day. We ate a feast of bread, cheese, and beer while Roberto taught us a popular Italian card game. The village we stayed in consisted of about 9 houses and 2 shops, both of which were old men´s woodshops, selling wooden spoons and combs. Even our tiny little Panda couldn´t handle the narrow roads of the town. Thankfully, one of the woodworkers came out to see what all the ruckus was about and directed Robert to reverse up a steep hill, the lovely smell of burning rubber filling our noses. Before we were led to our hostel though, the man led us to his shop and we politely looked around pretending to be very very tempted to buy the honey stick he had wittled.
Now that I have done a fair amount of traveling by myself I believe I have earned the right to make an opinion about whether or not it is for me. In general I am thankful for the experiences I had on my own, as I know I grew more traveling by myself than I could have with friends, and I also have gained a new appreciatin for traveling with other people. I can safely say that the group of people for the Pyrenees trip was enjoyable as we were all very relaxed and there was plenty of room for peaceful reflection and independent appreciation of nature´s beauty, while at the same time lots and lots of laughter, someone to point out new things to, and company for meals. Roberto spent his time telling us in detail about all the rocks, plants and animals we encountered, and encouraged a trip to the geology museum. Tyler took charge of reservations and navigating and then proceeded to keep us entertained with poop jokes. Kendra´s dry sense of humor never ceased to have us chuckling, and the entire group kept a positive attitude through rain, getting slightly lost, and even getting stopped by Spanish police in ski masks and gigantic guns.
Sunday we wandered along a loud river finding more waterfalls, and a chapel built inside a cave. I was reminded of why I feel more human in nature by the soothing sound of the rushing water, the sweet smell of the unusual spring flowers, and the awareness of how small I am in comparison to enormous canyon walls jutting up on all sides.
We made a pit stop in Pamplona on the way back and luckily Tyler had his ¨gore radar¨ turned on because we found the Plaza de los Torres, where the bull fights are held, the streets where the running of the bulls takes place, a famous statue, and a Citadel. Pamplona had a medieval feel, and the Citadel felt like walking inside the ruins of an old castle. It was very green and a variety of people enjoyed the public park inside, including a wall of climbers traversing along the old stone walls. Although only spending a few hours there, I immediately understood why Hemingway admired it so much, and I think I may have found another place that I would like to live (Barcelona is still the first).
While the entire weekend was fantastic, one of the most enjoyable things was the game that we Americans invented. We have yet to come up with an official name, however it mainly consists of trying to erradicate all contractions from your speech. While spending time with Spaniards attempting to speak English, I have realized that one, we use contractions A LOT, and two, that we generally say ¨yeah¨ instead of ¨yes¨, thus from this realization we created a game in which the only one who had an advantage was Roberto, who´s first language is Italian. Each player begins with 5 points and the goal is to be the last player with points remaining. A conversation is started and the topic completely unrestricted and unstructured. The only restriction is that you are not allowed to say yeah or use contractions, because each time that you do so, you lost a point. At first it seemed easy, but just as Kendra was making fun of me for talking like a robot, she made two mistakes in one sentence. The car was an erruption of laughter for a good 20 minutes, as the game proved to be almost impossible. Roberto was quite animated by the game as he had apparently been suffering slight depression because he felt like his English skills were not where they should be, until he discovered that as soon as we started the game he could understand 100% of what we were saying! He of course won the game and put us all to shame, leaving us Americans with the realization that we are slaves to our contractions unless we want to start sounding like foreigners ourselves!

Marruecos

I have been avoiding writing about my Morocco....

Roma

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? Well , I did my best. Arriving at our ¨house¨we realized that this company had done some very decietful things with their advertising and what we thought was going to be a chateau turned out to be a shack. What was supposed to be a fold out queen bed was a piece of wood with a single piece of foam on top, and the porch was about as big as the whole place. Not only was the shack small and poorly made, but the location was horrible, we realized we were probably going to have to take a cab into the town every day and night.
Since I was the one tagging along on their vacation I decided to leave and find a hostal for myself so that the girls wouldnt have to share a bed. My friends thought I was a little crazy to do so, but I left early the next morning to navigate the train and metro by myself, find a hostal and check myself in. It was so exciting to be honest being on my own in such a city finding my own way, I had the sensation that the whole world was at my fingertips. After checking in I headed to the Colosseo. My phone was out of money and what I hadnt planned for was that I couldnt recharge it in Italy. Therefore, I was without any possible communication to my friends and the only thing I knew was that they may also be going to the Colosseo that morning. I very luckily found them and we took a tour of the Colosseo and Roman Forum, ate some delicious Italian pasta, saw the Circo Massimo at night and a cute Italian coffee shop for some drinks afterwards. The next day I visited the Vatican Museum early in the morning, got myself some gelato, not to be confused with ¨ge la do¨ (if you speak Italian you know what I am saying), visited Basilica de San Pietro, and took a nap. Later my friends and I met up for Pub Crawl, which is a organized bar hop that includes all you can drink beer, all you can eat pizza, an opportunity to meet travelers from around the world, and the most exciting of course, a free t-shirt to be your testimony that you were there, because you most likely won´t remember it.
The next day I saw the Spanish Steps, made a wish in Trevi fountain, ate more gelato, walked around the Jewish Ghetto, visited the Pantheon, and ended at Circo Massimo again. It was much prettier during the day, this park where the Romans raced chariots. The sun put a beautiful happy roman glow on all the Italians lounging and playing music and futbol in the park. I was in heaven. I later met up with two gals from my hostal for a trip down to the part of Rome that is not on the tourist maps! It was so exciting, we had very vague directions but the lure of an ¨authentic Italian scene¨ so we wandered and found a delightful Italian bar perfect for people watching as we could sit outside in the warm weather. To our delight there were no tourists to watch, we were surrounded by Italian, not English, and a group of entertaining friends sat at the table next to us playing guitar and singing. We sat for hours just absorbing the Italian wine, food, music, beautiful people and beautiful architecture. If all of Rome was like this neighborhood I would move there in a heartbeat, but sadly, Rome will always be a place full of foreigners. I did decide on this trip though, that after I learn German I am going to focus on Italian, and hopefully spend some time living there, because I completely fell in love with everything Italy. I already can understand about 30 percent of Italian as well because it is so similar to Spanish, so it should be relatively easy to learn.

"Dia de Puta Madre"

I heard a quote once that happiness is having something to look forward to, and today would prove to be demonstrative example. Although I try to avoid speaking English while I am in Spain because I have the rest of my life for that, I really appreciate the humor and the comraderie I experience with m three American friends Carlie, Charlene, and Jordan. At lunch Carlie told me that her boyfriend rented a house in Rome that I am welcome to come and stay with them…so all I have to do is buy a plane ticket and some museum entrance fees and Rome is within sight! I cant believe that it is already almost March and the spring is about to begin. I booked my tickets from Granada (where I will be after Marrueccos) to Milan for two days and then Bari for 6six. Adding this excitement was almost too much and I felt like I had about 6 cups of coffee in my system. I shook all through class. Luckily, I asked my art history professor if we could have class outside in the gorgeous sunny weather to which he not only replied yes, he drove us in his car downtown to learn about the architectural development of the port town of Santander and view the progression of the building as they extend further east along the water.
Later, Alvaro returned my phone call and asked if we could grab a drink. While I am very grateful to his mom for setting me up with a potential friend I do not think I will be meeting with him again. Conversation, smiles, and general happiness all seemed painful for him and during every topic we discussed he would stubbornly tell me that I was mistaken in my way of thinking. Also, even though he had spent 4 months in Ireland and knew what it was like to be a foreigner trying to learn a new language he was impatient and unhelpful with my Spanish. Generally I am surprised with how many people in Spain are full of life, loving the present, and happy, but Alvaro was an exception. I hate categorizing people, but people like Alvaro who act as though to go through life is a big inconvenience are a waste of my time and energy, besides, they seem to be determined to not let anyone or anything help make it more tolerable. What I got out of the meeting was a perfect picture of what I never want to be, and beer.
While eating my Spanish fish and French fries at dinner the friendly young man sitting next to me happened to be studying psychology as well and was as passionate about it as I am. Refreshingly, I was back in touch with the kind of people that are excited to be here on earth, want to soak up life like a sponge, and eager to learn solely for the sake of learning. We discussed in English and Spanish our favorite parts of psychology, what we want to do with it and what the drive to help people feels like. He also happens to be from Valencia, which is a city I would love to visit soon for a world famous festival they have yearly. All in all, I couldn’t have asked for a day more “de puta madre”. I am still trying to use this phrase without feeling ridiculous, because the idea is “it was the bomb” but the literal translation is ¨of mother bitch”. I apologize if my usage of this expression offends any readers, but try to remember that language generally is best not translated literally and also that to swear in Spain is much more common; professors swear in front of their students, and children swear in front of their families.
They also especially swear in futbol games, or soccer for you Americans! If you want to hear some of the crazy ones I can tell you in person, but they are too vulgar to post here. We tied, so it was an exciting game against Barcelona. They are so into soccer here that even on a rainy cold Sunday the stadium was completely packed and Barcelona had even brought their own band to play while they cheered their special Barcelonian cheers.

Bienvenidos a Santander

Most people whom I told I did not know where I was living when I arrived in Santander told me I was crazy. They either straight up said this or they told me with wide and judging eyes that I was "very brave".
Santander was way bigger than I anticipated. I pictured a sleepy little beach town and it very much so feels like a city to me. It has a more European feel to it than Granada in the south and it is, as people warned me, very green. Arrival day was sunny and gorgeous and I happily strolled the streets I hoped to call mine soon, as I found my hostel, which I would call home base for a short while. Finding a local newspaper, (smiling to myself that it is in Spanish and that I can read it), I made many appointments to view apartments the next day. I got a hold of one seemingly nice lady named Besna who told me that for two months I could have her room and she would sleep in the living room because she wasn’t quite ready to leave. She said I should come check out the place, and that even if I didn’t like it I could stay until I found something else. At first I thought it was an overly nice and unnecessary gesture, but then after remembering the forty five dollars a night I was paying in the hostel, I decided that even if it was odd, it was worth it. Upon arriving I realized that something was not right, but I didn’t quite figure it out until we all sat down around the kitchen table to “discuss things” and the two tenants sat cross-armed and clearly upset about something, not exactly a welcoming party... I was quickly thrown into an argument about how Besna was thinking only of herself, in that she thought that since she found me to take her room, that she was not going to pay to live in the living room for two months. I liked other tenants, two Italian girls my age, right away because even though they were angry I could tell that they were kind at heart. They were simply standing up for their right to only have three people in the tiny little apartment for which they paid to have three, not four. Besna was clearly being manipulative and rather than being able to discuss what was fair with us she wanted all of us to meet with the landlord, who conveniently was her friend. despite being Besna´s friend, the landlord was an older woman that saw right through what was happening. I liked that she took charge and was not going to let any of the girls get away with anything. She told them that they should not have come to her place to discuss things, that she was not going to be the counselor and that if anyone should be thrown out it should be me…with which I agreed. I could not believe that I was considered to be such an important part of the equation, and can only explain it by acknowledging that Besna wanted dearly for me to evoke sympathy in the Italian girls so she could get her way. After we could finally persuade Besna that four people would not be living in the apartment, I then tried to explain that the situation was now too stressful for me, as I was on vacation, and that I thought it best if I went back to the hostel. However by this time I think they began to feel embarrassed that they had put me in the middle of such a mess and wanted to make up for it by keeping me as a temporary guest in their house while I searched for a permanent home. I agreed after much persuasion, but made about seven appointments for the next day to ensure I would find something else quickly.
The day was so strange that it felt surreal. It was an experience that comes with traveling I suppose and that I am happy that I can look back on with good humor, in fact that even as it was happening I thought the whole situation was ridiculous and comical. In the end the whole story is worth telling because the two Italian girls, Sara and Lorena are good friends of mine now, and it just goes to prove how strange circumstances can often serve as pathways to friendships. They have invited me to stay with them in their homes in Bari, southern Italy, for our spring break, and I found tickets for only 133 euros. And they made me some killer Italian coffee and spagetti:)

Pit Stop in Madrid

My mini-vacation in Madrid was a breath of fresh air. I mean, of course there was pollution, its Madrid, but I was lucky enough to get to rest in the company of my good friend Breanne and the comfort of her family/employer's house for a weekend. After being surrounded by new language, people, experiences, food, music and social norms for a month it was a welcome relief to share some quality time with a friend who knows and cares about me. Not only does Breanne speak English, but she speaks Kaeli, so we had some really good conversations. As fun as it is to communicate in a new language, it was refreshing to be able to express exactly what I wanted to express and to be able to understand one hundred percent of what was being said to me as well. Also, the family was friendly and the house was warm, things I had been missing for a month. Breanne showed me around her city, we visited her favorite little European coffee shop during the day and some happening clubs at night. I was so thankful to have a guide to help me with the elaborate Metro system, and a friend to share and compare my experiences thus far.
Although my visit with Breanne served as a pep-talk before I braved Spain for another 5 months, it also made me a bit homesick. The excitement of all the new wore off and I realized how much I value and miss the old. One thing is for sure, Spain is helping me appreciate my life in the States with a new intensity. The most notable so far is the friendships and relationships I am blessed with. I am searching the world for people like them, and finding that they are more unique and rare than I had given them credit for before!

Very Last Days in Granada

To start, it was a whirlwind of crazy since I left the family in Granada, Friday I think it was, after classes had finished, I was invited by Paco to climb outside. We met at the fountain again, in the almost hot sun, and I akwardly explained my motorcycle virginity. He chuckled and gave me the big helmet while he had a flimsier helmet that I would wear on my bicycle, let alone on a motorcycle. After putting on the warmest clothes I brought, the helmet that swallowed my head whole, and the gloves that he loaned me, I climbed on the back of the motorcycle nervous both for the life-threatening ride ahead, and for the akwardnes that comes with the territory of hugging an almost stranger.
My mother, who works in a hospital refers to motorcycle riders as “organ donors”. I hate to say it, but even if it shortens my life, I feel like the short life I have will be augmented enough to make it worth it to own a motorcycle. To begin, the feeling of freedom with the wind flapping so hard at your body that it feels like you are going to fall over was incredible. As I mentioned before, the sun was shining, so thankfully I wasn’t as cold as I could have been, and the air was clear, permitting crystal clear views of the Sierra Nevadas, the Sierra Something Elses, the town of Granada, and the rolling hills of whitewashed villages and olive trees. It was the same kind of overwhelming feeling that reminds you of your humanness. What I mean is that there is too much feeling and excitement to hold in your wordly body.
The rock we climbed was a bit crumbly, but we warmed up on some easy routes, and then hit a couple 5.10-5.10c’s, which Paco made me lead. In response to me mentioning that I was a bit nervous as the wind was howling and making it seem like we were much more exposed that we actually were, he told me in Spanish, “about cowards, nothing is written”. I responded that I would rather live a long life than have something written about me…
Not tired, but knowing that the sun would go down soon, we descended quickly and rode back to town. "Hasta la pasta" and I was on my way to pack my things and meet Jose at 8:30. The time on my phone showed what I thought was 8, but was really 7 and so I barely even said goodbye to the family, sure that I was forgetting something, but in too much of a hurry to care. Upon arriving at our meeting place I realized that I was a whole hour early. As I sat in the park with my mountain of red luggage and my grungy clothes on I watched all the impeccably dressed Spaniards walk by and reminisced about my wonderful day, trying to hold back my excitement for my next adventure. Jose gave me a fright by being 20 minutes late. To be honest, I was pretty nervous that he would “darme las calabazas”, or stand me up, and I would be stranded at the gas station with too many bags to walk to a hostel and no where to stay. I tried to let go of control, holding on to the idea that no matter what I would be okay, that I was learning to go with the flow, and that I was a capable woman who could figure out how to take care of myself in whatever situation I found myself in. Thankfully, I didn’t even have to test that theory out because Jose did show up, and we headed to his “Padel” match, which he lost. Padel is this super fun game that is similar to tennis only with glass walls on four sides off of which you can play. That night his parents decided we were having pizzas that we would put our own toppings on. His mom pulled out the pizza crust and asked playfully if it would be enough for me. I playfully replied that one might not be enough but that I would start with that. As I put my toppings on half of this huge pizza I found it odd that Jose kept spreading all my toppings out, but thought nothing more than that he just wanted some of what I had cut on his half. As we sat down for dinner his mom placed two pizzas down on the table and retreated back to the kitchen. Jose told me I should start, and I insisted that we wait for his parents. He told me that they were waiting for their pizzas and that we should start because our pizzas would get cold. It still took me a few minutes to realize that he was not joking, and that they all expected me to eat an entire pizza on my own. I explained that the only reason I had said I wanted a whole one was because I was sure they were joking as well! We had quite a laugh, and no, I didn’t eat the whole thing. That night we went to bed early, one o’clock in the morning, so that we could get up early to go skiing the next day.
Jose’s uncle works in the Sierra Nevadas as a ski patrol so he picked us up in the morning to drive us to the slopes. I have still not gotten used to the tradition of “besitos”, where one gives a kiss on each cheek to strangers in place of a handshake, and was caught off guard when his burly old uncle turned around in the car and asked me kindly to kiss him on the cheek. The same way that to wear a pink shirt in the United States says, “I am so masculine that I can dress in a feminine color and it doesn’t threaten my masculinity”, so too does the tradition of besitos to me. Later that day after we returned from the Sierra Nevadas I introduced Jose to the wonderful world of pancakes, as he had never eaten one in his life. Jose is studying English and we both love to learn and so we spent the whole afternoon translating songs, recipes, emails, and movies. He loves Brittany Spears so we spent a good portion of time on her lyrics to “Womanizer”. Don’t worry Brittany, you may have lost your fans in the U.S. but you still have the Spaniard men. We stayed up way too late once more enjoying our language exchange and new inside jokes and because of this I had a very hard time getting up on time the next morning. After coming close to throwing water on my head in order to get my to move my butt, Jose rushed me to the bus station, demanded that I let him do all the talking so I could get to the platform on time, and I was on my way to Santander. Not fully knowing what was ahead of me, I had a hunch that it would be both exciting and trying.