Life. Is. Awesome.

Life Lessons from a Jigsaw Puzzle.

2011-08-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

Borders is going out of business. I often feel disproportionately sad and guilty when faceless, corporate giants go under, for whatever reason. Well, corporate giants as well as “mom and pop” stores/the underdog. I’m a man of many contradictions, what can I say?

I didn’t feel guilty enough, however, not to miss out on the crazy sales. 30, 40 and 50% off of everything in the store? Are you kidding? I may have gone a little crazy. To the point where, while riding the “getting everything on sale” high, I saw a puzzle in the checkout line and thought, “how can I not buy a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle?” (I actually went back later that same day with Mom and bought a second one...It was on SALE, people!)

The puzzle in question is a picture of Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss.

The Kiss, by Austrian painter, Gustav Klimt.

If you’re anything like me, this image would seem easy at first glance. I looked at the patterns and thought it would be a relaxing, frustration-free project. Well, five dollars later, I realized that the background is comprised of an amorphous pattern of paint splatterings, and 80% of the primary imagery is a repeated black, grey and gold pattern. Not ideal for reassembly.

I will say, however, that the few hours I’ve spent on this puzzle so far have been quite interesting. In a weird way, it’s been both a reassuring and enlightening experience. I guess there’s a certain amount of subconscious life reflection that occurs while spending hours leaning over the kitchen table, staring at funny-shaped pieces of colorful, reinforced paper.

Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

There’s nothing wrong with asking for help from time to time.

It’s broken into 1000 pieces! Literally! Let someone help you, dammit!

Don’t sweat the small stuff.

You can always move to a different part of the puzzle, then come back to where you’re stuck later. It will still get done!

Deep down, we’re all still children, hoping to get that nod of approval.

I’d better explain this one. Every time I manage to fit two puzzle pieces together, I do a little dance in my head and I have to stop myself from saying aloud, “Look, Dad! Look! Did you see that?! I just put two pieces together! Right there! I did it!” This happens every time. It’s remarkable.

Don’t give up!

No explanation needed.

Just because you want a piece to fit somewhere, doesn’t mean it will.

In life, whether it be work, love or other, sometimes things don’t work out, and that’s just the way it goes. Don’t for a second let that get you down! There’s still 999 more pieces out there to try! Every piece fits perfectly somewhere. Finding exactly where is part of the whole, wonderfully frustrating adventure.

And, finally, the most obvious one: Life is easier piece-by-piece.

Having a “big picture” idea is great, but don’t forget that getting there doesn’t happen all at once. It's better to tackle things one part at time.

The fam and I are still working on the puzzle. So far the worst thing about it is that, even though we’ve repeatedly measured the border dimensions to make sure we’re not missing anything (which we aren’t), the outside pieces are all so similar that we’re still not sure how the border goes together. Frustration-free my tuchus.

Obsessed!

2011-07-22T07:24:00.000-07:00

If you were to ask my college roommate, Brandon, anything about the soundtrack to High School Musicals 1, 2 or 3, he would be able to tell you the name of any of the songs, who sang them, and then proceed to recite the lyrics.

This is no fault of his own (although if you cornered him, he’d probably admit that he came around to the soundtracks after a while). I fully accept that, during my senior year of college (yes, college), if the soundtrack to HSM3 wasn't playing in my room, you can be 99% certain I was either in class, studying in the library, out at the bar or asleep (usually one of the first three). This is not something I’m proud of, but there it is nonetheless.

Am I the only one that goes through such extreme phases with things? Once I heard a song on an episode of Scrubs (“Winter Song” by Ingrid Michaelson and Sarah Bareilles), downloaded it, and proceeded to listen to it on repeat for the next two weeks, taking it with me on my iPod for even the smallest of excursions. If I had a nickel for every time I listened to that song during that eight day period, I would be able to update this blog daily without having pesky things like work get in the way. (Not that it does right now, let's be honest, but you know what I mean.)

It's not just music either. The website mylifeisaverage.com took control of my attention in such a strong way that I checked it every night before I went to bed, and then every morning before I went to school for at least a month. It was a problem.

As I write this I am currently in the grips being obsessed with the series Bones.

In case you’ve never heard of Bones, it’s a forensic tv “dramedy” series in the same vein as CSI. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve begun thinking in the same vocabulary as the characters on the show. Here’s an example: My family and I are putting together a puzzle on the kitchen table right now, and I find myself examining the puzzle pieces with the same scientific austerity as if I were an actual forensic scientist. I’ll think things like, “Well, the black markings on this piece are consistent with the markers in this pattern.” Luckily I have yet to slip and say any of these things out loud. It’s really only a matter of time, however.

I can only have one obsession at a time, so I’ll let you know what it I turn to when I finally finish all the episodes of Bones that I can on Netflix instant watch. Hopefully it’ll be something that uses my brain more, like a book….

La Vie Continue (La Vida Sigue).

2011-07-20T10:55:00.000-07:00

I had lunch with this lovely lady yesterday (this picture wasn't taken yesterday....)

Me and Annie in Spain

I drove up to Towson, MD (about an hour and a half away) just to meet up for a quick lunch together. "Why would I drive so far?," you may ask.

Well, for one thing, Annie lives almost an hour north of Towson, so it was practically half way, but the other reason is that my dear friend is taking an exciting leap into adulthood and moving to a new locale for a job! And when I say "new locale," I don't mean she's moving a few hours away.

My brave little toaster is moving from the greater Baltimore area, all the way down to bright, sunny Florida.

I have to admire her for this. I'm job hunting as well, and I'm determined to move into DC. I won't even look at a job in Rockville, MD (40 minutes away), because it would be annoying to commute from DC, haha.

It's tempting for me to concentrate on thinking about how much I'm going to miss Annie, and how excited I was to be able to hang out with her in B-more and DC, but really, it's not about me at all. She's the one making this big leap, she's the one that's heading out into the unknown, and she's the one that needs me to be excited about it for her! Which I am! I have no doubts that she's going to set up a great life for herself down there, no matter how long she plans to be there.

I'm very lucky to have a circle of friends who take advantage of life and aren't afraid to step out of their comfort zones. I have a lot of friends who make decisions like moving to different cities, states or countries for work and school. While it doesn't make big changes less unnerving, seeing the impact that it has on other people, and how they've matured and grown from it all certainly makes the decision a little easier.

Our experiences make up a large part of who we are, so shouldn't we endeavor to experience as much as we can? We learn a little more about life and ourselves each time we put ourselves in a new situation. I look forward to seeing what Annie learns and how she grows during her next step. All experience is valuable.

I wish you good luck, Annie, as well as everyone that's taking a similar leap.

Happy (mid) July!

2011-07-06T16:57:00.000-07:00

Did you have a happy 4th?

I had the privilege of seeing lots of friends on July 3rd. I went to a birthday cookout where we experienced weather like this

Kind of scary. I'll be honest.

Then I met up with some other friends afterward to just hang out for a bit.

My best friend, Sarah, is back in the States for a bit this summer, so today she came over and we cooked lunch! A few years ago when were both living at home right after we graduated from college, we developed a tradition of cooking dinner together every Sunday night and then watching tv together. We kept the tradition up a little bit when we both lived in France together, although it was much more sporadic, to say the least.

But today was the first time we've been able to cook together in years! We had a blast : )

These are her pictures, so you should go to her blog after you look through here and check it out!


I would like to say I'm trying to remember something I've forgotten, but really I'm just standing here awkwardly.

Bloom! How I've missed you!

Caramelizing les oignons.

Perrier with lemon while we wait, recipe courtesy of Paula

Finishing touches.

Waiting.

Bon Appétit!

It turned out beautifully!

We followed a recipe from Smitten Kitchen, the author of which always posts the most delicious looking photographs of the food she cooks. You really should check it out.

Click here to find the recipe we followed.

I feel pretty adjustd back to the US. Living at home is fine for the time being, but I'm definitely exploring all employment options. Hopefully I'll find something here soon!

Los Estados Unidos.

2011-06-26T17:12:00.000-07:00

Welp, I'm home.

I didn't give up without a fight though! On my way from Granada to DC, I made stops in Sevilla, Paris, Hamburg, back to Paris, and then even Reykjavik (though that one was a layover and was only an hour).

All and all I have to say I'm not glad to be home. That being said, I don't have a choice at this moment in time, so I'm not going to sit around feeling sorry for myself.

Since I've been back, I've met up with two new friends I've imported from Spain, a good friend from high school, and a friend I've known since middle school!

I'm working on reestablishing myself in the DC/Southern MD world, slowly but surely.

DC really is a fantastic city: very young and motivated. It's really nice to be in this kind of environment after having been in Spain for a while. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of motivated people in Spain, but the general "no pasa nada" mindset really started to get to me. So it's a nice change.


Southern Maryland Speciality

Mixing worlds.

Making the best of things.

A little bit of Spain in So MD.

I'm not sure what direction this blog is going to take now that I've stopped traveling for a while. We'll see I guess! Nothing like the unknown to make things interesting, eh??

The Hardships in Life, Part 2: The Rain in Spain.

2011-05-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

“Andalucía has the best weather in all of Spain!”

Lies lies lies! I was not expecting the weather in the south of Spain to be as cold, cloudy and rainy as it has been/is. A lot of people said that last year was exceptionally cold and rainy, but that it’s normally not like this at all. My question: What weather IS normal these days?

Lovers.

From the above picture you may get the impression that us teaching assistants live in the pure, unadulterated sunshine of the famous Andalucía. That’s simply because I’ve chosen not to show you pictures such as these:

This is not snow. It's pollen. Huge, throbbing pollen.

I took this picture just before the proceeding one. The three of us go to the park whenever it’s sunny, which until recently, hasn’t been for a few weeks. On this day in particular, I fought my way there, the whole time inhaling those little white things, or having them attack my eyes, we got to the park, had about an hour or so of intermittent sun, and then it started to rain. Hard. I didn’t take a picture of that, obviously, but…it happened.

That same weekend was a 4-day weekend for most of the teaching assistants, and I desperately wanted to get to the beach, either Nerja or Cádiz, but the stupid weather forecast said:

4-day weekend fail.

Of course it would decide to rain all over the long weekend.

Not only did it, in fact, rain all weekend, but during most of the Semana Santa, when my parents were here, it rained buckets and buckets. Córdoba and Ronda held true to their tradition of raining on me every time I visit them, and even Granada came through with some dreary weather during the time they were here visiting.

Honestly I shouldn’t complain too much. I think the biggest factor is that, when it rains in the States, I dash from the house to the car, drive somewhere, then dash from the car to a store or whatever. Here, I have to dash from overhang to overhang during my 30-minute walk downtown. It’s decidedly less fun.

There was a particularly cold and rainy stretch in November and December where all the teaching assistants were reaching their breaking point. I think this status update from several of my friends illustrates the point quite well.

Dire straits.

I think that’s enough complaining for now. I only have a week and a half left of teaching! Unbelievable! I’m not ready!

The Hardships in Life, Part 1: Mi Compi.

2011-05-06T01:36:00.000-07:00

For those of you out there who think that my Spanish life over here is easy, I would like to dedicate the next few posts to explain some of the hardships me and my other English Assistant friends have had to face over the past few months. It’s not all fun and games, believe you me.

1: The Roommate sitch.

I love my roommate. Julio comes from a pueblo in the neighboring province of Almería, he has a wonderfully cheerful and helpful disposition, and he is Spanish to the nth degree.

I don’t know if this is something specific to the region where he grew up, or if I just have some kind of mental block, but Julio is still one of the most difficult people in Spain for me to understand. There’s logically no reason for this. We’re about the same age, he doesn’t speak especially fast, we talk about everyday, common things. I don’t get it. This doesn’t stop us from talking a lot, but he usually has to say things to me twice. He’s never gotten upset, short, irritated or anything with me, for which I’m eternally grateful. He’s also a great source for information on anything to do with Spain, computer stuff, and lots of random stuff about Granada itself. If you ask him a question, he’ll sit there and explain things to you until your ears bleed.

He also does uniquely Spanish things that are amusing (and sometimes super annoying). For example, there is always, always, ALWAYS, a frying pan on the stove filled with olive oil. It’s no secret that the Spanish love their fried foods, I just don’t know what they do with the oil. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t keep reusing it. That’s like, unsanitary or something, right?

[Quick sidebar regarding Spanish cuisine: Julio’s father and grandfather have been staying with us intermittently for the past week and a half because his grandmother is having an operation at the hospital. It’s funny to meet his father and family because they’re all exactly the same. Not only do they look alike and say the same things, but they are also perfectly capable and content to carry on a one-sided conversation with the American who sits there nodding and smiling like a fool while they recount the history of rice in Spain in response to the question, “Have you eaten dinner yet?” I came home the other day to Julio, his girlfriend (Cristina), brother, grandfather and father spread out in the kitchen and living room, simultaneously watching the Real Madrid vs. Barcelona game and cooking dinner. I checked out what was on the menu, and I saw (I kid you not), four or five potatoes that had been cooked, cut in half, and salted and seasoned, and on the stove top were two enormous (and I mean outrageously so) slabs of meat that were being cooked up in the frying pans. Not a real vegetable in sight. They had also somehow managed to use every fork, knife, cup and plate in the apartment for this bounteous feast. After they finished I sat down to watch the game with my dinner consisting of a salad and a turkey sandwich.]

Another typically Spanish thing to do is hoard bread like it’s going out of style. I don’t understand this either. Sometimes when Julio comes back from the grocery store, he’ll literally have four baguettes in his grocery bag. I originally just assumed this meant Cristina was coming over for lunch and they were going to use the bread then, but then it sits on the counter for five days. And then he buys more! And it sits. And sits. And sits. And then one day it all disappears without a trace. ???

Our apartment has also been selected as the ideal home in which to house Cristina’s hamsters. Originally there was just one, a boy. He appeared one day, cage and all, on our living room table, and Julio said, “come meet our new roommate.” I’m not necessarily anti-pet, so I went over to greet the little guy. I asked what his name was and Julio looked me and laughed, saying, “What do you mean? It’s a little rat!” Slightly shocked, I responded, “yeah, but it’s a living creature! It has to have a name. How about Napoleon?” And it stuck. Then Isabel came onto the scene shortly thereafter. I told Julio that they were going to have babies, but apparently that was the goal the whole time. Sure enough, a few weeks later, nature takes its course and Isabel is popping out NINE pink, squeaky hamster spawn. NINE. It seems so impossible that 9 of these little guys fit inside Isabel at one point. I guess it’s the miracle of nature…or something.

Hamster spawn!

Like I said though, I really have nothing negative to say about living with Julio. He’s been so laid back and friendly towards the dozens of friends that have stayed with me over the course of the year, and even pulled out the 12 English words he knows when my parents were here. I loved hearing the conversations they had. They would go something like this:

Julio: “Where……..uhh…wherrrree….go?”

Mom: “Oh! We went to Nerja today!”

Julio: “Ah! Nerja! How…..umm….howwwww….[hand motions for driving a car]…autobús o coche?”

Dad: “Ah, we took the bus. It was just easier for us to take a bus rather than deal with all the hassle of renting a car.”

Julio: ???

Me: “Sí, autobús.”

Julio: “Ah, vale.”

There was actually much more communication than I was expecting there to be.

I've been very lucky with my living situation this year in many regards. The only drawback to my apartment would probably be the 25 minutes it takes to walk into the center of town, but a little exercise never hurt anyone, right? It's just a bit obnoxious when in it rains...

End part 1. Tune in next week for "The Hardships in Life, Part 2:The Rain in Spain."

Life as we knew it.

2011-04-27T02:50:00.000-07:00

Well, my parents are gone, I'm half way through my first week back at school, and the sun has come back out in Andalucía (but only until Friday!!).

I had a great time with my parents while they were here, but we were moving moving moving the whole time! It was exhausting! In the 12 days they were here, we went to Madrid, Sevilla, Guadix, Granada, Ronda, Gibraltar, Córdoba and they took a day trip to Nerja while I was at school on Monday. Phew. We saw the famous Semana Santa Easter processions in Sevilla, Granada and even in little Guadix. All of them were surprisingly different, but I enjoyed everything more because of that.

I think I should mention the Nazarenos de Semana Santa (also often referred to as Penitentes) for a second. In case you're not sure what I'm talking about, refer to this picture:

The Nazarenos de Sevilla.

Seeing these processions as an American, you can't help but feel....unsettled about the costumes. When I took this picture was the first time that I had seen them myself, so I was quick to realize that I'm in Spain and these people are marching to represent a church. Plus the longer you watch the procession, you see them carrying golden/bejeweled crosses, statues of Jesus and Mary, and a lot of them are even handing out candy to kids watching them walk by, lol. So the feel of the whole event is significantly different than if you were to turn the corner in NYC and see the above picture. This costume has been used for hundreds of years here in Spain, and should be more well known than its American counterparts. I’m doing my part to spread the word.

Here are some more pictures I took of the processions. These are in my old neighborhood of Triana, just across the river from Sevilla. They actually turned off the lights of the famous Puente de Triana (Puente Isabel II) so that the procession would be more evocative. I think it worked.

I’ll get some more of my parents’ pictures up in a little while. I forgot to download them before they left, but I’ll get them somehow.

The procession crossing the Puente de Triana (you can only really see the candles they're holding).

In the crowd.

Cathedral in the background.

Possibly one of the best pictures I've ever taken.

Jesus, the Meditation.

That's all for now!

Half time.

2011-04-20T03:03:00.000-07:00

The parentals and I have been to Madrid, Sevilla, Guadix and now we're planted in Granada. It's been quite a whirlwind.

Me and mom in Madrid.

Brittany and me: Tour guides in Madrid.

So far Sevilla's been the favorite. I have to agree. Madrid was great and exciting, but it didn't seem so Spanish. When you're in Sevilla...you really have no doubts about which country you're in.

Shannon, Dad, Mom, Jojo, Elise, Dana, me, Reed and Sarah at Los Coloniales. Super delish.

Out at Plaza del Salvador with the parentals.

Padres at the Alcázar.

We’re having a blast though. Today is going to be the day to catch up on sleep, not spend hours upon hours touring things, maybe do a little shopping.

It’s been really interesting visiting with my parents this time. I’ve known my parents my whole life and I’ve always gotten along really well with them. I think that partially has to do with having been an only child. When it’s just you and your parents in the house, you don’t really have a choice a lot of the time, haha.

When you’re not living with someone, or you stop seeing them all the time, you forget little things about their mannerisms, or their little sayings, or what have you.

So, not only have I been noticing little things my parents do, but I’ve been noticing that I do the exact same things. All the time. Here in Spain. Thousands of miles away. Without my parents being around. Lol.

It’s been encouraging too, though. I’ve never thought I look very much like either my dad or my mom, so having this corroboration that I’m not, in fact, adopted, has been great, haha.

Which parent (if any) do you think I resemble most?

At the Alhambra.

(I promise I'm not really this tan. I think that my parents' camera's white balance was a little off. I look orange.)

Here are some more pics from our time so far in Granada:

So that's where I get that look from....

Visiting the Alhambra.

I have tons of pictures of monuments and stuff...but I think photos with people are more important. If (God forbid) all my pictures got deleted, I could always find great pictures of the Alhambra, Alcázar or Palacio Real on Google. But not the ones of me and my family.

Hope everyone is enjoying their Easter weeks!

Un beso desde España

Deep Breath.

2011-04-13T08:25:00.000-07:00

Here we go again.

I am so far behind in all of my journal writing, blog posting, friend skyping, etc etc.

It's not my fault! The weather here in Andalucía has been amazing. Every day has been up into the 70's. It's been almost nonstop sun all day, every day. The birds are singing (obnoxious), the people are laughing (also obnoxious), and I've been trying to get out of doors and soak up every bit of it that I can before the Spanish government says I have to leave. What a sad day that will be.

I can't really complain, though. My past five weekends have consisted of, in reverse order:

Weekend trip to the beach.

Day trip to the beach and a full night of clubbing at Granada's finest establishments.

Full day hike and, subsequently, a lazy day at the beach.

Paris and Amsterdam.

Weekend in the Canary Islands.

Sheesh. I didn't even realize this myself until I tried to think of why I haven't been updating like I should. The Canaries, Amsterdam and Paris feel like months and months ago. No wonder I have less than 80€ to last me until my next paycheck, hahaha

...but seriously. Yikes.

I'm at a crossroads of sorts right now, both emotionally and regarding my schedule here.

I've officially decided that it's going to be really rough going back to the States. For those of you who I haven't told yet, I wasn't accepted to Georgetown in the fall. I knew it was kind of a long shot, and I only applied to one school. That part was intentional though. There just weren't any other schools that really appealed to me. My plan upon returning is to try and find some job that will boost my candidacy as a grad student, work for a while, and then reapply. Linguistics is really the only field of study that I feel strongly interested in. It sucks to have so much uncertainty as I return home. I've decided I shouldn't come back to Europe though. It would be too easy. I've been doing "too easy" for too long.

In terms of my schedule, today is my last day of work before the Easter vacation (La Semana Santa). The reality is that we only have a week off school, but I have the nagging suspicion that the time is going to whiz by far too quickly afterwards. When thought of in terms of available weekends, there are only three left where I don't have something planned, or am working on planning something. It's absurd.

But there's a lot of good happening as well. I'm taking the bus up to Madrid tonight with Brittany to get our parents who are visiting for the week. It's funny how it worked out: Our parents are flying out of different cities, but arriving at the same time, on the same day, and (this part is on purpose) staying in the same hotel in Madrid. It's going to be quite the whirlwind tour of Spain for me and my family. We're doing two days in Madrid, two days in Sevilla, then coming to Granada to set up our home base. From Granada we'll be taking day trips to Guadix, Gibraltar, Nerja, Córdoba and possibly Tarifa (tbd).

Another good is that I don't have to work for a week! If I have to correct someone from saying, "I lived in London during 2 months," I might actually lose my mind.

Another good is that I got my camera back today! I mentioned this a few posts ago, but I forgot to wrap up the rest of the story.

In quick summary, when I got to Sevilla from Paris, I went to the Corte Inglés where I bought the camera and they were able to find the receipt from the transaction and printed me a copy. I took it to Granada with me and they contacted Canon, set up a courrier pick up, and two days later my camera was on its way to Madrid to get checked out. I got it back today and it works just like it's brand new! It was perfect timing. If I didn't get it back today, I wouldn't have it for at least another week and a half. Thank God.

So that explains why there aren't any pictures from my most recent doings and happenings on this post. Well, any of MY pictures. I've pilfered some from a friend or two.

Me and Dana on my host mom's roof, checking out the cathedral in Sevilla.

At the top of the Sierra de Huétor. Those are the Sierra Nevadas off in the distance.

Delicious fajita dinner on the roof at sunset.

On Avenida Castilla in La Antilla, Huelva. From left to right: Me, Joey, Dana and Amy.

So there's a taste! I promise I'll have more pictures now that I have a functioning camera.

Have a Happy Easter : ) I'll try to post at least once before the holiday is over....we'll see...

What doesn't kill you, final installment.

2011-04-05T04:34:00.000-07:00

Needless to say this is not what I was expecting. I protested slightly, to the effect of, “but I didn’t have a choice, I did all I could, I have two kids to feed.” You know, the usual stuff. But alas it seemed destined to be.

I reluctantly gave him my credit card and he left to go do his thing.

It should be mentioned at this point that my train car consisted of myself, a handful of adults, and then a million French high schoolers who were just coming back from a trip to Amsterdam. Most of them passed out as soon as the train started moving, but a lot of them happily perked up when all of this drama started going down.

So anyway, the guy left, I miserably resumed reading my book, and then he eventually came back with a 133€ ticket (fine) and, after I signed everything, told me that he felt sorry (indifferent) that this had happened.

Being as I couldn’t actually do anything about it at the time, I just sat there pissed off and tried to decide what my next move would be. I figured I could go to the “Customer Service” office in the train station and talk to someone. So once we finally arrive in Paris, I walk into the station and look around but there are only ticket windows. Something tells me that’s not going to be helpful. Plus there’s a big line. No thanks.

I go to the glass “SNCF Information” cube in the center of the station. I explain to the guy (twice) what happened, and after he finally starts listening to what I’m saying, he raises his eyebrows and says, “Yikes, that sounds awful.”

No shit, Sherlock.

He thinks for a bit and then pulls out this complaint form and gives it to me. I look at the and it has all these fields to fill out, plus a big blank section where I have to write out my life’s story in French to explain to the SNCF why I deserve to get any money from them. Based on the fact that I don’t currently live in France, plus based on the fact that I have lived in France before and am quite familiar with how much effort goes into actually getting what would be called “service” in the States…I figured I had a better chance of getting mauled by a bear on the streets of Paris than getting any kind of refund from the SNCF.

I asked if there was anything else he could do, to which he replied no. Then the thought occurred to me to ask if there was an SNCF boutique nearby. It was already pushing 6 o’clock though, so I wasn’t sure if one was going to be open, but I could put it on the To-Do List for the next day.

As luck would have it, there was a boutique (I keep saying “boutique” because that’s what it is in French…I guess in English we’d just say “store”?) right next to where Paula lives (the friend I stayed with in Paris), so I was able to walk to the store on my way to Paula’s with no problem.

I get there and sit down to talk to the lady behind the desk and explain what happened (twice). She looks at me, then turns to her colleague and says, “We can just refund him his ticket, right?” Her colleague replies, “Yeah, just give so-and-so a call.” So they make a phone call and happily give me €€!

So after filling out just a bit of paperwork, the lady writes down what happened for me, then makes copies of a bunch of stuff, and says she’ll send it all out in the morning!

I left the store with Paris in front of me, my problems behind me, and the rain above (and on) me. All in all, I’d count it an expensive win.

The next evening and day were filled with many meanderings and mini-adventures through the beautiful, twisty streets of Paris. I was asked if all this effort was worth visiting Paris for less than 48 hours. I replied, “yes” without hesitation. I’ll always go back to Paris whenever the opportunity presents itself.

Happy to have finally arrived.

Getting our Prescriptions filled.

Amorino candies.

Sushi lunch.

Café hour(s).


View from the café.

Many a good metro ride with Paula.

Morning caffeine boost.


End of the journey. Back in Sevilla.

And that's it for now! Thanks for sticking through all these posts until the end. I hope the story was worth it, lol.

What doesn't kill you, part 3.

2011-04-01T03:45:00.000-07:00

After going back and forth with Train Station Guy a few times, trying to find out if there were any other options at my disposal, I left in a huff and went back to the hostel to get online and see if I could change the method of retrieval of the ticket. Well, after 15 minutes of searching the (unhelpful) French site, I finally came across a page that said, “method of retrieval cannot be changed.” So that was great.

My only option at that point, it appeared, was to just buy another ticket. That wasn’t going to happen. I was already pissed off at the SNCF because the price of my ticket jumped up 30€ during a two hour window when I was going to buy it the first time, so I was already paying an outrageous price for a three hour train ride.

I found out about not being able to change the ticket just as I was supposed to be meeting one of the guys I met at the hostel for drinks. It was his 25^th birthday, so I put my worries to the side for the time being and we went and had some delicious Dutch and Belgian and Irish beers. It was a lot of fun. Jason, a Brit, had been living in Africa for the past two years working with this bicycle distribution NGO. He was just back for two weeks to put together a portfolio and apply for a graduate program at Eindhoven. So, he wasn’t there to party hearty. That being said, it was his birthday, plus it was St. Patrick’s Day, so we had to do something.

The next morning I woke up and went back to the train station first thing to see what the cheapest price I could find for a new ticket would be (130€). Not an option.

I was trying to go through all these different options in my brain to see what I could possibly do. I begrudgingly came to the conclusion that, as I am now an “adult,” I should just do the mature thing and exchange my ticket for a new one, rather than brazenly jumping on the train without a legit ticket.

My original ticket said that I could exchange it once and get a 50% refund, so I figured, all in all, it would still be cheaper to just buy a new gd ticket than get a fine on the train.

So that’s what I did. As I was refunding my ticket, I was surprised to learn that I got refunded for 100% of the original ticket. There was a brief period of 2 minutes where I actually thought fate was smiling on me. Then I went to buy my new ticket.

I selected my desired date: same day. Selected country of retrieval of the ticket: The Netherlands. Selected origin and destination: Amsterdam Centraal, Paris Gare du Nord. Selected the time of the ticket I wanted: 14:15.

The screen came up asking me to put in my credit card info, and then I was allowed to select my options of ticket retrieval. When I bought my ticket the first time I had the options of printing the ticket at the train station, printing it at home, or going to an SNCF boutique and doing it. I picked “print ticket at train station” because then I wouldn’t have to worry about carrying it around with me/forgetting it/getting it stolen/whatever. It’s just simpler and it’s what I always do. Wouldn’t you know that the only options it gave me this time were: retrieve ticket at station or retrieve ticket at French SNCF office. Why can’t I print it off at home?!

I was discontent, to say the least.

By this time it was about 10:30 in the morning, so with my new ticket, I still had a few hours to explore the city. I had made friends with a girl in the hostel who’s studying in Sevilla, so we hung out for a few hours, went to the flower market, did a Rick Steves walking tour (it was awesome), then I split off to catch my train…and quite probably be put in a French prison for not having abided by French railway regulations.

Some more pics from walking around the city.


Real Dutch Tulips.

Nieuwekerk (New Church) at Dam Square (Dam Square).

Anne Frank huis. I was thinking about going...but my interest didn't outweigh the entrance fee.

More sights and bikes.

Entrance to the Amsterdam History Museum.

I get on the train and we leave Amsterdam. We arrive to and leave the airport. We arrive to and leave Brussels. We arrive to and leave Anvers. Next stop Paris. No one had come buy to check the tickets. I thought, “Wow, maybe this won’t be a problem.” It was just as I started to get my hopes up that the two guys walked onto the train and said, “Tickets please.” Blast.

I show him the email I had received in confirmation of having purchased a ticket. It had my name, date, train number, car number, seat number, dossier number, transaction number, price of ticket, credit card info, SSN, NIE, pet’s name, favorite color and favorite ice cream flavor. My feeble brain thought, “there’s no way they won’t accept this as a ticket.”

Ticket Checker Guy: “Ticket please.”

Me: “Here you go.”

He checked the reference number. No dice. Checked it again. No dice.

Ticket Checker Guy: “I’ll try using your name.”

Checks the name. No dice. Then he looks at the ticket and says, “Oh, you didn’t print off the ticket like you should have.”

I launch into rapid fire French describing my sob story about how the evil SNCF wouldn’t let me do it and blah blah blah. (I was extremely fortunate that my French came back.)

At first he got all defensive because he thought I was blaming him, but then when he actually started listening to what I was saying, his demeanor totally changed.

“Oohh, I see. Yes. Well, I can guarantee you’re not the only this has happened to. We’ve been telling the SNCF to put a ticket machine in the Amsterdam station for years, but they refuse. It’s so stupid.”

This was encouraging: Someone in charge understood my predicament and felt sorry for me. My spirits were lifted to new heights! I thought, “This is great! I made the mature, adult decision to buy a new ticket, did all I could, and this guy realizes this and is going to help me out!”

He then went on to say, “So, all I need is your credit card so I can write you out a fine.”

What doesn't kill you, part 2.

2011-03-23T16:33:00.000-07:00

(This part is kind of long….stick with me, please!)

So where was I? Ah, yes.

The lady went to talk to her manager, and left me anxiously awaiting my fate at the camera counter.

After a few minutes, she sauntered back over with my information and said, “Well, we can’t do anything about it here, but it’s possible that if you go to the exact same Corte where you bought it (in Sevilla), there’s a slight chance that they might possibly be able to look it up on the same computer you used when you checked out, maybe. It’s not a sure thing, but that’s your option.”

This may not seem encouraging, but considering I was basically expecting to be laughed at, I took the news to be tidings of great joy. This by no means solved my problem of having a camera for my trip, but at least it meant I might not have to spend an extra 240€ on a camera in the near future.

I had posted something on my Fbook page to the effect of “fml" upon returning to my apartment. I promise I’m not one to seek pity or attention with Fbook updates. I was just really frustrated with being sick, not having a camera, and (I forgot to mention earlier) finding out that I did NOT in fact have two extra days off school like I thought. I believe the word here is, “bleak.” I had to say it somewhere.

My dear friend Jeanette chatted me up and was asking what was going on. I gave her the abbreviated version and the first thing she said was, “well, if you want, you can just use my camera until you get the situation worked out with yours.”

To be perfectly honest with you, it had never even occurred to me to ask someone to just up and borrow a camera for a weekend. I would of course let someone I trusted borrow my camera, but the idea of me asking someone else for the same thing just didn’t cross my mind. I met up with Jeanette later that evening and got the camera. It was a nice camera too, btw, so I was very happy, and very grateful that she let me use it.

The next morning I got up (still feeling sick) at 6 to catch my bus to Málaga, got to the airport sin problemas, and arrived in Amsterdam to sunny skies, and an even sunnier disposition on my part. I met this kid, Jason, in my hostel within 10 minutes of having arrived, and we hit it off and made plans to hang out, maybe hitting up a museum or just getting some drinks.

My first afternoon in Amsterdam was great! I just walked for a few hours, went to the Rijksmuseum and saw lots of Vermeer, Rembrandt, Hals, and many more. I’ve always been a big fan of the Northern School, so it was great to see it all. Unfortunately, most of the museum was closed due to renovation, so I only got to see about ¼ of everything. Still worth the 12,50€ entry, but…just barely...

Rijksmuseum.

Eventually I started feeling worse, so I grabbed some dins and headed back to the hostel and chilled and read for a while until I went to sleep. Luckily most of the other people in the room (8 person dorm) were back, so we didn’t have anyone stumbling in at 4 am from the clubs. Also, for the first time in living history, I was in a dorm with no snorers! I couldn’t believe it. If my throat hadn’t been hurting so bad, I probably would have slept as well as if I were back in my own bed. But it wasn’t to be, unfortunately.

The next morning I woke up feeling down right awful (and felt pain creeping up into my ear….), so I got up early and went to the front desk, got directions to a pharmacy where I could ask for medicine. Got to the pharmacy, but they couldn’t give me anything except the address of a doctor. I went to the doctor, but he hadn’t come in that day, so it was just the nurses there. They gave me the address of another doctor, one who sees a lot of expats. So I finally get there, wait 30 minutes for the office to open, and eventually get seen by the doctor. I told him that my tonsils hurt and it felt like I was possibly getting the beginnings of an ear infection. He took a look at my throat and said, “yup, your tonsils look enflamed.” Then he looked in my ears and said, “yup, your ears look a little enflamed.” None of this was shocking to me.

What was shocking, however, was that he then proceeded to say, “You have an upper respiratory infection.” ¿Excuse me?

Now, I’m no doctor, and I’ve never had an upper respiratory infection, but last time I checked, it’s hard to diagnose said malady without an x-ray. Right? And what does my ear looking red have to do with my lungs?

Basically I left the doctor confused, but successfully got a prescription for antibiotics, which is all I was after. (I felt 100% the next evening, btw.) They also gave me hydrogen peroxide to wash out my mouth and gargle with. I did it twice, got freaked out I was going to accidentally swallow it, and then just dumped the rest out. Not after having spilled a good bit of it on myself while trying to open it though.

By the time this had all come to pass, it was only about 11 am, so I grabbed some food and went to the Van Gogh museum, which was terrific.

The museum was great not only because they had lots of art by Van Gogh, but also because they showed you the things that inspired his work and his ideas. I’ve studied Van Gogh and the Impressionist movement before, but it was interesting to see where all these things began for the individual person.

Rijksmuseum from the Van Gogh museum. No pictures allowed inside, so this is from the outside stairwell.

Then I decided I would go to the train station and get my train ticket printed out a day early, just because I had time, and then I wouldn’t have to worry about it later.

I hopped on the tram and got to the train station. Got a number to wait my turn, got called up to counter, and gave them my ticket info for my ticket.

Me: I need to print my ticket for my trip to Paris tomorrow. Here’s my info.

Train Station Guy: Umm, did you buy this ticket on the French national railway site?

Me: Yes…

Train Station Guy: And did you select “Print ticket at train station?”

Me: Yes…

Train Station Guy: Ah, well, then you have two options: We can’t access the French system, so you can either try to change the method of retrieval online, or you’re going to have to buy a new ticket.

Me: Say what now?

What doesn't kill you, part 1.

2011-03-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

This was my mantra during my past trip. Well, not really, but it should have been.

Mostly what I said were a lot of things that aren’t suitable to be repeated here.

I think I might dedicate a few posts to my trip, just because there was so much that happened, both good and bad, that it’d be better to break it up into manageable chunks.

Let me start out by saying Amsterdam is amazing, and if you get a chance, you should definitely definitely go. The houses are beautiful. The canals are beautiful. The art is beautiful. It’s an extremely walkable and calm city, too. Mostly what you find while meandering around is that the streets are full of about 10x as many bikes as cars. I think this is great. I didn’t rent a bike while I was there, just because I was content to walk and observe everything at a slower pace, but it’s a good option if you’re looking for more activity. Be careful though! Because of the ubiquitous bikes, readily accessible public transportation and ever present cars, crossing the street is especially dangerous! Bikes don't make any noise until they're plowing you down!

Only proof I was in the Dam.

And now for some of the stories that went on leading up to and during my trip.

On Sunday, in the Canary Islands, I woke up with what felt like a swollen tonsil. This is never great news. But, it’s happened before, and usually goes away in about two days. So I was hopeful that things would go back to normal before I left on Wednesday morning for my next adventures. Well, that didn’t happen. It got a little worse, then a little better, then a little worse, etc etc. I ended up catching the bus to start my adventure to Amsterdam feeling rather miserable, but I wasn’t about to not go: That’d just be crazy.

On top of that, my camera started fritzing on me in the Canaries, so I was frantically trying to decide what to do before my trip. Having a camera, while not an essential part of travel, definitely makes things more fun. I was especially upset because I just bought it in September, so there was no reason why it should be giving me problems.

I went to El Corte Inglés in Granada and asked them what my options are. I thought there was some kind of warranty with it, so I wanted to find out the details.

The Target/Wal-Mart/Macy's/FNAC/what-have-you of Spain.

Saleswomen: There’s a 2-year warranty on all cameras sold by Corte.

Me: Yes!

Saleswoman: All you need is the receipt.

Me: Oh. I don’t have that…what can I do?

Saleswoman: Well, without the receipt we can’t do anything. But you probably used a credit card to buy it, right? Go look online on your bank and see what you can find.

Me: Qué buen idea.

I said that to her. She laughed. It was a tender moment.

So I went back to my apartment and got online and looked up all the bank transactions that had occurred on both my credit card and my debit card during the month of September. I looked and looked but came up with nothing. I was pretty surprised, because I definitely didn’t pay in cash. Then it hit me: Why would I have used my American cards when I had a French debit card at my disposal?

Well, in retrospect, the answer to this question would be: So that I can look up my transactions later.

To be fair, you can look up your transaction history online with your French bank account, but considering I had closed the account in December when I was in Paris for my birthday, it didn’t do me a whole lot of good.

Sometimes I’m so efficient it’s astounding. Not only did I close my French account, but I deleted the info for how to access the account from my computer. Not only did I lose the receipt for my camera, but I took the box my camera came in home when I was there for Christmas. I also got rid of 90% of all papers relating to my French bank account in an attempt to remove clutter from my life. So, suffice it to say, I couldn’t find the receipt, and I couldn’t find any trace of what the card number was anywhere. Normally I keep a scanned copy of my cards somewhere….just in case something happens. Not this time.

I spent the next 30 minutes tearing through all the papers I have in my apartment looking for any trace of a card number, looking through any emails I have that might be a payment confirmation or something from a time I used my card. I even got all CSI crazy at one point because I noticed an impression in my American wallet of a credit card. I checked the numbers against my American cards, and unfortunately, it was from one of them and not from my French card. Bummer.

Eventually, through researching blog updates, photo booth pictures, and all other manner of information retrieval, I figured out the exact date, and, thanks to the waking nightmare that is the SNCF (the French national railway union), I found 12 of the 16 numbers that were on my French card. Incredibly random, I know, but I was looking for anything.

With this information in hand, high hopes, and a throat that wouldn’t quit paining, I marched back to Corte and presented this info to the lady at the camera desk. I explained my situation (it was a different lady).

She took a look at the info I brought and said, “hmm…I don’t know, there might be something we can do. Let me check with my supervisor.”

That's all for now. Stay tuned for the next installment.

Low and high notes.

2011-03-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

Today was a crappy day.

I'll write a post about it in more detail later (about how I missed my calling as a CSI-type detective), but to sum it up in a word or two, I found out my camera has a 2 year warranty from El Corte Inglés (they all do, actually...for those of you who find yourselves in a similar situation), but you need the receipt.

Well, I didn't. So I thought I was going to have to spend 240€ on a gd camera for my trip.

Plus I was sick. Plus it was cold outside. Plus one of my teachers told me that my schedule changed for work this week. Plus I had accomplished almost nothing on my To Do list. Things were looking dire, friends.

Then, my wonderful and kind friend, Jeanette, said that I could just use hers for the weekend. So I went to meet up with her, and it turns out she has a very nice camera, so problem solved...for the time being.

I was walking home after having met with Jeanette, and I was kind of playing around with the camera, just to see what's up. And then I saw this.

The Sierra Nevadas. Always there when you need them.

I've said this before: Sometimes we need to be reminded how small we are. What's the very worst thing that would have happened if I didn't have a camera for Amsterdam/Paris? I mean, you guys wouldn't get to see the evidence I was there, but really, that's about it. I would still have gone, and I would still have enjoyed myself.

Thanks for the reminder, Granada.

The Dog Islands.

2011-03-15T05:17:00.000-07:00

I'm making myself do this post because I leave in tomorrow for my next adventure. I love writing these things, honest. But I have a lot to do to get ready.

Anyway! The Canary Islands were a freaking blast. We (Brittany, her roommate, Carolina, and myself) arrived to 70º weather, met up with friends and then went to lunch. There was this fishing village near the airport that consisted of 12 houses and a bar/restaurant. So we went there, sat on the boardwalk and ate and ate and ate.

After lunch we dropped our stuff off at the apartment we were staying at (staying with the friends of a friend), then I met up with Joey, Mike, Karl and Merci. Karl and Merci were there for a frisbee competition, so the guys and I entertained ourselves for a bit, then headed over to another beach for some foods.

After we ate a bit, we split up for a while and the guys went back to siesta while we went back to relax and get stuff to make dinner. I had only slept about 4 hours the previous night, so in order to do the Carnival up right, it was imperative I get a nap in. I laid down for like 30 minutes, but didn't sleep. It was good to just be relaxing around the apartment and not doing anything though. Eventually I got showered and we started making dinner.

Everything that follows is reflective of the typical Spanish timetable for socializing.

We started cooking dinner around 9:30-10. Mike and Joey arrived around 10:30 or so. A bunch of other people came over around 11 and we started eating and drinking and getting the party going.

A few hours go by and then we decide we should head out to the carnival. We get in cabs and what not and arrive around 1 to the Carnival. The party is almost in full swing.

We chill for about half an hour or so nearby, then enter into the huge outdoor club scene that's happening. Different clubs and bars in Las Palmas had set up "minibars" (not like what you have in a hotel) all around this plaza and there was a huge area for dancing in the middle.

I'm going to take a brief side note and talk about the Carnival itself. I was a little nervous about how the crowd would be for the event. I had heard less than inspiring stories from people about the previous weekend's Carnival in Cádiz (fights, getting separated because of uncontrolled crowds, messy messy streets, etc). I asked someone about how crazy things were going to be and they made the interesting point that, in Cádiz, everyone that lives in the city leaves, and it's mostly people from outside who come, whereas in the Canary Islands, most everyone is Canario. Typically people don’t destroy their own city.

Another big difference was that clubs were open in Las Palmas, whereas everything was closed in Cádiz. There was literally nothing to do in Cádiz but stand around outside and drink. In Las Palmas, there were tons of food stands up, 24hr markets, bars, clubs, plus a concert happening right next to where we were. It was good to give people options, methinks.

So anyway, we were outside dancing for a while, then around 4 half of our group went back. The half that stayed (consisting of mostly Americans, oddly enough), kept dancing for a while, then headed to a club around 4:30, and danced until around 5:30 or so. One of the Spanish guys we were with had a car, so he drove us back to the apartment we were staying at. By the time we got back to his car, dropped off Mike at his hostel, then got back to the apartment, it was 7:30 am.

It was an unbelievably fun night. There's just something about dancing outside that makes the world seem right. The costumes (practically the most important part of Carnival) were also really fun and creative. Something that was really interesting was that groups of people dressed up in a theme. So at any given time you could see groups of Ninja Turtles, bananas, fairies, ballerinas, cops, firemen, and everything else imaginable walking around or dancing together in a group.

The next morning, my beach instincts told me that it was sunny, beautiful beach weather. So my brain turned on at 10 sharp, and I was up and ready to get things going. I've been realizing lately that this isn't a common occurrence for most people.

For me the most important thing while traveling somewhere for the weekend is to see and do as much as possible. You can sleep later. It’s with this philosophy in mind that I make everyone around me get up earlier than they want so that we can get up and out and start doing stuff. They pretend to complain about getting up at 9 or 10, but I know they secretly appreciate it.

In this case, my main concern was to get as much sunny beach time as possible. Eventually I got Brittany up and a mere hour or so later, we were walking to the bus station to catch the bus to the beach. We finally got there and it was glorious. Absolutely glorious. Full sunshine, slight breeze, not too crowded. Pretty much everything you could ask for.

We got in a few good hours of sunshine, then Brittany and I went with Carolina and her friend, Meri, to the center of the island to this little town for lunch, then drove around the island for a few hours. It was absolutely gorgeous. The only bad part was that Brit and I kept falling asleep in the back of the car amidst all the beauteous scenery around us. We also went to the southernmost tip of the island where, apparently due to the wind patterns, it’s pretty much always sunny. It was nice, especially because it started raining in the middle of the island. By the time we got to the south, it was sunny. Crazy, eh?

Just being in the Canaries and having nice weather would have made the weekend fun, but going there with great people like Brittany, Carolina, Mike and Joey made everything that much more enjoyable.

Mike and Brittany. Mike tells great stories, so I'm pretty sure that's what was happening here.

I have no idea what's happening here. But this is pretty typical of Joe and Mike.

The most well-known beach on the Canaries.

Only picture of me, haha.

Brittany and Carolina at Plaza Catalina.

I wish I had pictures of the Carnival activies, but my camera was and is on the fritz. I actually have to go and get a new one today. I hate spending the money, but a camera is one of those things you can't not have when traveling around. If anyone wants to donate to the "Peter needs a camera...but also needs to eat" fund, you can contact me here or via the facebook. Any donation, small or large, is appreciated. Especially the larger ones.

Ok! I'm leaving for Amsterdam tomorrow morning, staying until Friday night, then taking a late train to Paris and staying there for two nights. As I write this, I'm actually feeling sick. My throat is kind of swollen and sore...and it kind of hurts to talk. But when you've spent the money on a trip already, you're not going to let a little thing like sickness stand in your way. Am I right?! Of course I'm right.

In addition to traveling while not feeling 100%, this'll be the first time I've traveled alone in a while, so it'll be different. I'm sure I'll meet some cool people though. Normally hostels do a good job of having "social" events and what not for people. We shall see!

Spring Cleaning.

2011-03-10T03:35:00.000-08:00

If any of you out there were to take a peek in my room right now, you’d probably see the title of this post and think to yourself, “Wow, good thing he’s finally cleaning.”

Well, sorry to get your hopes up, but I’m not talking about my room.

I was chatting with a friend online this morning when I realized I had inadvertently forgotten to print off my boarding passes at work yesterday for my flight tomorrow. This isn’t a huge issue because I live pretty close to an Internet café. But…who wants to unnecessarily pay 15¢ when you can just do it for free? Let’s be honest.

So I downloaded the passes and was checking them on Adobe to make sure they looked ok, and as I got about half way down the page, a window popped up and said, “Out of Memory.”

I’m no computer expert…but I think that message is universally accepted as being bad. I immediately checked my hard drive to see if I was indeed running out of space. And, thankfully, I wasn’t. I’m not sure what’s going on with Adobe, but it got me thinking that I should take some time and clear out the junk that accumulates on one’s computer.

So I started going through my Downloads and Documents folders. And let me tell you, what a treasure trove.

Here’s a list of some of the things I’ve found so far.

Triple copies of letters of recommendation from 2007, 2009, and 2010.

Incriminating photos of fantastic nights out in Sevilla and Granada...such as this:

Last night in Sevilla, September 2010.

Tons of random pictures people have sent me over skype or email.

GCC Crew Christmas party, December 2007

Thanks, Sarah.

Dozens and dozens of ridiculous Photo Booth pictures (always good for a laugh).

Shannon's a teacher...that's why her brain is so big.

Lots and lots of extremely important screen shots (mostly to do with the weather).

A bad week for weather in Andalucía.

I've also found applications for various programs/associations/grad schools. Including one to work on a farm...which I definitely don't remember ever being interested in doing...

I have no explanation for this...

There's also lots of things I look up when I'm getting ready to travel somewhere...especially maps!

Map of the London Underground.

The worst offender, however, are the lesson plans. Oh the lesson plans! I have snippets of lessons on every topic from Thanksgiving to Urban Legends to the Conditional (1st, 2nd and 3rd) to Gender Roles. Most of which you have to download from the Internet before you can check them...so I have tons and tons that are crap, but I didn't know that until they were on my computer. Blurg.

Anyway, so I was in the middle of cleaning out everything and then decided to write a post about it. I guess I should get back to it, eh? Or maybe I should take a shower...or finish doing laundry...or get dressed...or make lunch...

Corrobration.

2011-03-08T04:07:00.000-08:00

I would like to take a second and clarify something important about this blog.

At the crux of the relationship between the blog writer and blog reader is the trust that the experiences and perceptions being related by the writer are genuine. Such is the case with this blog. Though lending itself willingly to sarcasm and hyperbole, there needs to be trust between you and me that the events portrayed are indeed factual and accurate, (though slightly exaggerated at times). Hopefully this doesn’t seem contradictory. Let’s see some illustrations, eh?

For example, in the Guide to Granada post, when I said, "You may be in Granada if you get a tapa the size of your face, for free, with your drink," you can rest assured that the tapas in question are satisfyingly large. Whether or not they are, in actuality, comparable to the size of the human face depends on the restaurant (not to mention the size of the face in question). Also, it feels much more satisfying to say, "the size of your face," than "really big." I'm hoping it's much more satisfying to read as well.

Another example of creative license can be found in my entry about the movie "Babe." I was exaggerating mildly when describing the amount of "tearful expression" that occurs on my end. Don't get me wrong, I pretty much always cry, but it's not the messy sobfest I made it out to be. In reality, the phrase "tasting their salty sadness" popped into my head for some reason and I felt compelled to use it.

(If you're becoming at all disillusioned, my most sincere apologies. This is going to lead us to a better place in the end. I promise.)

I say all this because I don’t want you to think that I’m wont to creating completely fictitious happenings. For me, this is not a platform for invention. Mostly I want to communicate what’s happening around me, or in my brain, and hopefully get two primary things in return: laughs, and some confirmation that I’m not nuts, haha.

All this has come to my attention because my friend, Valerie, whom you already know, and I were walking around town the other day an she told me that she read my “Guide to Granada" entry. The following conversation ensued:

Me: “Oh yeah? Great! What did you think?”

Valerie: “Yeah, I thought it was good, but…”

Pregnant Pause

Valerie: “Well, I read the part about ‘seeing weird stuff like the "Pacmen" on the reg.’ I thought, ‘that’s bullshit, he does not see that kind of stuff all the time.'”

Me: “Really?”

Valerie: “Well, I was thinking that as I read it, then I walked outside of my apartment today and saw three girls dressed as Mickey Mouse and thought, ‘oh…well maybe he’s right.’”

So, dear reader, take comfort in knowing that I’m making no attempts to deceive you. From now on, let’s be honest with each other, shall we? It just makes everything so much less complicated.

In other news, I have three very busy weekends coming up.

Next weekend is this place:

I hope to come back quite sun burned.

Followed by a long weekend beginning in Amsterdam (finally), and ending in my favorite place in Europe:

Photo courtesy of my friend Sarah.

Then, assuming I have any funds left, I'm hoping to make a more local trip to Toledo and a few other Medieval cities in Spain. I'll keep you posted.

Como se dice "brunch" en español?

2011-03-06T03:41:00.000-08:00

One of the greatest aspects of living in a small city is that all of my friends live within about 20 minutes of each other, at the most. This makes getting together for last minute events easy, fun and frequent.

Two of my best CIEE buds, Annie and Valerie, came over yesterday for some sweet brunch action. We cooked up some chicken and spinach (is it weird I've been missing spinach lately?) with lots of spices, onions and garlic, and then made a goat cheese and walnut salad. The weather was beautiful outside, so, rather than the original plan of watching a movie while eating, I cleaned up the patio furniture and we had a delish, sun-filled lunch.

I never really spend any time on our patio. Not sure why, really. Well, I mean it's been crap weather for the past few months, but I think I'm going to try and venture out there more. We normally get direct sun from 11 until around 3 or so. Pretty much the only drawback is that the plastic chairs out there get dirty really fast, so you always have to clean them. I guess another drawback could be that one of our elderly neighbors that lives above us likes to look out her window and keep track of our apartment's happenings. So much for a no-line tan, I suppose.

Anyway, so we got all the food outside and enjoyed our meal in the warm and refreshing sunlight.

Val, Annie and myself.

(I know the picture looks super posed, but I just put my camera on the window sill and set it to take dozens of pictures, so we were just eating our meal, conversing per usual.)

After our meal we moved things inside (the sun had moved away) and set up my computer to watch the hottest movie of 7 months ago: Black Swan.

I thought it was brilliant. I normally try my best to eschew whatever the current fad is, but I have to say, the movie was really impressive. I don't want to give anything away (for the five of you out there who haven't seen it), but the friction between good vs. evil (white swan vs. black swan) was projected in the most intriguing way. It starts out as the typical internal struggle, then quickly gets projected outward onto one of the other characters who embodies the "black swan" ideal. Eventually the main character couldn't even tell the difference anymore between herself and the other character. Very interesting. (Shannon: Let me know when you're around so we can debrief, please) I'm not exactly excited to see it again, but I would definitely recommend it...to some people.

Natalie Portman did an unbelievable job with all the dancing and acting. I can't imagine how much training she had to go through. I've never really been a big fan of Portman, but I have to say she moved up a few steps in my opinion. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear it, haha.

Men's March Malta Madness.

2011-03-05T04:17:00.000-08:00

I had the great fortune last weekend to visit the bizarre and wonderful island nation of Malta.

I had been looking forward to this trip since my friends and I bought our plane tickets on December 8^th. I remember the date very clearly because it was the day I missed my flight back to Spain from Paris due to inclement weather, and was forced to spend the night in a hotel in the most distasteful town in the world: Beauvais, France. Just a little background.

I bought a Lonely Planet guidebook to Malta while in Paris, and looked through it in the weeks leading up to the Malta voyage to figure out what there actually is to do on the island. You may be asking yourself, “You mean you didn’t know what there was to do on the island before you bought your tickets?” To you I say, “You are correct, sir!”

The only things I really knew about Malta were that it’s an island off the southern coast of Italy, about halfway between Sicily and Libya, it’s famous for the “Knights of Malta,” and the language (Malti or Maltese, both are correct) is the only Semitic language with a Latin alphabet. That last one means that, while the language is written with the same letters we use in English (or French, or Spanish, or German, or Italian), the words have their roots in Arabic. If you transcribed Arabic phonetically into English, you’d be able to see similarities between quite a few words. It’s really fascinating. Needless to say, I bought a dictionary.

I went with three of my good friends from my teaching in Spain program, Mike, Joey and Reed. We decided when we bought the tickets that we wanted to keep things low key and have some guy time. It was probably one of the most fun weekends of my life. I enjoy traveling with my amigas here in Spain, don't get me wrong. That being said, it was nice to take a break and just kick it with some brohans. It was a very relaxed, meander-from-place-to-place kind of trip. A vacation indeed.

We had to fly out of Sevilla, so we all convened the day before to hang out for the afternoon/evening. I met up with my Sevilla host mom for lunch and one of the CIEE program directors, Helena, after lunch for some lunch beers. Mike Fish joined us as well.

Mike Fish, Helena and myself at Plaza Alfalfa, Sevilla

Eventually I met up with my amigos americanos and we had dinner at Los Coloniales (fantastic), and then met up with some other friends who live in Sevilla for some drinks.

We flew out to Malta the next afternoon, finally got to our hostel in Valletta (the capital), met a girl named Vanessa who was in our hostel, and then corralled her into joining us a night out in the neighboring town of Paceville (the going out capital). It was a surprisingly happening place. Despite the windy rainy weather, the Maltese youth were out in full force, dressed to the nines. I was impressed. I feel like a lot of the time in Spain jeans and an ambiguously logoed t-shirt are “going out” attire. These kids were wearing button up shirts, jackets, nice shoes and dress pants, dresses and stilettos. The works.

We hit up the town for a few hours and then retreated back to sleepy Valletta.

The next two days were filled with trips around the island to see different sites. We saw some 5000-year old temples that were arranged according to where the sun rises on the Equinox. We went to the other side of the island (an 45-minute, 0,50€ bus ride) and got rained on while looking at some cliffs, and then stopped for a visit to the fortified city of Mdina.

My favorite part of the trip was the visit to Mdina (pronounced /emdeena/). It’s smack in the middle of the island, and is incredibly well preserved. Here’s an aerial shot:

Sky shot of "The Silent City," Mdina.

If it looks big, don’t be fooled. You could walk from one end to the other in less than 5 minutes probably (the whole city is 0.3 sq miles). Mostly all the streets had this uniform tan stone on the building façades. At first I thought the city was too sterile and uniform to be beautiful. After walking around for a while, however, it dawned on me that there was an inherent beauty in its simplicity. I don’t really know how to explain it other than that. The longer I was there the more comforted and more at ease I felt by my surroundings. I would highly recommend it.

After a few days of seeing as much as we could of the island (no beaches, unfortunately), we had to return to Spainland.

Thanks, Malta, for good times.

Reed, Mike and Joey at the Hagar Qim temples.

The preferred form of Maltese public transportation.

Cathedral in Mdina.

Streets of Mdina.

Another Mdina shot.

The cold, windy and rainy cliffs of Dingli.

Evidence of the weather...lol.

Square outside of Valletta with the Floriana cathedral in the background.

Valletta at night.

On the shoreline.

A Guide to Granada.

2011-02-22T14:26:00.000-08:00

I've recently decided that this blog, while originally created to relay my international escapades, has fallen woefully short of that intent. Not that humorous introspection doesn't have its place, but I think I should try to switch it up a little. Come with me now and take a walk though my streets: the streets of Granada.

You may be in Granada if...

#1. You may be in Granada if...when you order a drink, you get a tapa the size of your face with it...for free.

A "Los Pescadores" tapa captured by one Hannah Martone.

(For those of you not in the know, a “tapa” is normally a small serving of food that traditionally comes with a drink, originally on “top” of the drink. I think it was created to keep flies from getting in the drink, but I can’t speak to the veracity of that theory.) It's no secret that Granada IS the happeningist place for foodies of all tapas persuasions. The size and tastiness of the free tapa will vary immensely depending on the establishment being patronized. Some of the best tapas are located in my neighborhood, the infamously hip Plaza de Toros. Caution: A lot of the time your brain is tricked into thinking that the tapa is larger than it actually is because of the massive quantities of bread served with the tapa. Do not be fooled! A restaurant of superior quality will not rely on bread alone, but will craft a quality tapa from a variety of ingredients for your dining pleasure. Local Granadinos benefit from tapa restaurants of all sizes and varieties: Spanish, Moroccan, World-fusion, Spanish, French, Italian, and Spanish. It’s deliciously dangerous.

#2. You may be in Granada if…you see weird stuff like this on the reg.

Just another typical day in Granada.

I don’t know if this happens as frequently in the other capital cities around Andalucía/Spain, but, to date, I’ve seen roving groups of teletubbies, vampires, the pac-men pictured above, and even boxes of condoms. I’m sure there've been more, but that’s all I can remember for the moment. If there is a purpose behind these shenanigans, it is completely lost on me. I will say, however, that they have made me much more diligent about having my camera with me whenever I go out.

#3. You may be in Granada if…you can see the beautiful Sierra Nevada Mountains from almost anywhere.

View of the Sierra Nevadas from Avenida de la Constitución.

The Sierra Nevadas are the highest mountains in continental Spain. While rather small in comparison to a lot of other mountain ranges around the world, they nonetheless contain a certain majesty. I’ve had the experience several times where something stupid will be bothering me as I leave my apartment. As soon as I get to Avenida de la Constitución, however, I have the view pictured above, and I remember, “oh yeah, it’s not that big of a deal.” I can’t quite explain it, but feeling small is healthy from time to time, methinks. It’s a great reminder that the world, in fact, does not revolve around me and my silly problems.

#4. You may be in Granada if…you have one of the most awe-inspiring cathedrals in Spain at your doorstep.

Definitely worth the 3,50€ entry fee.

The Granada cathedral, according to one Rick Steves, is the second largest Gothic cathedral in Spain (after Sevilla’s), and is one of only two Renaissance churches in Spain (high five to Córdoba for having the other). One thing that makes this cathedral especially unique is the brightness of the interior. Most cathedrals are rather dark inside, whereas Granada’s is exceptionally bright. If it weren’t so expensive to go for a visit, I would probably go once a week or so, just to take it in. I think it goes back to that “feeling of smallness.”

#5. You may be in Granada if…you see this wherever you go.

The unwashed masses of Granada.

(The above picture is normally accompanied by a wafting weed smell. Cig smoke may, however, be substituted from time to time.) I’ve said it before, so I won’t dwell on it again for too long. Granada, being the hippie capital of Europe, is home to all varieties of unwashed youths, hanging out with their dogs, doing ~~nothing~~ nothing with their lives (I was going to say something nicer, but…I chose honesty instead). I think my biggest problem is that I just can’t understand why these people are here. I mean, I guess self-expression and blah blah might have something to do with it, but it’s mostly just beyond me. At least they don’t go around asking everyone for money like the Gypsies.

That’s all I have for now. I hope you enjoyed a walk through the beautiful Granada!

Brain pain.

2011-02-13T16:34:00.000-08:00

It's often said that as humans, we don't use more than 10% or our brains, or something like that. Sometimes I believe it, and other times I know this is completely ridiculous. Allow me to expand upon this idea.

First of all, idiots are everywhere. Allow me to use some visual evidence.

Examples of people using 10% of their brain (courtesy of Failblog):

Completely unacceptable.

Creative...but, c'mon. Seriously?

I don't know what's more ridiculous: that there are enough

drivers are doing this that it's a headline, or that the TTC's solution

is to tell people to stop taking pictures...rather than getting the drivers to stop texting.

There's lots of stupid to be had in the world. I don't think this comes as a shock to anyone. That being said, however, there are many times when I feel my brain heading into a state I call “over think.”

This typically happens for me under three circumstances: when trying to fall asleep, after sending a potentially anger-inducing text message/email to a friend, and when under pressure to accomplish something in a short amount of time.

I think we can all relate to the first of these. Thankfully this isn’t every night, but it’s not uncommon for me to be lying in bed with the lights off, saucer-eyed, while every synapse in my brain is ablaze pondering every possible outcome to every possible situation to every circumstance that has happened, is happening, or will happen in my life. “I sure had fun this weekend with so-and-so, I wonder when we’ll hang out again, am I going to have time this week? What am I doing this week? Shoot! Did I plan lessons for tomorrow? What classes do I have tomorrow? What time it? What day is it? Did I brush my teeth? It’s so cold in here. At least it’s warmer than in Paris. I wonder what the weather’s like in Paris? I haven’t talked to Paula in a while. I wonder what she’s doing. Shoot! I was supposed to talk to her today. I wonder if she wants to go to Amsterdam in a few weeks…” ad infinitum.

That is only a very brief excerpt, believe you me.

The second (and worst) happens when I decide to go out on a limb with a friend. Usually it’s someone I don’t know extremely well, but am just beginning a friendship with. It’s at the point where you’re starting to joke around more, becoming more comfortable with the person, but you still can’t quite be 100% your true self because, let’s face it, you’re a little weird. (Well, this mostly applies to myself; I can’t speak for everyone reading this.) I’m maybe emailing or texting back and forth with someone, and I decide to get a little punchy/sarcastic in a message.

In my brain, the chance this individual will get pissed off because of this message increases exponentially over time:

5 minutes: “Meh, s/he’ll probably think it’s funny."
30 minutes: “Hmm. ::rereads message:: Should I have said, ‘might,’ instead of ‘may be'? Oh well they’ll get it. I wonder why they haven’t responded though…”
2 hours: “Crap, I hope I didn’t stick my foot in my mouth." ::Rereads message again:: "No no, it’ll be fine. They’ll text back really soon.”
6 hours: “OOOMMMGGGGGG! Why am I such an IDIOT!" ::Franticly reread message:: "S/he is sssoooo pissed. Good thing I have other friends.”

Of course 99% of the time this is all rubbish. Chances are that the next time I talk to this person, if I reference the text message, I’ll be met with a blank stare of incomprehension, followed by, “oh yeah, haha, what did that even mean?” Or, on the rare occasion I’ve made the intent of my message known, I’ll normally be met with a, “it’s fine,” or, “of course I’m not angry.” Phew.

The third type of “over think” normally occurs when I’m working on lesson plans for the next hour/day (usually sometime in the very present future). This is the most distracting of the three, as I’m usually using the Internet for my lesson creating, and the Internet, let it be said, is nothing if not a procrastinator's drug of choice. My brain normally darts between lesson planning, skype-chatting, gchatting, facebook chatting, facebooking, emailing, lesson planning, weekend trip planning, reading the news headlines, getting a new email, lesson planning, and talking to anyone in my immediate vicinity. My newest technique to combat this is to have a blank piece of paper nearby on which I can write down all the fleeting thoughts that pass through my consciousness. Having a nice To Do list is great. Not that I necessarily get everything done, but at least I can focus on the task at hand and leave those stray thoughts trapped, immobile, on a piece of paper.

While still a work in progress, I've made great progress in all three aspects of my condition. If you're a fellow "over think" sufferer, take heart! There is hope for you too!

The Golden Years.

2011-02-10T14:38:00.000-08:00

I'm 25 years old.

That may not seem old, but for someone that is only halfway to 50, I've gotten a pretty good start on doing a lot of the things common for someone in their dotage:

For starters, I've rarely met a 3-for-2 sale I didn't like, especially when it concerns getting sweaters dry-cleaned. I doubt I'm alone in this. After all, who doesn't like getting something for free?

I love me a good sweater vest. Not to the point where I own one, but sometimes I could almost see myself getting one at a Goodwill store. I have worn them before, however. They are nothing if not dangerously dapper and impossibly comfortable.

One of my most cherished past times is getting 10 hours of sleep. While this is obviously completely unnecessary, it'll make you feel like a new person. Guaranteed.

I still relish the opportunity to take a good nap in the afternoons. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: If napping is wrong, I don't want to be right.

One of my favorite television shows of all time is the Emmy Award winning program, The Golden Girls. I am in no way ashamed or embarrassed by this because, when it comes down to it, this show is hilarious. Everyone can relate to it, regardless of age.

Sofia, Blanche, Rose and Dorothy: The Golden Girls.

Let's move swiftly to things I severely dislike:

I generally abhor staying up past 2 am (though it's fun occasionally). This mostly comes from the fact that staying up super late requires skipping life the following day. I went out a few weekends ago until 7 am, got back and went to bed, woke up at 3:30 pm, and then only got out of bed to make dinner with a friend. After she left, I left the dishes in the sink, crawled back into bed, and stayed there until I was overcome with sleep. Less than ideal.

People talking loudly outside my apartment (this is also in general). I realize that I currently live on the ground floor, but c'mon, do you have to have a yelling conversation at 7 am? It just seems unnecessary. And who has the energy for it that early?

I have no patience for stupid kids playing stupid music too loud on their stupid cell phones while wearing stupid clothes and “sporting” stupid haircuts. There is apparently no shortage of bad haircuts here in Spain. It’s quite shocking how someone can get a haircut that, in the States, would do irreversible social damage, and everyone here seems to just pretend that nothing happened. And don’t even get me started on the groaty dreadlock epidemic that is in full swing here in Spain. It’s disturbing.

It must be said, however, that all of this pales in comparison to one of my biggest pet peeves: What really gets me going is good-for-nothing, unwashed youths hanging out in parks with their damn dirty dogs and taking all the premium bench space. It's the worst. And of course, it just so happens that I live in the hippie capital of Europe: Granada.

Don't ever say God doesn't have a sense of humor.

I think being healthy is killing me.

2011-02-08T07:04:00.000-08:00

I've been trying to be healthier lately.

Remember this guy?

It's nothing really new really. I like feeling healthy and, though I'm not the most active person, do enjoy a good run, a trip to the gym, a hike, or other activities along the same lines. It's hard with my work schedule right now to find the time to do such things. My typical day resembles somewhat the following:

Wake up between 9 and 11:30
Waste time online
Get some breakfast and coffee
Go grocery shopping (only if I have literally nothing in the fridge)
Eat lunch sometime between 12:30 and 1:30
1:30 - Get in the shower
2:15-2:20 - Leave my apartment to meet my teachers to ride to school
2:45 - Meet teachers and drive to school
9:30 - Get dropped off by my teachers in Granada
10:00 - Arrive back at apartment

Even though I don’t “work” per se the whole time I’m at school, I try to plan as many lessons as I can to get ahead. I’m usually in front of various classes for at least 2 hours, performing an overly excited routine to try and get the students interested in speaking English: Big hand gestures, silly jokes, extreme facial expressions to show if someone is right, wrong, or really close to being right, the works.

Of all these things though, I think the aspect that is the most exhausting is trying to talk to people who simply don’t understand what the hell you’re saying. So you have the de facto language barrier that exists in the classroom. Then, when you leave the classroom, SURPRISE! There’s another language barrier! Now you have to talk to everyone in Spanish! Throw in the odd French teacher, and it’s a recipe for mental exhaustion.

All that to say, there’s no way I’m going to throw on my runners, change into sweat pants and a parka and go for a run on the 30º, windy, pitch black streets of Granada. No thank you, sir.

So what’s the alternative? Well, I found this great website that creates exercise routines for you that you can do in your own room. Plus there’s a great way to track what you eat. I’m not trying to lose weight or anything, but it’s good to be conscious of what’s going into your body, ya know? Just trying to make good choices.

The other day I did the first workout. It was pretty simple stuff: two part push-ups, sit-ups, leg lifts, horrible horrible one-arm push-ups, etc. I felt really good after. I felt good—though sore—the next day too. I even went out to a discoteca and danced the night away until 7 in the morning. I merrily thought to myself as I was boogying down, “Exercise and I are going to be best friends!”

I think that might have pushed me over the edge a little. I woke up around 3:30…later that day, and had this weird sensation running through practically my entire body, my arms especially. It wasn’t pleasant. It was as if Exercise had taken my plea for friendship and said, “NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I’m finally feeling better, and am ready to pick up the cross again: I’m not one to give up so easily.

The other important aspect of being healthy—so they say—is drinking your daily eight glasses of water. Now, technically (so the Internet tells me), you’re supposed to drink an amount of water relative to your weight for “correct hydration.” Thus, I’m supposed to drink 10 glasses of water daily.

I’m here to tell you that this is not only impossible, but also uncomfortable and stupid. I’ve never hated water so much. After glass six I’m ready to switch to anything else. Seriously.

The other stupid thing about drinking that much water is the innumerable opportunities you miss out on in life because you’re preoccupied by the constant search for the nearest bathroom.

It’s quite unfortunate, really.

All this in mind, it’s a well-established fact that beginning something new is always the most difficult part of doing it. So I’m going to press on, obstacles be damned. I hope all of your New Years resolutions are going just as swimmingly, if not better. If you’re still doing something new into February, congratulate yourself: You’re winning.

St. James of the Field of Stars.

2011-02-08T01:31:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I had the great fortune of heading to the farthest Northwest corner of Spainland to the city known as Santiago de Compostela. That region, called Galicia, is distinct from the rest of the country for several reasons:

· it rains every day and is super cold

· they eat tons of fish and, especially, octopus

· they speak two languages primarily: Gallego and Castellano (Castellano is the technical term for proper, correct Spanish)

It was a fantastic weekend that started off a little rough. Our flight was out of Málaga at 6:15 in the AM. And for those of you who have been keeping track, I live in Granada. That’s about two hours away, by bus. It’s definitely not the most convenient way to fly around the country, but it’s usually the cheapest. So it’s not uncommon for those living in the surrounding provinces to converge upon Málaga to fly somewhere else.

Anyway, so I caught the last bus from Granada to Málaga with a friend. We got into town around 11:30 pm and met up with two other people we were traveling with, and then headed to the airport. Our reasoning for spending the night in the airport was that, because we’d have to get to the airport at 5 am anyway, it would make more sense to get there the night before, take our time, and just chill, then walk the 100 feet to the security desk. What’s the point of going to a friend’s apartment, arriving after 12, going to sleep around 12:45 or 1, then waking up again at 4 to get dressed, call a cab, then get to the airport?

Well, the point is that in one of these scenarios, you can sleep for three hours. In the other....you just sit there waiting sleep or death, whichever comes first, while a baby cries in the background for five hours.

All nighters were never my thing in college, so this is an experience that is somewhat newish to me, still. I’ve been fortunate.

When the office finally opened to do the check-in, we were the first ones in line, surprise surprise, and it was then that we found out that you absolutely, 100%, do or die, have to have your passport on a RyanAir flight, or else you are screwed. This wasn’t anything mind blowing, but for my friend I came with from Granada…we had an issue. After going back and forth with RyanAir, Vueling and Iberia, it eventually came to pass that she couldn’t join the rest of us on our journey to the north of Spain. It was very sad.

So it was with that weighing heavily on our hearts (plus the lack of sleep) that we headed off on our adventure.

I didn’t actually feel horrible that day, but it sure wasn’t comfortable. I kind of felt like my head was floating off my shoulders, and a little bit like my stomach wanted to jump out of my body. However, the three of us kept our spirits high, and even the apocalyptic fog that had settled onto the city couldn’t dampen our spirits.

Until about 1 o’clock that is. Then we all hit the wall. Actually, I think we hit the wall around 10 in the morning, but we pushed through for as long as possible. At that point, the beds in our hostel were ready, so we took a 6-hour siesta. Más o menos.

We woke up and went to dinner, exploring the city by night.

Santiago is much more medieval than Granada or other cities here in Andalucía I’ve visited. It makes sense, I suppose. While the south of Spain was in the grip of North African Musilms for about 700 years, the far north remained relatively European. Thus the streets of Santiago were grey and twisty, there were Gothic and Romanesque arches everywhere. It felt much more like the old neighborhoods of little French towns.

We saw pretty much everything we were hoping to the first day, so the second day was for seeing things again if we liked them, and walking around in the sunshine. And eating an ungodly amount of food.

Weekend well spent.

The Fog. This is at almost 9 am. The sun is technically up.

La catedral de Santiago de Compostela.

Cooked octopus on the left...and a salad on the right. (We didn't go 100% Gallego.)

End of the Camino!

The cathedral by night.

Baa, Ram, Ewe.

2011-01-28T17:28:00.000-08:00

I've never been what you would refer to as a "macho" kind of guy

Don’t get me wrong: I'm pretty active, I get into sports as much as the next guy (if I care about the team), I can swear, drink beer, and fulfill all other manly man stereotypes just as well as anyone else. By most accounts, I’d say I’m pretty normal. My personality is pretty even keel as well. I don’t often get angry, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, I’m not usually sad or emotional I’m a pretty uppity, positive person.

That being said, whenever I watch the 1995 box office sensation, Babe, all bets are off. I cry. And I cry. And then just when you think it’s over, I cry again. This is no misty-eyed, brave face, shed a tear and be done with it, type reaction. We’re talking, “wipe the tears away to avoid tasting their salty sadness,” type tears.


1995 Movie Poster

I attribute this to a number of factors. First and foremost, “overcoming tremendous obstacle” movies with animals will always have a near and dear place in my heart. I both love and hate them. Show me someone who wasn’t moved at the end of Homeward Bound when Shadow comes limping into the picture well after we all thought he was dead and gone down that big hole, and I’ll show you someone whose moral compass does not point north.

There’s something about animal movies that brings out the best, worst, and sappiest in all of us. I still bear a grudge against my father for having made me watch Where the Red Fern Grows when I was six years old. If you haven’t seen WtRFG, don’t. You will want to throw yourself down on the ground and end it all right then and there. It’s almost as bad as the ending of Old Yeller. Worse, maybe.

The second factor that plays a part in my emotional upheaval is the innocent and trusting character of the pig, Babe. Find me a truer, more valiant, and more decent character anywhere in the past 20 years of cinema. I dare you. You may think that statement a little far-reaching, but I assure you that I stand firm in this believe and will defend it. Take this exchange for example. After Babe had successfully herded the sheep without so much as a bark or a bite, his adopted mom, Fly, had to find out how he did it:

Fly: All right, how did you do it?
Babe: I asked them and they did it. I just asked them nicely.
Fly: We don't ask sheep, dear; we tell them what to do.
Babe: But I did, Mom. They were really friendly.

Gallantry indeed.

This is the classic story of the persistent, noble soul, despite the mockery, despite the tradition, and despite the obstacles, staying the course to ultimate triumph. It’s what we all look for in an inspirational movie, as well as in our own lives.

(At this point you probably think I’m over-analyzing a children’s story, but I’m almost done. Promise.)

The third aspect, and probably the most striking, is the relationship between Farmer Hoggett and Babe. It’s true what the narrator says at the end of the film:

Narrator: And though every single human in the stands or in the commentary boxes was at a complete loss for words, the man who in his life had uttered fewer words than any of them knew exactly what to say.
Farmer Hoggett: That'll do, pig. That'll do.

The unspoken relationship that exists between Farmer Hoggett and Babe is truly a thing of beauty. Obviously the two cannot directly talk to one another, yet the sentiments passed between them are significant. When Babe is sick, for example, the farmer brings him inside the farmhouse, breaking tradition, and takes great pains to revive the pig’s body and spirit. Using a song to speak the words he didn’t have, Farmer Hoggett sings and dances for of the little pig, passing along his love and care not only his words, but his actions as well.

“If I had words to make a day for you,

I’d sing you a morning golden and new.

I would make this day last for all time.

Give you a night deep in moonshine.”

It gets me every time.

I could go on, but for all our sakes, I think that’s enough for one night. Hopefully you didn’t find this post too ridiculous.

Cobwebs be gone!

2011-01-25T16:41:00.000-08:00

I've once heard it referred to as "Paralyzing Writers Syndrome" (PWS). I dare say it's happened to all of us one time or another.

PWS is that ever-increasing feeling of guilt/despair we all get when we’ve been successfully (or semi-successfully) journaling, blogging, or otherwise documenting our travelings and doings. You miss documenting things for a week or two for the precise reason that you’ve been extremely busy traveling and doing these things you’re supposed to be writing about. It is, if I may be so bold, one of life’s more vicious cycles. The more you do the less you write. Thus you rapidly accumulate experiences and stories that you need to write about. I ask thee, “What is one to do?”

My solution? Well, normally I just look at the date on my blog, sigh, and then move onto to failblog.org or something to keep myself from thinking about it. Thus the cycle continues.

I’m here to tell you I’m a new man. I’m not going to let a little thing like trying to play “catch up” (whatever that is) stop me from continuing to share my life with friends and family! Nay! Nay I say!

This isn’t exactly a New Nears resolution. New Years resolutions, in my opinion, are reserved for things that are going to make a significant difference/impact in your life. Mine this year, for example, are to travel more, go out more, drink more, and eat more food. I feel that each of these things will help to round out my experience here in sunny Spain. So far things have been going quite swimmingly in the “fulfilling New Years resolutions department.”

Here is a quick montage of travels and friends since my last post. Since October 22^nd, I’ve been fortunate enough to visit the Alpujarra region of the Sierra Nevada mountains, visit friends in Jaén, Córdoba and Sevilla, visit my near and dear friend Paris, fly home for Christmas and New Years, and even visit Ronda and the dynamic and rocky strip of land known as Gibraltar.

Enjoy this brief sampling of pictures.

Mountain towns in the Alpujarra

The Immaculate Alhambra

"¿Qué?"

Post mountain hike

Weekend visit from my favorite Northern Europeans

Post-bar kebabs

Me and Dana at Notre Dame in Paris

After my birthday dinner in Paris

Ronda

The ever-friendly Gibraltarians we met in a pub

The mighty Rock of Gibraltar


Christmas with the family in Williamsburg

The Albaycín in Granada

My dearest pain in the butt, Brittany

Guadix cathedral

Also, before I leave, I would like to mention my dear friend Paula. Almost exactly 365 days ago, Paula moved to Paris to begin a master's course at the American Graduate School of Paris. I had the great pleasure of being able to see her when I was in Paris during my birthday weekend. Paula and myself, along with our other wonderful friends in Paris, enjoyed an unforgettable couple of months together. I can't wait for her to move to DC along with Libby and Kate....

Enjoy the rest of your time in Paris, Paula! See you in the Spring!

To eat a fruit.

2010-10-22T15:16:00.000-07:00

Let me just start this post by asking a question: If you were on the street and someone handed this to you, what would your initial reaction be?

If you're anything like me, you may think it was some sort of weird cactus fruit that they had to cut the spines off of, thus giving it the little dents everywhere. I thought to myself, "why would I want to eat that when I would just get some cactus spine stuck under my fingernails and then have to go to the hospital to get the spines removed so that my fingers will stop swelling?"

I don't pretend that this is a rational train of thought. But there it is, nonetheless. So, needless to say, I wasn't lining up to buy this mysterious fruit.

It wasn't until when, one fateful day, my friend Annie (pictured below) and I met up for lunch and she handed me this plastic bag that weighed approximately 10 pounds.

"What's this?"

"Open it!"

Lo and behold, it was a chirimoya. That's what this fruit is called, apparently. I had to look it up in my aforementioned visual dictionary to figure out what it is in English. For those of you who were wondering, it's called a "custard apple." Weird, I know.

I've always kind of thought that fruit and veggies were some of those universal common denominators among cultures. For example (and remember, this is purely opinion), I feel that almost anywhere you go you'll be able to find apples, bananas, pears, peaches, lettuce, carrots, corn, peas, etc etc etc. So, you can imagine my surprise when I saw this space fruit sitting there, neglected, between the bananas and the pears.

I took it to my school and my teachers all told me that it wasn’t ripe yet and that I should wait. They also explained detailed and complex ways to go about eating it. None of which I understood, but shook my head to fervently in excessive agreement nonetheless.

Eventually, in seeing the fruit ripen, it started to make sense what my teachers were telling me.

I went straight to the Google and typed in, “How to eat a chirimoya.”

Thank goodness for the Internet.

I learned two very important things right off the bat: both the skin and the seeds are poisonous. Don’t eat them.

The website also said that when the chirimoya is appropriately ripened, both the skin and the flesh will smell like vanilla ice cream.

I would just like to take this opportunity to say…false. This is a lie. At no point in my devouring of this space fruit did I encounter a wafting vanilla scent. The taste, I supposed, could somewhat be construed as an overly sweet vanilla-y ice cream flavor. But not really.

I also learned that the best way to eat it is to put in the freezer for about two hours so it gets a little frozen, then cut it half and eat it with a spoon, kind of like scooping out ice cream (maybe that’s why the author of this article thought it tasted like vanilla ice cream).

So that’s what I did.

Space fruit = Good.

Let this be a lesson to all of you out there. When in doubt about something new, double check to be sure it's not going to poison you, then go for it!

Girl talk.

2010-10-13T04:18:00.000-07:00

First of all, Garfield is the best comic out there. While I also love Calvin & Hobbes, Garfield has played a more significant part of my childhood/adulthood.

Second of all, this comic sums up my current living situation, which shall be expounded upon after reading the following:

Welcome to my life.

Now, let me preface everything by saying I love my roommates. Just this morning actually, I woke up, went into the living room to eat breakfast, and they were both sitting there drinking their coffee, pleasantly chatting, just passing the time. I joined in and we talked for an hour or so, just sharing funny stories about whatever. It's lovely.

As I've mentioned, I live with a guy, Julio, and a girl, Jennifer. This is my first time living with a girl for an extended period of time, so there are certain things I was not expecting. For example, as seen in the above cartoon, girls apparently have a seemingly unlimited supply of hair that manages to make its way into even the remotest corner of the apartment, not to mention most countertops, sinks, and, surprisingly enough, the fridge. My good friends Shannon and Brandon shared an apartment their final year of college and Brandon would always complain about "Shannon hairs" left all over the apartment. I always kind of thought he was just being dramatic, but now I understand. It's really quite remarkable. While Brandon was rather disgusted by all this, I mostly just find it impressive. I think Jennifer secretly goes into my room when I'm not around and strategically places hair all over the place.

Also rather shocking is the amount of toilet paper used in this apartment. Quite literally, every time I go into the bathroom, there's a fresh roll of toilet paper on the roll holder. I've seen some of the girls in my program sneak toilet paper into their purses, just in case the bathrooms in bars or clubs aren't appropriately equipped, but I doubt my roommate does this as well. My current theory is that she uses it as some sort of bedding in her room. Maybe to stuff her pillows. I have no visual proof of this, however, but based on the amount of toilet paper we go through weekly, it's the only logical explanation.

As I said though, I'm very happy with my roommates. I keep trying to convince Jennifer to extend her studies through the end of the school year. She's only scheduled to be here until February, but hopefully she'll push it back a while. Plus, she's really the only one in the apartment that I understand 100%. I think that she has just as much trouble understanding Julio as I do, though we've both learned when to nod, when to smile, and even when to laugh. It's amazing how much understanding you can feign when necessary. The worst is when you've zoned out (which happens frequently), but remain on autopilot with your "ah's" and "de verdad's." Then, he says, "No...I'm asking you..." Oh, ok...well, I'll just be in my room from now on...

An Update.

2010-10-09T09:04:00.000-07:00

As I write this, I’m on a bus heading to a five-day festival in a town about an hour away from Granada called Jaén. Festivals are always a good time, and Lord knows that the Spanish don’t need much of an excuse to throw a party. While I’m excited to see the Spanish in full form, I’m also excited for the reason that there are about a dozen people from my 5-week program in Sevilla that are all converging in Jaén. The 12 of us are spreading out between only two apartments, so it’s going to be a bit of a squeeze, but in a good way. I brought a backpack of clothes and things, and then a suitcase that is completely full. “Full of what,” you may ask. One blanket, and one pillow. Bedding is bulky.

I just finished my first week of teaching. It was a pretty easy week. My schedule still isn’t fixed, but it’s getting there. This first week I just went to each class and introduced myself to everyone. There are five different levels I’m working with, so that keeps things interesting. For the two lowest levels I pass out a worksheet with really common phrases like, “how are you?”, “what do you do in your spare time?”, “how old are you?”, etc. After we go through a bunch of questions and the appropriate answers, I draw a star on the board and write a word or number or something at each point. The students have to ask me yes/no questions to figure out what each word means to me in my life. For example, I’ll write “Chris” and the students have to ask me questions like, “Is your sister’s name Chris?” “No.” “Is your mom’s name Chris?” “Yes!” It’s a good time.

For the more advanced classes, I did the star first, without the worksheet, then moved on to stereotypes. I always get the ball rolling by writing the word “Americans” on the board and then having them list a bunch of stereotypes they have about Americans. You never quite know what you’re going to get in response. The usual answers are “Americans are fat,” “Americans eat fast food,” or “Americans play baseball and basketball.” There were a few that I was rather surprised to get though. One was that Americans are rude. This is the first time that I’ve ever heard this from a European. It’s not that I don’t know that there are rude Americans; let’s be honest. But in general, one of the things I pride myself in the most about American culture is that we’re pretty talkative and smiley folks. I displayed my surprise on my face, wrote “rude” on the board, and then turned to the class and asked them if they all agreed with that. The vast majority didn’t agree. That made me feel rather good.

This weekend is what’s called “un Puente,” or “a bridge.” A lot of holidays in Spain are placed on a Tuesday so that everyone has an excuse to take the preceding Monday off as well. So this coming week, due to the fact that I have Fridays off, and owing to the fact that Monday and Tuesday are a holiday, plus my 2:15 pm appointment at the visa office on Thursday, means that I only have one day of school this week. What to do, what to do... Any suggestions?

Speaking of free time, you would think that with all this free time, I would have time to plan ahead for things like good friends’ birthdays, parents’ anniversaries, other important events and dates. While it’s true I have the time, I just don’t quite have the brain for it. This is just how I am. It doesn’t mean that I don’t care about someone, I just happen to be quite incapable of keeping these dates in my little head. Having dealt with this for a while, I’ve come to a bit of a compromise. It makes sense in my head. The way I see it, if I can mail something out at the very latest on the day of someone’s birthday, then it’s ok because it has the postage stamp with the important date on it. And that makes up for the fact that it’s late. It’s not my fault, after all, that the post office takes so many days to deliver a package internationally. Right?

And speaking of birthdays! One final thing I would like to say before I sign off is that this past week was the birthday week of my talented, hilarious, beautiful, and dear friend Sarah! Feliz cumpleaños, joyeux anniversaire, alles Gute zum Geburtstag, and Happee Birfday, Sarah! Check your mail in a few days, lol.

Efficiency at its finest.

2010-09-30T15:21:00.000-07:00

Not to brag, but this may have been the most productive week of my life.

Actually...I'm going to brag a little.

Let me lay out the timetable of this past week for you:

Saturday, Sept. 25^th

Wake up exhausted from a thorough final night out in Sevilla with all the friends I had made during the past month.

Finish packing and catch a taxi to get me to the train station less than 10 minutes before it leaves (phew).

Try fruitlessly to sleep on the interminable train ride.

Get to the yet-unknown city of Granada, check into the hotel, and immediately begin hitting the pavement looking for a piso (apartment).

After walking half-aimlessly around the city, I have around 7 or 8 different numbers written down in my notebook of potential apartments. I take them all back to the hotel room and begin making calls and setting up appointments for the following day.

Dinner.

Bed.

Sunday, Sept. 26^th

Wake up and get breakfast.

Make a few more calls before heading out to my first appointment.

Visit first apartment.

Liked it.

Kill some time.

Visit second apartment (after getting quite confused and having to be picked up by the landlady on the street in her car and driven to the apartment because I couldn’t understand a single damn word she said on the phone. Aren’t first impressions great?).

Liked it, as well.

Have no more luck reaching people on the phone to make appointments so I return to the hotel to keep searching online.

Get back and keep searching/calling, but to no avail.

Join up with some of the others in the hotel who are also searching for pisos and start hearing horror stories about crappy apartments and creepy roommates.

Am joined in the hotel room by the rest of the group and continue to hear stories about how many apartments are already taken and how discouraged they feel.

Start to freak out a little bit and become convinced that everyone in Granada is suddenly considering moving into both of the apartments I saw today as well, thus making it a rather bleak situation.

Do some acute soul searching and realize how lucky I am to have seen two apartments that I really like. And, rather than risk losing one of the two apartments, I went ahead and made the decision to take apartment #2.

Call landlady.

Claim apartment.

Do a little dance.

Go out to dinner with friends.

Monday, September 27^th

Visit the apartment again, give the security deposit, get keys in my pocket and head back to the hotel.

Visit some other potential apartments with friends who haven’t found apartments yet.

Move the first wave of my stuff into my new room.

Discover that my keys don’t work.

Unpack and put away stuff for a few hours. Talk with awesome roommates.

Head back into town to meet up with others.

Monday afternoon and Tuesday are kind of a blurr.

Wednesday was a national strike in Spain, as well as a few other countries in Europe. I should probably be more informed about why these things happen, but I was too busy being annoyed by all the closed shops and by the people marching in the streets and disturbing traffic. One interesting result of the strike is that, while walking around town shopping for sheets, towels, and random other stuff, we heard two people yelling at each other on the street. I don’t things would have really escalated beyond yelling, and I couldn’t really understand what they were yelling about, but they kept saying one word over and over: fachas, fachas, fachas.

I whipped out my dictionary and looked it up. We weren’t very surprised to discover that “facha” means “facist.” I exchanged withering looks with the two friends I was with, then walked into ZARA and bought some fine home furnishings.

This morning I went with a group of people to begin the process of extending our visas to be able to stay in Spain until the end of our contracts. We got to the office an hour and a half before it opened, and we ended up being about 6^th or 5^th in line. Which, considering how long the line was behind us by the time the office opened, was excellent. We were all finished around 10:30 or 11 am. After hearing horror stories about people spending 6 hours in the office in Sevilla, we were proud of our efforts. Afterwards, I bought a Spanish/English Visual Dictionary, got inordinately excited about it (I’m super cool, I know), and then walked around the city getting information on city buses, government offices, and other important things.

Finally, after all this, I got back to my place, grabbed a quick bite, finished unpacking and making my bed and stuff, then called my school (finally) to find out what they expect of me (my first day of work is tomorrow, Oct. 1^st). Luckily…they don’t expect anything, lol. I’m just going to meet the other teachers in the English department.

Currently, I’m sitting here, watching Austin Powers II with my French roommate, discussing (in Spanish) travel, movies, food, France/Spain/Europe, and all sorts of other things.

Things are going pretty well, I’d say.

Here are a few pics to help the imagination:

Living room/entertainment center.

Patio.

Couches in living room.

Bookshelf/cabinet and wardrobe.

Desk and window (with nice breeze and lots of light), also with chair I almost broke today.

Bed! Picked out the red sheets to give it some pizzazz; I'm proud.

So all in all I'm very content at this time. I'll get pictures of my roommates at some point and post them as well. They're super cool. I'm living with a very friendly/talkative French girl, Jennifer, and a Spanish guy named Julio, who, I can only assume, aspires to win the world record for speed talking. It's a good thing that Jennifer has been here for a week longer than I have because, after Julio explains something to me about the apartment, I wait for him to leave and then have Jennifer re-explain it to me. It's really working out quite well so far. No catastrophes. Yet.

One foible worth mentioning quickly happened as follows:

(Background info: Cell phones are much more expensive to use in Spain than in the US, so to avoid the cost of calling and talking to someone, or sending them a text message, they've developed a system called the "toque" (roughly translated as "ring," "knock," "poke," or "touch"). More specifically, you say "to give a ring/poke/touch" (dar un toque). It's basically this: When you're leaving your apartment to meet up with someone, you call them, let it ring once, and then hang up. It lets them know where you are and it doesn't cost either party anything. Interesting, yes?)

ANYWAY, so as I mentioned earlier, my keys didn't work the first day I moved stuff into my room, so Julio was telling me that, if I had to come back, I could just give him a "toque" and he could come out and let me in. I was excited because, for one brief, glorious moment, I understood exactly what he was saying. Eager to display my understanding, I responded quickly: "Sí, sí, puedo tocarte..."

What I should have said was, "Sí, sí, puedo darte un toque."

The difference, though slight, is quite important. You see, "tocar," from whence came the word "toque" means "to touch." So, rather than say, "yes, yes, I'll give you a ring/poke/touch," what I actually said was, "yes, yes, I can touch you."

Julio, bless his heart, just looked at me, straight faced, and said, "Ok. Sounds good..." It wasn't even until a few minutes after I had left the apartment that I realized what I had said. I laughed. After all, such is life in a foreign country.

Before the Move.

2010-09-24T09:29:00.000-07:00

I can't believe this is already my last day in Sevilla! Five weeks goes by real fast when you're having a great time.

I feel like I've explored Sevilla quite a bit of the city, and feel really comfortable walking around here.

On to bigger and better things, however.

I've started looking for apartments in Granada, and have even gotten a few responses. I'm lucky to have five days in a hotel that my program is paying for, but it's still going to be stressful.

If any of you know someone who's looking for a fun American roommate in Granada, please let me know!

This may be the last post for a while. Sorry it wasn't awesome, haha.

¡Hasta luego, Sevilla!

Pretty Bird, Pretty Bird. (The Pretty Kitty Post.)

2010-09-17T12:00:00.000-07:00

So, as I was walking around the other day from farmacía to farmacía trying to find this medicine the doctor prescribed for me, I just happened to find myself walking behind this girl with a bird on her head.

Apparently she was taking her bird for a walk. I've never seen this before.

You may be asking yourself, "how did you get this picture, Peter?"

I may or may not have whipped my messenger bag around to my front, scrambled to get my camera out, ran ahead a few steps, held my camera out at arm's length, took the picture, and then quickly darted to the other side of the street to avoid raising suspicion. They never suspected a thing.

I felt a little bad for the bird, however, because he kept having to climb back up her hair as he was losing his grip. I hope he didn't fall off.

Also, this post goes out to one, Paula Nivala. If you know her, then you know why. I do not doubt, based on the close relationship that is clearly represented here between girl and bird, that this bird's name is Bob.

Adios.

To Go to the Doctor.

2010-09-16T11:32:00.000-07:00

I'm not one to complain.

Actually, that's not true at all. I love a good whining session. Though, it's not really the fact that I really feel very upset about a situation. Mostly, I think, it's because it's just something to talk about. I don't mean to sound needy or upset or irritable. For example, if I'm super duper hungry, I'll say it over and over. But that doesn't mean that I have to eat THAT second. If we're walking along together and you don't like the first few restaurants we come across, it's not a problem to continue on our way until we find something agreeable.

There is a limit, however. And there is a point at which I'll say, "Ok. Enough. Let's eat here."

This is also true with my pain threshold. You see, for the past week or so, I've been experiencing a lot of pain in my throat whenever I swallow, or talk too vigorously. It's been weird though. It's definitely not a sore throat: I have no fever, no soreness in the rest of my body, and I haven't had any other symptoms of being sick. It was almost like there was something underneath my tongue that was hurting me.

I told my host mom. I don't know if I've said this before, but my host mom is a message therapist by trade, and believes wholly in holistic/natural medicine. The first thing she said to me was, "that means that you have something stressful in your life, or that you have something that you need to talk about. Something weighing you down." Ok, Carmen. Whatever you say.

But bless her heart if she didn't make me some ginger tea, give me some extract of echinacea drops, and then sit down with me at the table and discuss everything that was happening in my vida. "Are you stressed with your classes? Are you nervous about moving to Granada? How are you getting along with the other students? When's the last time you talked to your parents?" She was very concerned. It was very nice.

So I talked to my parents later that day, told them what was going on, took some advil, drank lots of ginger tea and water, and within a day or two, things felt all better.

When Friday rolled around, however, things started up again. Except this time it was the right side of my throat/mouth/tongue. I decided to just wait it out for a few days and see what's going on. This isn't usually too bad of an idea, except for when things just get worse after a few days. This was the situation in which I found myself yesterday. The night before I couldn't really sleep super well because whenever I had to swallow, I would wake up in pain. Eating food hurt. Drinking hurt. It wasn't fun.

Finally, I decided that action had to be taken. I went to the pharmacy but all they had was Ibuprofen, which I had taken already, and it didn't make any difference.

So, I finally decided to try out going to the doctor. As long as I've lived in foreign countries, I've never been sick enough to go to the doctor. Thank goodness for that, too: I don't even like going to the doctor in my home country!

I was very hesitant to go to the doctor. Spanish isn't even my second language. However, after a few phone calls with my program, and finding that I could actually understand about 90% of what they were saying to me over the phone, I got renewed confidence, and I headed out on the adventure.

When I finally got to the office, a good 20 minutes later, I stood in front of the door trying to figure out how to get in. It was just a normal apartment building, with a sign outside that said, "medical farmlww."

As I was standing there, I got another call from the lady at the program telling me that the office doesn't open until 9:30. It was 9:15. To kill some time I stood on the street, like a creeper, listening to Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, and trying to blend into the surrounding Spanish culture.

I eventually got into the doctor’s office and got checked out. Everyone in the office was very nice, and very patient with me and with my Spanish. It was great. There’s nothing worse than trying to talk to someone who acts like they don’t have the time for you. In the end, the doctor told me that I have “llagas.” My Spanish, such as it is, has not prepared me for the wide world of medical maladies. I asked her what a “llaga” is, and she went into her office and brought back a dictionary open to the word “llaga.” Apparently I have a little sore in the back of my throat that’s making my life miserable. So she gave me some prescriptions to get filled for various things.

At this point, I’ve been writing this post for about four days, so I’ve been taking the medicine and have been following all the advice that she gave me. I feel about 150% better. And, I just woke up from a super siesta. So I’m ready. I’m ready to go running, I’m ready to go out with my friends, but most importantly, I’m ready to go to Portugal!

Say whaaaaaat!

Yes, I’m going to Lagos in Portugal this weekend with a bunch of people from my program. We’re going cliff diving, shore cruising, beach sitting, pool swimming, and all sorts of stuff.

I’ve bought a new camera for the occasion:

So, that'll be fun. You'll see the results.

Ok, that's it for now.

¡Hasta pronto!

¡Disaster!

2010-09-12T13:04:00.000-07:00

This may be the worst thing that's happened to me in all my abroad travelings. This includes the time I was deported from Africa, as well as the time I walked into a train station in France trying to get to Paris, only to find the last one pulling out of the station for the night.

I was going out with some friends the other night. Naturally, I took my cell phone, keys, camera, some cash, my ID and a credit card (just in case). We were walking the Alameda de Hercules, a very popular neighborhood for bars, clubs, restaurants, and hanging out. We went to the first bar, had a drink or two, then moved on to another bar so that we could all sit down.

We all got a drink, moved a few tables together, pulled up the chairs, and sat down. I decided to take a few pictures, so I reached into my pockets to find my camera. I pulled it out. Turned it on. And that's when it happened.

My LCD screen on my camera had cracked.

Yes, that is a tear you see slowly falling down my cheek. (Just kidding.)

But it is very sad all the same. So I'm not sure quite what to do. I'm going to Lagos in Portugal this coming weekend, and I'm not going to miss the opportunity to take a few hundred pictures!

It's true that my camera is still fully capable of taking pictures. In fact, I went to visit some ruins near Sevilla today, and took a couple dozen pictures. The thing I realized very quickly, however, upon review of the photos on my computer, is that I can't change any settings on my camera as I take pictures. All the pictures I took today were all taken under the setting used for lightbulbs while inside. So the white balance is messed up. Not only that, but I can't change the flash, aperture, shutter speed, white balance, or any of the other awesome features my camera has. I'm not quite sure what to do right now to be perfectly honest. Everything is much more expensive here in Europe. So if I were to get a camera here, the same camera would probably cost around $50-$60 more here as it would back home. Ugh, decisions decisions decisions.

That's the life update over here for now.

The Communication.

2010-09-10T10:25:00.000-07:00

Things continue to go well here in Sevilla. The weather has finally given us some relief. The high for the past few days has been between 85º and 95º. And combined with the fact that I’ve been siesta-ing during the hottest part of the day, it’s been quite nice.

That still hasn’t kept me from working up a prodigious sweat whenever I walk somewhere. I swear, if I even think about being outside in the sun, I can feel my forehead start to glisten. I complain, but it’s not nearly as bad as when it was 110º, claro. Aside from the whole “teaching English” thing, my primary job has been drinking an absurd amount of water every day.

There are many benefits, however, to living somewhere really hot, dry and sunny. At night, the weather is beautiful and you don’t have to worry about being rained on if you’re sitting outside. Also, when you wash your clothes and hang then up to dry, you can go and take them down later the same day and they’re perfectly dry. It’s almost miraculous. At first I didn’t understand where our clothes were being hung up, because I never saw them in the apartment. I found out only a bit too late one day.

Carmen, my host mother, was talking to me the other day and was talking to me about our clothes. We have very little problem communicating anymore. I don’t always get every word, but the gist more or less comes through. This was not the case in this instance. Our conversation went more or less like this:

Carmen: Hola, Peter.

Me: Hola, Carmen. ¿How are you?

Carmen: I’m good. I cmmwr to ask you if slkjflkj your lwkjelk in the alkjsdlkj or if I can sdlkjjl weqwe mrmw. What do you want to do?

In this type of situation, you generally have three options: Sí, no, or repeat.

Me: I’m sorry, one more time, please?

Carmen: (Smiling) Wlmrlw. Movour lskjqwz (subjunctive) cmogwu your clothes cwiipsxwen or smroo oic up wmmer vbngwm2?

At this point, your only real option is to say “sí” or “no” and hope that it strikes some distant correlation to the question.

Adding a little emotion to feign confidence, I shrugged, shook my head, and said, “No.”

Wrong.

It wasn’t really a big deal. She just said, “No? Ok then.” And then left. I sat staring at the empty doorway for a few seconds, trying to reflect over the half-conversation I just had. Eventually I was able to recall the words, “do you want,” “show,” “up,” “clothes,” and, “dry.” Which of course means, “Do you want me to show you where I hang up the clothes to dry after I wash them?” Sorry to sound like such a douche, Carmen.

I later realized that, not only would it be a good idea to know where our clothes hang out, but the roof of the building is also a great place to get una buena vista of Sevilla. Plus, it’s nice to be able to help out around the apartment. A single, working mother has plenty of things to do besides cook my meals, wash dishes, and do laundry. Obviamente.

That’s it. Just something I wanted to share.

Here are some other pictures from Sevilla. Loving it.

Bridge near my house at sunset.

View of Triana (my neighborhood) and the bullfighting stadium from the Giralda (Cathedral).

Rick Steves' Tour, clearly.

Katie and Amy K in the Barrio Santa Cruz (Judería).

Random Cathedral shots.

Until the next time,

Adios.

Fui a Marruecos.

2010-09-10T06:41:00.000-07:00

I had the very rare opportunity to go to the beautiful land of Morocco last weekend.

It was quite the cultural experience. We were in a tour with about 30 students from all over (Germany, France, USA, Argentina, Spain, etc., etc.) and we went to three cities: Tetuan, Tangiers, and Chefchaouen.

Our first stop, Tetuan, was quite the experience. We started our trip off in the Medina of Tetuan. "Medina" in Arabic means "city," but it's also used to refer to the oldest part of the city, which is generally where the markets are, and is the most twisty and historical part of the city. It was very interesting to see how markets like that work in other countries, but it was also quite overwhelming.

You don't quite get the effect of the medina from the pictures. Imagine the smell of raw meat and fish, all kinds of fruits and vegetables, the sound of meat being chopped up, chickens being killed and deplumed, people yelling at each other from opposite sides of the street, mangey cats dissecting fish heads, flies buzzing on all foodstuffs, and a mysterious liquid running down the middle of the street.

Lots of culture. Culture in your face, in your ears, splashing on your feet, and in your nose and mouth. All kinds of culture; it was intense.

We toured around the medina for a few hours and learned some history about the various neighborhoods. It was very interesting.

We were also taken to a carpet co-op where they showed us all kinds of carpets and blankets and things all hand made, hand-dyed and really really cool.

After our time in Tetuan, we went to Tangiers, and walked very briefly through the Medina. It wasn't great. We got to the medina just as everything was closing for the night. I think we got to walk around for about 15 minutes, not really worth the trip there, in my opinion. Especially because the only thing you could buy was like...Moroccan clothes, jewelry, knock off dvds and other assorted nonsense. Plus everyone gave you stinkface and/or stared at you and followed you as you walked down the street. Let's just say...it wasn't the ideal environment for shopping....or existing.

We went back to our mediocre hotel after our long day, ate a mediocre dinner, and then went to bed, after most people took cold showers, for lack of hot water.

The next day we got up super early and headed to Chefchaouen. It's a few hours into the heart of the country, over a few mountain ranges. The whole city is painted blue and white. It was spectacular.

I would love to go back again some day. Next time, hopefully, I can go to visit some friends who know the cities they live in. Also, I won't have to walk around in a group of 30 white people.

That's it for now!

¡Hasta luego!

Muy rápido.

2010-09-02T10:38:00.000-07:00

Just a quick hello. Trying to get back into the swing of blogging semi-consistently. I have lots of free time right now in my program, so I want to try and establish some sort of habit before I start teaching.

Right now I'm living with a host family, along with one other American, Jason, from my program. It's kind of nice to have another student in the house because I have someone to go do stuff with while my family is otherwise occupied.

This is mi cama, please notice the beautifully decorated sheets.

This is the first year our host mom, Carmen, has had boys in her house. She's been hosting students for 9 or 10 years, and it's always been girls until now. Why the sudden change? It may or may not have something to do with her 9 year old son, Carlo, who told her he's sick of having girls come into the house all the time. It's worked out well for me and Jason though! We have a super sweet apartment in a great location, and a little brother to play video games with in Spanish. ¡Qué guay!

This is Jason:

In other news, I came very quickly to the conclusion that I should have spent more time planning my suitcases. When I moved to France last year, I started packing a week before I left. This time? I started about a day and a half before. So far I've discovered that I accidentally packed a pair of my mom's socks, did NOT pack a single sheet of blank notebook paper, and managed to squeeze in enough winter gear to survive the next ice age. Sorry Spain...I'm praying for record breaking cold this winter.

I also only brought one pair of shorts, neglecting to heed the reports that Sevilla was experiencing 100º+ weather. Not only that, but for the first week I was here, I couldn't find the shorts I packed, so I was forced to choose between wearing full-length pants and dying, or wearing my basketball shorts 24/7. After a few days, I finally bit the bullet and bought some new shorts. They're actually great: nice and light and not too expensive. It only took me about 12 hours after I bought new shorts to find the ones I packed. Obviously.

Yeah, so it's been a pretty interesting trip so far. Aside from all the new cultural things I've been experiencing. I'll update later about all that.

Oh, and here's our other roommate, Alex:

¡Chau!

¡La vida es fanástica!

2010-08-31T08:35:00.000-07:00

Welcome welcome one and all to the first edición of "¡La vida es fantástica!"

It's been quite a ride so far, let me tell you. I'm not even sure where to start.

How about the beginning?

I arrived in Spain last Monday (August 23rd). My flight was no problem. I, of course, was utterly unable to sleep at all, so that was fun. I took a taxi from the airport to the train station in Madrid, then took a 2.5 hour train ride to Sevilla--Santa Justa, then a taxi to the hotel, my final destination. Renfe, the Spanish train company, decided that I should sit in first class because I had 200 lbs. of luggage and looked very tired. Or maybe not. But whatever the reason, I got to sit in "Preferencía" as opposed to all the plebeians who were stuck hugging their knees in “turística.” Not bad, I should say.

So I get to the hotel. I go and find the desk to check-in with my program and talk to the ladies (all of whom are super nice, btw), get my keys, and head up to the room. Side note: The members of the program were asked to arrive between 12 pm and 7 pm, so I figured that…considering that 99% of everyone were coming all the way from the States directly, I was probably one of, if not THE, first person to arrive.

So you can imagine my surprise when, while sweating profusely and swearing fluently, I finally get the hotel door open, only to find a dude sprawled out on his back, in naught but his underwear, snoring away, with all the blinds pulled shut. My first thought was, “Oh no, I hope I don’t wake him up.” Followed quickly by, “I wonder if he’s supposed to be in here.” And then finally, “Is this my room?”

Well, as I was slowly and quietly trying to get my stuff settled in the room, he woke up and wasn’t shocked that someone else was in his room, so I figured everything was ok. Turns out I was right.

So that was Monday. We spent the next few days doing various orientations to life in Spain and teaching and other important things: everything from buying a cell phone, to a quick review of essential Spanish phrases and grammar stuff.

Our group has about 33 people in it. While most of them have just graduated from college, there are quite a few who graduated with me, or a year or two before. They’re a lot of fun though. It’ll be sad when we all split up and go to our separate cities to teach, but a lot of people are in sweet towns: some near the beach, some near Portugal, some near Gibraltar. So it’s exciting to have places to go and visit people (and to stay for free).

Ok, here are some pictures from my life so far.

Tad and Katie (former roommate and current neighbor)

Carl, me and Dana

La Giralda y la Catedral

View of the river from my bedroom

La Giralda and the moon from my window

Ok, that's it for ahora!

¡Adios!

Loire!

2010-04-15T13:58:00.001-07:00

Two important things are happening tomorrow:

Last day of school!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAHOOO!!!!!!!!

That's a relief.

Also, I'm going biking in the Loire Valley for a weekend with some friends.

Also WAHOOO!!!!!!!!

What's the point, really?

2010-04-06T13:53:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. I think that tonight is the first time that I've been just sitting around with nothing to do since my last post probably. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it might actually be true.

For those of you who haven't see my pictures yet, I've been traveling a bit since my last post as well. I've been to London, Basque Country (southern France and northern Spain), Provins (an hour outside of Paris), and Mont St. Michel (on the northern coast of France). This weekend I have some family coming for four days, then the next week is my last week of teaching, then I move out of my apartment, then I go to Turkey for two weeks, then I leave France a week after that and go to NYC for a long weekend and then I finally get home. Phew.

I'm tired already.

So that's why you might not hear from me for a while.

Liz Lemon, out!

Tempus Fugit.

2010-02-07T11:00:00.000-08:00

I came to a rather shocking realization a few days ago. I only have 8 weeks of teaching left! Excuse me? What did you say?

8 weeks.

I feel that I’ve done so much and yet haven’t really done anything since I’ve been here. Does that make sense? I started making a definitive list of things I want to do while I’m here. It got very long very quickly. I’ve been doing stuff every week since I’ve been here though. Sometimes when I make lists of things to do I include several things I’ve already done so that I can feel more accomplished. I see nothing wrong with this.

One big thing I feel I’ve been missing out on is the opportunity to travel some while I’m here. It would help if I weren’t so dirt poor. This, as it turns out, is not my fault. I have a bit of a confession.

I’m working in France illegally. Technically. As previously stated, this is not my fault. Let me ‘splain you some.

So as an English assistant I’m eligible for the CAF, which is basically a welfare system that gives you back the taxes you pay each month (which is close to 200 euro). This would help greatly with the “dirt poor”-ness. So that’s the end goal: the CAF money. But to get the CAF, I need to have French insurance, but to get that, I need to have a health care card, but to get that, I need to have a social security number, but to get that, I need to have a medical visit to prove to the French gov’t that I don’t have the tuberculosis, but to do that, I need to receive a letter telling me a specific time, date and place to go for this, and to get that I need to send in all the pages and pages of required paperwork. The good news, however, is that I’ve already done my part. So now I just have to sit back and wait.

The reason that this is becoming such a hassle is that, up until this point, the assistants had different rules for insurance and all that jazz, so there weren’t as many papers to file. Now, however, the French gov’t decided that the assistants’ paperwork should be filed through the office of immigration (even though I’m not an immigrant….) with the rest of the world who wants to move to France. So instead of competing with a few hundred people, I’m now in a pool of tens of thousands of people who are all vying to get their paperwork processed asap. Normally I would have had my medical visit in November or December. As it is now, I’m getting ready to tell my kids about Valentine’s Day, and still no visit.

“You should just call the office,” you might say. Or maybe, “just go there in person,” sounds more logical. One would think.

I have the great fortune to be in a program made up of a large population of type-A personalities. There came a point after the majority of assistants had sent in their paperwork that mass emails began circulating to both complain about the process and get advice of how to proceed. It turns out that several people had actually taken the initiative to call or go to the actual office…but to no avail. If anything they lost a few hours of their life and had gained a few more forehead wrinkles from frustration.

I did actually call once, just to see if it would accomplish anything. This is basically how it goes:

You go online for a good 20 minutes looking for a phone number to call. And as long as you don’t call before 9 am, between 11:30 am and 1:30 pm (lunch break), and after 4 pm, you might get someone….if they feel like it….maybe. So you dial, and the phone rings. And rings.

And rings.

And someone answers! You spend some time explaining to them the situation you’re in, including all information that you think is relevant, and the person on the other end listens politely. After you’ve finished, she tells you, “oh, you don’t want this department, I will transfer you to the correct department.” And the phone rings.

And rings.

And finally, someone picks up again. You tell them basically all the same information, except you’ve had about five minutes to go over all the ill-conjugated verbs (“What’s the third person plural conditional form of ‘to be screwed over’ again?”) and all your incorrect syntax (“Did that need the subjunctive?”), so this time your speech is a little more compelling. The lady on the other end of the phone listens, says “un moment, s’il vous plait,” puts you on hold, and then returns to the half-marathon she was right in the middle of running before you interrupted her with your phone call. Upon her return, she tells you that she needs to transfer you to someone else, and before you are able to draw the breath to say “merci,” you hear a click and then ring ring ring. Even if you call at the right time of the day, by the time you end up at the correct department, it will most likely be lunch time, and you will therefore end up at that dreaded black hole: the answering machine.

So, needless to say, I’m rather content to sit here in my apartment with a book and soothing background music, as opposed to taking on the French paperwork machine head on.

So that’s that, I suppose. I apologize for this entry. I had spent an hour and a half working on it, and then just as I was posting it, it all got deleted. This version doesn’t have the same soul as the last one, but it’ll have to do for now. 3+ hours of blogging in one night does not a happy boy make.

One quick thing: I resumed pastry Saturday this weekend. Here's what I had:

And Sarah had one of these:

Photos courtesy of the delicious and talented Sarah Gilmour. It was a red fruit kind of day.

And one last thing, I would like to send special birthday wishes to Shannon Metz and B Smith! I'm a little late, but what I lack in timing I make up for in suaveness and being in France-ness.

Bye!

Like sand.

2010-01-18T15:45:00.000-08:00

So I've started a blog. You may be aware.

But I decided I needed to do something else. Something just for myself. So I started a private blog/journal.

Let me take just a moment to explain myself. I've been thinking a lot lately. Well, I always think a lot; I think that's what struck me.

This is a conversation I had with my friend, Sarah, recently:

me: but I'm still building my resume and stuff

I need to keep track of all these things

ugh

Sarah: yeah true

me: do you ever feel like you can't contain everything that you do?

that sounds weird

but like, I'm doing all this awesome stuff in my life, and reading books, and seeing movies, going to museums, making friends

and I feel like I do it and enjoy it

but then it just slips through my fingers

and I forget so much

and then have nothing or very little to show for it

Sarah: yes!

totally

that's why I blog...

moreso on my other non-public one

me: mmhmm

Sarah: so that way I can at least look back sometimes and remember

but sometimes I feel like I can't do everything I need to do

there's always so much

me: I know

(And now I can't get my paragraph to align correctly. Great.)
Anyway, so that's how I've been feeling, so to try and counteract this, I'm going to start documenting things. This is something I need to just make a part of my day. Like brushing my teeth. Or getting dressed.
That's pretty much all I have to say about that I suppose.
My friend Carl came to stay with me for a few days last week. We worked at the embassy together and haven't seen each other since the end of the summer in 2007, so it was fun to see each other again and to explore the city again. He's in Madagascar right now. Sigh. One day I supposed I'll retire and will use all the money I've made from my wildly successful career as a _______________ and use my time to travel the world, read many books, and do things without having to think, "how is this going to look on my resume?" Those will be the days, I suppose.

This is what the Eiffel Tower looks like tonight.

It's been pretty gloomy here lately. Although yesterday it did get up to about 50 degrees and it was sunny. I stood in the sun in a short sleeve t-shirt yesterday out in the street for a few minutes. I think some people might have thought it was a little weird as they were walking past me in their jackets and scarves. I'm ok with that.

One more photo.

Until the next time.

Thanks to Carl for the photos!

La vida loca.

2010-01-14T14:43:00.000-08:00

Hey guys,

Sorry to have been out of touch. I've been hosting a lot of people and haven't even had much time to plan my lessons, let alone update my blog.

It's coming! I promise.

Until then!

Le Nouvel An.

2009-12-31T16:07:00.001-08:00

Happy New Year!

Melcom addis amet!

Bonne Année!

I'll be Home for Christmas.

2009-12-21T15:41:00.000-08:00

But just barely.

I left Paris Thursday morning Paris time. It had just started snowing.

That doesn't really seem like much I suppose, but my flight was delayed by about an hour and a half. So we took off, just a little late. I got home to Washington and got picked up by my parents, and by the time I got home and checked my email, it had kept snowing so much that they were canceling all kinds of flights into and out of Paris! They closed down all the buses in Paris so everyone had to take the metro, and everyone was freaking out.

Cut to Friday: The East Coast of the USA is bracing itself for "Thundersnow 2009." I had intended to head up to Lancaster, PA (near Philly) for a Christmas party on Sunday, but because of the storm I headed up Friday night and JUST beat all the snow. Unfortunately, my friend Brandon, the host of the party, was due to fly in Saturday around 3:30 from London (yet another city facing severe weather), his parents were going to drive the 3+ hour ride to pick him up and then drive back on Saturday.

Cue "Thundersnow":

It started snowing around midnight on Friday (I arrived around 11:30) and didn't stop snowing until about midnight on Saturday night. So, after having been delayed about 13 hours, we finally get the word that Brandon has landed in Boston at around 10 pm, and he was due to arrive in Washington the following day, Sunday, at 12:30 in the afternoon.

Sunday: Brandon's parents drive down to Washington and get there around 12 (when he was due to arrive), only to find out that the flight is due to arrive at 3...then 4...then 5. So finally around 5, Brandon is picked up by his parents and they make the drive back home to Lancaster.

Meanwhile at Brandon's house, the party had gotten into full swing. I think there were about 12 or 13 of Brandon's friends at his house waiting for him to come back. I got to his house around 4 with some other people, and he arrived at a timely 9:30. We began the White Elephant gift exchange promptly after, haha.

The night turned out great. Everyone had lots to eat and drink and there was lots of catching up with old friends and socializing. Thoroughly enjoyable.

I even got to play in the snow a bit on Saturday! (Thanks for the video, Shannon!)

Enjoy:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dd0dqoTHYv8

And now I'm home with the 'rents and we're preparing dinner for some family friends. It's a little chaotic, but it's going to be a fun night.

Four days!!!