Thinking of Snow

My facebook news feed is a perfect combination of almost everything I need to stay as home-sickness free as possible while living far-far away from my dear motherland.

Entertaining, informative, gossipy. I love it. I just love it. Forget the morning paper, my news feed is all I need. Sound pathetic? I could get why you would think it's a bit pathetic. But, if you stepped into my corner for a weekend or two, you'd get it.

Now, when you're abroad you miss everything. The staples of friends and family, and food of course (what I would GIVE for an after-bar run to Taco Bell every weekend)... but there's lots of things I miss while away that might not even cross your mind.

I think it's fair to say that it's a normal thing to have friends. Think about what you usually do with those friends. Your list might include sports like drinking, er... I mean... biking, or going to the movies, or shopping, for example. What that list should really say is "talking about people we know." So, what do I miss? Gossiping. I miss gossiping about family, friends, acquaintances and people I don't honestly care about... Like... neighbors or dogs or whoever, and, surprisingly enough, since you know these people from high school or sports or because they are your mom's friend's son, it's all interesting! 

Here, since I don't have an extensive web of people I know well enough to gab about, I get that gab from facebook. I get my sense of home- of knowing more than a handful of people at once- by reading updates on people I know though facebook. You would be surprised that your sense of home- more than places and food- is your sense of knowing a shit load of people who all happen to be in the same place!

Another thing I get from facebook? Weather updates! As a Minnesotan, we know how important the weather is. It's either too humid, too cold, too frozen or too perfect (only for a couple of days a year, that is). Yesterday, I know it started snowing because of facebook. 12,000 complaints of white beatifulness falling from the sky, and everyone is complaining. Now, I know you have to deal with it for the next... 4-ish or so months... but man, that first snowfall can also be breathtaking. A breath that hasn't been taken from me in three years, now. Via facebook, all of a sudden I can curl up in my bed, call my parents on skype, have them point the webcam out of their window, and ·vuala·, I'm in Minnesota.

Without technology, I'm not sure how I could handle being so far, far away...

"I wanna picture with the bad boys!!"

This Christmas I visited home. It was just about the strangest feeling. I was stopping by, saying hello, and leaving for another six months. But, it was also happy. It was like a layover to help me push homesickness away in order to enjoy my last lag in Spain. I was at a point in my life timeline where I was pretty positive my Iberian Peninsula adventures were coming to an end. I would be moving back to Bird-Town in summer. I was already pondering going to look for some rockin' bilingual job, interpreting on the side, and hopefully becoming stable enough to move into the near-Uptown area. Well... that was before I met the Spaniard everyone said for years and years that I would end up meeting. Right when I was pretty convinced my love affair with this country was ending, turns out it was just beginning...

Summer came and the days started to pass, and pass, and keep on passing. I soon realized I had to make a decision: to move home or to visit. I ended up with the later choice, and "take my Spaniard home day" came in late August.

The visit home is a strange sensation, as suddenly meeting up with friends and family is for catch-up and meet my fabulous boyfriend purposes. Days in Minneapolis were filled with concerns about where to eat? where to drink? where to do everything I love about this city and only have two weeks to do? Talk about decisions!!! The plus side is that playing tour guide with a foreigner makes things way more fun. We were generously gifted Twins and Vikings tickets. My mom threw a family BBQ. My friends made lots o' time to hang out. I got to watch Pelayo eat his first s'more, and, shit, we even got to shoot a gun at Bill's Gun Range!

I considered filling this blog entry with a blurb about every stop on our month long American adventure. But then I realized that can get quite boring to read, and even to write. SO, I am going to debut my fabulous Spaniard on my blog today with the most entertaining story of the trip... And if this bores you then you are probably boring.

...

It was a stickily humid weeknight right in the heart of Uptown, where we were engaging in the typical tourism chat which always consists of: "This used to be hipster and cool and unique but is now commercialism center." Yes. Very typical. And overdone. But true? Anyway, as we were walking up Lake, a few guys sped past on their neon-glowing motorcycles. Pelayo does the whole, I'm a dude and love motorcycles thing, whips out his camera and tries to snap them, failing pretty miserably. So, the chase down starts. We run, as casually as possible, stalking them into the Cowboy Slim's parking lot. Suddenly there was no way to sneakily takes pictures of them. I am used to being a foreigner and have come to discover that when you are foreign you can get away with shit you cannot get away with being a local, like asking three scary, gangster looking bikers if you can take their picture. My conclusion? "Pelayo, ask them if you can take a pic with them." To my surprise, he does.

"Hey, can I take a picture with you guys?" he asks innocently.

"You can take a picture of the bike, but not of me," biker 1 growls. Camera in hand, I started to back up slowly...

It seemed like an eternity passed before Pelayo let a huge grin spread across his face and spit out, "But I wanna take a picture with the bad boys!!" He recalls regretting that the second it flew from his lips, but it ended up saving his ass.

"Umm, you're not from here, right?" questions biker 1.

"Nope, I'm from Spain."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Is that really what he thought, though? Of all the foreign dudes asking to take pictures of you- a scary as hell dude- they would be from Spain? Whatevs. All I know is that all of a sudden this guy was like, nicer than I could have ever imagined. "Is it your first time here? Why are you here? Where did you guys go?? Did you go to Dinkytown for Mesa Pizza? Are you gonna go in to Cowboy Slims? There is a better one is Bloomington, you should bring him to Bloomington. Did you go to the Mall of America? When are you guys getting married????"

We chit-chatted, took a couple of pictures, and kept on our way.

I guess pigs can fly now.

Little Facts about Barcelona, 2007

A few weeks ago I stumbled upon a Word document I created back when I was studying in Barcelona. I was there studying for just five months, but made some pretty interesting observations about seemingly insignificant but quite telling differences in lifestyles, cultures and languages...

Me in Barcelona, 19 years old

Now that I have been living in Spain for a more significant amount of time, I never seem to notice these small differences that seemed so big to me when I was just 19 years old. For those of you who have spent some time in Spain, you might just find this interesting.

Little Facts about Barcelona 2007

1. Old men walk with their hands held behind their backs.

2. Spaniards are OBSESSED with saving energy because utilities are so expensive and scarce.

3. Long showers don’t exist. If it’s longer than 8 minutes you’re American and ridiculous.

4. They are also obsessed with every single door in the house being closed at all times (and they also have a lot more doors).

5. Fat people do not exist here. Anyone overweight is over 65.

6. All the music played in stores (of any kind) is really terrible American 80’s and 90’s music. Celine Dion and Mariah Carey always top the list.

7. Everyone is stylish- but weird 80s stylish. Ankle tight jeans are very popular, along with high-heel knee-high boots, and tights or leggings.

8. The city smells pretty bad.

9. Everyone smokes cigarettes.

10. Siesta doesn’t really exist in the big city, but lots of shops and stores close for two hours from lunch (1:30-3:30).

11. They eat five times a day. Breakfast at 8am, snack at 11am, lunch 2pm (their big meal), snack 5pm, dinner 10pm.

12. You can get a bocadillo anywhere for pretty cheap and they’re always delicious!

13. A huge piece of French bread (baguette) costs $.50.

14. They can talk at 5million miles a second a still understand each other.

15. Public transportation is amazing. There’s always the metro, the bus, the train, or your own feet.

16. When you order a pop at a restaurant it comes in a can and a glass with no ice.

17. You can’t get tap water at a restaurant.

18. They don’t really drink water here… but you can get a 1 liter bottle of water at the grocery store for $0.30!!!

19. Mopeds are everywhere!

20. They take “public display of affection” to a whole new level.

21. Hanging out at someone’s house doesn’t happen. To spend time with friends you meet at a bar, restaurant or café.

22. All of their convenient shops end with “ia.” Panadería (bakery), Farmacía (pharmacy), Perfumería (Perfume and makeup shop), Peluquería (hair salon).

23. Milk and juice for drinking at home comes in cardboard boxes that you can keep warm for a long time.

24. Chocolate is everywhere! Every block there’s a bakery that sells tons of chocolate covered/filled croissants and goodies. Nummy!

25. Cell phone minutes are really expensive and can be paid for by contract or by pre-pay.

26. To be able to walk to the grocery store and back home after shopping, lots of people own bags similar to a rolling suitcase to carry their groceries in.

27. Dogs are everywhere, poop everywhere, and go without a leash- without a problem.

28. For an area to be considered a “park” here it just has to be a brown sandy/dusty area with a few benches.

29. The blinds are outside of the house and you open and close them with a cord inside the room.

30. They don’t drink tap water.

31. Chocolate is king here!

32. Clubs (discotecas) are open until the wee hours of the morning (7am, 9am, anyone?)

The simple serenity of background noises

After two years of working as a professional waiting room individual due to my job as a medical interpreter, I began to appreciate the delicate sounds of group background noise. I got insanely accustomed to the sounds of quiet whispers between family members, the gentle rustle of magazines and newspapers, the quiet shuffle of feet when a name was called...

With time and boredom, these sounds took on an an extreme relaxing effect for me. Suddenly any hush-hush waiting room became my nursery, and more than fifteen minutes in an over-cushioned, arm-rested chair would send my head bobbing.

It happens that now that a good nap of mine thrives on good group background noise. Listening to the distant murmur of my roommates talking down the hall in the kitchen, the neighbors clanking dishes in their kitchen across the patio, or the light clicking of my dad's fingers tapping my laptop on the couch in front of me send me into siesta bliss...

The funny things that come out of jobs, eh?

Hola, me llamo Modi.

It never fails.

"Hola, soy Molly." Hello, I'm Molly. Seems simple enough, yeah? It is only the statement I have said approximately 5.7 million times in the years I have spent living and traveling throughout this fabulous yet apparently hard of hearing country.

"Modi?"

"Molly."

"Como? Moni?"

"MoLLy!"

"Modi?"

If I do not give a flying fuck about the person who is insisting on calling me Modi/Moni/Morocco, at this point I say, "Si, Modi," brush it off my shoulder like any good rap star, and continue on with my evening (while, of course, simultaneously racking my brain to figure out why the Spanish cannot distinguish the difference between my pronunciation of L and D). If the person is even suspected of being pertinent to my future social life or work opportunities, this goes on for a while... until I remember my new found, mythical weapon that does not amuse me at all.

"Sabes... Molly Malone...?"

"Ahhh, claroooo!! Moli!"

Aaand there went my dignity out the window. Being compared to a fish-selling Irish legend chick accused of prostituting on the side. Would you like a happy ending with your trout? Sweet dude! The most unfortunate side effect? This is officially my nickname for some of Pelayo's family members. 

An... older POV

Last week I met a Spanish woman in her 80's, and I think she took the cake for the wisest woman I've met in quite a while.

Upon discovering I am American, she suddenly said, "I am going to tell you some things I noticed about your culture and your country a few years back." Now, as many of us travelers/expats might do, I smiled outwardly but inwardly cringed in anticipation of some stereotypical, ignorant, and close minded statement about my country that I am so accustomed to hearing.

I am happy to say this woman surprised the shit outta me. "Back in the 60's, I went to visit some friends of some friends in a military base in Morocco." (*Note that Spain in the 60's was living under a Catholic dictatorship, which left them in the dust in terms of modernity and technology.)

She continued, "The kitchen was full of plug ins. Full of them. They had one plug in for every electronic thing in the kitchen. And of course, they had an electric knife, a toaster, everything!" In Spain, kitchens tend to have one outlet which is used for all kitchen appliances. You finish, unplug one, and plug in another. I had never thought about the plug-in/appliance ratio until I talked with her.

"Then, in every bedroom on the base, every nightstand had a TV! Every bedroom!" At this time in Spain, you were pretty lucky to have a TV at all. "A little excessive, your culture."

Then came some simple difference in time schedules and eating habits. "Oof, the Americans eat such a heavy breakfast, a light lunch, and a big dinner. I just couldn't figure out how to get full. I can't drink more than a coffee for breakfast, I have to have a huge lunch and a light dinner. I've never been hungrier than I was on that base!" She giggled at the differences between eating habits, and found it quite silly that she had never been hungrier than the time she spent around a bunch of Americans.

And of course, the classic, "And the Americans, they were so tall!"

I have to say, we could all learn a lesson from this lady. It took an 80 year old woman to state her observations respectfully. She told me all of this without saying once that one place was better than the other. It sure would be nice if we could all be as respectful and observant as this lady.

Her closing thought, which I found just plain interesting, went like this:

"I am at an age in my life when I know what I like. I'm at an age when I can look back at my life and see the things I actually liked because I liked them, and the things I thought I liked when I only liked them because of society's expectations. Now I know what I like: going for strolls, making my own clothes, and reading. And that's what I do now."

English names made blatantly, and terribly, Spanish

Yhudit (Judith)

Estefania (Stephanie)

Just a few traveling tales

La isla de Lobos

The last month or so has been full of travels and adventures. I took an amazingly sunny and beach-filled long weekend to Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands with Pelayo (due to my mother you should all know who he is by now), my parents and aunties paid me a visit and we trekked all over Northern Spain, and a German girl I met traveling three years ago in Scotland also came to check out Asturias for a few days.

The Canary Islands are always a surprise... all proceeding from volcanic eruptions, the terrain is rocky, dark, hilly, flat and sandy all at the same time. The islands are always invaded with sun-crisped English tourists (sun-burnt doesn't begin to cover the degree of skin damage acquired here by the funny-accented whiteys)... but with a five minute drive outside of the resort and karaoke bar strip you discover paradise that can only be described as volcano-licious.

______________________________________________________

Familia!

And then I was lucky enough to have my parents and my aunties visit for a little over a week. Before I begin to hammer out what was our week of sight-seeing, I have to explain the meaning and importance of our family version of "the good book." On all of our family trips that add up to more than two people, someone from the fam goes to the highly useful public library (do you sometimes also forget that public libraries exist?) and lends/borrows (yes I'm an English teacher but still don't remember the different between these two words) the up and coming Rick Steve's book. On our trips, we follow this book as if we were jesus freaks following the bible. We walk, sit, eat, drink and enjoy things wherever the book tells us we have to. Why? Rick Steve is witty. Aaand somehow, he and his crew or writers find extremely interesting things about the city that the whole family can enjoy. Do I sound like a commercial? Yes. But why is this so important? When you travel in big groups the hardest thing is making a damn decision. If you just follow the good book, the trip ends up being enjoyable... but most importantly thought and fight-free.

"This is a reading by Charlie from the good book..."

During their time here, we I drove over 1,000 miles and sight-saw the shit outta Northern Spain. In the past we've always ended up with fun-sized European clown cars and suffered through our long drives... but lessons were learned and this time around the car was actually big enough for five people and five pieces of luggage. We also didn't go anywhere without a handy GPS, which was un-handily only in Spanish. So, not only did I spend the week translating in restaurants, shops, and any public place imaginable... I also spent the week saying "take a right, take a left, go through the rotunda and..."

Aaaalmost pouring cider

Their first days in Asturias were spent drinking cider in Gijon, over-eating in Oviedo and fighting the rain in Aviles. After a full evening of attempting to follow the GPS, we arrived in cloudy Santiago de Compostela and stayed put for a couple of days. Rainy mornings brought sunny afternoons and lots of photo taking with my dad's new camera.

Santiago de Compostela

Santiago is a unique place that attracts people from all over the world, not just simply for being a mysterious, ancient town, but for the famous Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage to the tomb of St. James (obviously housed in this rockin' church). For more than 1,000 years, pilgrims have been walking to Santiago from wherever in Europe for whatever reason. They used to arrive smelly and sick, but now arrive with modern backpacks, cameras, and many new friends. No longer just a religious tradition, people will do the walk just to do it and say it was done! En fin, enchanted by pilgrim's tales, the cathedral's history, and our 3-star hotel for the price of a 2... we all fell in love with this city.

(Just last night I met an Asturian guy who swears that this Catholic pilgrimage was originally not a religious tradition at all, but in fact a pre-Catholic, Roman tradition as a walk to the "end of the world." Before the continent of America was found by Columbus, Spain and Portugal were nicknamed as the end of the world. Europeans believed that if they kept sailing past the Iberian Peninsula, they'd simply fall off the end of the world. Lets shout a HOORAY to the catholic church for, over and over again, changing history to suit them!)

Next on our tour of the green coast was a night in Ribadeo, a town bordering the states of Galicia and Asturias. A morning trip to the market to buy home-made cheese, ham, chorizo and freshly baked bread worked out perfectly for our rocky beach side picnic later in the day.

Our last stop while touring the green coast was in breathtaking Cudillero. I had never heard anyone speak of Cudillero before, it was a random stop chosen from my free "Asturias" tourism book that ended up being one of the best of the whole trip. A teeny, tiny little pueblo literally built into a hill, Cudillero was a stronghold back in the middle ages, when it spent quite a while fighting off invaders from the sea. Now a tourist trap kinda place in summer, a walk around this town drops your jaw and stays stuck in your memory forever.

The fam checking out the Foreign Languages department

To wrap up our Northern tour, we had lunch at my school. My family got the chance to meet my (shhh) favorite group of students- they were working as waiters that day- and my students had the chance to do their jobs in English. We had some good laughs, as my dad screwed up the pronunciation of a dish we were eating... instead of saying "I love the pisto" he said "I love the pito" which is a slang word for penis. That served as a great lesson Monday morning with my students= Making mistakes is the best way to learn! And, the most embarrassing mistakes are the most important ones, because you'll never forget!

Our last moments as a group were spent wandering the streets in Madrid, eating over-priced food, and getting ripped off by numerous bartenders. The only disappointing thing about this trip was the negative treatment we received by Spanish employees in the tourist industry- whether restaurants, museums, hotels or simply walking down the street, we got kicked over and over again by the rude, ignorant people who treated us like walking money just for wearing tennis shoes and being American. It's quite unfortunate to say that in this sense, Spain lost a couple big points this trip.

The enchanting, tourist-infested city of Toledo was the very last stop for Auntie Chris, Cathy and I. We enjoyed our last rounds with "the good book" and walked around like zombies... completely exhausted from a week of walking, driving, eating and drinking, we enjoyed the city via a the typical double-decker, bright red tourist bus that is now available for your use in most major tourist cities across the world. But what can I say is, sometimes you have to give into your aching feet and simply enjoy the view.

And last but not least, a happy 60th to my auntie Cathy,

who came all the way to Spain to celebrate!

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Three years ago, when I was experiencing my very first months living abroad in Barcelona, I traveled to Scotland with my dear friend Andrew. On our Isle of Skye bus tour we met a sweet German girl named Maggie and ever since kept in touch via postcards and emails. This last December I met up with her in Berlin and in early April she came to see me in Asturias. She was only here for a few days but got to see the beach, mountains and sider (of course!). The more people I meet traveling and wandering around the world, the more I realize how crazy hard it is to keep in touch and to actually get to see those people again... It's a pretty sweet feeling when you actually manage to keep in touch with someone who lives half way across the world!

...hasta luego!!

Bagpipin' Asturians

Surprise, surprise. Did you know Asturian people are pretty much Irish?

Upon moving up North, I have noticed that most people are fair skinned with lighter eyes and hair. It is not common, yet not crazily un-common to see a blonde haired, blue eyed Asturian walking the streets. I even have a student that I figured was a foreign exchange student from Sweden. Turns out his name is Carlos...

It did not take too long to discover that Asturias has a Celtic past, and, well, present... I guess that would also mean it has a future, right?

Along with whitey skin, la gaita (the bagpipe), is a huge part of Asturian culture. Shit, there is even a sidra (cider) named El Gaitero (the bagpipe player). Forget "OLE" and flamenco, here it is all about the kilt.

On the streets today, I heard proof. As I walked home from running errands I heard a dad yell at his son:

• "No me toques la gaita!"
• Literal translation: Don't touch my bagpipe!!
• Meaning translation: Leave me alone!

And I walked home happily, laughing alone.

Check out this map of current Celtic nations... I hope you are just as surprised as I am... or am I the only one who did not know Celts ever left the greater Ireland/Scotland metro area?

UP WITH YER KILT

Biking is sexy

My mountain-man roommate Oscar is overly kind and generous and the last few weeks has been letting me use his bike whenever he is out of town or just simply isn't using it. This bike is officially an legend in my world.

I have been told that the bike is older than I am. I have been told it was once used for racing. My butt has told me that its hard seat really, really hurts. A lot. My feet tell me my stylish boots aren't adequate for it's racing pedals. The cars tell me "Damn, you can almost keep up with us so I will respect your space." My knee tells me to slow down. My soul, yes my soul, tells me to keep biking.

This is a bike that is going to get me in trouble.

Why? Well, first off, it's amazzzzzzzzzingly light. It is made out of aluminum and is fancy. I swear this bike weighs around 5 pounds, if that. Via the google search I just performed, the lightest "legal" weight for a bike is 4 pounds. It could be that I have no idea how much things generally weigh but I honestly believe his bike is pushing the legal limits... I can throw it over my shoulder as easy as a purse and carry it down the stairs like a baby. On this kind of fancy racing bike you speed, shit, you fly down the road.

Sounds amazing. So, what's the problem, you ask? The problem is that I am falling in love and I am going to have to buy one. And lightweight flying bike machines are expensive.

His bike looks something like this. Yes, it's pink.

Now, we all know that I've been here since October. In the five months that have passed I have never been hit on while walking down the road. I mean, it's not all so uncommon for Spanish men to yell "guapaaa" at you as you pass by if they find you even partially attractive. Well, I've been increasingly impressed by the men here in Gijon, that they don't yell at you like a piece of meat as you walk down the road like they do in Barcelona, Jaen, etc..... Here I was thinking that they were more respectful men that didn't want to offend women by, you know, being idiots.

Well, I was wrong. Turns out they are just cowards. Because, the first day I got on this bike I got hit on three times in ten minutes. I'm not kidding. I'm not exaggerating. Three times in ten minutes! And after five months of not a peep from anyone! The second time I rode the bike I got another two, and today I got another one.

Why is this a problem? It's a problem because one of these days I am going to turn around to scream insults back at them and I am going to fall off the bike.

Wish me luck...

"Una americanada"

Sometimes, it's surprising to hear the things that come out of people's mouths.

The other day a woman in her early fifties decided to use me as her temporary psychologist. Why, I don't know. I think that sometimes, humans find more comfort and support in strangers than in friends and family. Sometimes, it's easier.

"Molly, I'm separated. I am going through my second divorce...."

I would put in my dialog, but as many conversations where I am the linguistically challenged one against a chatty monologuing Spanish woman, I usually end up saying less, little, or nothing at all.

"You know, not too long ago, divorce wasn't common in Spain. And, ooof, this is my second one! Imagine! My second!!"

"My first marriage, well, it was an American marriage, I was young and it didn't mean anything..."

.......

People all across the world keep amazing me in both positive and negative ways...

But I have to say... what is consistently the most amazing thing is how people, all over the world, think that they can say whatever the fuck they want about America and American culture, like they actually know anything about it. Yes you have been to New York City, congrats, and yes you have seen movies, but no that isn't me, that isn't my people, and that isn't my country.

In the end, it's all about big mouths and small ears.

Recoger...

I knew a few boxes of Mac n' Cheese were waiting for me being that mail office counter... as I awaited patiently for my "recoger" number to be called, I noticed a certain lady behind the counter was wearing a strange shirt. It had some soft, fuzzy looking squares on it with loose strings hanging off of each square's bottom left corner.

To my great surprise, when my number was called, I was called to her desk. That fabulously ugly shirt had English on it. And it read, "Touch me softly."

I really wish she understood...

The glory of living in a small city...

I ran into three of my students tonight while out and about around Gijon.

One of them asked me how my trip home to England was. During the last four months I have probably mentioned Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA, as my home at the very least once every other week... if not every week... is it possible for someone to be paying so LITTLE attention to not know what continent I am from?!?

And when I said it took me six hours to fly to NYC and then another three to get home to MPLS for Christmas, you'd think it would connect that I DON'T LIVE IN EUROPE! I didn't know it was possible...

And then I didn't stop moving for a month (Pt. 3)

Only a few days after arriving back to Gijon from my German adventure, I was off to the states. Better put, I attempted to get back to the states. The whopping 4 inch "snow storm" in England left all their airports closed for round about a week. (England has one of the biggest and most important international airports in Europe.) France also closed their airports for a couple of days, along with Belgium and who knows who else, all for a few sprinkles of snow. And so the airline industry all over Europe was totally fucked for the holidays. The consequence for me, being a standby passenger, was that other airlines, affiliated or not affiliated with Delta, were sending all their passengers to fly through Madrid on any airline back to the states (instead of through London, Paris, etc. etc.) because it hadn't snowed here.

My fellow standby travelers

During these airport crisis, standby usually end up chatting. "How many days have you been trying to fly?"... "Who do you know that works for Delta?" ... "What's your standby priority?"... Anyway, I met two super nice girls, one from Minneapolis (cause my world is always small) and one from Atlanta. We spent our waiting time getting to know each other. We bought some cheap wine at the duty free store, ate lunch, and enjoyed our nerve-wrecking time together. In the end I got pretty lucky, we all did, and we only had to try for two days. On my second day at the airport I got on with style in business class and accompanied by my two new friends Amanda and Til. Together we enjoyed some cocktails, take-off and landing, and then lost each other between connections. Freezing rain and snow in Minneapolis luckily delayed, but didn't cancel, my flight home. When I arrived I was picked up by my brother, who was just finishing his shift at his new job with Delta. So, home for the holidays. You could say I got lucky. There were paying passengers all over Europe who got stranded on vacation and missed Christmas. =/

A combo of my two homes:

Pouring Asturian sidra in snowy Minnesota

And then I was home for my first "vacation" home. It was quite a strange experience, just stopping by home to say hello, to visit for a couple of weeks... no work, no worries... just time to enjoy my friends and family. I ate, ate, ate. Drank a bit, of course. And ate. Went sledding. Made "ooh" and "aah" sounds at the three feet of snow covering my house. Tried to explain to extended family members that I still have no idea which continent I want to live on, let alone what I want to do with my life. I made "ooh" and "aah" sounds at my friends who have at least figured out something in their lives, like their life partners or their jobs. I had deep conversations in English, my native tongue, which is always fun. And then, before I knew it, it was time to go.

Yes, the ball.

New Years Eve brought me to New York City where I did pretty much what I would have done in any other city on NYE, except without knowing anyone except my dear Rachel. Drink. Eat. House party. Another house party. ("Ahh how do we make this the best NYE ever?!... OMG I just can't decide what we should do!!...Where should we go?? This has to be fab!!") In the end, NYE is always a night like all others but with higher expectations and champagne. But, I did get rites to say I was in NYC for NYE which always gets some good reactions out of people. Oh, and I got to call my mother after midnight because I (to my surprise) wasn't drunk, just to have her ask me, "Did you kiss Rachel?" which my answer was, "Yes, mom, you know us so well!" (AKA she knows neither of us is ever dating anyone, but by default, each other... and that after 13 years of friendship germs are no longer a worry.)

This dog was the best thing I managed to take a picture of on New Years Eve....

Anyway the following days were more exciting. Rachel works in the "music biz" in NYC and so one day we went into a recording studio where one of her friends (name drop here:) Eric Arc Elliott was recording some tunes. Some beats. Some rhymes. And as Rachel and I were (drinking and) talking about "rad hip hop music" in our good old Fargo-style Minnesota accents, Mr. Eric said, "Go in there and record that!" So, we chit chatted in Minnesotan over some rockin' beats and vualaaaa! I was in a song. And I would show you but it's kinda embarrassing so you'll have to come to Spain to hear it. Hah.

Representin' the small cherry in the big apple!

(Get it... Minneapolis in NYC?)

As usual I got lazy and didn't do much sight seeing, because my thought is that I will be there again soon... I did eat a lot. And drink a lot of delicious IPA beers that are impossible to find in this beer-deprived country called Spain. I did go to the Museum of Natural History where I saw an overload of things, so many things that I have no idea what I saw. The only thing I remember was learning about this rockin' fish that changes its sex organs depending on what its society needs from it....! So cool, modern, useful:

In my book, the most interesting fish in the sea.

And then I arrived in Madrid on Reyes (liiiike, "3 wise men day"). And spent a few days out eating and drinking with my cousin Tomas. It seems that now I have traveled so much that the only thing I can stand doing is eating and drinking. Hm. Surprise? Oh, and sometimes shopping. I'm not much of a shopper, but I was on Madrid's biggest shopping street on the biggest shopping day of the year. Love H&M.

Reyes. With mi primo Tomas and his pals

And here I am, back "home." And, of course, sick again. Conclusions: Europe needs a snow plow. Going home on vacation is kinda strange. NYE will always be overrated. Rachel is my BFF. Yes, I said it, best friends forever!!!

Hasta luego, guap@s!

And then I didn't stop moving for a month (Pt. 2)

Tuesday, December 7th

...My poor German friend Jenny is extremely afraid of flying. I am so not afraid of flying there was no way for me to console her. I can barely even imagine being afraid. I have no idea what it's like to feel like my world is ending when the plane has to change directions to the east, I just know what it's like to watch my friend freak out as I try to be supportive and not giggle at the same time. And Jenny, if you read this, I'm sorry, I tried my best to help.

A German snowman saying hello from the freezing shores of Dusseldorf's river

(So that was the start of my trip to Germany. We arrived late at night so the trip really started on the 8th. Interesting to know the dates, right? Oh, another fun fact! I'm 1/4 German. Wahoo!)

Jenny checking out a Christmas Market stand

The second that freezing cold German air hit my nose and I saw dirty snow on the streets, I felt at right at home. The first couple of days were spent in Jenny's hometown of Dusseldorf. We wandered around the snowy city and enjoyed the nice Christmas markets. In Minnesota we should really adopt a Christmas market or two. They get people out of the house and on the streets, no matter the temperature. In the end, it's really all about the gluvine (hot mulled wine). No matter how cold is it, gluvine warms you up in more ways than one... and after only a glass or two, it's already gone straight to your head and all over your body.

Christmas market in a medieval town outside of Dusseldorf

After a late and long night out in Dusseldorf, I of course had to get sick. Once or twice a year I tend to get super sick, and it tends to last a really long time. I got sick the day I was heading to Berlin. Since trains and buses are so expensive in Germany, there is a popular tradition called "car sharing." Via websites similar to... for example... Craigs List... People post that they are either 1) looking for a ride, or 2) looking for riders. Contacting via email and phone, drivers and riders meet up and share the costs of the trip. So, for 60 euro round trip, I went from Dusseldorf to Berlin and back (compared to at least double the cost and time by train or bus). But let me tell you what, this is the last time I do tourism in a cold place in winter!

Street art in East Berlin, made by the patient art of stencils

I have heard people rave of Berlin. The history. The sites. The party! My uncle worked and lived in Berlin before the wall fell, and that has always made me even more excited to go. But, of course I was sick, of course it was wet and raining (way worse than dry and snowing) and any walking around or tour I did was ruined by the wet ground and my cold. I was so sick I never went out at night, and really only withstood about one tourist thing a day. Maybe a trip to Berlin will be due come spring or summer.

Street art in East Berlin

Now, the trip isn't all complaints. I took a pretty cool street art tour and got to see East Berlin that way. I saw the wall, which is now decorated with all kinds of art. I ate a kepab (better known as a gyro in the states) which is super popular all over Europe now but was invented by Turkish immigrants in Berlin. And I saw a few other not too exciting sites... The best thing about my trip to Berlin was that I stayed with a German friend of mine named Maggie. Maggie and I met three years ago when I was traveling in Scotland with Andrew. (You can check out the post about Scotland on my ooooold blog: http://takingspain.wordpress.com/) Maggie and I have kept in touch, writing emails and postcards and we finally met up again!

Maggie and I at the wall

The trip back to Gijon was in itself an adventure... perhaps a bigger adventure than my entire trip to Germany. We landed in Bilbao eeeearly, at 8am I believe. We took the bus into town and took the metro to Jenny's car (where we joyfully found her precious Pugeot unharmed and unticketed). We jumped in and started driving. We made our first pit stop only 10 minutes out of town. I went to the bathroom and when I came out there was a look of sheer panic on Jenny's face. She had locked the keys in the trunk of her car, only to discover there was no "trunk pop" on the inside of her car. The only way to open the trunk was with her keys. We figured there had to be some simple way to get the keys out... but no.

The dreaded tow

We waited for a couple hours until the tow arrived. We were towed back into town, to the nearest Pugeot workshop, and arrived exactly at 1 (remember how I've said over and over that everything closes for lunch, from around 1-3?). We went into town, ate a delicious meal at the local restaurant, and went back at 3 to find a large group of men wondering where to begin. They hooked up the car to a computer, hoping to electronically pop the trunk. Nope. They tried again, in a different way. Nope. They tried to force the trunk open. Nope. So out the back seats come. Could it be that simple? Nope. Taking out the back seats reveled only a small opening into the trunk. Jenny, being perhaps three or four inches shorter than me, but with the same length and sized arms, started to pull out junk from the trunk, our jackets, pillows, anything that would fit through the hole. The burly men handed her a long metal, magnetic rod and using that she pulled out the keys from the trunk. Lets say she got a deal on the price, considering the keys never would have made it out without her. At 6pm we were on the road again.

Beautiful Basque countryside

Lessons learned? Just say no to Pugeot. Who makes a car without a trunk pop??!

And, to be continued... Minnesota, New York...

And then I didn't stop moving for a month (Pt. 1)

Oh, this is just in case you've forgotten what I look like. And to show off these amazing American peanuts marketed in a super-American way... decorated by none other than Ms. Statue of Liberty and the good ol' red, white n' blue. Yea!

(And on to the real reason I'm writing...)

Right after my "longest Thanksgiving ever," I jumped directly into one of my longest journeys ever. It started off with a nice road trip to a town only half an hour away from Gijon, with two hungover girls: Jenny the German and Christina the Canadian. I, for once, was not hungover! Victory!!

Llanes

We started off with a wander around a little old fisherman town called Llanes. We arrived at dusk but were still able to appreciate the view of sharp, pointy rocks popping out of the sandy beach, decorated by a backdrop of snow capped mountains. Oh, the north, how I love thee. A walk around town led us down some dark cobbled alleyways and into the portal of a crazy elderly lady's hotel, but we made it out just fine.

Picos de Europa- view from the top

Spending the night at a cheap, over-heated (better than under-heated?) hotel in a tiny pueblo kept us close to our next sight to see: we took off early to go to one of Asturias most important sites, Covadonga. Yes, it's just another convent buried in the mountains where another virgin supposedly came to yet another soldier telling him to fight in the name of god or something like that... but it was a cool site to see before heading up to the treacherous winds of "los lagos" at Picos de Europa. (Yes, I realize I just name dropped famous sites in Asturias. Los lagos= the lakes. Picos de Europa= a huge, beautiful national park in Asturias.)

The second lago

We drove up the skinniest "road" accompanied by an insane amount of cars going both up and down. Parking at the top, we hopped out of the car to realize that the winds were so strong we could barely stay standing. The combination of the wind with the un-plowed walking path (of course, who would clear sidewalks during the biggest tourist weekend of the year?) made for an interesting climb up. Well, the hassle and wet socks were worth it. The view of the lakes and the snowy mountains was, cheesily enough, breathtaking!

Roman bridge in Cangas de Onis

Next stop: Cangas de Onis. Turns out Cangas de Onis is one of the biggest tourist trap towns I have ever seen, but it's historical importance makes it a must-see anyways. It was in this town that the Spanish reconquest of Spain started. You see, from 711-1492 the Arabic people invaded and had control over almost all of Spain. It was in this town that the reconquest of the country started with a dude named Pelayo. (Funny thing is, it took the Arabs only 4 or 5 years to conquer all of Spain, whereas it took the Spanish from 718-1492 to get it back.)

A really old lion in a really old town.

It was then that spontaneity took over. I opened the guidebook and decided we should stop by the city of three lies: Santillana del Mar. Why the three lies? It's name itself screams deception. The city is not particularly holy (santi), flat (llana) or on the sea (mar). (Yes I stole that from Lonely Planet but I thought it was funny.) The pueblo was absolutely precious. Medieval to the max. We stayed in a medieval hotel with medieval walls, windows and heating system (aka, coooold). We wandered around in awe of the city and then visited the biggest local attraction: a REPLICA of the caves where the first drawings by man were discovered. Well, that was quite a waste of time as it was a plastic rock with chalk drawings and extremely inaccurate and deceiving videos to accompany the fake cave...

Santander pre-sunset

Then there was Santander. I swear everything in the North of Spain is precious. I just can't stop saying how beautiful it is, so I'll let the pictures attempt to do justice to our stroll and take-out Chino meal on the sea...

Santander post-sunset

A night and a day of wandering in Bilbao brought Jenny and I to our flight to Dusseldorf....

To be continued...