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...

The longest Thanksgiving ever

This year I experienced the longest and most festive Thanksgiving of my life. Lasting a whopping two weeks, my days were filled with multiple dinners, family skype calls, presentations and classroom activities. Being that I work at a hospitality and tourism school where cooking, waiting, and restaurant services are taught, Thanksgiving dinner has been integrated into the school as a new kind of yearly tradition. The dinner is prepared by the cooking students and served by the service students. The menu is prepared in English and a traditional meal is ingested by students, staff, and community members.

The two weeks before Thanksgiving were filled with a lot of prep work. Traditional Thanksgiving recipes for green bean casserole, apple and pumpkin pie, and whipped cream were sent by my mom across the big pond, then translated by Chelo and I, and later turned in to the head chef for ingredient shopping. A guest list was prepared with a limit of 50 eaters. I did my research and prepared a power point presentation filled with my preferred version of the few available versions of the "history" of Thanksgiving published throughout the internet (is there any way to know the real origin anyway?). Lets say the week also included a daily panic attack that increased with the passing of every day until Thanksgiving day itself, which was the day of my grand presentation in the school's auditorium.

This was posted in the teacher's lounge:

Speech: Thanksgiving

Given by: Molly Yurick

Complete with microphones, loudspeakers, a blow up projector screen and well over 100 seats, I spoke about the American culture of Thanksgiving to just about everyone in the school is or will study English in the future. As they always say, you learn more about your country, your life, and your culture when you leave it. Things I learned from my research (hell, maybe you'll learn something too): Minnesota produces the most turkeys in the US... Thanksgiving is the biggest traveling holiday of the year... The first Thanksgiving lasted three days and over 150 people attended. Wowza, history!

Thanksgiving was also a day of surprise for my 17 year old group. Their English level is notably lower than my other students, so I made an easier and simpler Thanksgiving presentation for them. Up until Thanksgiving day, I pretended that I didn't speak one word of Spanish except for "Hola, como estas?" and "queeee???" During these two months of understanding when they thought I couldn't, I was pleasantly surprised to find that they always said good things about me in class, never bad things! (Thank goodness!) My favorite was "Molly mola!," which means, "Molly's cool." hahha. So on Thanksgiving day I asked Chelo, my fellow English teacher, if I had her permission to reveal the big secret to them. She told me that yes, it was about time to tell them. I told her to interpret for me (as she always did). "Every one of you must promise that you will continue to speak English to me as you have until now. Promise. Everyone has to promise." And one by one, in what was the cutest thing I have ever seen near-adults do, they raised their hands and declared "I promise." I snuck a video:

And so, in my quickest and most fluent Spanish possible, I blurted out, "So... it turns out I speak a little bit of Spanish." My students whipped their heads back and forth, doubled over laughing, and then ended with a round of applause. "Como mola Molly, como mola!," they proclaimed. This was one of the funniest things I have ever experienced. Even now, reaching the end of December, they still giggle and jaw drop when I speak Spanish to them. They just can't believe it. They spent two months thinking I spoke much worse Spanish than they spoke English. The good lesson that comes out of it though, is that I had to study and to work really, really hard to reach the level of fluency that I have.

Halfway across the world in Robbinsdale, Minnesota, my parents were hosting Thanksgiving with my aunts, uncles, and cousins. Thanks to the good graces of Skype, it was as if I was there in the kitchen with them drinking wine and waiting for the turkey to finish. They sat me at the table and I even won a game of Pokino, the game my family always plays on Thanksgiving.

The Friday after Thanksgiving I was warmly welcomed into the home of a few fellow Americans to ingest a real Thanksgiving dinner. Everyone brought a plate to share, and we engorged ourselves on wine, corn, stuffing, pie... the only thing missing was turkey- we ended up with store bought fried chicken instead. It was all pretty damn close to as delicious as always and it was nice to be surrounded by my fellow ex-pats.

During the week after, classtime was spent making my students tell me what they were thankful for, just like at a real Thanksgiving dinner. My favorite? One student said, "I am thankful I was born in Spain and not in (insert poor African country here)." Then, as a bit more entertaining piece to class, I showed them clips of the only Thanksgiving movie to date: Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Using the infamous car rental clip, I taught them how to use the word "fuck" as a verb, adverb, adjective... the works. They enjoyed that one:

It's great having students that are adults.

Thanksgiving dinner at my school was served the following Thursday, December 2nd. A few of my all-around-the-world pals came to enjoy the meal with me. First course: pumpkin soup. Second course: stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole and cranberry sauce. Third course: pumpkin and applie pie. Oh, most importantly, it was all accompanied by unlimited red wine. Lets say that for the food, well, they tried their hardest... In the end, it was fun to see my school and loads of people celebrate Thanksgiving.

Gobble, gobble!

Orbayu

It's like a broken record, not that any of us still play records (except for you hipsters and oldies), but the point is that: ever since I had been placed to work in Gijon, all I heard was,

"It rains A LOT. But it's beautifully green."

My first thought process was also a broken record, Crap, it's going to rain all the time and I am going to feel depressed and miserable without sunlight for 8 months straight... It turns out that (surprise?) it does rain quite often, but, (better surprise!) the rain is an on and off again type of rain, and it's not a heavy rain, it tends towards a sprinkle or an orbayu, as they say in the local Asturian language/dialect (I don't want to get into that debate quite yet)... Orbayu is a special word in Asturiano that means something like a light mist or sprinkle. Now, it's important to note that, for example, when I woke up this morning it was raining snow. From my apartment I could hear the rain hitting the patio floor, but when I stepped outside and looked up towards the streetlamps (it's still dark here at 8am), I saw snow. But that same snow, upon touching the ground, transformed completely into rain. No sleet, no shitty, brown mess, just straight up rain. Using my Minnesnowtan knowledge, I took that to mean it was probably around 35 or 36 degrees... not cold enough to snow like it meant it, but not warm enough to simply rain. Anyway, by 10am it was sunny outside, and around noon it rained again. And back and forth rain and sun pendulum went.

I am finding this city to be quite charming and pleasant. I can say that I feel more comfortable here in the North of Spain than I did last year in the South. So far, I have deducted that this is normal because of the simple fact that I honestly believe that "the north" in countries all over the world have things in common, as do "the south." I also honestly believe this is simply due to the fact that the weather impacts your personality, lifestyle, habits, and ways of being in general. Why cold weather makes people more polite, modest, and kind? I don't know. I haven't figured that one out yet. I'm kidding... kinda. The north is just as precious as they told me it would be. Looooove it.

I must now address a topic I've been avoiding because I'm not quite sure how to explain it successfully, because more than a theory or a practice, what I am about to attempt to explain is an experience. So it may be true that Asturian people drink beer, wine and hard alcohol like all other normal people in the world... But Asturians have mastered the most socially entertaining and enjoyable yet sneakily dangerous form of drinking ever: SIDRA. Sidra translates into English as cider, but it has nothing to do with either the non-alcoholic OR the alcoholic version of cider in the US. Here in Asturias, they don't just pour sidra, lo escancian. Escanciar is a special verb used only to describe how sidra is poured. So, it goes a little like this: The waiter (or the drunk idiot on the street) holds the bottle of sider in his/her outstretched arm far over his/her head. The opposite hand is extended all the way down to the knee and holds a wide sidra glass. And, escanciar:

Next, the waiter passes the glass with a thick shot of sidra to the first person in the ordering group who makes eye contact or who reaches for it first. The next step is to CHUG. Note: Sidra is a flat drink and poured from waaay above the head aaaaall the way down to the knees to force some bubbly fizz out of it. Sidra tastes pretty damn convincing if it's bubbly but if it's flat... mmmmm... it's kinda like drinking a flat beer and we all know that's no bueno. The waiter pours a shot of sidra to every person in your group, all in the same cup, and decides when the next round starts. Oh, and when the bottle runs out, they'll bring you a new one automatically, unless you stop them first, that is. Sidra is known for sneaking up on you, too. And, it does. It got me once. I was out like a light only two hours later.

To my new friends who til now have tended to be pretty amazing but still will only be referred to by their nationality cause I think it's entertaining: The Polish, the Belgian, the German, the Canadian and the Italian. Yes, when you say it like that it sounds the the start of a joke. Honestly, with the way we communicate in our strange mix between English, Spanish and the four other native languages involved, our lives sound like a joke. But, it's good. And the only other random thing I can say about summing up why I am loving these people is: "Que hora es??":

Besos,

Molly

Gijón

So, it’s true, I am off again on another adventure to Spain.

I will be working as an English Language and Culture Assistant (again) with the same program (through the Spanish Ministry of Education). Last year I made the tough decision not to renew my position in Jaén, and instead apply to work in a new region. Being as I am, I decided to make my life as difficult as possible by moving as far away from everyone I know in Spain for no particular reason, and so here I am in one of the most northern parts of Spain: Gijón, Asturias. Being a city on “La costa verde” (The Green Coast) on the Bay of Biscay, the weather here is consistently compared to that of the UK. It’s considered as being rainy and “cold” by Spanish standards, but therefore is one of the few areas with truly green open spaces in the country. It’s got a couple of small, scenic beaches where people go surfing year round and even an “old quarter” that I have yet to visit. Oh, and sidra (cider), of course. I’m sure that there will be a post to come when I learn a bit more about the story behind that deliciously awful alcoholic Asturian drink.

In Gijón I am working at a school called, formally, “Centro Integrado de Formación Profesional de Hostelería y Turismo.” A mouthful, yes. In a nutshell, it’s comparable to a Tech College in the US that teaches courses specifically in tourism and hospitality. I will be working alongside two different English teachers, who, surprise, are actually fluent in English! My students are quite a bit older this year- I have one class of 17-20 year olds, while the other classes range from 20 to 40-something years old. This year, all of them already know how to say how old they are, which makes a much easier starting point than last year. In fact, they understand at least half of what I say in class (or so that’s the impression they give). On the first day of classes I believe I taught every class more than I ever could in two months in Cambil. So, I’m already assisting with classes in Catering, Bar and Restaurant Services, and something like Hotel Services. In the school they study everything from room cleaning to reception, wine tasting to baking, French to English, ahh the joys of a fun school! The cafeteria where the students will practice on the public opens soon and I caaaan’t wait!

I am honestly shocked to say that I have been here for two weeks already. I successfully completed my orientation in Madrid, where I roomed with a girl from South Minneapolis, because the world is always really, really small in my life. In Gijón I can say I have successfully made one friend, a Polish girl named Magda who is a human angel, really. She warmly welcomed me into her home through Couch Surfing (a website for travelers) and is letting me stay until I find a place, which has proven to be a bit more difficult than I imagined. Turns out that arriving in Gijón after university classes started in October was a baaaad idea. I’ve called over 50 ads for apartments or rooms and ALL except abouuuut, oh let’s say seven, have been full. I’ve seen a few places, a few good, a few creepy, a few smelly, and am still working on finding the combination between the place and the people that “click.” One more mental breakdown call to my mom and I she just might fly out here to console me (with ulterior motives of traveling in Spain of course), but honestly, I’m hoping that by tomorrow or the next I’ll have a place to call home. I can feel it in my desperate bones. I also have successfully already taken a weekend off from doing nothing to do some more of nothing with a side of heavy drinking during a long, five day weekend… I’m guilty of enjoying life too much. I went to Jaén for “La feria de San Lucas.” It takes about 12 hours to get from Gijón to Jaén on bus, and isn’t exactly cheap either (round abouts 120 euro), but as I expected it was totally worth it. As a group of wailing hooligans, my good friends from last year and some new ones from this year spent four nights in a row de fiesta until at least eight, nine, or ten in them morning, take your pick. Feria in Jaén is like everything a street drinker could ask for. It consists of 70 or so “casetas” (tents) set up in the local fair ground, each caseta holds either a bar, club, or restaurant. It’s like a glorified pub crawl that lasts 24 hours a day for 10 days straight. Everyone’s mom, uncle, and cat goes to Feria. There, I ran into everyone I met last year and it made me slightly sad to not be back in Jaén for the second year in a row. It would have been quite easy to roll back to the same city with the same great friends and even more new ones, but I am looking forward to getting to know a new city, have a new teaching experience, and, well, a new life experience as well.

Ta ta for now,

Molly

Adiooooo

If I am reading myself correctly, I have been avoiding writing this post to put off publicly admitting that the chapter of my life that was Jaén is officially over. I know it's already, umm, September, and that means I have been home for almost three months now, but I have been avoiding finishing this post.

I realize that might sound a bit dramatic, but I spent my last week in olive-land as an emotional insomniac. I cried mostly in inappropriate public places like the discoteca at 5am, the tapas bar in the early evening, the teacher's lounge at school, buying bread on Calle Cerón, the sidewalk in Madrid... and even now in the coffee shop in North East Minneapolis where I write this. Every goodbye seemed monumental... So, in honor of all the people who made every day enjoyable and memorable in Jaén...

To the waiters who served Holly, Amy and I on my very first night in Jaén, and many nights following.

To the baker Javi, better known as "pan-man" between Holly and I. (He bakes the best tasting baguette I've ever even thought about eating.) In the beginning I ate one baguette a day. Once I felt a couple of baguettes begin to circle my waistline, I tried to eat one every two days.

To the secretary at school, Javi, who humored me and my endless questions and thoughts about the Spanish Civil War, post-war and Franco. As a goodbye gift he gave me a book about the Spanish civil war called "La Batalla de Madrid." In this moment the dam broke, saying goodbye to him was when I cried the hardest.

To my private lesson students... First off, Tino and Laura, my favorite kids on the planet thus far. They give me a little hope that maybe not all kids are so bad ;)

And to Maria, a hematologist who taught me that it's never too late to learn another language. Aaaaand that it is possible to fit into a skirt you randomly find from your early 20's when you're 40-something and three kids deep. Ok, or maybe she's just super human, I'm not sure.

To the cook at school who let me join in on her delicious, homemade lunch twice a week with Pepe, the principal, and Javi. Her lunches were usually three courses, consisting of a shared veggie salad covered in olive oil, a main course, a second course, and a fresh fruit or yogurt for dessert, all accompanied by box wine. The kids ate this same wholesome, homemade and well-balanced meal every day (sans vino). It's no wonder American kids are so fat now-- the processed icky fatty foods they serve at lunch are nooo bueno.

To the cafe where breakfast was ingested every Tuesday morning in Cambil. Breakfast usually consisted of coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and toast with tomato and olive oil or pate. Mmmm!

To my middle school students and their fascination with my "Minnesota" power point about ice fishing (lakes freeze?!) and the Polar Plunge (people really jump into a frozen lake?!). The kids prepared a very sweet goodbye day for me, they wrote me letters apologizing for their bad behavior (that was quite a surprise!!), they wrote "Bye Molly!" across the board and even gave me a picture frame and a jewelry box to take home. One of the boys gave me a special gift, a shiny hair clip (oh you bet that got a good load of "oooh" and "ahhh" and kissy sounds from the class). And to Pilar, my fellow and favorite English teacher.

To Morrison's Irish Pub, home to many €1 beer Tuesday nights and the producer of too many hungover Wednesday mornings at school.

To Kharma the discoteca and to Amy, cause these two go hand in hand!

To el barrio, Manuel and Tio Tony. Manuel was a teacher at our school who took us under his wing. He brought us to his barrio (neighborhood) where we got to know his uncle Juan (more commonly known as Tio Tony, cause he looks like MY uncle Tony) and all the staff at this particular bar called "Penalty." For a few months we would wander down to this corner bar and spend all day chatting and drinking. Ooh how we cried on our last stop by Penalty. We sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed.

To three things whose importance cannot be described using a picture.... "la cuesta" (the big f-ing hill) that I lived on top of... the never-ending construction... and relative time schedules.

And last but not least, to the entity that was

"HOLY MOLY"
who forever changed Jaén.