Lindsey's B-day Sunday 8/24/14

A week after Lindsey treated me to a complementary full body massage at a swanky (love that word) SOHO spa for my B-day, I set up a scavenger  hunt around the neighborhood. Oof! That juxtaposition of the two events in the same sentence really makes mine pale in comparison to hers.

We had decided not to spend much money this year on birthday celebrations since we are preparing for our big trip. Feels weird to put that on paper, too. Thus the gift card that she used and my attempt at something creative and fun. I put clues around the neighborhood, mostly at restaurants that we like, and she had to find them and guess the next location. The end result was brunch at our favorite place, but we cut the scavenger hunt short due to hunger pains. I also gave her a leather keychain with the coordinates of Brooklyn engraved into it so that she could remember 'home' while we are gone.

I failed in my responsible boyfriend duties but not have a follow-up activity ready, and then even more when I didn't check the subway stop of the museum we decided on, and we got off 30 blocks too soon. Womp womp. We argued in the way that we do, but soon got over it in the way that we do.

We went to the Museum of the City of New York and saw a really cool exhibition on the originators of NYC graffiti in the 70's and 80's. They had some really intricate and raw pieces. We also saw a short video on the evolution of the city, and some period accessories from the Gilded Age. Afterwards, we laid in Central Park for a bit and then walked down Lexington Avenue to eat my first Shake Shack burger. Yum diddy yum yum. Overall, it was a good day and I hope that Lindsey enjoyed it--minus my drama.

NYC Subway

    What grabbed your attention most when you first moved to NYC? For me, it was adjusting to riding the subway every week. There are 5 million daily riders of this underground beast, and in NYC there are 10,000 inhabitants to every square mile. This means the subway often looks like this:

And while it's not always at capacity, one can't help but notice how completely unnatural and disturbing it is to be packed shoulder to shoulder in a box of steel that's speeding underground.

The subway is the single largest contributor to my anxious existence in NYC.  I constantly find myself rushing as soon as I hit the stairs of the subway because I'm worried that I might miss a train and have to wait underground listening to music or staring into space for 8-10 minutes until the next train arrives.

And then there's the atmosphere on the train.  It's overwhelming--and sweaty. It makes you question humanity. At least that's what it does for me. Why? Because there's something eerie about being in such close proximity with people but totally ignoring them. It's as if everyone is trying to deny the existence of everyone around them while simultaneously sneaking peeks at what their neighbor is doing. If you make accidental eye contact with someone then you just keep your head moving so that it seems like it was an accident. Put your headphones in if you don't like being with your own thoughts, or stare at your phone connecting dots to earn points, or read or try to sleep. Those are your options. Just whatever you do, don't make friendly conversation with the people around you. Remember: they don't exist, and only your concerns and projects and deadlines and anxiety matter. It's too much to ask that you learn something about the stranger beside you. It's a chore to hold a conversation and time is much better utilized crushing candy. Now I sound like one of the ads I see everyday.

    I'm not trying to sound like the typical "anti-cellphone we're too connected but disconnected and we don't-know-how-to-communicate-anymore" person, but that's how it is, and I'm just like everyone else in this respect. This bothers me to no end. "So many people I don't want to talk to anyone," is usually what I think on the ride home after a day spent being jostled on the stairs and sidewalk while rushing to get to a job or to meet a friend. Let's face it: commuting is a chore and it quickly becomes every man for himself. But, luckily, there's an easy solution:

Ahhhhh!  

 All things considered, though, the subway can be quite interesting. On any given ride you can see a vast array of things good and bad. You've got the lawyer type with an air of self-importance seaping from his overcoat and short-cropped hair, your dysfunctional mother that is disdainfully talking to her children like they're her friends, telling them things that they don't need to know like why their father isn't around, and the way too drunk guy incoherently speaking to himself and everyone at the same time while everyone does their best not to become the accidental focus of his attention. Then there are the beggars announcing their misfortune for the whole train to hear, and the entrepreneurial candy sellers, and the always entertaining dancers who thrust their show at you whether you want it or not. SO many groups of teenagers trying to earn a buck by impressing you with their hat-flipping skills. Props for trying, though.

If only we'd learn to put ourselves out there a little more like them, and not be so scared to say hello to the person next to us. I believe that at the end of the day most people like a casual and sometimes enriching conversation. And if they're not in the mood, then no harm no foul, you don't have to be embarrassed sitting next to them for the rest of the ride. At least you tried, and often times trying makes all the difference.

I'm not sure why I'm so obsessed with people dropping their barriers. Everyone is entitled to their privacy, it's just that part of me thinks that the fear of talking to the stranger next to you is part of the larger problem of disconnection and alienation that we are experiencing as a society, and this will only continue to get worse.

Europe de l'est

I lived in Spain for 17 months before I officially left the Iberian Peninsula for the first time. I unofficially left the peninsula when I lived on Gran Canaria for 6 weeks over the summer, although that almost African island is still considered to be part of Spain even with 1200km between them. When I did leave, it wouldn't be the ancient ruins of Rome, the La Rive Gauche en Paris or the Globe Theater in London that lured me north of the Pyrenees Mountains, It was the Balkans of Eastern Europe, and more importantly, some good friends from Macedonia that I had met while working in Colorado the summer before coming to Europe. I had been thinking of visiting them since the year before, but had never worked up the nerve to commit and click the Buy button. This year was different, though, as I closed my eyes a couple of weeks before Semana Santa and forced my hand. I would be visiting the lands of Alexander the Great, the doorstep of the cradle of ancient Western thought, the stage of centuries of struggle for territory, freedom and a sense of identity. In a world where many people argue against the idea of borders and boundaries, this slice of the earth is only now beginning to live in makeshift harmony after the ever-changing lines on the modern maps were drawn in temporary permanence. Coming from the U.S., a country that hasn't seen separatism (except for Texas) since the 19th century, this was all very fascinating to me.

Sun breaking over Skopje

the man himself: Alexander the Great

Tierras Divididas

 I came to see these guys:

Orthodox Church en Sofia, Bulgaria

And saw cool things like this...













and this...

Canyon river that leads to Europe's deepest underwater cave

    It was a great and new experience for me to exit the comfort zone that Spain had become for me. To not know any of the language and very little of the culture of the region was scary and exciting.. I was able to try new food, see new ways of life, get ripped off by new taxi drivers, learn some new things about the history of the region, to see how my friends live and know their concerns about the future as well as their hopes and fears.

homeless mussels

Just another day in La Coruña today: I had my early and best classes this morning from 9:30-1:00 with half hour breaks in between. I usually snooze about 5 times before getting up, but today I had one of those accidental shutoff moments, but luckily woke up with half an hour to spare. I biked over to school with my hands frozen to the handlebars and my head stuck to the ocean. No matter how cold it is, it's a good way to start the day. I arrived 10 minutes later with enough time to head to the school cafe to grab a cafe con leche (au lait) and some churros (spanish stick-shaped, crispy begneits). My classes on Tuesday are a bit older and much more talkative and responsive than the others, and I usually leave them more energized than I enter. I count that as a success.

(I'm giving David Bowie a try while I write this and I'm not really digging it. Ah, but Under Pressure just started.)

I left work and headed to the big cultural center that is nearby. This has become my getaway this year. It's a huge public space with high glass windows, wood beams, a theater, leisure areas and a nice library. A grabbed a layman's science book and the Woody Allen film Sweet and Lowdown, did my homework and then hussled home in the freezing rain. My lunch was a cabbage, chorizo and chickpea soup that I tested out the other day and some porkchops that needed to be cooked.

The interesting part of the day came at 8:30 when I was walking home with my bike in hand. I passed by the grocery store, Gadis, that I frequent when the stationary homeless man stopped me suddenly and handed me a bag of almejas (mussels). I was wary at first, but he was a jolly fellow and asked my name and then if I was Italian when he heard my strange accent. "No, Americano," I said. He said he was Jesus and advised me on how to cook the mussels and that they'd give me a hard dick if I did it right. He laughed and said I could visit him at the nearby Soup Kitchen whenever I wanted.
I hailed a little bit the rest of the walk home. Weird. I just cooked the mussels. They were good; I hope i don't get sick.

oh shit, it's 2013.

i'm picking this thing up again. i was disillusioned with it before, but i've seen the light and realized that there is some value to it. the problem with leaving off for so long is that I have a lot to catch up on, but I don't want to burden you guys down with too many long posts. Here goes for a summary:

Time has flown, but shit, when doesn't it now. This year has been substantially different than the last, mostly I think because I'm more settled and, well, more Spanish in some ways. It took me a couple of months to shake off my summer beach bum behavior, but now I'm working a lot more than i did last year which should be good come summer. I don't spend much time with many of the other Americans again, although I cherish the time with the select few. There are the lovely Mary and Bridget, my girls from last year with whom I do El Camino, amongst other cool things. Tacked on to the group are Jay and Monica, two great people from Calgary, Alberta, Canada. We met them in the early goings, they came on a hike with me and the outdoor club, and we've all stuck together since then. Jay's a great guy that, for me at least, is a catalytic person. I talk about a lot of things, he does a lot of things and together things blossom. We brewing beer together and take medium to long bike trips together and are even planning a 10 day trip from Paris to AmsterDaaaam-it's-gonna-be-cool! 

I've taken climbing to a new level, and my group of friends from the gym has really solidified, while simultaneously offering some great experiences one of which was road-trippin' 4 hours into central Portugal, camping under the pavilion of a church in a really small town on the edge of a valley before going to climb it's walls the next day. Epic!

Work is also a lot better than last year. I liked working with the kids, although i felt inexperienced and ineffective much of the time, but working with adults/felling more comfortable and confident is great. I teach Advanced 2, the highest level of a 6 year curriculum, at the city's official language school. I love it. I really enjoy being surrounded by people learning languages and studying, not to mention that i have access to a ton of resources and am even studying French in my free time. I still can't help but think of the French candlestick in Beauty and Beast or Peppy Le Pew when i speak it though. C'est bien!

I think this is a good length for a blogpost. I'll do my best from now on to fill in the spaces with anecdotes, recaps and even some philosophical meanderings. 

As Spanish as Canarian can Be.

Los Canarios, the people of the Canary islands, are a proud people. These small islands that belong to Spain, even though they are nestled against Africa some 1200 kilometers from the spanish peninsula, are a world apart from their patria. They seamlessly blend African, Spanish, Caribbean and now English and German cultures. They feel like tropical islands, with bright colors and palm trees everywhere, but also keep surprising landscapes hidden in their interiors. The aboriginal people, los Guanches, once lived in cave houses in the dry, mountainous heart of Gran Canaria -- and this is where I had a brilliantly authentic experience with a group of their distant descendants.

It was my first week on the island and I found myself looking out of our cave hostel into the crag-like canyon that spread out before me. Myself and Tom, another American, were on cave duty for a few days because a couple from Barcelona were staying there. We had just finished the mid-morning cleaning and decided to go for a bike ride down the mountainside to a traditional village tucked under an ominous overhang of a rock. Our first mistake, and we knew (which was worse), was leaving at 2 in the afternoon, being overconfident in our biking abilities, and carrying just enough water.

Needless to say, 2 hours later, after seeing this..., we were dying of thirst, heat and exhaustion after climbing some pretty steep ascents without much shade. We arrived to the main road, still a ways from home, and saw the same group of men sitting under some trees that we had seen while passing by earlier. Tom spoke up for salvation and asked for water. They offered us wine. We took it and then they jostled beer, cheese, chorizo, mangos and finally water into our hands. They were a group 5 hunters having a good ole' Heminway-esque time getting drunk under a tree while their dogs barked in their cages nearby. They were jolly, loud and funny. They made sure we knew that they were true-blooded islanders and showed off their knives and singing abilities. One that was the oldest, drunkest, and most toothless, sat next to me and mumbled traditional ballads into my ear. He stole my heart. They explained how they had helped re-forest this part of the island, gave us business cards to eat at one of their restaurants, and yelled at the cars that were passing by. They saved us and enriched us, and I'll forever remember them for it.

Modern Booty: Experiences

I've been away from home 33 of the last 84 months. That's almost 3 of the last 7 years. Seems more impactful when said the latter way. I started when I was just about 18 and suppose I really only stopped in between for university. I'm not sure where the instinct comes from, if it's even some kind of inborn quality, but I'll just say I fit into the category of people with an adventurous spirit. Aaargh! I'll also give some credit to my lovely parents who possess similar spirits and took us road-tripping around the Southeast when we were growing up. Everything has a beginning, and this one is right after high school graduation.
      There was something about that first taste of true independence when I was 18 that changed everything. It was the catalyst that came at the right time, as so much of life depends on circumstance and developmental experience.  It was Rehoboth Beach, Delaware (the first state) in the summer of '05 when Mario and I arrived after our typical senior trip in Cancun, Mexico, which was a time when I didn't even stop to think, "Wow, I'm in Mexico." Fresh out of high school, Mario's long lost biological father began to reconnect with his maturing son, and advised us to spend the summer working at Funland, a beach-side, family-oriented, amusement park. It was our first communal living experience, and the moldings of our future began then.
      That summer we were endlessly stimulated and enthralled. We had escaped Southern Louisiana and we were making friends from all over the world who were equally open and excited to new experiences. In the end, that's the essence of traveling I think. The underlying group consciousness, the "we're in it together and we're all loving every second of it." We shared stories from Colombia, England, Scotland, Germany, Kenya, ate together, laughed together, were embarrassed together, roamed the boardwalk together and admired each other for being so different but similar all at once. We weren't each others friends from back home. We were young, free and enchanted with life.
      Now, 7 years later, I'm in my shadowy kitchen in Northern Spain processing the circular green tile patterns on the wall in my periphery. My cup of coffee is going cold next to me, it was too weak anyways, and I'm waiting for the right time to go surf at the city beach. I'm again living next to a cold, northern, Atlantic beach. I'm still living communally by having an "open" apartment and accepting couchsurfers when I can, and by trying to assure friends that they can drop by whenever they please. I've taken immersion a step further by deciding to live in Spain for 2 straight years and realize that I'm still chasing and catching that initial experience from Delaware. That's what we travelers are, right? Experience chasers, it's why we can't stay put in the same place for too long. At least for now. There are too many open, interesting, interested, free and fun people to meet and learn from. I know it won't last forever, and don't think that I want it to, but for now let the adventure continue. 
   

Something I hadn't considered before

I just read an NYtimes article about the consumption and waste of energy by data centers around in the U.S. that illuminated something for me that I had not stopped to consider before: that every e-mail., blog, video or song that we store online in "the cloud" is kept on a disk drive in a factory building somewhere in West Virginia. These data centers, or factories, are what were inspected by the newspaper, to determine how much energy they use and waste. Unsurprisingly, it's a lot. Our constant need for instant access to anything and everything online has created an industry-wide paranoia of system failures, which would delay us from watching the next YouTube video for example, and create an uproar of complaints and criticism which would then put some data storage company out of business. Therefore, these warehouses stocked with serves are run at full power 24/7 and furthermore connected to diesel burning generators to back them up in case of emergencies. Damn that's a lot of energy. The journalist found that quite often the servers are not running efficiently at all, often using energy to power operations that are no longer needed, or that are running at 12% utilization, a measure of the percentage of the entire system needed to operate, while 100% is being fueled. These energy-sapping safeguards are to satiate our need to access info, however useful or mundane it may be, at anytime. Also, though, it's caused by us growing into a system that most don't fully understand. I for one didn't think twice about the space and energy my 500 stored emails were wasting, or even the space that this maltreated blog is occupying on a disk drive somewhere. For me, this was another lesson of how important it is to be a little more conscious of the things happening around us because, however seemingly impossible they are to change, a bit of awareness always helps. Maybe in the future people will be forced to store the majority of what they want on their own external hard drives that can be powered on and off instead of kept on eternally running servers somewhere. The more time passes the more I'm convinced that things would be better with a small reset to a past state of things. A hybrid of sorts that mixes the new and old. The problem is that the mass perception of how the world, similar to how religion works, will not change anytime soon.  

Summer's Over

Black sand, warm sun, cool waves, crowded hostel, dry canyon air, hard brittle volcanic rock, shimmering sea grass and cheap food are some of the sensations that I'll carry away from my time in Gran Canaria. It's flown by as expected, but it's been magical. There were times when it was a little demanding to live in a hostel with limited privacy and constant interaction or responsibility (since i was staff), but overall it was a great experience and I think that I've come away more open and with better social skills. The constant presence of the guests and perpetual social atmosphere almost completely removed that feeling of reluctance, nervousness, or fear that I once had to start a conversation or keep one going. I find it easier now to prod a person into speaking, to keep nudging them along so as not to have to speak so much myself. I find it's easier that way, when before I used to think too much about what I was going to say. Better just to keep bouncing the ball against the wall and letting it come back to you. Also, I learned from a TED talk that the number one reported fear is public speaking, while number 1.1 is merely saying hello to the person next to you. I fit into that category I realized and made a decision then to try to change that. Granted, you can't go around expecting everyone to want to talk to you and you can't awkwardly say hey and smile to everyone (that's a cultural perspective I think), but I am finding that quite often just throwing the ball once or making the initial crack in the ice is all that it takes. I'm also finding it slightly easier after the hostel experience to not worry so much about what the person I'm talking to thinks of me. After meaning so many people one begins to feel weathered, more comfortable with oneself. Connections are made faster, masks are taken off, you dig deeper quicker because you repeat it so often. Granted, these approaches aren't for everyone, for they hinge so much on uncontrollable factors like the culture you were raised in and what categories of the 5 main human traits that we possess.

 In retrospect, i wish that i had kept a guest picture journal, but i think that i'll remember the most important ones.

It was great to live so leisurely on the beach, and while doing so i learned that it's possible to live on 5 dollars a day and  be perfectly happy. a typical day consisted of doing my morning cleaning and having breakfast, playing on the internet, reading something informative, then taking a walk down the beach and stretching, maybe having a snorkel and another read, cooking lunch, laying about aristocratically, then going out in the early evening to surf or just sit on the beach and watch the sun go down and bathe everything in soft, golden light, cook dinner, socialize and finally watch a movie or read some more before bed. Glorious i tell you, but it will be nice to return to the working world and to have a schedule. I don't think the shift will be difficult. Big plans to finally travel a bit outside of Spain this year! woo hoo! I miss home and my peeps and fam, but i'm excited to get the second leg of this adventure underway. who knows what the future holds. in the meantime...

Check out this video of Gran Canaria.
 

summertime saunter

At last and once again, I return to this online record of my comings and goings. It's been a while, quite a while, and many things have happened since school ended on May 31st that I didn't capture in text as quickly as I would have liked, but maybe the good parts get weeded out of the excess of information when you wait a while to write them down. How about a quick list of highlights to get things started:

1. El Camino de Santiago from Oporto, Portugal to Santiago de Compastela, Spain (250km).
2. A leisurely month at home (A Corunya) with some good visitors.
3. El Festival de Ortigueira.
4. Festival de Percebes.
5. I bought my first roadbike.
6. Awesome dayt rip through Galicia and Asturias.
7. The Trip-- Madrid, Segovia, Barcelona, San Fileu with my main man Mike, his lovely wife, Danaya, and my sidekick, Claire.
8. Gran Canaria.

Looking at it like this makes me very impressed, although while everything happens, well, it just happens, and one doesn't often consider the greatness of  it all in the moment. I suppose that's why the ability to reflect is one of the supreme human characteristics (see earlier post with the poem "I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"). I see clearly now, and I've been told that I would eventually, that the ability to look back on these times in my life will bring me much contentment later in life, and I remind myself of this frequently when I feel that innate guilt emerging from the depths of my mind when I'm overly bored or lazy and begin to question the merit of my current lifestyle. Everything is temporary, though, and this too shall pass, and I will undoubtedly miss it immensely when it does. But I'm in it now! And I'm in it deep! And I've read some good books recently:

1. The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen
2. Snow Falling on Cedars by David Guterson
3. Saltwater Buddha by Jaimal Yogis

All are highly recommended and it's a diverse fiction trilogy if you're in the mood.

Finally, to end this recap, the theme song of the summer...

Two Things I Dislike

O ye acid reflux of the soul! That which makes me spew forth rotten words like foamy ocean spray on a cliff-side. Encumbrances to my well-being and mental fortitude, hindrances to my happiness and rank perpetrators of peace; you have replaced the roaches and mosquitoes of Louisiana! Name yourselves burdensome beasts that wander the sky and pavement, spying, conniving, giving, taking , squawking and hassling. Step forth beady-eyed seagull and quick-handed flyer hander outer!

First the seagull, he that roams the sky as a happy partner of the ocean, disgracefully countering the soothing sound of its waves with a blood curdling eruption of senseless chaos. SQUAWK! I despise your beady eyes and sharp, food stealing beaks! Beach rats with wings, I can think of few more horrible things!

Then there is the flyer-hander-outer person, you that averts your eyes while probing into my personal space with your capitalist waste. I do not want your advertisements, and neither does anyone else that accepts your offerings without a second thought, like the trained robots that we sometimes are. I do not blame you, though, for I realize that it is not your fault, but rather the institution that you and I are both a part of, one that squeals for extra profit by littering the earth with its desperate attempts to attract the extra customer. How many of this papers must be passed from hand to hand to trash can with the rapid efficiency of a well-oiled machine before we do away with that horrid routine! Never! Sadly, it will never happen. If only we could train the seagulls...

Monte O Pindo

Last Sunday 3 friends and I hiked a small mountain on the western coast of Galicia, between the towns of Finisterre and Muros. I first saw what the locals call the "Mount Olympus of Galicia" a few months ago on one of my countryside viewing tours with Irene, and I immediately and inexplicably fell in love with it. The road to get there winds majestically between the mountainside and the expansive Atlantic ocean while giving you views of the many small fishing towns that dot the landscape.

The trip was a grand success, and made possible because my roomie Guille let us borrow his car. Here is my friends Bridget's account of the trip on her light and entertaining blog.

It was the epitome of a spur-of-the-moment trip because we didn't know we would have the car until the night before, in which we also had a big and rowdy majority American party to celebrate a duel birthday. Things ended for me around 5 a.m. and we had agreed to hit the road by 10, meaning I had to get up early to get the car and then pick everyone up. Bridget was laying the orderly law down the night before, and so I assumed that they would be waking me up at 9:30. Low and behold, it was me waking them up at a quarter past 10, after I had reluctantly gotten out of bed, thrown some stuff together and made my way to the car to pick up Dan. We did hit the road by 10:30, though, equipped with my mental image of the map to get there. Needless to say, that map disintegrated about halfway there and we pulled over to ask someone for directions and unknowingly receive one of the best memories of the trip. The guy looked like he belonged in a cheap cologne magazine ad (I mean that respectfully). His hair was almost shoulder-length, jet black and slicked back, coupled with a light brown leather jacket. He was nice as hell, but as soon as he realized we understood him, he let loose with a barrage of hints, tips, and cheat codes on how to go straight all the way to the coast. I contemplated hitting the gas and leaving him behind, but I would have felt petty and ungracious. We listened to his elaborate re-tellings for about 5 minutes before being able to wiggle our way into a U-turn to hit the road again. The car immediately erupted into laughter and it already felt like it was going to be the great day that it was.

We made it to O Pindo without further hazard, although my erratic driving plummeted Dan into a head-in-lap carsickness that paralyzed him for the last 30 minutes of the ride. That was resolved by free tapas in the local cafe that we got, along with directions to the trail head, from the super nice bartender. I still can't believe we got sausage, paella, and a few chicken wings for free. We walked through the town, along this inlet until arriving at the cemetery that marks the beginning of the ascent.




The hike was great, and filled with super cool rock formations like this one...








So many rocks....














So many cool rocks...

I managed to get off some good pictures in the sunlight before the clouds rolled in....

But then it began to look like this...

But even this atmosphere was impressive, and by the time with reached the top we couldn't see anything at all around us. It was quite freaky and otherworldly. We made it down 5 hours later and took a dip in the ocean to shock our sore muscles to life again. Then we headed to a town nearby to have a spectacular dinner of local food and drink. Tack on a ride home with an awesome mix of songs from my roommate and it was one hell of a good Sunday.

Southside Swang

I remember those hot, wide streets near the rumbling train tracks. I remember those corner stores and dark-skinned characters always ready to surprise you with a smile or a sinister stare. Twilight lathered swimming pools and 32 ounces of Miller High Life to end a day of bike riding and couch visits. Porch dwelling and grass watching filled the hours in between class and work. That often ignored, but frequently enjoyed, sound of a jubilant accordion makes me wish now that I was capable of teaching people how to 2-step, but instead I can only stumble my way through it while pretending I know what's going on. Oh roux! you dirty brown concoction that is the beginning and end to so many meals in that humid state. How could I wait 24 years before making you for the first time, thousands of miles from where you inspired me. Louisiana, you're like a friend that I never tried to make, but then one day I find myself telling you all of my secrets, although I'm just beginning to listen to yours.

a tedious process

surfing is hard:  First, you have to learn how to read and judge the weather conditions. Then, you have to hop two buses to get to the beach and hope that the ocean looks like you thought it would. Having the right board is turning out to be more fundamental than I thought, but I´m going to stick with the dauntingly small board that was lent to me. Squeezing your way into a wetsuit can be as hard as throwing the covers off when you wake up in the morning. Tackling the initial shock of the freezing Atlantic is like storming a castle, while battling the waves until you get to the safezone behind them is a lesson in patience and perseverance, one that often makes me wonder what I´m doing out there wobbling to and fro while trying to keep myself centered on the board. Then come the waves. You have to judge them, position yourself, time the take off, control your paddling motion, STAND UP, keep you balance and try to look cool at the same time. And if it doesn´t work out, you have to fight the waves and try again. I´ve got a lot of practice ahead of me, and man I want a car.

porty pics

and now portugal

i don´t know that much about Portugal. many people reccomend knowing the historical or cultural significance of a place before going there in order to enrich your overall experience. I didn´t know shit. Except some remnants leftover from my interest in the Conquest and periods of exploration. I´d forgotten that Portugal was the mackdaddy in the 15th and 16th centuries and discovered half of the known world at the time. Now it´s just another victim of the tough economic times of the day. But it still has a lot to offer.

I arrived home from the Feria de Vino late Sunday evening with a hangover and a lot of uncertainty about getting in a car the next day and travelling for the better part of a week. Safe to say i was burnt out. Nico, my roomie, the voice of reason and leisure, said i was crazy for even considering going and that i should stay home and relax for vacation. I agreed, but couldn´t shake the thought that i might wake up on Wednesday with nothing to do and wish that i was in Portugal. I decided to decide about the decision in the morning. I didn´t pack; i went to bed. My phone rang at 10 with Dan saying that they would arrive shortly and to come down and meet them. That was it, i wasn´t going. I would give them the camping gear and head back upstairs. Then Dan convinced me just to close my eyes and get in the car. I did it. I´m happy now, although i was cursing my lack of resolve for 2 days into the trip. The pressure i put on myself to save for my summer vacations was making me wonder why i had come to Portugal when i didn´t know anything about the country and there was no real objective for the trip. I feared i would leak money for 6 days.

We drove 6 or 7 hours to a beach and campsite just north of Lisbon and set up shop. The campsite was nestled behind some sand dunes a couple of blocks from the beach, which was surrounded by cliffs. the facilities were nice but our supplies were scarce. We had about 2 dozen cookies and cinnoman rolls infused with weed. Satiation and alteration fused into one. It was me, Dan, Drew and Christine, all Americans with the same program. The stoned lack of decision making and direction really bothered me at first. I was quite pessimistic at first, but surpassed that nasty feeling in the coming days. A list of the cool things...

1. Sintra-- the former vacation spot of the king and high class when they wanted to escape the city. It´s a super picturesque town hidden in a lush valley and overlooked by a mountaintop castle. The old estates were taken from a fairytale, with underground tunnels that weave through darkness and spit you out at hidden lagoons or on top of a tower or the bottom of a well. By far a highlight of the trip and life in general. We spent the day getting lost in castles and palaces. Childhood relived. Check.

2. Camping. Having now problem getting up in the morning because that´s just how you feel when you camp.

3. Not camping. Hostel life is great and we had a blast in Lisbon and met some cool people. Lisbon was really pretty, but the weather was a bit dreary.

4. Cruising down the coast, peering over a sheer cliff at the beastly, open Atlantic thrashing down below. 

5. Getting to Peniche, a Portuguese surf town, just in time to see a thunderstorm roll on with the waves and taking a cool pic like this...













6. Arriving to Oporto while having a blast getting lost. Having a late night dinner with the family and owners of a restaurant and trying to understand Portuguese. Eating steak, fish, rice, potatos, salad, bread and wine for 4 people for only 25 euros.

7. Oporto. Cool German girls in the hostel. finally watching City of God. nightlife. meeting a nice portuguese girl.

8. stopping at hot springs on the way home and treating ourselves to an end of the trip spa sesh.

Thanks Mom and Dad for letting me do what I want and be lost in life.

Portugal, you friendly neighbor and finder of new worlds

i'm writing this, in a short space of time that I have in a hostel common room, in order to get the ball rolling again with this elusive blog that slips in and out of my routinely-non-routine life like an eel between a fat man's fingers. These last 3 weeks have been full of travel: a trip to reunite with my old pal, James, in Barcelona, to a small town in Galicia for a wine festival with my roommates, and now finally on a 6 day road trip along the coast of Portugal. And the curtain lifts...

Barcelona

My first visit to one of Spain's premiere cities; it left me almost as content as a plate of curry, naan bread and a mango lassie. I went because James was going to be there and we thought that it would be cool to meet in Europe. He was going to visit his cousin, who is studying in BCL, and wanted to know if I felt like crashing on the couch for the weekend. I bought the ticket and arrived at 5 p.m. on Friday. * a note on food: you can eat a big sandwich of spanish tortilla, which is basically an egg pie infused with lightly fried potatoes, for 2.70. You can then add pork tenderloins to it for only .30cents more. bomb.* That's what I ate for lunch. bomb. The airport in Barcelona conveniently has a train that takes you to directly to the city center for only 3 euros, and so I hopped on that bad boy and stepped out of the metro to the bustling streets of Barcelona only to be greeted with La Pedrera, on of Gaudi's many architectural gifts to the city. I passed this building that seemingly melts into the street on my way to meet James in the main plaza of the city. I was unaware and pleasantly surprised to learn that his mom, 2 aunts, and cousin Jack were also staying with him. They were extremely nice and i passed a luxurious weekend in a loft-style apartment in that same plaza in the middle of the city. I couldn't have asked for a better dose of random good luck. Thank you James and Co. once again.

The city itself is magical. It's cosmopolitan and you can hear any number of languages walking down the main tourist drag through the old part of town. This is where the hustle and bustle is, where pick-pockets and prostitutes thrive and immigrants from Pakistan sell 6-packs out of plastic bags until 5 in the morning. bomb.

I was approached my first night by a pretty, kind-looking african lady that asked me for the time. I was congenially reaching in to check my phone when she subtly whispered her elegantly-worded proposition to me: "Can I suck your dick?" I was taken aback and quite amused by this unexpected turn of events, and found myself laughing with my phone still in my hand. She looked offended that I found humor in this friendly exchange and so I apologized and thanked her for the kind offer. Some would call me a gentleman, but i would say a naive country boy form Lafayette, although it reminded of a certain similar happening outside of a Popeye's in Grand Coteau.

To sum things up: James and I had a good time catching up on old memories and chatting about new events in our lives. We had some nice meals with his family and the two of us went on Saturday and met some nice people. An acquaintance of mine, Cynthia, from the Y met us that night as well and we stayed out talking to locals in the plaza until about 6 a.m. Refreshing to be in a big city again, although I do enjoy the small town atmosphere of La Coru~a. I spent the rest of my time traversing the city by foot and gazing at the many architectural jewels that one man took upon himself to bestow upon his hometown, thus single-handedly transforming it into a tourist attraction. I'm excited to return there in July with Mike and Danaya, and to delve deeper into the city.

La Feria de Vino