a.k.a. How to Piss Off Half a Hostel

1. Find a solid object that is close at hand (i.e. conditioner bottle, fist, doorknob)
2. Proceed to bang said object loudly and obnoxiously on any and all surfaces including but not limited to doors, walls, toilet paper holders...
3. Repeat Step 2 ad nosium, adding in special beats as desired
*Extra points given if done at/past midnight

Ya, maybe not the best of ideas. But hey, you do what you can when you walk into a bathroom and the doorknob instantly falls off. Here I am in Germany super tired after a day of gorgeous hiking to a castle and the best concert I've ever been to in my life and I'm sitting there using the broken doorknob to make as much noise as possible for a few hours. Someone finally complained and the hostel guy came in. He felt so bad that he gave me a heck of a lot of food which made it almost worth it in the end. Hey, take what you can get I guess.

Travelling is great! Love it. You meet so many interesting people along the way! But at the same time I'm ready to come home again. To be with my family, to feel at home and at ease, and to just have some friends! Downside of travelling alone, loneliness at points. Knowing that I'm never truly alone because God never leaves helps a whole lot, these past couple of weeks have been some good faith-growth time for sure. Hope you're all doing well and I'll see some of you soon! Kristina, Mo, Kelly, Braden, Ben, Michael--get ready for flying-attack-bear-suffocating-smothering hugs :]

Love from Belgium!

A happy, bright café in Frankfurt, 8:00am. Jen haggardly sits with her huge backpack on the chair next to her as she somehow manages to stick food in her face. Quite the miracle considering she hasn’t seen a bed for two days. Enter New Zealander stage right, walking to the bathroom. Looks at the tired girl, keeps going. Sees the backpack, does a double take, looks back at worn-down girl and puts two and two together. Light bulb effects as desired.
New Zealander: You’re a traveler!
Jen: (English! What is this foreign language?)Yes?
New Zealander: (still too excited to be allowed before 10am) Where are you from?!
Jen: California. And you?
New Zealander: New Zealand! When I come back out we should chat! I’m just heading back home today and I’ve got the whole day free. Okay wait, I’ll be out in a second.
Jen, still trying to process the exuberant jumble, stares in mild distress at the empty plate where her pastry used to be. A couple of minutes later the man joins her at the table. Insert small chat about Ireland, New Zealand, and weddings.
Jen: Alright, I gotta get going. I have a train to catch and need a few minutes to feel better about life. (change clothes, wash face…)
New Zealander, looking exuberant yet again, pulls a mysterious box out of his bag: This should help! You might appreciate it.
Jen opens the box cautiously to find, of all things, a miniature toothbrush set. After two nights of next to no sleep, she almost cries at the kindness of it.
New Zealander: Take care, sweetheart. And try and get some sleep!
Exeunt cheerful man and Jen from happy café to rainy streets.

Saturday morning I was so nervous to start my travels I could barely eat. It would be my first solo trip and I would be going waaay out of my comfort zone. Yet from the very beginning, God’s been taking care of me. There’s nothing else it could be. Every single step of the way I’ve been taken care of or found a friend when I needed it and it’s been a wonderful start to an adventure. Saturday afternoon I showed up at my hostel in Nerja (beach town) to find a guy in the room eating an entire carton of ice cream with a knife as a spoon (don’t judge, you would too if you were desperate). We got to talking and Sun and I were off to the beach twenty minutes later with two cartons of strawberries and one bottle of whipped cream. We talked for hours just hanging out and exploring the city, I got to hear all about his background in South Korea while introducing him to the wonder that is strawberries and cream. And Poptarts, haha. Ya, that didn’t go over quite as well. “It’s so…processed and…dry,” he tried to say politely.

After Nerja, my friends and I met up and headed to Morocco. You know, nothing big.
It’s not like it’s AFRICA or anything. We got off the plane and were immediately hit with the pure chaos that is Marrakech. Let’s just say that cab rides are better with your eyes closed because there are no street lanes, no stop lights, and no rules. The labyrinth markets are pretty much the same, it’s impossible to walk three feet without someone yelling at you to come to their shop. It was fun to get used to the elasticity of everything, bartering for prices on everything to buses coming whenever they felt like it. We got royally ripped off at almost every opportunity, but there wasn’t much to be done about it considering we were so obviously foreigners.
The time slipped by in a whirl with all we were doing exploring, eating, seeing baby camels (“no Jen, that’s a sheep”), talking, meeting people, getting henna, hiking in the Atlas mountains, swimming in a waterfall, and going to the bath houses. A word about Hammams. Jamie and I thought it would be fun to go to an Arab bath and it’d be nice to relax a bit. The first place we went to turned out to be only for men at the time we were there and instead of waiting around or looking for another obviously set for tourists place, decided to go the “authentic route” with a hammam less than two minutes from our hostel. Ha. Twenty minutes later we found ourselves sitting on rubber mats getting the scrub downs of our lives by topless, Arab-speaking Moroccan women. I’ve done a lot of sketch things in my life, especially while travelling, but this has to rank among the top three. Costing only 20 dirham (2 euro) Jamie and I had to have shower time after the hammam to wash off who knows what we picked up in there. There are some things that at the end of you look at your friend and there’s that instant recognition of “that was epic!” and knowledge that you’ve reached a new level of friendship. After breaking into a castle together, sneaking a baked potato illegally into England, making a horror film in abandoned caves, and sitting next to each other through naked scrub downs, it’s easy to say we’ve gotten close. Boy, am I going to miss that girl.

Tired, full of couscous(I think that translates to chickpeas), a couple of bad hennas, and fourteen bug bites later I caught my plane out a happy camper but glad to be back in Europe. Morocco was an interesting cultural study, to get out of the Western realm. Traveling has made me aware of just how objectified women are, not just in America but all over the world. USA is better than anywhere else actually in terms of equality. I realized that if I were a Moroccan woman, I would lose the three things I hold most dear to me: my religion, freedom, and independence. They have little role outside of the home and the genders do not mix at all outside of the familial unit. Western women, far from being ‘mothers’, are sexualized in ways I wasn’t even aware of. Take a look at the way women walk in different cultures. Moroccans do not draw much attention to themselves while I was told that even I have the American “swagger.” To be confined by my gender and restricted in any way because my role in the home, I don’t know how they do it. Arranged marriages, berkas, the whole bit. It might be the American in me speaking but they’re strong to be able to endure all of that without rebelling against the system.

With a little help from some beautiful, professional-runners-that-were-in-the-Olympics, Italian men in sneaking my stuff across the Ryanair baggage limitations, a four hour delay hanging out with my new, gorgeous friends, a night in the airport later, and here I am, on a train to Switzerland. I’m not nervous anymore about what’s ahead because I learned to have faith a long time ago and have learned to trust God again to take care of me on my adventures. The only problem now is how I plan on feeding this travel addiction for the rest of my life.
Hope your finals all went well and that you’re having luck getting everything all pack up!

Au revoir

p.s. I got an offer of 1,000 camels as a marriage proposal. Should I go for it?

Goodbyes are always bittersweet. At the end of five months here, I've grown a little attached to the people and places of Granada, but at the same time it's a little hard to feel sad when there are such great things ahead. That's the beauty of it though, in every ending there is a new beginning. I may be saying goodbye to Spain but I'm starting an exciting month of travel through Europe.
At the end of each day last semester, I would invade Lisa's bed before we went to sleep and we would share our hi/lo of the day. It may not be end of day here, but it is an ending sure enough. Lisa, I dedicate this to you:

Highs of Granada:
-Spanish, while frustrating at times it's a beautiful language and I can now speak proficiently
-European culture, I've come to love the slower pace of life and just sitting in a cafe for hours talking with friends
-history-everything is so darn old! The church outside my window is turning 250 this year (older than our country!) yet no one really cares because the church down the street is turning 450
-coming to class late, it doesn't really matter when you pass your prof smoking outside on your way in anyway
-the little disgusted feeling I get when I see my host sister put olive oil on something new and equally odd. Including but not limited to: bread, eggs, vegetables, soups, french fries, and, my personal favorite, macoroni
-housing, staying with host family and living with Melissa, even through all of the ups and downs
-walking everywhere, I have the holes in my shoes to prove it

Lows of Granada:
-not having control of what, when, or how much I eat
-ALL OF THE RAIN
-school. hey, it's tough enough as it is, make it in another language and it's a little awful
-getting sick all of the time
-clothes getting killed
-purple hamburgers, I was a little afraid to ask but I think she said it had goat meat in there...

I could go on, but I'll limit myself a bit. It's a beautiful Friday, my last Friday in Spain, and I still have a bunch to do. Like packing. Ouch. Try fitting five months of stuff into ONE backpack. ONE. Even Mary Poppins would have problems with that. But tomorrow I start my adventure!!! I'll be heading off to a beach in Spain for the weekend and then....drumrole please...to MOROCCO!! Best five dollars I've ever spent in my life for that ticket. Goodness. Switzerland, Germany, Holland, Belgium, and Paris are also in the plans, as are chocolate tastings, a visit to a concentration camp, some arab baths, some castles, couchsurfing, the Eiffel Tower, and a heck of a lot of train rides. It's 8 countries, 3 continents, and 1 heck of an adventure. Catch ya stateside! I'm off into the sunset and couldn't be happier.

Peace out.


p.s. I'll try to update while traveling but it's not looking very promising

Few Americans of our generation know what war is really like. Unless you’re related to a soldier or a refugee, even our war against terror has little to no influence on our daily lives. Coming from this standpoint, it was a bit of a shocker to come to Spain where the war that began before WW2 just ended it's political influence recently. While we may be a little sapling of a country to most of the world, our constitution has withstood a couple of centuries by now. Spain as we know it today—member of the UN, independent, democratic—began in 1978 when the Constitution was finally signed just a few years after Franco’s death. The effects of the war are everywhere still and first came to attention when I began to question the enormous servings of food I was being told to eat. It’s not that they are intent on fattening us (though my host mom recently admitted to trying to), it’s that they’re grateful to have food to share and want to eat it copiously to celebrate. The idea that starvation was still around in such a modern nation in the past century, it’s a little mind boggling. With our modern era we’ve seemed to compile the world into two lumps, the Haves and the Have Nots. Franco, dictator extraordinaire and leader of one of the strictest fascist regimes in history, took Spain from being one of the most progressive countries in Europe at the time to a period of intense repression and, at the beginning, poverty and starvation. Women could not vote, there were no elections, and above all Catholicism reigned. The retiring generation of today not only knows what it’s like to experience war, they’ve lived through Franco’s era and carry that mark with them. It’s like walking into a live history museum and piecing together the causes and effects of what is fundamental to the Spanish culture today. Copious amounts of food because of food shortages then, tons of housewives because of machismo culture that never left, gorgeous yet empty churches—it’s seeing firsthand the psychological effects of war and the perseverance of history no matter how much we try to forget the past. The Spanish Civil War, set a little before WW2, is nearly forgotten or glazed over because while the rest of the world was still hacking at each other, Spain was nursing its own wounds and kept out of the mess. Yet no matter how few people know about it, the pain still exists as does the ‘pact of silence’ Spaniards have put around this trying time.
Stepping into history, piecing together facts and seeing firsthand things I’ve only seen or read about, this is one of the reasons why I love Europe. It has been more than incredible to be able to travel and actually visit places like the Vatican, the most powerful church in the world; Guernica, Picasso’s famous painting after the first ever bombing of a civilian city; and ruins from the most ambitious empire of old, Rome. But even better than being able to visit has been the opportunity to see for myself the culture that surrounds each. Accompanied with years of studying fitting together the puzzle pieces of history and analyzing the final result is not only satisfying, it’s brought history to a whole new level of importance I never thought it could have because it does apply to everyday life. Even though I’ll be crying my eyes out the entire time, it’s in the plans to visit a concentration camp while in Holland. While a grotesque history no wishes were true, genocides happen and trying to ignore dark pasts just mean you are taking away warnings for the future. The main message of Dauchau, a concentration camp in Germany, is “Never again.” If that monument weren’t there what would serve as caution to the next generation about the dangers of ambition? It’s a worn saying but true, “if you don’t know the past you’re doomed to repeat it.”

I’m beginning to get annoyed with the idea that I need to have a set plan of exactly what my life will entail. In comparison to others so ready with their life plans written out on official paper and hand-pressed to perfection my ideas are scattered fragments on post-it notes. Because honestly, no tengo ni idea what my life will look like, and I’m quite content to keep in that way. It’s been ingrained in our heads since childhood, the age old question of “so what will you be when you grow up, Johnny?” “A doctor!” “An astronaut!” “A lawyer” Like we’re supposed to have an answer always, and only the best will suffice. The sad kid in the corner crying that she wants to be “a waitress!” soon gets the worried expressions of adults telling her to find a more worthwhile career to devote her life to. But that’s just it; my idea of a worthwhile job is much different than the norm. Nor do I want to devote my life to a single career and in doing so, lose myself to it. Had you asked me when I was six or so, “what do you want to be when you grow up, Jennifer?” the answer would probably have been “a teacher!” or “a K-nex architect!”(I was pretty cool); at least I had a plan. Now, I’m looking at my life and realizing that, not only do I have ni idea what career I’ll take, I’m quite sure I’ll not just have one career. My current answer to the age old question is “a wanderer!”, and boy does that raise eyebrows. “But what will you do?!” “Where will you go?!” “It’s not stable!” Thank God it’s not. I’ve come to see that a career path should be just that, a path. A road that entails some sort of growth and movement down the line, sometimes a rather exciting fork in the road or the taking of a new course altogether. The thought of dedicating myself for decades to a single job—that’s terrifying. The stagnancy of it kills. Maybe it’s just the idea of being defined by it that repulses so.
Someday, if ever I settle down my mind will probably change but at the moment the prospect of what may come is too exciting to ignore. Don’t be surprised if ten years from now you hear tell of me in Asia doing social work or Latin America teaching English, just know I’m extremely happy in whatever God-forsaken slice of the world I’ve found myself in. Even if that wind blows me to Antarctica, I recently heard of a program to go and work there for a few months… But we shall see. That’s the exciting part, I just don’t know. I’m standing at a fork in the road with a backpack of knowledge and experience and am taking a step down an obscure path. There’s only light enough to see a few paces ahead, yet I couldn’t be more excited.
Bring it, world.

Dare you to say that five times fast. Go for it, and please record yourself because I'd love a good laugh. Seriously though, this is no tongue twister, it's the name of a rather hated-by-travelers volcano in Iceland that has decided to start erupting after years of dormancy. Results? Flights cancelled, stranded travelers and a slight bit of chaos. Please keep stranded people in your prayers, volcanic ash in the air has not been Europe's friend in the past and it isn't helping now. On a personal note I would really enjoy not being stranded myself this weekend. Is it possible to swim from England to Spain?

Today is my first official day of my twenties. Oh goodness, twenty?! While I would like to say I’m celebrating in style, in reality, I’ve spent all day in my pajamas and watched more How I Met Your Mother. Weather hasn’t permitted the planned beach trip of the day sadly but it’s okay, I’ll be going to London in exactly three days to really celebrate. Also, while my heart may love Spain, my body isn’t as enthusiastic. I’m sick, again. But even with bad weather and no energy, I did manage to officially turn twenty classily. At 23:30, my roommate and I walked to a park nearby, sat ourselves in a gazebo, and enjoyed the night for a bit. When midnight came around, Melissa unwrapped our ‘cake’ which was really a couple of PB&J’s and I stuck a singing candle in to make a birthday wish. I love my roommate. While maybe not the most expensive or posh birthday party ever, it was most definitely memorable and fun—one of those quirky moments that seems to define my life.

Sometimes I have a hard time believing that I get to do such incredible things for class credit. Take the last couple of days for example. Friday, our class got to go to an authentic Spanish wine tasting. While there we got to learn about olive oil, the history of wine, and traditional tapas that accompany each drink; all of this while trying some of the most incredible wine and food I’ve ever had. My taste buds were about ready to die of contentment by the end, no joke. Not that I’m becoming an alcoholic or anything, but wine is pretty fantastic. Pair that with food cooked to complement each one, oh goodness. From chorizo to cheese to chocolate, it was all Spain and all fabulous. It’s odd that I won’t be able to have wine when I get back after it being so available here. Just to check to see if the saying were true, I checked in the supermarket the other day to see if wine really is cheaper than water, it is. Oh Spaniards…

Yesterday we all went to Ronda, a city on a hill and surrounded by mountains that’s located a bit south of Madrid. Of all the cities we’ve been to so far, this was by far my favorite. It was just so darn pretty! Nature always wins out on my list of favorites, and this one had 360 degrees of rolling hills and greenery. When we got some free time after viewing the oldest bullfighting ring in Spain, Jamie, Eric and I hiked down the mountain a bit to explore in the wildflowers. It’s nice being in nature again after spending so much time in cities. We found a rock overlooking a waterfall and just hung out for about an hour, it was a boca-d moment. Call me crazy, but there are just some moments that require sandwiches. Haha, wow that sounds weird. Seriously though, everywhere I’ve travelled I always have a boca-d with me and end up eating in the coolest of places including but not limited to: a mountain I climbed to the top of, a castle overlooking the Mediterranean, and a on the ramparts of a centuries old Islamic fortress. Pretty cool eh?

Update since earlier this morning: I decided that, even though I look and feel like Jen-the-red-nosed-Spaniard, there was no way I was spending my birthday stuck in a bedroom. So to the streets we went! Headed out and spent some time on the Granadan hillside for awhile then all of us went to get some chocolate cake in Plaza Bib-Rambla. The best part though, was what came after. On the way home, Melissa and I hit up the book fair that’s laid out all over the city and spent over an hour meandering our way to the piso(apartment). Last week when I visited it on its first day, it was overwhelming just how many stalls there were in the streets and the variety of topics offered. I started walking along from booth to booth, reveling in the sheer amount of literature for a good twenty minutes or so too caught up in it all to think about why I was getting so darn excited. Taking a good look at a shelf full of “Mil y Una Noches,” “La Caraterra,” y “Crepusculo” it finally dawned on me that I could read it without even noticing that my brain had changed languages. YESSSSSSSS! After that it was a free for all at the book fair picking up every book that came within arm’s reach and being absurdly content at the fact that I could read from its pages. So many books and so little time! I found a stall with poetry from Granadan authors and instantly fell in love with one, “A mi el silencio no me calle” (Silence Does not Quiet Me). The language was enrapturing in its simplicity and had so many themes pertinent in my own life, not to mention the fact it’s in Spanish makes it prettier by tenfold. Exhibit A:

Levantate y crece
Abre las puertas y ventanas
Riega tus semillas
No importa como las plantaras

Como crees que se recogen milagros?

Levantate y crece
Te espero un largo camino

Rough translation (that bastardizes the language):

Pick yourself up and grow
Open doors and windows
Sow your seeds
It doesn't matter how you plant them

How do you think they harvest miracles?

Pick yourself up and grow
A long road awaits you

That's just one of many in this wonderful book. However, due to miserable fate, it wasn’t possible to buy it at the time because a) no cash at hand and b) there really isn’t room in my suitcase. Tonight, however, I thanked my lucky stars that I did not end up at that beach because while walking home I found myself back at the stall with Melissa, helping her to pick out books for her family, and just couldn’t resist. Hey, you only turn twenty once right? Splurge a little. Those salespeople, quite the persuasive type. Like lions sensing their kill, they could probably tell pretty early on that I’m a sucker for the written word, especially poetry. Though I have NO space in my suitcase (honestly, I don’t even have a suitcase, just a backpack) I’m coming home with not one but TWO books of poetry. Beautiful, inspiring, flowing, Spanish poetry that I shall read from the south of Spain, through the Swiss Alps, and on the streets of Paris. Books that will travel with me through eight countries and have well-loved pages by June 9th. I'm drooling already. If you ever would like a reading of said books, just hit me up. As you might be able to tell, I’m more than happy to share with you the wonder that is Spanish poetry.

Thank you all for the birthday cards and wishes!!! My day indeed was wonderful and they are all very appreciated :]