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 :]

This, my friends, is the magic phrase if ever you go to Italy. Not only will it bring you happiness, joy, and all things wonderful, it also holds the secret cure for cancer. Okay, maybe not. But it can get you a cup of gelato wherever you go and that’s almost as good right?

A couple of Fridays ago Melissa, Megan and I set out for Rome, taking all of Spring break to train our way through most of the high points of Italy. Think of every Giddy (touristy) thing you can do in Italy: we did it. Visit the Coliseum and Roman ruins? Check. See world famous pieces of art like the Sistine Chapel and statue of David? Check. Throw a coin into the Trevi fountain? Done. Picture holding up the Tower of Pisa? Heck yes. Not to mention I SAW THE POPE. The most powerful man in the Catholic Church, funky hat and all, was standing and waving not ten feet away from me. Boy does he look old, ten bucks says he’ll kick the bucket in the next five years. Out of curiosity I went to a Holy Week mass in the Vatican to experience Catholicism at its most powerful and fundamental. It was incredible the sheer amount of people that were there and the passion that they showed. When Benedict himself came down the main aisle to the altar the entire church was up on its feet instantly, climbing on chairs and pulling out cameras like crazy to just get a shot of him while he amicably waved and smiled at everyone. It’s funny though. St. Paul’s Basilica, while the most prestigious church in the world and certainly the richest, was certainly the most beautiful church I’ve seen but had little sentiment for me spiritually. There I was, with over a thousand people singing a hymn, and all I could think of was how far away God felt in the place. The whole mass was missing that personal relationship with God that I so cherish and that is central to my faith. There were so many barriers put between the people and heaven-- liturgy, Latin, papacy, hierarchy—that it felt to me like the Church was getting in the way of God. Maybe it’s just because I’m protestant and don’t understand it as well, I was surprised by the impressions the whole experience gave me.

After Rome we did a whirlwind day that included running to the Leaning Tower to take a picture then book it out of the city to catch another train, visiting Florence for a few more hours, then ending up in Venice. Florence was a bit of a fail, we went in only knowing that David was somewhere in the city but had no map to find him. After discovering the museum, we waited in line for two hours only to find out that pictures were prohibited. As I was a little annoyed that I had waited so long and would have nothing to show for it I took it, as a pirate would say, with the view that rules are “more like guidelines” and took illegal pictures of David in all of his naked glory with my camera hidden in my purse. Totally worked too, except that all of my photos are at an awkward angle. Better than none at all though in my opinion.

Taking the train from city to city was basically my favorite part of the trip, just seeing the gorgeous countryside of rolling hills and the Mediterranean. From Florence to Venice I was sitting with an Italian couple and their daughter while Megan and Meli sat with their grandma and aunt. About halfway through the trip I could tell the girl, about ten years old, was getting super antsy and wanting to run around so I started playing tic-tac-toe with her to give her something to do. Have I mentioned I don’t speak Italian? Somehow we found a way to communicate through games and had fun the whole way to Venice laughing, drawing, and learning each other’s languages. About half way through the mom stepped in and we had a trilingual conversation with me speaking Spanish, the girl speaking Italian, and mom English. They kept on telling me to try spaghetti in cuttlefish ink once I got to Venice. Yes, about that. I think my life is fine without it, thanks though. Smile and nod does wonders when used appropriately. (It probably would have tasted better than the eel I had yesterday without realizing it though) Good people can be found everywhere; it only takes a bit of creativity and openness to connect sometimes. After the train ride Megan and Meli kept telling me that I should be a teacher after seeing how I interacted with Maryistella (the girl)….we shall see. It’s a growing possibility no matter how much I don’t want to admit it.

Venice was the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen because it’s right on the OCEAN. Didn’t ride a gondola but I did buy a pretty sweet mask and lost myself in the labyrinth of the island. Worst deja vu I've ever experienced in my life walking around there. Verona was next on our list for the sole purpose of seeing Juliet’s house. As a devout literature nerd, there’s no way I could pass up the opportunity to pay homage to one of Shakespeare’s greatest works and happily found my way to “fair Verona, where we lay our scene.” The house itself was the most touristy place I’ve ever seen though I did manage to get a picture of myself on her balcony. Juliet’s balcony!!! Where Romeo saw her in the morning light and in awe exclaimed “But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.” Sigh. Oh Shakespeare, how I love thee. The best part of the place was a tunnel where lovers of all walks of life that visit the monument write their names on the wall for good luck. It is the house of the most famous pair of lovers in all literature after all. I’m no romantic but it was sweet seeing all of the notes in so many languages and the sheer amount of paper that was stuck to that wall. Unable to miss the opportunity, I bummed a pen off a pair of French tourists and wrote my name on the wall too. If you ever go to Verona, look for my name! It’s on the same note that says “Maria+Richard 4ever” and is toward the far wall.


Overall, Italy was fantastic. I ate gelato EVERYDAY which was delicious and wonderful. For the first time in my life, I can honestly say I don’t want ice cream….for awhile. I'm still craving pizza though. There's nothing quite like having a slice with ham, olive, artichoke, corn(don't ask, just accept that it was good), olive oil, and cheese for lunch, top that for uberly Mediterranean. The whole country is gorgeous and has so much history you could go crazy just walking around and getting lost in how much art and culture are in its cities.

I hope you all enjoyed your spring breaks as well!

Ciao bellas.

I have few regrets in life. Every where I've been, place I've seen, experience I've had and person I've come to call 'friend' has created me little by little into the person I am today. But ever since I was young, my life has been a transitory one. College was the first time in 14+ years that I slept in the same bed for more than a month in a row and my wanderings have taken me to over 15 states and now 3 continents. My heart somehow finds ways to root itself wherever it goes and as such pieces of it lie with several wonderful people whose paths have at some point crossed with mine and is scattered. It hurts to always be away from people I love because honestly, there will never be a point where they are all in one place at one time. Coming to Granada, it was so difficult to try and put roots down because the knowledge that I would be leaving made me hesitant to get too attached. Must it always be this way? Travel is an integral part of my life and always will be but it's awful always being so torn! To be in college is away from family and to be at home is away from most of my closest friends. Skype covers miles but it's not the same as being present to hug, goof around, or simply be with someone. In times of transition such as now I'm looking ahead at the rest of my life and wondering where it will go. Will God take me far from home or put me in the US? Where is my home now even? No matter where I am, it always seems a world apart from someone or something. Ceasing to grow is not ever an option but for the time being, I want more than anything to just stay put in one place for an extended period of time without yanking out my roots and starting over. It's not that I'm as homesick now as I was, just looking for a place of my own I guess. Granada isn't it but I can't say for certain that it's Seattle or California either. This is where faith comes into it all I guess, so we'll see where I finally end up. In the meantime, there's a beautiful city just outside my window and a ready kitchen to go and make some delicious dinner tonight with friends. Future bring what it may, I'll do my best to make the present as great as possible no matter what comes my way. Cheers.

Classes, activities, planning, budgeting, job applying, more classes: life’s been a little hectic lately. I’ve finally gotten into a regular schedule and now that I look at it, I’m probably a little over involved. The current list consists of five classes, cooking class, Kung Fu, teaching ESL and intercambio (soon to be two); it’s more than enough to keep me busy. Not to mention I’m obtaining this strange new thing called a social life, ever heard of it? They’re a bit nice to have sometimes. Okay, sorry, I’m done being stressed.

This week has been fantastic! The sun is finally making an appearance and flower buds are beginning to peak their heads out for the first time meaning it’s SPRING!! Time to bring out the dresses, sit in plazas, and enjoy the fact that it’s now possible to eat ice cream without your hand freezing. Now that it’s actually possible to do so, I’m beginning to understand why the Spanish love their paseos (walks around the city) and spending time in plazas. With the motto of ‘life is in the streets’ the cities are made for people to spend all of their social time in public; the city is absolutely full of great walks, parks and plazas and people are hired to keep it all scrupulously clean. I can only imagine what they all think when they come to New York, the difference is a little sad for NYC’s end. Vegas might have been a bit worse though if only for the fact that the trash isn’t just unseemly, it’s also covered with things I’d rather not see.

After the trip with Jamie to Guadix, the pueblo with caves and the castle we discovered, was such a hit my friends and I decided to take another day trip last Saturday. I had the idea that we should show up in the morning and take the first bus out of town. So, like Journey sings in “Don’t Stop Believing” we took the first midnight train (bus) going an-y-where (please tell me you all read that with the melody in mind). Don’t stop be-liev-in, hold on to that looooovin’ feelin. Ok, I’ll stop now. The first bus out, after a bit of problems with tickets, ended up taking us to Salobrena, a cute little pueblo next to…..THE OCEAN!!!! Have I ever mentioned exactly how much I love the beach? When it was finally in sight I gave my bag and jacket to Ruth and made a run for the water, barely taking the time to de-shoe and roll up my pants before jumping in. And you know what? The Mediterranean really is that blue, it’s not just photoshop on postcards. After the initial plunge, Ruth, Daniel and I spent quite a bit of time climbing around a huge rock pile that jutted out a bit into the sea. The white stone in contrast with the aquamarine of sea and sky were absolutely gorgeous, much more than picture perfect as I was actually able to see for myself the beauty of it all. For the rest of the day we lost ourselves in the hill of the city and explored the castle that overlooked it all. Europe has some of the best lunching places. Honestly, where else on earth would you be able to each your boca-d (sandwich) while dangling your legs over castle ramparts and looking at the Mediterranean? Ruth, Daniel and I headed back from the day very tired but very happy.

ESL is one of the biggest highlights of my experience here. Jamie and I still only have two students, but we’ve been able to accomplish much since the class started. Today while teaching the class alone Ricardo, a Peruvian immigrant around 40ish, read out loud a few pages of The Last of the Mohicans to me—I never thought I could ever be so proud of bad English. It was amazing! Knowing that he’s learned so much in such a short amount of time, it’s incredible. He couldn’t even pronounce ‘purple’ a month ago and he was reading off Indian names like nobody’s business. Maybe this is what it’s like to be a parent and somehow find yourself absurdly proud of your child’s slightly hideous glitter-glue-feathers creation. Either way, the fact that I’m having such a direct influence on the betterment of people’s lives is empowering and something I plan on being involved with long past I’ve returned from Spain. Especially after myself being in a country where I don’t know the primary language, I understand just how frustrating not being able to communicate can be. ESL is more needed than one might think and is a necessary step for immigrants to improve their lives in their new countries of residence.

Life is finally feeling more normal here though American food is still terribly missed. I also have been missing silence and a place of my own, wherever I go I’m being talked at whether it be by my host mom, roommate or people at school. It’s not that I want to be anti-social, but not having silence anywhere I go is starting to get old very fast.

Hope you’re all doing great!

P.s. all pictures stolen from Daniel as I let Nikki rest for the day

Shout outs:
Kate-you might as well come to Spain with how much we’ve been talking, I love it :]
Mo- Skype?
Lisa- I’m working on London plans, I’ll be sure to find out about our guest of honor while there
Ben-ya, a helmet might help

Welcome to March! Honestly, where is time going? I was thinking about it the other day, we’re already half way through the program! Ah! I should be so much better at Spanish at this point. Or have done more things or something. That’s okay, I’ve had my fair share of adventures so far and it’s only going to get better! Today, not two hours ago, Meli and I booked the final pieces for ITALY!!!! Finally. Took us long enough. But still--ten days, five cities, three eurail passes—vale la pena. Not to mention Myles and I have started talking about what we’ll be doing in May and June. At this point it’s looking like a nice five country sweep with our ginomous backpacks, leaving me in Brussels with a week to myself. Northern Europe, watch out! It’s on. But that’s planning for another day; right now I have other things to think of.

Sitting here on a fabulous Saturday night after a day of a photoshoot and getting ready to go out tonight, things are looking more up than they have been for the past few days. It’s been a planning session for the next year with finding jobs and internships, planning trips, and figuring out where I’ll live. Everything is falling into line way better than I could ever have planned, all God, there’s no way I could take credit for all of this.

This past weekend our ILACA school group went to Madrid for five days, visiting Toledo and Segovia along the way. Where to even begin. The first day we were there they hit us with one of the best art museums in the city, La Reina Sofia, and I got to see Guernica by Picasso(!!!!!!). The thing is massive, taking up an entire room with its 25 foot length. In person, the painting is incredible and it's jaw dropping to be able to see Picasso’s own paint strokes and the details that you can’t see over internet pictures. The next day was spent at El Prado, the second best museum in Europe and got to see many of the paintings we’ve studied in classes.

But enough about museums, the city itself was huge and full of fun things to explore and see. One of the most surprising things to happen occurred at the end of a walking tour one day while we sat at a fountain in the middle of the Plaza Del Sol. While we were deciding where to go next my friend and I started to hear shouts and noise coming from the other side of the plaza, looking up to see what looked like a parade coming our way. Thinking we could wait to see it pass then go, we stuck around only to find that it was a loud, angry demonstration that stopped and trapped us between themselves and the fountain. It was hard to tell what their cause was and it was only once we hopped through the fountain area a little illegally to get out of the throng that we figured out what the demonstration was about. A few weeks ago a kid of about fourteen and a group of friends raped, tortured, and killed another girl of fourteen. Without a juvenile court system, the boy was set out on the streets again free of penalty because he is a minor under the Spanish legal system. But it wasn’t just the girl’s death the people were protesting; they were pushing the legalization of the death penalty for minors. Killing kids! Sometimes it’s depressing just how messed up this world is, on both sides of the equation in this instance.

Along with the theme of depressing things was the fact that we visited Franco’s memorial and tomb. If killing over 50,000 people weren’t enough, the man built himself a monument to glorify his cause and dictatorship after the Spanish Civil War of the 30s. The huge, rock cross and arches at right is a picture of the memorial itself. Considering there are so many people alive today that still remember the terror and hardships of his reign, very few Spaniards were at the site so it was mostly just us tourists there learning and looking out at the beautiful vista of Valle de los Caidos (Valley of the Silent).

On a happier note, good things did happen this past weekend as well. Ruth, Jamie and I went out to some sushi one night at a chic place that conveyer belted the food throughout the restaurant. Goodness it was delicious. Paired with the scoop of Ben and Jerry’s we got afterward it was the best dinner I’ve had so far in Spain and was totally worth traipsing across the city for. I also managed to find my knight in shining armor! It was slightly a pity he was a little empty headed and hollow hearted. Okay fine, so it was just the shining armor I found, no knight sadly enough. But I don’t blame the guy, if I lived in the castle he was in and had to walk up to the battlements every day I would make myself disappear too. Talk about leg work out of my life going up the 183 steps (I counted). Ick. In the same day Ruth and I managed to buy some pocket knives (ironic because we’re probably the least threatening people in the group), have a bomb picnic overlooking a river, and find our way onto Don Quixote’s trail randomly. Toledo definitely was “un lugar de aventurera” (a place of adventure) as the sign said.

Ten points to whoever can tell me what castle Bunny is in front of! Hint: I can guarantee you’ve seen it in cartoon form.
Another ten points to the person who can give me a better name for the poor little guy.

Ruth: Tully and Pip need to have some more adventures, when shall we hike?
Lisa: roomies again!!!!
Ben: how’d the photoshoot go?
Mom: you are a goddess for giving me chocolate :]
Kate: I can talk to you whenever now! yay! and I like that it literally is whenever, as I am now talking to you with your beautiful bed head :]

As I sit here eating my Cuban banana (it’s legal here! though odd to think of fruit this delicious being illegal in the states) looking back, it’s been a pretty eventful week. Third week of classes, getting used to new schedules and also to the fact that I have less than an hour’s worth of homework for all of my classes combined. This is something I could get used to. I’ve now been to a couple of Kung Fu classes as well; they’re odd to say the least. Imagine the stereotypical zen, calm, fit guy you would expect to be teaching a martial class. Now make him Argentinean and ninja, that’s the teacher. Though no matter how ninja he may be, he’s very patient which is appreciated considering my knowledge of the art is zero. There were some great failures that first class fumbling around trying to manage crouching, balancing on one foot, and kicking with the other all at the same time. Fail. I have never been and will never be that coordinated though it was nice that he thought all of us were. I’m also the only girl in the class, the youngest by about ten years and the only without past experience. How do I get myself into these situations? I love it. Kung Fu kicks aerobics’ butt anyday. (pun very intended)

Over the weekend a girl, Sarah, I knew from Art of the Book last semester decided to come visit me from London where she is studying abroad this semester. It’s always fun being translator and tour guide to a place that you love so I spent a few days joining in on all of the touristy things again. Saturday my friend Ruth came along as we explored the Alhambra again and took way too many pictures in the gardens nearby. In typical fashion, we got ourselves into a bit of shenanigans climbing up walls in the palace of Carlos V to pose in the alcoves like we were statues. Best part? Two minutes later a group of Spaniards comes by, laughs at us, then moves to the next alcove to do the exact same thing. Ten points for trendsetting. The gardens which we moved on to next are absolutely gorgeous. Created in Romantic style, they engage as many senses as possible and have surprises around each corner to create for great walks that could last hours. These gardens in particular are on top of a hill and overlook the city proper so there were some great views along with the flora and peacocks. Yes, peacocks. They just walk around like it’s completely normal for them to be there, like they own the place which in a way I guess they do. At one point I tried playing hide and seek with one of them because I wanted a picture, fail. A five foot, colorful bird is about as inconspicuous as I would be if I were in China.

Along the way we may or may not have snuck our way onto an island in the garden that we weren’t supposed to be on, hiding out in a tower as other tourists came meandering along. We also might have found our way into some centuries old aqueducts, climbing all the way across through some pretty impressive sludge only to find that the incline on the other side made it impossible to do anything but trudge our way backward. All hypothetical of course. We also might have dueled in the lower gardens with some fifteen foot fallen palm fronds, respectively acting as Inigo Montoya and Darth Vader, but that would just be ridiculous. I try to keep my life pretty average; adventure free is the way to be.

Saturday night was my first flamenco show! Amazing!!! I wish I could have taken a class but now I see that I really wouldn’t have been able to learn much in my stay here. The dance itself is intricate and passionate; I’ve never seen anything with as much strong emotion expressed in such a short time. The guitarist, singers, and dancer just absolutely express passion and it was thrilling to watch. http://www.deflamenco.com/videos/verVideo.jsp?codigo=FLA|3116 A link if you’re interested.

Oh, and I got told off by a gypsy woman. She was trying to scam some poor guy so I helped him out because I knew her tricks, earning myself a nice scolding from her. Ya, I’d rather not repeat what she said.

Laurel: very good question, it’s not so obvious of an answer.