Creeping into 10

I had a blog started before I went to Italy. I didn´t finsih it though and now it is quite pointless to try and talk about the things that I did as if I hadn´t yet done them, or to write about my feelings before going, post them, and then write about going directly afterwards. This is a somewhat extensive sinopsis of my trip to Italy with Collin, Mary, and Melissa with included before and after thoughts.

Italy,

Somewhat put off by the fact that I would be in a foreign country whose language I do not speak, I decided to research some basic phrases and simple greetings before I left. The trip was half planned and allowed for changes as we went, but we had reserved the first few nights stays already. Getting into Italy and attempting basic navigation was like watching a dizzy bat contest at best. I had been awake for aproximately 24 hours with maybe 1 or 2 hours of sleep on floor of Barajas airport in Madrid before getting into the country, and realized as I approached an information desk that I didn´t speak Italian. This resulted (for a prolonged duration of 9 days) with me approaching people, speaking to them at first in Spanish, and then changing to English once they began saying things to me in English. I really disliked being forced to speak English to these people, and almost felt stereotyped and judged by it. Eventually I adopted a habit of speaking Spanish with an Italian sing-song canter that usually got me the things I wanted - aka: cigarettes, beer, food, directions.

Milan

Milan was not my favorite. While it was rainy and cold the entire time, it was colder in Milan and I had no idea what was going on due to my lack of sleep. Our hostel was outside of the city and we had to take a train to get there. We did not know this and bumbled about in the metro for awhile before just calling a cab to take us there. After napping for a few hours we went into Milan on a train that essentially was free since no one checks your tickets, which I found to be a universal theme in Italy. It was cold as all get out while we explored the bassilica (cathedral) and saw a castle with silly Christmas music and corresponding lights, I mean seriously it had lights lighting up like the piano keys striking notes to the song playing. There was also a gigantic ¨Christmas tree¨which looked more like a terribly disorienting ride at the fair. This ¨tree¨was composed of iron rings and poles surrounded by different colored neon lights that flashed and changed colors constantly while the tree spun around at about 3 G´s , possibly evoking siezures to those who couldn´t handle its magnificence. We found a restaurant that had cheap pizzas, a funny waiter who spoke decent English and was quite amiable, and more importantly a warm interior. That is all that happened in Milan, it was pretty cold and boring. We got on a train early the next morning towards Bologna.

Bologna

Dedicated as our new years eve jump off party spot, Bologna offered very little change in terms of terrible weather, but was definitely a pretty city. There are two towers about 300 feet tall, and are the last remaining two of some earlier 200 towers that used to be in the city a few hundred years ago. There was an extravagant cathedral in the center of the city and many other surrounding ones that offered different styles and sizes. There was a constant of far-off explosions as the throngs of young kids were throwing fire crackers all over the place. Collin and I sequestered ourselves in the hotel room (which was quite expensive I might add) and put in some serious work on bottles of J&B. This sort of attributed to a splotchy memory of the new years; but I believe we went to the plaza at the center of town, watched live music, counted down the new years, yelled, comforted Collin as his camera was stolen, lost, whatever, and then proceeded to walk around for hours in the rain with me commanding Mary to not enter any bars as there were 10 and 15 euro covers JUST to enter. I think it was fun. The next day was spent hazily wandering about the city to churches and parks and plazas and pizza shops. Collin and I found a pizza place with a 12 inch pizza for 4€ which was pretty magical and delicious. We spent another night in Bologna and were off early the next morning to Venice.

Venice

Venice was an absolute dream. After desembarking from the train the rain was coming down hard enough to the point that I had to buy myself an umbrella. Someone approached me for 5€, I said no, he said 4€, I gave him 3.70€, he looked pissed and I laughed as I walked off. Venice is really a place you truly have to see for yourself to understand how it makes you feel. There are no roads, there are no cars, there are no yards. There are waterbuses, water taxis, water ambulances and police boats, gondollas and traghettos. This place was pretty magical, and while the rain might have ruined it for some, I found it to be that much more interesting since the entire city was flooding. An entire plaza was flooded and makeshift walkways 1.5 feet tall were put up all over the city to get around without being completely miserable. Our ¨hostel¨was a homey little apartment with two rooms, a kitchen and bathroom, and a small Italian man who we assumed was ¨Miss Rita¨as the hostel world booking said. Actually quite hilarious, we stood by a ticket booth waiting for ¨Miss Rita¨and constantly shouted RITA!? at every woman who came near us. When we saw this person waiting by the rendezous spot we yelled Rita at him(her?), and he pointed to the left and promptly took off in his galoshas at a pace we could hardly match, let alone with our luggage, but on an elevated walkway that was about as wide as it was tall and 2 lanes of people passing it was nearly impossible to follow his crafty navigation through tight alleyways and passages. After settling in, we headed right back out to the Bassilica di San Marco which was created in the 13th century, Palazzo Ducale and its' museums, and essentially anywhere else we could find before it was really dark and rainy. When it was too dark to care of any more tourism, we got some items at the grocery and went back to our spot to make dinner. I cooked dinner for everyone which included some bruschetta to start, and pasta with creamy tomato sauce and parmigiana along with a salad made by the girls. Delish. After many bottles of wine we wandered around the streets of Venice and I asked people for cigarettes in my elusive Spanish Italian accent language that I had created. When we woke the next day to the first nice weather we'd seen. I must say that it is a shame I did not know the weather was so nice earlier than 11am fore I was a bit sluggish from the night before. We took a waterbus to the train station and boarded our first train with individual rooms. We had no assigned seats since we bought our tickets just before we boarded the train, but had the luck of finding a car with 4 fun Australian travelers that were our age and seats for us. Eventually some of us were kicked out of our seats, but I won in rock-paper-scissors to hold my seat. We were safely on our way to Florence none the less.

Florence

We all made plans to meet with the Australians the evening that we got into Florence and headed off to our hostel. Just a stones' throw away from the train station, across a nice plaza with a cathedral was Hostal Ottaviano (which apparently despite having simple directions was very easy to confuse for other hostels according to Collin). The owner was a HILARIOUS British guy named Benjamin who continuously messed with us, and I unabashedly did the same to him as I knew that it would make the situation much more interesting and entertaining. We went to meet the Aussies at the Duomo and this turned into QUITE a NIGHT. joder. We went to Shotz Cafe, and proceeded to begin a drinking contest between Aussies and Americans, and apparently Chileños as well (who apparently won the contest, but I refute this). I know that we were awake until quite late, and that a certain Australian peed in a plant in the living room of my hostel, and that another certain Aussie went on a nuts berzerker rampage, that I was of course completely fine and calm and passive the whole time, and that a certain American was completely incapacitated very early in the night as we left the bar, but other than that, its a bit foggy. It was a blast. The next day was not. It was raining constantly and most things were closed because it was Monday? I saw the Duomo which was impressive and a few churches, but was incapable of seeing much else, plus with a rambo sized knife stabbing the inside of my brains due to dehydration was not helping the situation. The next day we went to the Uffizi, which was absolutely marvelous and had many works by artists such Boticelli, Pielo dela Francesca, Michaelangelo, and Giorgione. The museum was massive and the line to get in was heinous. I wanted to tear my arms off and beat myself to death with them after waiting in this cold rainy line for about 1.5 hours. Before the Uffizi, we had marched up quite a steep hill to piazzale michelangelo where there was an illustrious view of the entire city, its cathedrals, castles, parks, and rain clouds. The Palazzo Pitti was big, but I only saw it from the outside and only it's front. Ponte Vechio was interestingly constructed as there are some houses and shops on it that appear to hang off the sides without support. A famous goldsmith has a statue of his torso dedicated to him on the bridge and it is surrounded by a little fence that has hundreds of locks shackled to it. The bridge in its entirety is full of jewelery shops, gold, gold, and more gold. Florence was quite an experience and has much pride for its artists and definitely plenty of history to back it up. The same goes for Venice as countless artists flocked to their cities for inspiration and experience in such a pivotal ambiance. I left feeling somewhat inspired on my way to Rome.

Rome

The capital of Italy was my last destination and I had so many places to visit. The architecture through the city was all so awe inspiring that I walked around and it could have just been a random bank, but good enough to have me crane my neck and look like a total tourist. So much culture, language, history, and art has come from Rome that has spread all over the world, and to feel its presence and see it in person is really something else. Each day I woke early to make the sites, see the churches, museums, plazas, and ruins. I met a really cool Ecuadorian named Indira who spoke 4 languages. My hostel was run by a South African named Nyasha (i know right) and a Romanian named Maurizio. They were a riot and constantly fought with each other, but in the most passive and absurdly docile tones ever. I teamed back up with the Australians for sight-seeing and some drinks, and near the end my original posse came back and we got a few hours of sleep before heading to a bus, to a plane, to Madrid. So little sleep, so little shower, so few clothes. I stayed a night in Madrid with my friend Ed and Jeff, and saw my friend Sonia and some of her friends. We partied really hard really late and I caught a bus back to Logroño the following afternoon.

No more money, need to work, need to eat tuna and rice for a few weeks. It just so happens that I love tuna, and rice.

Los Babas

There is a bar in Logroño called Biribay that constantly hosts local bands and free performances. Every once in a while there will be a small cover, such as last night, when Los Babas played. I can definitely say that it was worth 3 euros as I was laughing hysterically and chanting strange choruses the whole while. This band called Los Babas was comprised by 2 ridiculous dudes in some seriously classy getup, who had a style that can be described as Death From Above 1979's Spanish cousins of funk-in my words, and absolutely not official. The drummer had a headset microphone and was constantly howling into it to imitate guitar solos and recounted absurd stories which were actually the verses of each song. The bassist had a fireworks show of dookie dreads sprouting from his head and played a pink battle ax of a bass that was being augmented by a plethora of pedals that I could never understand. This band was magical and had the entire bar packed from door to stage, but Marta and I had manage to wiggle our way to the very front. The duo changed outfits halfway through the show-this is to say that they switched out of pink felt tracksuits that were as tight as possible, into even tinier pink booty shorts and chest hair baring shirts. Not only did these guys rock, but they were very funny and entertained the crowd in between songs as well as during them.

I could not load a video because it was too big :(

El 20%

With a small margin of error, I can safely say that twenty percent of the time that I arrive at I.E.S. La Laboral, at least one of my classes is canceled. I can also say that about two percent of the time that one of these classes is canceled, someone calls me to tell me. This results in something like an eighteen percent chance that I will come to school with a minimum of one class being canceled. I also hold the bantom weight class belt for ¨Most Wacky Schedule Ever¨, and will often have days where I only have one class. With that being said, I find myself coming to school every once in a while only to find that I should have taken my chances and remained in my bed.

Today is the last day of classes before the Christmas break, and it happened to be one of these no-call-no-class days. While I might have been a bit tiffy any other day about this unfortunate news, today my bad mood was set to balance quickly as a random Spanish teacher, or admistrator, with glasses and thin grey hair pulled back into a gnarly pony tail popped out of a door I had never noticed and demanded that I enter. Waiting inside for me was a selection of boxes of wine. When I say boxes of wine I do not mean Franzia, or Gato Negro contained in a plastic bladder inside of a cardboard box, but rather an ornately decorated cardboard box with three bottles of assorted wine made by the students and professors here at the school. To me, this is class. I now hoist a box around school containing a white Tempranillo, red Joven Maceración Carbónica (whatever the hell that means), and one other that I can not see as it is in between the other two and covered by cardboard. In thirty minutes I will sit with my box of wine and have lunch with all of the professors in the school.

These same professors surprised me yesterday with a Christmas gift from Zara, the fashionable Spanish clothing store known worldwide. The fleece-lined knit hoodie is perfect for the frigid weather and definitely has quite a bit of style. It has a double lined hood so as to keep from getting as wet when it rains, and is actually really heavy. It is the perfect gift for the weather, and I was really quite moved by their generous action. I assume that they wanted to get me something warm since they are always saying that I am not wearing enought clothes and that Spain is going to wreck my world if I don´t get real.

Last night I saw the movie Avatar in 3-d with Marta and was surprised at how beautiful this movie was. It was like some kind of lucid acid trip that was being dubbed in Spanish, which possibly made it that much more of a mind bender. While I am really put off by everything being dubbed here, and the Spanish people´s stubborn refusal to attempt other languages, this movie was beautiful and visually captivating enough to push aside my hate for dubbed voices. The sad thing was that I understood the alien people in the movie better, because they did not speak ¨Spanish¨very well as it was their second tongue. This made me feel a little bit dumb, but complacent as alien voices dubbed alien voices for aliens on foreign planet in a foreign movie theatre. ¿What? This movie theatre/shopping complex was a massive behemoth of plutocracy just a few miles outside of the city. Being quite late in the evening and very empty, the capitalistic compound was immensely surreal as there were Christmas decorations, lights, and music playing, but hardly a soul to be seen in this airplane hangar of a bulding. Marta let me drive us home and was terrified and telling me where to turn at every road. Typical, but deserving as I am sure that I seem untrustworthy with the car of someone´s parents.
It´s about to be a celebration bitches.

It's not always sunny in Logroño

The north of Spain boasts many beaches, wineries, beautiful mountains and valleys, but what the people tend to boast in Rioja when they see us "white people" is how cold it gets. Typically after exclaiming that it is cold out, someone will reply that this isn't cold, and that everyone outside of Spain thinks that it is supposed to be warm all the time. I have seen such pride in a completely uncontrollable quotient such as the weather before. In fact, I even represent and defend myself when approached by these haughty Spaniards, by telling them that I lived in the mountains of North Carolina, and know how to prepare myself for and endure the cold. I am still waiting for the jamón, chorizo, queso and wine to give me the nice insulation in the belly that I will need to survive in this impressively cold climate.

That of course leads into another typical conversation I find myself in with my professors. This is quite international, but I like to call it my own here in Spain because it deals with kilograms instead of pounds. I want to gain some weight, right? All the teachers tell me is that in a few years, I will indeed gain this weight, whether or not I want it to mount on my frame. This is undoubtedly true, but I guess I want to get some muscle to really keep me warm and fit. Presumably this tuna salad sandwich and entire can of green peas I just ate before I go swimming will help in this process?

You's a window shopper

ultimate walk-of-shame-ware
Walking up and down the streets of Spain each day, I have taken note of the countless stores that fill each block. Above all, clothing and shoe stores tend to outnumber the others greatly and, without fail, there are always people halting in their tracks to ogle at the goods. I find that I too do this from time to time, but only for shoes. The Spanish just seem to be infatuated with buying things, or at least talking without cease about buying them. With my beliefs at bay, I can safely state that Spain is at par with The United States' capitalist views, healthcare aside, and that they are stir crazy about purchasing STUFF.

*By the way it just started snowing heavily outside. this is my first snow in spain. How I will enjoy these first few days of snow, and more than likely become quickly quite upset with just how frigid the peninsula will become. It is in fact equally at the same parallel as Pennsylvania.

el puente

December 6, 1978. A day to be remembered, and definitely is remembered as well as celebrated here in Spain. On this day the new constitution was signed, and Spain officially became a democracy. This was, of course, shortly following the death of the dictator Francisco Franco who had turned the country on itself and made itself weak. This holiday is known as "El Puente", or "The Bridge", from old Spain to new Spain and results in 2 days off of school and work for the country of Spain.

For MY puente I took quite a half-baked plan of visiting Barcelona and made it a reality with my friend Alex from Boston. We got bus tickets and decided we would figure it out when we got there. I attempted to book a hostel, but these ignorant bastards would not answer their phone neither when I called from Logrono nor while in Barcelona. This resulted in much walking about the city to find what was apparently the sister hostel of the ignorant ones who had either changed their phone, or just refused to answer it. Alex and I had a brief run in with 2 other girls from our program who took the same bus as us to Barcelona. Rowyna and Sarah, whom we did not see outside of the bus because they hate our guts, or because I just simply don't use my phone enough.

The hostel was a monster of a place, with 7 floors, a bar and cool art on the walls of each floor. However, it was a bit capitalist as you had to pay for most everything there, and pushed it's facilities and bar on the people rather than allowing people to communally congregate for drinks and such. This seemed to irk some of the people, and I understood it, but after waking up in a confused panic to reserve myself another nights' stay after a long night before, I just reserved the rest of my nights there. Starting things off nice, we were greeted in our room of 12 by a large group of American students playing some drinking games (illegally according to the rules of the hostel) and stuck together all night. This cute young group of Spanish girls convinced us to buy passes to a club from them as they were cheaper from them than at the door, and the cause was to help them have their graduation trip. Safe, as my friend Ed would say.

I spent the second day in the Catalunian city ambling about Las Ramblas and went to the large fresh food market known as La Boqueria. Anything and everything you can imagine is sold here in vast quantity as you squeeze in and out of shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Next was a cathedral that has some similar spires to those of the Sagrada Familia. The beach followed, and amazingly enough the weather was magnificent for December. I found Alex, who had been on the beach for a long while, took my shirt off (it was indeed that warm) and relaxed. We watched these two dogs fight over a frisbee forever which was absolutely hilarious and at least 15 other people within a 40 meter radius were watching a laughing as well. We had a quite another long night after going to a Franz Ferdinand concert. Running into a group of randoms, I found a girl from North Carolina, Durham to be exact, and the rest from other states, Australia and England. They were pretty wild and we walked in circles for hours trying to find a party.

I saw the Sagrada Familia Cathedral the next day, and the Gaudi parks before Alex and I found our way to the bus station to catch the Logrono bus. The 6 hour ride back went by reasonably quick, and ultimately it felt great to be back in Logrono again. Barcelona is so big and full of energy, and I enjoy this, but I truly enjoy the simplicity of Logrono and knowing where I like to go. I also find it much more fun to visit a place where I have someone to take me in and show me around. Barcelona is beautiful, the weather was nicely out of season, and the fiesta was ever present, but comfort is something that I have learned to appreciate.

How not to start, but positively finish a day. 3rd person omniscient

He had just woken up with a hazy hangover, or rather lack of sleep, or rather both joining forces to smite him back down to his pillow. He'd prepared a nice breakfast to get back on his feet... things were going well... until he decided to mistake the salt for sugar, dump it in his coffee and proceed to take a huge tug of his nicely salted espresso. This is one of the worst tastes and/or surprises that can follow said beginning of a day to date. He then foolishly tried to handle the steaming hot press with his hands to make another espresso and efficiently burned himself while cursing the moon, gods, and most of all, the salt container.

Off to school to educate the young masses about his beloved homeland and the silly images that it portrays around the world. The quick and painless bus ride was made better with the reparation espresso, even though it had singed his fingertips. But alas the coffee did not last. The caffeine ceased to course through his thin veins almost immediately after his first class. Knowing that a nap was necessary after school to make up for his lost hours of sleep, the hapless young guiri staved off a piercing desire to have another coffee. A menacing cafeteria lady tried his patience by refusing to listen to him say a very simple Spanish word that he says every day to her.

"Me cobras por una bocatta"

"QUE?"

"ME COBRAS POR UNA BOCATTA"

"QUE??"

"BOCATTA! UNA!"

He eases himself out of this by joking with some P.E. teachers as they feel his sentiment, and teach him how to say something vulgar but acceptable when someone is being stubborn to you. Translating to something like, "I will crap in your molars".

Classes finish.

He races to the bus. He decided to open his briefcase to check some papers, and his bus takes an alternate route for no reason which forces him to make it stop immediately as he needs to go to the immigrants office for his identification card. After a long day with no energy and little sleep to form this painful series of events, he rushes to the bus door and his OPEN briefcase spills all of his important papers all over the street. "Wonderful," he thinks as Spaniards old and young scurry about to help him gather his papers. Something makes his eye shine as human nature apparently has a good side, and can help turn this day around.

He gets his foreign ID. Takes a nap, and finishes the day off with class by attending a band practice, helping write lyrics for his Spanish friends' band, and waltzing off into the night with good people, and positive energy.

more navedad para extranjeros

I had the most hilarious conversation last night with some friends. My buddy Alex lives with a German girl, and they both came over last night for drinks. After laughing hysterically on the internet at Spanish people modeling for some pageant, we started talking about the holiday to come. Since we have Monday and Tuesday off many of us are deciding to take weekend trips. After a brief chat about half-baked plans, we realized that we did not understand the reason for the holiday we are being granted. It's got something to do with the wise men setting out to go find baby Jesus or something, but really we don't know.

Chris began to bombard Tamara with questions about her "Santa Claus" and what he did, how they got their presents, etc. Hilarity ensued, or at least it did for me and Chris. For Germans, Santa is "Kris Kringle", and he has wings, flies into your house (no specific entry) and leaves you presents. If you are bad, you don't get presents. There is also some other guy that comes pretty soon and gives presents. He's called the "veiness mahn" or something like that. None of it seemed to make sense. Then I learned that the dutch or something have Santa, but that 6 to 8 black men drive his sleigh... No one knows apparently whether it is 6, or 8, or really how many, and I believe that no one at all thinks that they might be depicted as slaves either... Apparently if you are a bad kid, the black men beat you up.

what. the. hell.

Navedad para extranjeros

thanksgiving done right... in Spain
I don't quite know what it was that made me buy a one-way ticket to Italy for December the 30th, but this is a done deal. Definitely no turning back now. My Italian roommate told me to give him a call when I was there, and to stop by his house for dinner and drinks. I will be flying into Milan because it was cheaper there. I have no plans from there on. My friends Mary and Collin from Oviedo sparked the idea, and I jumped on the train as fast as a middle schooler starts wearing Jncos, or perhaps Lee Pipes. That is, if you were cool like my sister (not cool).

My friend Sonia in Madrid will be celebrating a birthday and since I fly out of the capital, I plan to arrive early to do it up real big in Spain before dippin' out to pasta town. I plan to travel for about 2 weeks, and will go where the wind takes me. If I happen to step out of Italy for a bit, so be it.

I had a second Thanksgiving. Some friends around the block began to whet my appetite by using our oven to make a pumpkin pie, and then invited me to their Thanksgiving party. This party beat the piss out of the party at my apartment, and was seriously legit. There was an entire turkey, dressing, deviled eggs, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes and last, but not least, green beans. The crowd was mixed, but was heavily outweighed by middle-aged Spanish teachers, which was awesome. They were all funny and quirky, drinkers and smokers, and interesting to talk to. At around 12 am the neighbors began banging on every surface they could find to get us to shut up, but we were relentless. The majority of apartments here have paper-thin walls and the majority of the people renting this majority are old people, so they enjoy banging on walls like crazy people between the hours of 12 and 6 am if you happen to be enjoying yourself at a reasonably loud volume. Ridic.

Thanksgiving round 2 rocked.

era una fiesta entre indios y conquistadores

white people from different countries
biscuit haters
I have now experienced my first Thanksgiving outside of the United States. My roommate planned a dinner via internetz and our house was the chosen location. I will change my text throughout this lecture and if you don't like it too bad, I want to see what they all look like... Ok. So the dinner itself wasn't anything close to what I am used to. There was no massive turkey. There was no massive ham. There were no biscuits, and there was no gravy. Stuffing? Nope. Webdings!!!!, <---(Ok no more Webdings) Apparently spiders are exclamation points.we b d i n g s ! ! ! ! So I missed the tasty home cooking that I am accustomed to, but nonetheless the party was great. I got honey baked ham cut into fat slices and crammed the ham into tasty croissants. My roommate made mashed potatoes. My other roommate bought cookies and then left. Some Spanish girls brought tortilla, and some kind of sweet doughballs. The rest of the dinner was comprised mainly of desserts as follows: Apple crumble and apple pie, mars bars or something like that which was really tasty, and of course you cant leave out the 3 plates of cheeses and meats that were amazing. Once again my house was a breeding ground for confusion between languages as Germans, Italians, Spanish, English and Americans alike carried on through the night and fueling themselves with wine and cheese.

Trebuchet! I am now launching words with what I think is a French word for a catapult, but as a text. I tought my classes about Thanksgiving, and they really didn't know anything about it. Something that really got my goat was the fact that the British have taught the Spanish that biscuits are cookies, and this is just wrong. I then showed them delicious looking biscuits with chicken and jelly and whatever else one likes to put on an "American biscuit". I definitely missed my home, friends, and family this week. I wish I could have been back home with everyone to get huge and fall asleep while watching football. But alas I found a way to have a good time here. Tonight I am going to a second T-day party, and this is being thrown by a bunch of girls so it is going to be proper. I am excited. They will have pumpkin pie, turkey, deviled eggs.

Ohhh it will be glorious.

casi cuarto siglo

After starting a 3-round bout with a Spanish strain virus that went for the throat, I received a few days off from school, and took it upon myself to make massive batches of vegetable soup. I definitely wallowed in the doldrums for a few days, but more or less was a boss and wrecked the virus with the help of my "smooth, few bacteria killing antibiotics". Accompanied by my industrial-size bottle of Advil, borrowed movies and thermometers, and the beloved interwebz, I kicked the wannabe flu virus in a few days with time to spare preparing for guests.

My friend Carly from Appalachian State currently lives in Bilbao working under the exact program that I do. She brought two of her friends along for a weekend trip here to my beloved Logrono, and I was just in shape to keep up with the party girls from out of town. I made sure the pad was clean, and made more of the delicious soup; formed from chicken broth, potatoes, onions, mushrooms and carrots. It was just ready and steaming hot when I picked the girls up from the bus station. We settled in to converse about the Basque country, our program and origins. Tammy is from L.A., Ashley is from Wisconsin, and of course Carly from the wonderful state of North Carolina.

I took them out to Calle Laurel for pinchos and drinks, which turned into a late night at the bars. Ashley began talking to a random Frenchman who seemed like any other partier in Logrono, but was actually a smooth-talking public relations guide at a vineyard. I was in no shape to tell any difference and wasn't talking to him, but sure enough he came and picked us up the next morning at 10:30am for a free tour at the vineyard (Bodega). That was a bit painful, but the tour at Palacios Bodegas was absolutely legit, with a wine tasting and extensive history. The girls bought me a bottle of the Reserva 2003, and then we scaled a steep path to the beautiful pueblo of La Guardia. This town was a precious village on top of a mountain and kept within large stone walls. From a terrace on the edge of La Guardia there was a view of La Rioja that was amazing, and clouds of jittery birds were morphing in and out of ever-changing cloud like shapes in front of the wonderful scenery.

The tour and cold weather were tiring, and we had a long night ahead of us so, extensive naps took place before the fiesta. Around 9pm we kicked things off with chorizo, jamon serano, cheese, pizzas, bread and wine. People came and the wine count doubled. More people showed up and 6 countries were represented. I had happy birthday song to me in each of these country's mother tongues. It was amazing and I could not have asked for anything else. My house was full many interesting people and each corner hosted a different language. Marta made me a really cool painting, I got alcohol, food, and most importantly, the company of my friends.

Time to wind back down.

seguro

<------possibly some of the ones who got me sick

I went to the doctor yesterday.

Building number 21.

As I walk down the street, I pass 19, and find 23. I trace back again to 19, and proceed again to 23. No 21. But in 21's hypothetical presence is a cavernous opening of a building with no lights or signs, and electric wires hanging out everywhere. In their stead are painters smoking cigarettes and talking to each other while not looking at what they were painting. I ask them if this could possibly be building 21, and surely enough they made it seem as though I should have known that.

This is not usually a good way to walk into a doctors' office, or building at that. So I am sick, just woke up, and am feeling confused enough as it is. Then I get the pleasure of a doctor who looks like a used car salesman and talks like one too. I couldn't hear very well and asked him to repeat himself many times after he quickly mumbled things at me. These things consisted of the antibiotics he was prescribing me that apparently were light and smooth and didn't kill very much bacteria as I gathered. I told him I normally didn't take antibiotics and he said something like well I'll just throw your medical card away. I don't know if thats what he said, or if it was a joke, but I just wanted him to be quiet because I was obviously not terribly ill. I told him I'd take them and call him if I got worse. Now I am on amoxicilina and advil. It makes me feel kind of silly. At least I can enjoy that if not go out on the town.

It seems that If I DO get sick, its these little 3 day virus/bacterial things and nothing serious.

At least I don't have Gripe A.

llama la cruz roja. necesito un transfusion

I have watched countless programs on all sorts of random crap in my day. Discovery channel was definitely my visual home away from home, and especially when I wasn't feeling well. Why not get educated without trying and being outside of school at that. It's always so easy to stay glued to some Brittish narrators voice, who delicately tip-toes over the words written for him on some highly edited scientists' lab reports.

The only downside to this is that I am sick now, and constantly have slideshows of computer animated viruses attacking polygonal representations of the inside of someone's throat. Chunks of skin and tissues destroyed by the T's T cells are giving way as I dive further and further towards being another Gripe A victim, (gripe a is swine flu here in spain). I stayed in bed today for 6 hours in all of my clothes and awoke to a headache easily comparable to some form of traumatic blow to my cranium by a large animal, or blunt object. When I cough it feels like each of my bronchioles are self destructing bulbs of glass. When I move I feel like someone is combing my body with a hot knife, and the best part yet is that it is Sunday and everyone is closed. Bollocks.

I hope this lasts me my typical 3 days maximum because I need to make that money. Maybe someone will help take care of me...

in cars

I drove a car in Spain two days ago. For some reason, after I called shotgun and then played a joke calling driver when a fellow teacher said they'd give me a ride home, the teacher asked me if I wanted to drive. I was thrilled and took the wheel of some random overseas Nissan model and... big ball breaker here... drove 40 kmh, which is quite slow. It was like being in driver's ed. She kept telling me the speed limit and appeared to desire her own set of breaks and gas and steering wheel on her side. But it was all gravy. I enjoyed it.

I also enjoyed a nice art exhibition with one installation the other night. An ornate display of delicately hung ceramic fragments formed a sphere with a white light bulb in the center. The effect of the inner light projected shadows of the hundreds of ceramic shrapnel all over the walls. With the possibility of walking through the sphere, it made serendipitous wind chyme noises that were accompanied by ambient background music. Above is a picture of this.

Now my Italian roomate Matia is making me dinner. Ciao.

bua

After this weekend I was definitely hit a bit hard by the quick change in weather, solid day of rain, going out every night, and overall not taking great care of myself. I went home a bit early from school one day this week as I did not feel well. This definitely annihilated my sleep cycle as I managed to sleep all afternoon, and clearly then not sleeping at all at night.

Editing this, i managed to kick that cold, and buck it up. Everyone around me seems to be plagued with some sort of awful pulmonary infection. I dislike coughing up phlegm, as well as sitting inside for a week without anything to do, and whether or not it was the super vitamin C alka seltzer tablet thing that my roommate gave me or not, I feel better.

I saw some amazing life jazz last night in a bar off off of C. Sagasta with Marta, and called it an early night. Today I will definitely be enjoying the payoff I got for this month's work and get something to warm my room, or body. But not until I make it rain with this cash money I be totin'.

o bitter victory!

Wow.

Where to begin? (this is a long one, i've not written for some time)

This weekend I took my first trip out of Logrono and headed towards Asturias to see my friends Collin and Mary. I loaded my new camping pack with my costume, a pillow, socks and underwear. Oh and absolutely zero other necessary clothes that I should have brought. Typical. The ride was 6 hours from Logrono to Oviedo, and I had the luck of sitting next to a young Italian girl who had the misfortune of beginning HER trip in Barcelona. This means she had a 12 hour bus ride, and was more than happy to sit next to a peppy young lad who wanted to speak in Spanish to her. This made the trip much more interesting and fun, for sure.

The bus's first stop was in Burgos, about 2 hours from Logrono, and it had an indoor station packed with buses and hosted a phalanx of spanish men with clipboards who would yell at the bus drivers about where to park. Outside of this station, I saw little of Burgos, but it had a beautiful cathedral, and after looking at the map, I believed there to be a castle somewhere in the city. It also had a nice river lined trees boasting beautiful autumn leaves which reminded me of lying in the back of my dad's truck driving past Reynolda Gardens, and seeing all of the wonderful colors pass above me.

But this was only a few minutes time, for we had a long trip ahead.

I wish that the ride has been during the day, but I left at about 3:30pm, and by the time we had gotten into Asturias, it was dark. I found Asturias to be absolutely beautiful, and rainy. The television in the bus had a map of Spain showing our route, and would cycle through enhanced views of the highway we were taking and our current speed, etc. This drove me and especially the Italian girl (Diana) insane after hours of seeing our slow progress. More or less, we had a good time.

I got the best greeting of all time once in Oviedo. Collin walked to meet with me at the bus stop, and we walked back to his apartment, where his roomate (Sarah) from Boston, had prepared seasoned chicken, mashed potatoes, spinach, bread and drinks. I was in heaven. We all embraced, and I got the tour of their cozy apartment before dining. After letting our stomachs settle a bit, Mary and Collin took me to a bar called Mater Asturias, which was ridiculous. You walk in, and buy a little credit card (I bought one for 5euros which was 13 drinks), and the bar is full of these huge green snakes that guard a little glass holder inside of a 3 sided plastic box. You swipe your card in a machine next to the snake, after placing the glass you are given onto the tilted glass holder, and cidera (alcoholic cider) sprays out of this snakes mouth directly into your glass. The plastic box is there as a splash guard. Genious. The stuff is kind of bitter, and doesnt seem too strong, but try drinking 13 cups of it. wow. Each time you swipe the card, it tells you how much you have left too. INgenious.

After Mater Asturias I was shepherded to plaza del sol. This is essentially where all of the young kids in Oviedo go to drink and hang out and be loud and throw everything on the ground. You can get a "tocha" here, which is like a 24(deuce cuatro) of mahou beer, for 2euros. This one bar is the only place in the city where you can get them, and they look cool for some reason? After this noisy arena we went to some place called freaky, or loki, i don't remember, but at one of the places they had these neat drinks called torres, which you and a partner drink out of a straw. I began dancing sometime around then. With my eyes closed as usual. Collin and I walked forever back to his house arms around shoulders talking loudly in Englsh. It was a wonderful first night.

To kick off our Saturday morning, Mary, Collin, Sarah, and me went to Gijon: a small coastal city with a nice beach, harbour, and good seafood. We dined on croquetas, calimari, and ensalada mixta on the harbour. The bus ride there was about 20 minutes, and we happened to catch each bus RIGHT as it was getting there. It was a bit chilly on the water, and our stay was short, but it was nice to see the ocean again. The funniest thing that happened was when a kid from the table next to us abruptly left his table, walked next to Mary, and proceeded to cough directly into her face, and then get bitched out my his mom as she promptly apologized to us saying "such shame, such shame!"

Ah, Halloween. How wonderful you were. I hate/love to boast, but my costume was a friggin hit, and I had a blast in it. I dressed as an old Spanish man. This requires one to put talcum powder in your hair, wear an old cabby hat, sport a cane, a button up shirt, with a sweater tied over the top of it, and to top things off, stuffing a pillow in your shirt. I had a wicked fat belly that hung over my waist, and I looked absolutely absurd. I almost fail to mention that I had a newspaper tucked in my back pocket, and a bota (Spanish wine sack) full to the brim with a bottle of Riojan wine. It was perfect. We went to a girl named Kelly's apartment and had dinner, drinks, and a good assortment of costumes. We galavanted out into the night, and I managed to stain everything I was wearing with red wine, DJ in a bar we went in, smoke all of the cigarettes in the world, and pretty much party as hard as I could with a bunch of people I had just met. It was brilliant.

As if 2 towns and hardcore partying wasn't enough, me and the group went to Leon the following day for a bit of an lighter time. Jackson met us there, and he met all of my new friends before we headed out on the town. Leon is known for its tapas, and essentially if you order anything to drink, which is cheap, you get free food with it. We tried coquetas, pizza, salchicha, homemade potato chips, and many more while having small portioned glasses of wine. Our residence was a huge building full of students and travelers alike that costed barely nothing, but offered a stuffy room full of people that smelled like my old sweaty lacrosse pads. We woke up early to see some of the city, and after seeing the cathedral and some statues, we parted ways. It had been a wonderful time and I was sad to leave my friends, but the 4 hour ride back home had to happen. So Jack and I boarded out bus, and made it back to Ltown, where we have taken the past couple of days easy, and are preparing for another weekend of stories.

I will miss Oviedo

italian spaniards

BTW ^ THIS, is what comes up when you search cornucopia

I had lunch this afternoon at the house of one of my fellow teachers. Her name is Monica, and she is, in fact, not Spanish. From the small Northern village of Trento (? thats how I spelled it in my head), which is on the border of Austria and hosts two national languages (German and Italian), this wonderful mother of two cooked a fabulous dish of spaghetti a la carbonara. It was amazing.

To start of, we had salchichon(pig in a delicious salty form) and bread. Now I don't want to forget to mention that we uncorked a bottle of her husbands' home-made wine, which was created from a nearly extinct super old grape called Maturana. It was bottled in 2005; and had the nose of reduction and oak barrel, the taste of fruits, acid, and a smoky flavor, and the color of mature cherries. It was something I had never before tried.

After the hearty pasty dish I was offered cheeses, and chose a smooth, almost sweet "queso de cabra", or goat cheese which was covered in a paprika coating for conservation. After the cheese and much talk about a the cultural aspects of catholicism, I was offered cookies and coffee. Spain really is just awful, let me tell you. Full as could be, and ready for a nap, Monica took me home, and I will energize for the weekend with this pre-heated idea of a nap made real. joooodeerrrr. what will happen tonight?

ps. in 7 days, I will have a new roomate, who is italian and studies photography. super chulo.

The good the bad and the ugly (not eduardos)

I had my first taste of the ugly side of students at school. It really wasn’t all that horrible, but I must say that I must have been pampered with better students in the rest of my classes. The disdain with which I held for one of my classes today was quite heavy. I wanted to stomp them and wipe them off at the doorstop. These classes were the “compensatoria” classes. This means that they are repeats, and are normally mixed bunch of slow learning kids from “barrios bajos”, or better put for my English readers, lower class neighborhoods. While it might be true that these miscreants do not understand or speak English, I begin by telling them that I will slow down, or repeat myself if they need. This device of classroom assistance functions comparatively as well as an infant would while fighting Mike Tyson.

Instead of asking me to repeat myself or slow down, the majority of students turn to their friends and laugh saying in Spanish that they don’t understand what I am saying. They don’t try, they don’t care, and they don’t know anything. I eventually told them that I could stop if they did not want to listen to me anymore, and that I had come a long way to help at their school. The teacher was not doing an adequate job of controlling them, and instead of yelling at them in Spanish tried to use English. Whether they understood her or not did not matter. She needed to use her harsh Spanish tongue to really make them feel bad. I did a good job of this by letting them know I was not happy with them, and by the end was very glad to be done. Two nice girls in the front listened and answered. I wanted to shake their hands.

On a lighter note, I went running today around Logroño today in the dreary drizzle, got my first international bank card, and had a nice dinner with 2 friends. Good stress reliever. BTW, Spanish women are quite beautiful and funny, especially if you can understand them.

La Musa

I have found funk to be one of the greatest genres ever. This is not to be confused with some newfound thought manifesting itself for the first time in my mind, but rather a recent realization. Compared to bad Spanish house music, or perhaps bad Spanish pop/rock, I can easily say that James Brown, or even newer affiliates such as Jamiroquai head to the top of T’s charts much quicker. A bar close by called La Musa hosts funk every night, as far as I am concerned, and offers a small dance floor filled with older Spaniards who languidly thrash their bodies about and phonetically mouth words to songs that they do not understand. The funniest part about this bars’ two floors of entertainment exists on its second floor. Downstairs is good music and a mixed crowd, whereas the second floor is home to flashing lights and awful techno which fuels the gay bar that it really is. I normally go with my friend Chris, from Chicago, and other hand-picked folks from around Logrono. Some good photos should come up soon of our unparalleled dance moves.

Aside from L-town business, I have decided to go to Oviedo next weekend to see my friends Collin and Mary. There are apparently some city-wide parties or celebrations that weekend, and friends make the whole trip worthwhile nonetheless. I am very excited to get out of Logrono on my first weekend trip, and am leaning towards San Sebastian on the following weekend. I hope to indulge in some of the Spanish beaches before it is far too cold to attempt any form of beach trip.

The weather has already turned here, and the once green verdant leaves on the trees outside my balcony are already wilting and losing their ability to keep up with the temperature. A scarf and sweater are currently necessary. I can’t wait to see snow for the first time in Spain

filthy brittish friends

Reward : A meal cooked by me, WITH Texas Pete, and a Mahou

Eduardo Thompson shall be on the wanted list until I receive my Texas Pete!

It is being held hostage by him in Madrid, near plaza del sol. If you see a wiry pale British chap with an armful of outerspace math and physics books, and a blue popeye shirt, or green messed up shoes, shove him to the ground and demand that the Texas Pete be returned to its rightful owner.

Hablando por los codos

So far, I’ve found that my teaching position is altogether in itself quite a strange experience. There is supposed to be another girl at the school, but she is having problems with her passport, and won’t be here for a few more weeks. This results in a game of hot potato at el instutito La laboral. I am that hot potato, and the teachers are passing me around like mononucleosis… sans interchange of saliva.

I walk briskly, but outrageously confused from classroom to classroom. With my laptop case and nifty memory stick, which has a master class powerpoint in its tightly packed electrical circuitry, I enter the class and am ogled like some piece of meat by 17 year old girls. Just kidding, that doesn’t really happen. Presenting brilliant word art from Microsoft Office, I stun the classes each time with the number of states in America. I ask them to guess how many states there are, while a picture of the country is up, and receive wonderful guestimates as 38, 27, and 55. To follow up I give them a picture of North Carolina, and ask that they guess how many counties there are (just to keep the whole math and language thing going). The three regions of my beautiful state are displayed with 2 large clouds for the mountains and coast, and a big happy face for the piedmont. Efficiently giving the smiley face a googly eye by putting a circle around Forsyth County, I usually get a laugh from the crowd. I show pictures of each region, and of course of Winston-Salem. “Now, who likes to go skiing” – queue Sugar Ski Mountain. “So who here likes the beach?” – queue Emerald Isle and the Outer Banks.

The difference in classes that I am placed in is quite diverse. Bachiller 1, 2, secretariano (people studying to get jobs as paper pushers I guess) The range of ages goes from 17-20somethings. Spanish students are quite shy, and are ashamed to speak another language in front of their classmates. I try to comfort them by telling them by saying, look where I am, and I wasn’t afraid to talk (god knows, we all know that) Next week, I will be taking on more hours. I have already been approached to give private classes. Logrono is really starting to warm up to me, and I to it. Monday is el festival de Pilar. This place will be locked down, no school, all party, get ready to get wild Logrono.

bologna bocadillos

Walking from Logroño to La Laboral sucks. Big time. I found out the hard way tonight that the buses in Logroño stop running at MOTHER FUCKING 10:30 at night. Now; if I had found an apartment by now this would not have been a problem, however, this is not the case. I just walked from the center of L-town all the way here, and it was a solid hour + walk. I even attempted to hitch a ride with my wonderful genetically prone hitching thumb. This yielded no gain. A woman slowed down once, and put her blinker on. That was a total tease, and as I ran towards her car, I realized that she was only pulling into her gated house.

I had left my memory card in the computer, so, no photos. My Ipod was in my room, so, no music. My water bottle was empty and I was quite thirsty. *Some guy is blowing the shit out of his nose in a bathroom somewhere near me, and definitely not into a tissue. Anyways: the whole time that I am walking back I am thinking, “Well Thomas you’ve gotten this far, but what if the school is locked?” Well, it was. I had to jump the gate to get in. Thinking past this, long before I arrived, I thought “What if the residence is locked and your key does not open the main doors?” Well, that was not the case, thank God. I eased in the door to unload my stress on the security guard, who thought it was funny and of course said “no te preocupes” (don’t worry about it). After putting my key incorrectly in a few wrong doors in the dark, no doubt scaring a couple of sleeping students, I flopped down for this wonderful session.

Now I sit, staring at this delicious bologna bocadillo that has been sitting in my room for some 8 hours, deciding whether or not I want to eat it.

Great

(btw this was not even late, and I had not been drinking)

Freshly Planted

Logroño is my new home.

The convention at the hotel was long, and quite boring, but some of the speakers offered good humor, information and insight. After a few workshops where random Spanish people talked at us about various aspects of teaching-all of the different nationalities had their own meeting. Ours was run by a tall woman with superduper shoulder pads who was HILLARIOUS. She went over not getting arrested and who to contact if things went wrong whilst dropping familiar social humor and brief anecdotes of prior trouble makers.

With free lodging, food and a great way to meet people, the hotel proved to be quite a good time. The last night in the hotel was a relaxed evening. Collin and Mary (new friends) came to my room for wine on the balcony and we told stories about wild times in the states throughout the night. They will be living in Oveado, which is approximately 3-4 hours away by bus, and I will be going with them to Amsterdam sometime in November hopefully.

After the reunions at the Hotel Convención ( a four star hotel in Madrid ) all of the Americans, Germans, Austrians, Aussies, Brits, Canadians, Italians and I am sure I left out a country or two, regardless, all headed to our respective regions. My bus ride was a quick 4 hours where I met some other Riojan bound teachers from around the world. Traveling is quite possibly the greatest thing ever.

Logroño is not a huge city, rather quite small, but is home to some 150,000 people. It looks like the entire city is nothing but apartments. There are nice parks like El Parque de Ebro- a large park alongside the Ebro river; and El Parque de Carmen-quaintly situated in the middle of the city with plenty of large trees, playgrounds and a gazebo/restaurant/bar. The Casco Viejo is an old and historic part of town with small winding streets lined with bars and pinchos (tapas). It is very fun and cheap to go from bar to bar to snack and have a beverage. The city has good energy, and everyone LOVES to eat.

Tomorrow I will go to my school, La Laboral, for the first time, and temporarily move into the boarding school residence until I find a flat…. Fo freeeee. My teacher Nuria is very nice and likes wine and cigarettes, a lot. I will also be opening a bank account, and getting my N.I.E. (numero de identificación extranjero) or simply put, Green Card. I will be a quazi citizen for the first time in a foreign country. Viva Logroño!

futbol

After a few missed emails, I finally was able to meet up with Reed and his girlfriend Bridgette, but even this was a difficult process as I could not find the cervezaria in which they were eating. After catching up with the two of them, we met up with the Brits by Plaza del Sol, and then went for some tapas up the road. The Sangria was delicious and strong.

Cramming into the metros like sardines, we funneled through the doors and recounted seeing the Japanese officers whose sole job is to shove people into the metro cars there. Exiting the subterranean station at the stadium, we were confronted with thousands of people swarming into the arena. The energy was pulsating and we could hear the crowd already roaring from within.

After a quick beer, and the purchase of a cheap jersey, we headed in and climbed forever to our nosebleed seats. The first half was weak, no goals. The second half was chalk full of three great goals, and Real took the match somewhat easily after they began their roll. The loudest the arena got was, surprisingly enough, when the crowd didn’t like a call that the ref made, and everyone was bickering and shouting. Ed and I thought this was quite funny. Hearing the cheers of these some 80,000 people was amazing, and I am definitely glad that I went.

Esperando

Spanish people have the most ridiculous fashion of giving directions. Maybe it’s just my problem that I take them for granted every time they tell me, sigue sigue sigue, or baja baja baja, and of course una izquierda. Which, of course, leads me to yet another Spaniard who says something along the same lines. Needless to say, I find myself asking where things are constantly, and really having to think outside of this directional box.

It’s a damn shame that the banks close at 2 p.m. because I tend to find it hard to get out before then without my ritual coffee intake and shower. The people changing money near plaza del sol give the worst rates in the world, which only makes the spending of my money flow quicker.

My orientation is set up for this Wednesday, and I can say that I am thoroughly excited about finding out what it is I will be doing, and more importantly to be put up for free in this hotel, and have food as well. I have constantly continued to meet other people in the Cultural Ambassadors program, and they are from all over the states. I managed to meet 2 last night, making a grand total of at least 15 that I have met. I caught a bit of American football last night, and the night before I went to an electronic music festival that was absolutely nuts.

Thousands of people crowded into the Telefónica Arena to listen to some choice performers as Hot Chip, Crystal Fighters, and many more. Sponsored by Jeigermeister and Diesel, there were scantily clad girls walking around giving free shots, and monopoly money intercambio for drinks. Since the Metro doesn’t open until 6, we stayed up til 7. Spanish time is non-existent. And I think my legs are going to be made of steel after a couple more weeks of this walking. Soon enough I will be indulging in the delicious Riojan wines, and settling into an apartment. So excited.

el capital

Spain. How wonderful you are. I have missed you. What are these bottles of wine and stir fry cooked in a hostel kitchen shared with 2 people from foreign countries? You are cheap. You are inventive. You are interactive and delicious. You are accepting of my apparently South American / Mexican accent. You take me to the streets for it. Good enough for the shadows. And your statues, art, jamon y queso. Que rico!

Euopean Union. Pissed are you..? Yes your money flows so freely. And to think that this country is affected by worldwide downtimes is something foreign in itself. Christ I see more people out past 2 A.M. -6A.M. than I do during 10 A.M.-7P.M. 1 Euro for the chap who ashes on those below. Our terraces of power and youth contain all that is necessary for entertainment. But outside it is a world of energy without cease. Atoms split and continuously expand till the Atlantic and Mediterranean can but yield their hydrolytic cache. Madrid is a bomb, continuously exploding over and over again. Fun for now, but decaying quickly.

I must get out and settle into a respectful lifestyle.

Responsibility. Control. Maturity. I have done this, but not to such a grandiose level. Cut the line before it pulls me down. Little weight holds the cord, but pulling it with strong arms I can tow the line. I shall compromise lifestyles of yore and replace them with new ones, hybridized and lacking duplicitous interior motives. Accept and forgive. Forget and learn again.

time travel

Goodbye succelent American indulgence. Goodbye comfort blanket of home and hearth. Goodbye familiar faces and storefronts, chevy S-10 and Phil’s Citgo. Not solemnly, but satisfied I say see ya to all of these things, people and places before I leave them indefinitely.

Leaving quicker than I previously believed possible, I have already met friends. The chances were slim, and the fortune was great as a magnificent “small world” fantasy network wove itself together in the Raleigh Durham airport. A Canadian women told me how to get downtown, I told her I was going to Spain. A girl asked me if she’d heard correctly about Spain. Turns out she was going on the same program as myself. A guy asked both of us if we were indeed going on this program as he too would be embarking for Spain. We were instantly conncected and attached.

I told them of my plan to go into downtown Toronto, and with Alisha and Nate I forged my way into Canada’s largest city. Providing us with one of the bombest cab drivers ever (from Somalia) we had a quick ride into the city, where we started from scratch. The CN tower was in sight, but wildly expensive for a view. The ROM (Royal Ontario Museum) was a metro ride away, and had a wide variety of exhibits that were piddled through with our 6 hour adventure.

Not even realizing that we were out of the country already, we were returned Canadian dollars as change from our American monies. Used our last bit of change and headed back to the airport. Time to sleep on the ground, and have our last North American beers. Tomorrow, a new country, a new currency. Hasta la vista America.

dreams of insomnia

Someone once told me the last thing you think of before falling asleep is realized by your minds' imaginative capabilities in dream form.

Whether this can be preserved as the truth, I don't know. The replicating emotions spawned by memories created by thoughts plague the mind all day until it needs rest.

But what if the boundaries are breached and the emotional floodgates spill into your dreams? What then?

That beautiful woman you saw at the store earlier in the day, was she the woman in your dream? or was she just a face painted over something else that you know all too well? Or are you altogether unsure if it was even a woman in your dream at all? The idea of of someone special, someone loved, depicted by a grotesque yet beautiful warped figure twisting in and out of darkness as your mind spins its deceptively intricate web. A conversation takes place in a second, your eyes twitch beneath their lids, and the figure changes. Gaining wings and an aethereal aura that blinds you. But approaching her yields no gain. The warmth felt from within the wings is not yours to keep, but yours to make.

Once again, your eyes are open. The darkness is gone, and the thoughts are ready to make the memories, which are ready to make the emotions. All over again.

Damnit.

La bicicleta

Mounting a bicycle and cruising around is, hands down, just plain fun. Whether for recreation or just standard transit, the practicality behind this wonderful machine gears for much fun to be had. You can beat these poor bipedals into the ground, and more often than not, they won't let you down.
Sadly, I found out the hard way that the human body, in all its fleshy greatness, is just not made to be thrown about like its two-wheeled friend. Bikes dont slump into a mire of depression after they've broken their collar bones. Nor do they take 6 weeks until they can do things like carry pizzas around some whack corporate restaurant.
Alas. The bike has won. And I will respect it by continuing my prolonged use of this great invention. I hope that upon arriving in Spain I will find a dope apartment that is near everything wonderful. But more importantly, I hope to find a used Spanish road bike to aid me in daily commute. Lets hope that I won't throw myself off this bike.

Ingles. De nuevo. Otra Vez.

Somehow I found my old blog used in college for Spanish contemporary poetry. I must say I have lost touch with my studies and am determined to re-immerse myself in the romance that once drove me to spend my state borrowed money. I only have a few weeks until I return to the Iberian peninsula once again, but time is at a standstill. I cannot wait to rise to a blistering Western sun that knows no rest. I can not believe how long I have stayed sedentary in Winston-Salem. The carefree lifestyle of everyone is something that I want to burn and bury behind me. A terrible realization of Neruda-esque beliefs and visions plague me as I wake and waltz through this enigmatic and unstyled lifestyle. Foreign affairs have made me and broken me in the past half year, and I am just now scrambling to put myself back together - to remake myself. Whether I'll be viewed as different or not is not important fore I need not appear altered, but rather be. Look forward, not behind. Eat the trail of crumbs to further build myself and grow stronger. I will shed my surgeons gloves and don gauntlets. I can not take such a dainty approach to daily matters.
Put the coffee pot on.