Moviéndose hacia adelante, mirando hacia atrás.

It’s 1:15 AM here in Madrid and I can’t sleep. A lot has happened since the last time I sat down in front of a blank screen and tried to record my thoughts, travels, and life here. In fact, I promised myself I would record each of my trips and (as you can tell) I’m a little behind. Like over a month behind if I’m being honest. But I will catch up on that later, explain that later, now I need to process the last several days.

I have intentionally said little to nothing publically about the presidential race. I don’t like drama, I don’t like Facebook fights, and I would like to avoid alienating the people who disagree with me. In general, I hate conflict. I didn’t follow politics closely before this year and still am trying to understand many of the complicated economic issues—I am not an expert. But I am human. And I know where I stand when it comes to human rights.

Which is why I couldn’t vote for our current president-elect.

And it is why I felt like I had been repeatedly kicked in the gut when I heard the news he had been elected.

I sat in front of a silent TV in my living room early that morning watching the coverage, trying not to wake my sleeping roommates. Every part of me hoped that I was mistranslating the Spanish words in front of me, while the tears streamed down my face.  

Let me explain my feelings: I was not being a sore loser. I was not crying because I was sad I was unable celebrate the election of the first female present of the United States of America. I was not upset because I felt like I had lost.

I was afraid. I was hurt. I was sad. I felt betrayed.

It was no longer about politics for me. It was about what Donald Trump has come to represent.

This is not a man who represents the America I know and believe in.

I have no desire to debate policy. At the core Americans all have the same goal—to make our country a “great” place to live. We have been divided by party lines and the overwhelming practicalities of how to do that. Our definitions of “great” differ. Instead, I want you to see what this looks like on the other side of the world.

I didn’t have to go to school that day—Madrid had a city holiday—and I was grateful. I wasn’t ready to face my students while dealing with such raw emotions. I am one of four Americans in the school; my job is to teach them about both my language and culture. In a way I am the “face” of America to them and today I had try to explain to them what we did. I had to try to explain why a man who the rest of the world sees as a sexist, homophobic, Islamophobic bigot became the leader of the free world. This is what they see—hate, fear, discrimination. And for the first time in my life, I was ashamed of my identity as an America.

I tried to emphasize to the young, confused faces in front of me that American elections are complicated. I tried to explain the Electoral College and how despite that fact that Hillary is poised to win the popular vote, Trump will still be president. I tried to tell them that people choose to vote based on a variety of issues—not just the ones that they hear about on the news. I tried to explain that our government has checks and balances that it will (hopefully) prevent anything too drastic from happening. I tried to teach them about things like power and privilege. I still don’t know how much of it they understood. I still don’t know how much of it I understand either.

What I do understand is that my gut-wrenching feeling of shame came from a misalignment of the values I believe Americans hold true and those displayed by our present-elect and his running partner. When Donald Trump makes crude jokes that objectify women; when he talks of building a wall to keep out immigrants because they are rapists; when he says horrible things about Muslims, African Americans, LGBTQ people, or any other minority; he perpetuates inequality and hate. And when we elected him we validated everything he said. By electing Trump and Pence we told the world that saying these things, believing these things, is ok.

And it’s not.

But despite my own emotional reaction to the election, it is time to move forward. Trump won and America, and the world, will deal with the consequences. I have grieved for what I saw as a blow to American ideals, and now it is time to fight for them again. But I choose to do so from a place of love, not hate.

I will not hate you if you voted from Trump.

I will not hate you if you voted for Hillary or any other political candidate.

I will not hate you based on your political opinions, religious beliefs, sexual or gender identity, your immigration status, or the color of your skin.

I might hate you if you don’t like Harry Potter or chocolate. But I have my faults.

I chose to teach because I wanted to help people. I wanted to change the world. I still do, and wherever I am in that world—Spain, America, or some other country entirely—I want my students to know they are inherently valuable people with the power to make the world a better place. I want them to learn acceptance, tolerance, and most of all, to think for themselves.

I think this election will make life harder for so many groups of people. I want to be wrong—desperately so. So please world, prove me wrong. 

Majorca por la fin de semana

Andrea (in yellow) and Sam (plaid)

September really was a month of traveling for me. I arrived back in Madrid and spent just one night in my apartment (the second night I had spent there ever) before heading out for my next adventure: the island of Majorca, Spain. Originally I was invited on this trip by two friends from my Spanish classes, Andrea and Sam. They mentioned that it was a birthday trip for another girl in my class, Jasmine, and that because we were supposed to be in mandatory meetings for work the last week of September it had to be a quick trip. Though we later learned that the meeting was optional (yay for more travel time!), it meant that when most of us booked our tickets, it was only for a few days. Either way, while I was planning, I thought it would be a nice change from solo travel to meet up with a big group for a long weekend before heading back to work.

Sam, Andrea, and all booked the same flights so we met up at the airport early Thursday morning. We were the first to arrive and consequently were in charge of checking into the air b&b that the whole group (which was supposed to be 10 people) had rented. When we arrived mid-morning, the b&b owner wasn't there. After hanging out on the steps of a building we didn't have keys for we found out it was going to be a few hours before he could come let us in. Problematic. Our solution? Go to the beach!

Beach just a five minute walk from our air b&b

You would think after my time in Portugal and Greece I would have been sick of everything that had to do with being near the ocean. In reality, I still loved every minute of it. ¡Me encanta la playa!

We were able to check in a few hours later and get settled. There was one minor miscommunication with our host who seemed to think we owed him a 300 euro deposit in cash that we definitely didn't have, but once we resolved that (by basically ignoring to problem completely) our weekend getaway was ready to begin. More of our group arrived later that evening, and by the next morning all eight of us that ended up coming were there.

Looking out towards the coming storm

Most of our weekend was spent walking the shoreline, laying in the sand, playing in the water, and generally getting to catch up/know each other. Everyone had spent the last two weeks traveling so had stories to share over .98 cent bottles of wine that we picked up at the local supermarket. The workers there must have thought we were crazy by the end of the weekend because people from our group took so many trips to that little shop. And not all of them were for cheap wine! This was the first time any of us had really had a kitchen since moving to Spain so it was a relief (especially for our wallets!) to be able to cook a little for ourselves again. Sam, Andrea, and I made some grilled cheeses with tomatoes and avocado that were absolutely to die for and most everyone got together add did a big spaghetti feed one night.

Elaine's question

One of the days, while walking along the coast, we ended up being part of a public art project. It was called the Question Project and the premise was that you could ask the artists any question you wanted. Then the artists put up some of their favorite questions on a giant sign by the beach. We all wrote down questions and one of the girls in our group had her question chosen. I wanted to know if the artist would be willing to sacrifice the people they love for their work. I didn't get an answer but we did have a fun time talking to the artists while they drank beer and changed the sign.

Another highlight of the weekend was the afternoon that Elaine and I decided that the weather was not warm enough to stay at the beach. Instead of hanging out in the b&b we ventured out towards the city on foot. Though our b&b was in a prime location for spending time at the beach and getting to the airport quickly, it wasn't ideal for the sight seeing that is available on Majorca. The public transportation is not particularly good there and cabs are a bit expensive so we decided to walk the three miles to the first place we wanted to go.

We almost made it before the rain hit. Almost. It started to sprinkle at first but after a few minutes of teasing us, it flat out poured. Now I usually a pretty good at packing--some people even say I'm an over-packer--but I had forgotten a raincoat. Elaine was smarter than me and brought one but even with that we were both getting soaked. We popped first into a souvenir shop (where I paid way too much money for a poncho), but the owner decided to close, for obvious reasons, so we were back out into the mess.

The cobblestone roads were literally running with water at this point. People were hiding under doorway ledges and holding anything they could find over their heads. They must have thought we were nuts as we ran through the puddles in the vague direction of our destination.

Then we spotted it. A tiny, inviting looking bar with wine bottles in the window. We made a strangely dramatic entrance-- soaking wet, flustered, and unsure if we were going to be kicked out for the first two descriptions. The bartender was a bit shocked at our entrance but gestured us towards and table and asked us what we wanted to drink. Ordering was more complicated than in other places in Spain. I have been learning Castilian-- so the Spanish they use in most of Spain that is different than the Spanish used in Mexico-- but the Spanish used on Majorca has a slightly different accent. In addition, the area we were staying also has a high population of German speakers and tourists so many people who live there also speak German. So when the bartender realized that neither Elaine nor I understood his Majorcan accented Spanish, he switched to German. I ordered us each a glass or red wine in German, which would have been fine, but then he though we spoke fluent German, which I definitely do not. But we managed and ended up having a great conversation with the two gentleman at the table next to ours. One of them was a landlord for some inherited property in Italy and had visited over 80 countries! I want his life!

Once the rain subsided Elaine and I finished our wine, promised the bartender a TripAdvisor review, and headed back out. We visited the Palma Cathedra and the Royal Palace of La Almudaina. Though both were very beautiful and interesting, it was almost more fun getting caught in the rain. Our final stop after taking some photos at each spot was a little bakery to taste the famous Ensaimadas, which are a delicious pastry with various fillings inside. 
The last evening on Majorca a small group of us went down to a beach-side restaurant to share a pitcher of sangria and dinner. Even though the weather had been questionable all day, it was still nice to feel a slight ocean breeze as we chatted and ate. Since most of us had 6 AM flights the next day, it seemed like the best way to spend our last few hours on Majorca was with a few card card games and a couple bottles of wine. Though I did manage a quick nap before having to get up for the flight, I was incredibly happy to embrace the Spanish cultural tradition of siesta by the time I got home.

September 22nd-25th, 2016

Poros: Isla paraiso

My last stop in Greece was this island of Paros. At least that is what I thought when I went to get on the ferry. Instead I looked down at my ticket and realized it said Poros. I had booked my hostel on one island and my ferry to an entirely different island. And as you can see, they are nowhere near each other: 

Shaking my head at myself I went online and booked the cheapest room I could find. The irony is that the entire reason I was going to Paros was that I had found a super cheap hostel. Poros is much smaller so there is not a single hostel on the entire island, but I did find a last minute deal. The room was advertised as being small--single bed, forest view, and the bathroom facilities were actually in the bedroom--but I was just happy I was able to find something within my price-range. It was twice the 20 euros that the hostel would have been but for 42 euros for two nights, it could have been a lot worse. The hotel's website advertised it as having a beach right across the road so I figured I could swim and relax on the beach if there was nothing else to do. 

Taking the ferries around Greece was a bit of a disappointment. Even though I tend to get seasick from the combination of rough water and diesel fumes, I really love boats. I like the ocean air, the gentle rocking of the waves, and the beautiful views. Yet my experience of the ferries in Greece was more like a plane or a bus than what traveling by boat is in my mind. The inside cabin is just rows and rows of seats with a small snack shop at the back. Passengers aren't allowed out on the deck and the windows were too foggy for pictures. I did get a decent nap, but I would have liked watch our approach to Poros on the deck instead of suck inside.

Once I made it to shore I walked about 20 minutes to the New Aegli hotel. The sun had already set so I didn't get much of an impression of the island on my way in. In fact all I really wanted at that point was to find my bed and crash for the night. I figured I could see what Poros had to offer in terms of touristic destinations and exploring the next morning. But when I went to check in the woman at the front desk informed me that the room I had gotten such a good deal on was no longer available due to some maintenance issues. I was momentarily worried but she offered me a different room at the same price and handed me the keys.

Upstairs I realized I had somehow lucked out. I had been put in one of the nicest hotel rooms I had ever been in-- huge bed, balcony with a beach view, a Jacuzzi with mood lighting, and enough pillows to satisfy even me. After staying in hostels and a cheep B&B, this was the height of luxury. That night I did what any sensible adult traveler like myself would do: jump on the bed, make a pillow fort, and promise myself a bubble bath the next evening.


My next two days on Poros were exceptionally relaxing but not particularly interesting to write about. I spent my time swimming, walking the beaches, sampling the local cuisine, and reading paperbacks in the sand. The weather was almost entirely perfect so I manged to work on my tan without even burning. There wasn't much in the way of tourist attractions to see there so I didn't feel too guilty. I did rent a bike for a day and ride a few miles down the coast but I only made it a few miles before finding another beautiful beach to take an afternoon nap on. I did stop to take pictures of the ruins of a Russian Naval base and see the famous clock tower, but it would be a stretch to say I did anything cultural that didn't include feta cheese and olive oil.

The one unintended consequence of ending up on Poros was that by the last day there I was feeling a bit isolated. If I were a Sim, my social bar would have been in the red, if I am being honest. When I was staying at hostels it was always easy to meet a fellow solo traveler and chat for a while or go out and get a drink or dinner. That was not really the case on Poros. I was just about the only tourist there under the age of thirty and most people were coupled up. So I rocked the lovers' paradise solo and vowed to do better research the next time I plan a vacation.

View from my hotel room balcony

 Leaving Poros to head back to Athens and my flight home ended up being a bit of a fiasco. I was supposed to catch a ferry at noon but got an email that morning saying it had been delayed until 6 PM because of potentially bad seas. Luckily the hotel was kind enough to let me put my things in a much smaller room (that looked suspiciously like the one I had originally tried to book) for the evening until my ferry arrived. Just a couple hours after I had moved my things I got a phone call saying the new departure time was 8 PM. Then just as I was finishing up dinner I got a call saying that we wouldn't leave until 9:30. Needless to say I was beginning to worry I would be stuck on Poros overnight and risk missing my flight then next day at noon. I was assured over the phone that the ferry would indeed come but when I walked down to the port at 9:30, there was no boat.

Since the port was pretty much just a boardwalk along the shore that boats pulled up to, I was a bit worried I was in the wrong spot and had missed the ferry. Google Maps said I was in the right place but the departure time came and went. The ferry company's booth was worryingly vacant so I started asking the few people milling around if they knew anything about the arrival times. The first person I saw who also was carrying a bag had a little more information. Nordine, a French gentleman who was on Poros for a day trip, told me that he had gotten a call saying that our ferry wouldn't actually leave until 10. Relieved I had not missed the boat (pun intended), I bought myself a snack and spent the next hour and a half exchanging stories with my fellow stranded traveler. When the boat finally arrived we were both cold and ready to get the heck off of that island. I spent my last morning in Greece (the ferry didn't get back to Athens until 3 AM) crashing at his Air B&B for a few hours before a quick breakfast on the way to my airport. As the plane took off and I waved goodbye to Greece, I couldn't help but think that I had a pretty successful trip for someone who left her home that first day without even a place to stay the first night. It may not have been the most organized trip I ever took, and (as my experience on Poros shows) I did have a few hiccups along the way, but ultimately I have no regrets. This was my first time truly traveling solo and I would call it a success.

Poros, Greece

September 18th-21th 2016 

Spétses: The Magus

"...'Greece is like a mirror. It makes you suffer. Then you learn'

'To live alone?'

'To live. With what you are.'"

-- John Fowles, The Magus

I am not sure what I was expecting to find here, in a place where fiction and reality merge in my mind. I fell in love with John Fowles' Spétses, an island where the mythic and the mystic are brought to life on every page. Beautiful scenery haunted by mists of adventure were painted by his words. He created a world where reality was constantly questioned and nearly anything was possible because it was impossible to tell the truth from the lies. His Spétses breathed out uncertainty in hot thick pants that intoxicated all who read on.

The Spétses I spent two lazy days exploring was a tame shadow in comparison. A small touristy town on the edge of the coast makes up the majority of the populated area. Shops lining the streets sell trinkets to passers-by and the occasional restaurant owner stands next to his menu enticing anyone who will listen with descriptions of fresh fish and homemade Greek cooking. Hotels and B&Bs line the waterfront, their signs bragging of beachfront views and comfortable beds. The people travel almost exclusively on "motos," which seems to be the name for the scooters, motercylces, mopeds, and four-wheelers that are available for rent on every third corner. September is the end of the tourist season there so my visit came as most tourists were returning home with new tan lines and a suitcase full of sand.


I stayed at a lovely little hotel in the tiny town and felt spoiled after my time in the hostel in Athens. From there, my explorations of Spétses were done on foot and by bike. Five euros got me two days of tooling around the island on bike trying to find some hint of the monumental literary significance of this place. Yet there was no Magus themed tour in sight and the only indication that anyone had heard of Fowles' famous book was the single copy of it I found in the tiny bookshop which was curiously lacking a salesclerk.

Though Fowles renames the island in his book I could see the inspiration, even without a tour. The narrator describes his island saying, "Phraxos was beautiful, not just pretty, picturesque, charming - it was simply and effortlessly beautiful. It took my breath away when I first saw it, floating like a majestic black whale in an amethyst evening sea." Yet even amid the beauty he sees its fault, "two eyesores, visible long before we landed," which he names as the hotel and the school which exist in both the novel and reality. The hotel, the Poseidonion, towers over the shore near the port, though it is slightly less out of place now that a town has built up around it. The school is no longer visible from the water but must have once broken the feeling of stillness that is the overwhelming feeling the narrator portrays in the novel.

This empty silence was no longer suffocating on the real Spétses, but I could still find it. In my day long bike ride along the twenty five kilometers of road the encircle the island I stopped at nearly deserted beaches that bordered the pine tree forests. It would be easy to imagine that these trees hid ghosts and mysteries like those the narrator encountered, if only one would wander into their depths away from the sunny seaside. Yet the few fellow travelers I had were there to swim and sunbathe, not search for fictional underground bunkers, a mansion full of deceptions, and an answer to the looming question: who am I?

"The most important questions in life can never be answered by anyone except oneself."

--John Fowles, The Magus

I found myself contemplating the same questions the narrator did, even while I partook in the modern reality of the beach getaway town. Sitting in the sand with pen and pad, I scribbled. The sun set in a haze of my own feelings painted across the sky. It was then that I remembered Fowles' departing words. There, in that moment, I wondered how both stories really end.

"cras amet qui numquam amavit quique amavit cras amet"

-- John Fowles, The Magus;

 quoting an anonymous Latin lyric titled The Vigil of Venus 

September 16th-18th 2016

Athens

I have spent so much time in the last month traveling that I have hardly have time to write anything. I have some catching up to do so hang in there.

Greece is one of two places that I promised myself I would go while living here in Madrid. The first is Italy, because who doesn't love Italian food? And my motivation to go to Greece is an incredibly nerdy one: I read a book. The book is The Magus by John Fowles and I highly recommend it if you aren't one of the people I have already forced to read it. But more on that later; off to my first adventure: Athens, Greece!

I have to admit, my entire trip to Greece was significantly less planned than my normal life. I knew I wanted to see Athens for its history and I knew I wanted to see the island that inspired Fowles to write one of my favorite books. I had initially planned to spend the weekend before I left creating an itinerary for myself but, well, I ended up in Portugal instead. So when I left my house early Tuesday morning I had a plane ticket to Athens and a plane ticket back... and nothing else.

Yep. Not well planned at all. Luckily I'm writing this from back in Madrid so clearly I survived.

I booked my hostel for the first three nights in the airport waiting for my plane. I choose the Pella-Inn which had a eight bed mixed-gender room. The reviews looked decent and from what I could tell from a few quick google searches, it was within walking distance from most of the major sights.

Usually I don't bother to write about my flights because they are all the same. I usually sleep or read from my squished seat at the back of the bus. But Swiss Airlines rocked my world. I am literally planning on visiting Switzerland just based on my experience flying with them! Everyone was incredibly nice (even when my carry-on was too heavy and they had to check, which they did for free). The best part was that they feed you. Like none of this peanut and water crap like Delta or worse when they charge you for a bottle of water. Instead I had mini egg cheese and tomato quiche with juice and your choice of coffee or tea for breakfast and a wonderful box full of cheese, Greek salad, and strudel/cake with warm bread on the side for dinner. Easiest way to win my positive review clearly is to give me good food. It helped they gave me Swiss chocolate at the end of each flight!

I did find it odd though that I didn't have to go through customs. I flew from Madrid to Zurick and then on to Athens and nowhere did anyone ask for my passport. And I didn't get it stamped (again). I kept walking towards the exit of the Athens airport, looking for customs, and suddenly I was just outside. I'm not going to lie, it crushed me a little that I've now been to Portugal, Greece, and technically Switzerland and my passport still doesn't have any new stamps.

Once I actually arrived in Athens I navigated the metro system and found my hostel relatively quickly. My first impression while walking the streets is that Athens feels like what I though of big cities growing up. That is complicated statement I know. It is big and you can hear the people in the streets and the poverty is more apparent there than anywhere I have ever been. The most confusing part to me, as someone who is unfamiliar with city life, was how to tell the "good" parts of town from the "bad" ones. I usually judge an area based on appearances, the people, and the general vibe. Athens sent me mixed signals. Every street had graffiti. And not the kind of graffiti that easily falls into the category of art. It was all words and symbols. most of which I didn't understand. It was (wait for it) all Greek to me. (Yes, I did just write that.) The people that I encountered just walking the streets never made me feel unsafe, but there were more homeless people than I was used to.

The hostel turned out to be a great place to stay for a decently cheap price. After unpacking my first stop was to check out the view from the rooftop bar. The gentleman at the front desk had told me it was a great place to watch the sunset (and take advantage of the free drink everyone is given their first night). He wasn't wrong. It also turned out to be a great place to meet people. While I was taking pictures there was a group of travelers playing cards, one of which was kind enough to take my picture before asking me join, handing me a beer, and inviting me to join the group for dinner.  Needless to say a night of general shenanigans ensued. I got to try an actual Greek salad (the feta cheese comes in on big chunk on top) as well as a hot alcoholic beverage called Raki that was served with honey. It was a little strong for my taste but decent. The whole group were leaving the next day but I was able to get solid advice about where to go and what to see for the next few days over dinner.

I spent the next two days touring ancient Athens. There is so much history there--so many ruins an museums and evidence left by those gone before. It is an overwhelming feeling to walk through the acropolis and the other sights near it. I kept stopping an wanting to reach out and touch the stones. My mind kept turning over the same thought: that I am here. I'm in Greece. Staring at something constructed centuries ago by people who have long since died. And yet I can still see where their temples and homes once stood. It is a powerful feeling: standing in the shadow of something so old and so magnificent. 

People milled around, snapping photos and talking loudly, but for just a moment I stood in the middle of it all, closed my eyes, and tried to imagine what the whole thing was like, back before it was in ruins, before the invasions, before the English sawed off hunks of the art to carry home for their museums, and before me. I don't know if my imagination was anything close to reality, but in my mind it was a different kind of chaos than the modern tourist destination that I experienced. The people still hustled about but instead of cameras and iphones the people carried offering for Athena up the hill. But my illusion was quickly broken by the reality of a hundred or so other people all looking for the same thing that I was--a glimpse into the past. 

At the Acropolis

I got lost in Ancient Agora for nearly the entirety of my first full day --exploring, taking photos, reading a bit about each sight as I went, and snapping a few selfies to prove that I was actually there. I think that is the hard part of traveling solo--who will take my picture in front of the awesome thing I just saw? Or else, who will listen to me babble about how awesome it is to be standing in front of aforementioned awesome thing? I made due with random strangers for both accounts and met people from all over the world.  

I did all of the "big" sights but one of my favorites was one most people put a bit lower down the list-- the Panathenaic stadium. I twas the only thing I actually paid to see and it was 100% worth the three Euro. Everywhere else let me in for free because I have a student ID from an E.U. country. Thank you Tandem--that eight Euro for the card has already saved me over 50. I think I enjoyed it so much because there was a self-guided audio tour that did a great job of telling the stadium's story. It wasn't just the facts and figures (though those were in there too) but the narrator painted pictures of what it was like over the years. Plus I got to stand on the podium and pretend to have won the gold mettle for the women's marathon. That is about as close to that dream as I will ever get. 

Clearly a gold medal finish in jean shorts :-)

I stopped to cure my hangry problem that evening at a little Greek restaurant where I continued my quest to find the best Greek salad ever. (I decided that it was too close of a call and would have to return for a second round). Having had more than enough nightlife the previous evening I spent the rest of the night on the hostel's computer planning my trip. At this point I was beginning to question my initial lack of plans but luckily had not had my usual level of panic about such things. I think Spanish culture might be rubbing off on me a bit. 

The second morning in Athens I started my day with a tradition Greek breakfast. As you can see it was a big meal and included "filter" coffee which is basically when they give you a coffee cup, your own filter with ground coffee in it, and the hot water to pour over it. After eating more than my fill, I headed to the Acropolis museum where I spent the rest of the morning. Entry was free (yay student ID!) and for that screaming deal I got to see the artifacts that have been salvaged from the Acropolis. Once beautifully decorated, the majority of the carvings from the Acropolis had been stolen, moved, or ruined over the years. The remaining ones now are preserved in this museum which is set over parts of ancient Athens that has been excavated. Though work is still in progress, large glass floors in in place outside of the museum so visitors can look down at the history under their feet. 

Underneath the museum

The second half of the day I booked a last minute bus tour to see the Temple of Poseidon in Sounion which is an hour bus ride away from where I was staying. I enjoyed watching the beautiful coastline fly by and overall thought the trip was worth it. My main motivation to take that particular half-day trip was because of a particular piece of graffiti on the ruin. My inner nerd is showing again, but I got to see Lord Byron's signature carved into the stone. (For those of you unfamiliar, he is one of the famous romantic poets).

Temple of Poseidon 

My next stop in Greece was to explore a few of the islands... but more on that later. 

September 13th - 16th, 2016

¡Largos!

The answer to my guessing game is that I spent a long weekend in Largos, Portugal! The trip I won was through Discover Excursions which does trips to Portugal, Morocco, and the Sahara. A couple days before I left, I was surfing Facebook and saw a post from a CIEE member who said that they had done a trip with this company before and really liked it. Just on a whim, I clicked the link and signed up for their weekly drawing. Less that 48 hours later I got an email saying that I had won. My reaction? This has to be bullshit. Even I am not that lucky.

But apparently I am, because just a few days later I was on a train headed to Sevilla to meet up with the rest of the group to get on a bus to Largos. Once I arrived I realized that the whole weekend seemed to be designed for college kids looking for a weekend full of sun, sangria, and shenanigans ... but I was hardly going to complain.

Julia at The End of the World

The oddest thing though was that I wasn't the only person from CIEE there. In fact the first person I introduced myself to was also from CIEE. And also won this trip. And also will be working at the exact same school as me for the next year. Weird coincidence right? The fates have had a hand in this one *insert dramatic music here.* So Julia--my future coworker--and I were able to get to know each other a bit before school starts, and in a much more relaxing atmosphere.



When the bus reached the boarder, I couldn't help being excited; a new country to scratch off my map! The guild did a count down...3.. 2... 1... Portugal! Then I waited for the inevitable stop at customs. And waited. And waited. And it never came. Apparently the Portuguese border control (if they exist) didn't want to see my passport, even though I was sooo excited to show it to them. I think that was my biggest disappointment the whole trip: no stamp for my passport to prove I was there.

I ended up rooming with people I didn't know (shocker, considering when I got off the bus I knew one person decently well) in an apartment style room just a five minute walk from the beach. And the beach... the beach made the whole trip worth it. I could have done nothing but play in the surf and lay in the sun and be completely content for the whole weekend. Of course I didn't, but I did do a fair bit of lounging.

On the day I arrived, once everyone got settled into their rooms, there was an option to go on a Sangria Cruise. If it isn't obvious from the name, the premise is you get on a boat and cruise around the coast drinking as much sangria as you please. In defense of my choice to join in the in with the college kids who were clearly planning on getting plastered, I figured I would end up drinking at some point over the weekend and I might as well spend my money on drinks that also included the option of jumping off a boat into the ocean. Overall, it was a good choice. The views were amazing and I took my camera so I could get some good photos before I indulged in the (all be it, slightly mediocre) sangria. But the water was wonderfully refreshing and I even managed to jump off the top of the boat with minimalist screaming. There was even a smaller boat that took us in groups for a quick tour of the grottoes along the cost.

Day two's activity was the one I was most looking forward too: kayaking. After a morning at a new beach a quick bus ride away, about half the group dawned life-jackets and headed for the waves. There were mostly two-man (or woman in our case) kayaks, so Julia and I teamed up. Not to brag too much, but between the two of us it was pretty clear we had the most kayaking experience in our group. My competitive side kicked in and we raced through the waves and quickly caught our guide despite being nearly that last ones in the water. His tour took us in and out of several caves, past our hotel and the surrounding beaches, and ended at a quiet cove where we stopped for a break. Using a snorkel and mask provided by our tour guild I spent the hour floating off shore seeing what I could find underwater. The water was a bit murky and the sights were nothing compared to the Cayman Islands or Cancun, but it was fun to explore for a bit.

That evening I jumped back on the bus for a tour of the end of the world. I'm not talking about the Apocalypse here, just the southern-most point in Portugal: the cliffs at Sagres. As our guild explained, this used to be the very tip of the known world before Columbus sailed the ocean blue. And I can see it. I can see how, looking over the vastness of the ocean, our ancestors might have thought that it all ends here. The only thing beyond that is the sea, the sky, and winds that seem to come from nowhere.

My final day in Largos was a lazy one. I walked up to a new beach, wrote poetry in the sand, and lounged. It was a quiet conclusion to a very fun weekend.

September 9th-11th, 2016

¿En qué lugar del mundo está Carol?

Quick life update and a guessing game:

My last day with my host family is Friday and I move most everything I own to my new place tomorrow! I have a piso (apartment) with three roommates about a half hour from my school and 45 minutes to the center of the city. My last day of Spanish classes is Friday (theoretically) and then I have two whole weeks free with no obligations until I need to be back in Madrid for meetings about my new job. I start teaching October 1st!

Until that time I am going to attempt to see as much of Europe as I can which means my passport will be getting a workout! I have tickets for eight days in Greece starting next Tuesday and then when I get back I immediately turn around an fly out to Majorca, which is a small island off the coast of Spain. But before any of that happens I have one more trip, which I didn't expect to take.

So here is the game: I won a trip online with a company the specializes in trips for Americans. It will be a long weekend, starting this Friday. I leave from Madrid by train (which I had to buy a ticket for) to get to our meeting point and then I get on a bus out of Spain. I have two nights (free!) in a fancy hotel near the beach as well as half day tours with a guild, some group meals, and options to add on a Kayaking trip or surfing lessons. So based on that information, where in the world am I going?

It's a whirlwind and I feel a bit mad (in the best way possible), but a it seemed like a good reason to play hooky from school for a day!

An answer and pictures of my travels will be posted when I get back!

September 7th, 2016

¿A veces?

This is a rant, fair warning...

I was walking down the street the other night in Sol. The area is very touristy, with lots of shopping options. I passed by a shoe store and this sign happened to catch my eye:

First, lets note it is in English, not Spanish. So someone is intentionally marketing towards tourists, auxiliaries, or anyone else walking Spanish streets who speaks English (and from my experience, that is a lot of people. Kudos to Europe for teaching more than one language to its students).  

Second, lets look at what it says: "Because sometimes, a girl's gotta walk."

I will be honest: this pissed me off. 

Sometimes? Sometimes? Seriously, what do you think "girls" do? Teleport? Fly? Yes, I would be down with both of those options, but so far I haven't mastered those skills. If you figure out how, please let me know. It would make my travel plans for the next year a lot less expensive. 

And the person in this image is hardly a girl. I'm the first to admit I'm horrible about using the words "girls" and "boys" for people who are clearly full grown adults, yet in this case I interpreted the connotations as being less than empowering. 

If I take a step back from my initial feminist rage, I can see what the advertiser was trying to say. That heals are not comfortable walking footwear and that Sketchers are an alternative that probably won't cause horrible blisters or rolled ankles. Maybe the intention of this advertisement was to call out the patriarchal system of beauty that decided women need to wear heals despite how clearly uncomfortable they are to wear. But if that is the intention, couldn't they have just left out the word sometimes? 

Me convierto y la biblioteca

The thing I am struggling with the most at this point in my Spanish adventure is what to do with my time. That sounds crazy, now that I am writing it down, but this is the most free time I have had since summer vacations before I worked. That means the last time I had this much time on my hands I was 15.

Don't get me wrong, having this much freedom is great, but it goes against my borderline obsessive, American, 'middle-class' nature.

I won't start work until October 1st. My classes are only three hours a day, and only on weekdays. I don't work and I don't have a standard full load of classes.

And for me, that's hard. Culturally and personally.

It's hard because American culture teaches us that success is measured by how much money we make and how busy we are. And usually those two things are related.

It's hard because I struggle to separate success and self-worth.

I've written about that idea before (though never this publicly) and every time I come to the end of the page and realize I fall into a pattern of filling time with work and school in order to feel better about who I am as a person. Busy has become a part of my identity and simultaneously a defense mechanism. I acknowledge that isn't particularly healthy.

Simultaneously, this is my first experience living abroad and it's hard to wrap my head around the idea that I live here. In Spain. In a place that my mind has classified as "exotic" and "foreign" and "a vacation destination." Which means that I instinctually want to do all of the things, as soon as possible, because usually that is my (and my immediate family's *cough* *cough* *Dad*) MO on vacation. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity; I will probably never be back so dear God, don't miss a thing.

But for once I have more than a week in a new country so I don't need to do that. Now would someone just please tell my brain that? And while you're at it remind it that it's ok to take a break? That I'm not wasting time, even if I'm not in this exact moment working towards something that will make me successful and thus--in our culture--worthy?

I write that last bit partially in jest; don't freak out. I clearly am capable of telling myself these things, even if I haven't ingrained them into who I am yet. But I'm working on it. Living in Spanish culture forcing me to. (I mean taking a siesta--an American sign of laziness--is culturally as acceptable here as working 2+ jobs is at home. How can that not challenge who I am as a person?)

I chose my blog title intentionally: I read; I travel; I become. You can see (thanks to that awesome little widget on the right hand side of this page) what I'm reading. I have written, and will continue to write, about where I travel. This is the becoming part.

September 2nd, 2016

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I started this post to write about a library, and clearly that isn't what I needed to write about.

My first weekend in Madrid I had no plans, knew very few people, and had more time than I knew what to do with. I wandered the city for several hours, no clear destination in mind. Words I didn't understand drifted through open doors and shops closed down for that afternoon as I walked. Paradoxically, I was alone amid three million people.

So I went to the one place I knew I could never feel alone.

No matter where I am in the world, a library will always make me feel at home.

August 14th, 2016

Viajé Toledo

As if I didn't feel like enough of a tourist living here in Madrid, this past weekend I got to play tourist in a new Spanish city: Toledo. Tandem (my Spanish language school) has events every week for students to experience Spanish culture while practicing their language skills, so I was able to join about 17 of my classmates on a day trip to a new city. Toledo is about a 45-55 minute bus ride away from Madrid so bright and early Savannah and I got up and headed out of town.

Our day was half structured and half free, with the morning consisting of a guided tour of the city and several important buildings. Our tour guild, Sonja, spoke to us almost entirely in Spanish which was both fun and challenging. I was honestly surprised by how much I was able to understand. She made a point to teach us vocabulary along the way, and used simple verb tenses so we had an easier time learning about the city. I didn't catch everything, but I knew enough to understand the stories and most of the history. It helped that she had a binder full of information she could use as a visual/written guide in case our listing skills were not up to par.

Walking into Toledo. Our tour guild, Sonja, is in white. 

Traveling to Toledo made me realize just how incredibly large Madrid is. Toledo has less than 100,000 people in comparison to the nearly 3.2 million people living in Madrid. I could feel the change as soon as I stepped off the bus. Streets were quieter, people wandered in the streets more slowly, and our group was frequently the only people at a historical site. It was a relief. Though I feel like I'm adjusting to city life at a decent rate, it was nice to take a step back and feel like I had a little more room.

Another difference our group quickly noticed (and many complained about) was that Toledo has hills that put Madrid to shame. On our walk into the city center from the bus stop I ran ahead to take a picture of the group climbing up a hill (below) and was cheered on/laughed at by my fellow travelers who thought I was trying to get a workout by doing hill sprints. No amigos, I just wanted to capture your beautiful faces. Even I'm not crazy enough to run hills in jean shorts carrying a camera while it's 90 degrees in the sun.

Two distinct styles of architecture that can be seen in Toledo

Toledo feels like a city that endures. It's history spans centuries and you can see it in the very stones. As I learned from Sonja, the city has survived Roman, Arab, and Spanish rule and each culture has left it's mark. It passed between kings and queens of different cultures and religions and has a surprising history of religious tolerance. For many years Muslims, Jews, and Christians lived together maybe not with loving enthusiasm, but with relative acceptance. America: take note.

I'm trying not to turn this into a history lesson, but hopefully that explains some of the architectural differences in the monuments and buildings. I took a picture of Sonja's explanation so I would remember for later.

These are just a couple examples obviously but significant portions of the city are (or look because of careful reconstructions) this old.

One of the museums that we visited with Sonja was the Museo de los Concilios y la Cultura Visigoda. It is an old Roman church with beautiful art all along the walls depicting Catholic images, like that of the last supper. But what I liked most about this portion of our tour was the story Sonja told us about the building's construction.

Whats that at the top? 

Apparently, when the church was being built and designed the artists sampled several different styles to create the image on the main wall.This makes for some very beautiful art but it ultimately had some interesting religious ramifications. As you can see there is a traditionally Catholic art (not sure what to call it, I'm a storyteller not an art history major so don't judge) on either side of the window in the center, but near the top is writing in another language. If you are much more skilled than I am and could zoom in to the top of this photo enough to read it, you would see that it is actually copied out sections of the Koran.

Yes. This is a Catholic Church with passages of the Koran on the walls. Yay for religious tolerance?! Not really. In reality, the artist just thought that the lettering was beautiful so put it into his work. Because, get this, he couldn't read. Illiteracy is bad, people.

Eggs: they aren't just for breakfast anymore.

Gazpacho

After working up a sweat walking the city and visiting museums, our group took a break to taste the local food at a traditional Spanish restaurant. I tried their gazpacho which is a cold tomato based Spanish soup. The other dish is basically scrambled eggs with asparagus. If I haven't mentioned it yet people here eat a ton of eggs, especially at lunch and dinner.

After lunch we were on our own to explore the city, shop, and try not to sun burn the ever loving crap out of ourselves. A group of us opted to try to beat the heat (it was 38 C, so just over 100 F) by taking a train tour around the city. It offered an audio in both Spanish and English so we could hear a bit more about the different historical sites and gave me a chance to take some more holistic photos of the city. I can't say the ride kept me as cold as I would have liked, but was cool. Bad jokes, bad jokes.

And of course we needed to take a group photo. This is about the only one I'm in since I was behind the camera for majority of the trip.

My and my classmates recording our presence in Toledo

Our last stop before head home was a tasty one. (I think I'm allowed to do that now. Call Madrid "home" for a while?) Toledo is famous for several things: historic architecture, gold inlay jewelry, high quality knives/swords, and (my personal favorite) Mazapán.

If you haven't tasted this particular sweet, I highly suggest it. It is made out of powdered sugar, egg, and almonds and baked to perfection. In Toledo they often make extravagant art out of the sweet but it is also sold in smaller cake-like chunks for every-day consumption. And let me tell you, you will want to eat it every day. I didn't photograph the kind I bought (I might have eaten it too quickly for that thought to occur), but these are some of the fancy one's that the shop sold.

Overall, Toledo was definitely worth the visit.

Also, I almost forgot. This is a Roman road. Roman people walked on it. Literally.

August 27, 2016