Malaga (times two)

I love Malaga. And I think that might be a vast understatement. It kind of reminds me of the place where I studied abroad in Spain - Alicante. Both places are near the coast. Both places house large cities. Both have bustling night lives (or as the Lonely Planet book describes it "a healthy nightlife"). Both hold centros that are full of Blancos, H&Ms, ice cream stores, and tasty restaurants. My two most recent trips in Spain have been to visit my good friend Julie who lives in Malaga. Each time I go, the two bus, one taxi, and 3 hour train ride away from Antilla has been work every minute and every euro of it. December was my first trip to Malaga - Joanna and I went to visit Julie and explore the city there. My second trip was a solo adventure, and I went to see Julie for her 25th birthday last weekend!

Besides all of the fun and lightheartedness, Malaga also contains some history - it is the birth place of the artist Picasso. A huge castle rests at the very top of Malaga too. During my first visit there, Joanna, Julie, and I climbed up to the top of the castle and enjoyed the amazing view of all of Malaga. The climb was pretty grueling - but Joanna reminded us that we were getting "free exercise." :) So after 30 plus minutes of climbing, three bottles of Aquafina, and several "picture stops" later, we arrived at the top. And it was breath taking. :) Once at the top, we explored some more, walked around admiring the old architecture and taking an insane number of pictures. One of my favorite things about Spain in December is the fact that it was still warm enough for roses to bloom there (which we saw some at the top of the castle). Now it's January, almost February, and the roses are gone. But they were beautiful.

The second time in Malaga we also walked around the city and Julie and Amanda (Amanda is one of Julie's good friends and also one of her roommates) showed me the beach at Malaga. Glancing at the dark ground, I commented about how the sand is different. "The sand is crap," the girls told me. "The beaches are man-made here." Although the beaches are man-made and the sand is different, they are still gorgeous. You look out to the Mediterranean Sea, and mountains rest behind it, turn to the other side, and large buildings stand in the city of Malaga, and you turn again, and there are red and blue colored playgrounds with small Spanish children and little dogs running around on patches of bright green grass. It's a nice mixture of everything there - some city, some beach, some people, and even some mountains in the distance.

Besides exploring Malaga during the day, we also explored it by night (I'm sure you saw that one coming). :) The night life there is amazing and buzzing with energy and an incredible number young people...especially guys. :) The first time we went out (in December), we had drinks at an Irish pub (An Irish pub in Spain? Why, yes there are quite a few of them.) and then enjoyed the night dancing with our new Spanish friends at a discoteca that was kind of like an old building - wooden banisters, a large stairway, and no real dance floor made for an interesting feel to the place. It kind of reminded me of a museum for some reason.

The second time going out in Malaga (in January) was for Julie's birthday. That was my reason for going to Malaga -- to help her celebrate her 25th in style! A large group of her friends came over to the apartment, and we had Long Islands, ate chocolate ice cream cake (delicious), and served our duty as American cultural ambassadors by teaching the Spanish an American drinking game.

We then made the 30 minute walk to the centro, through the cold and wet puddles left over from the rain earlier in the day, and we tried out a couple of different places. Sadly there were not as many people out that night - we think it was due to the weather. Regardless, it was still fun. We met a few different groups of guys - one group of guys who claimed to be our age but looked like they were roughly 15 years old and a second group of guys in which one of them claimed that all of his friends with him were gay. I, naively assuming this man would only tell the truth, was absurdly excited to meet a pack of gay Spanish men. I smiled largely and ran up to one of them and started dancing. He excitedly danced with me, and soon we began talking. He actually spoke a bit of English with a heavy Spanish accent. "So.." I started, "you are all boyfriends?" I asked him in English. With a startled look on his face he grabbed my hand and shouted "No! I like girls!"

Gracias, Malaga, for reminding me that I am officially back in my nightlife living, mis-communicating, meeting new guys, exploring new cities life of Spain. :)

Carne, por favor!

An article in the SpainAir in flight magazine told me that eating meals hefty in protein for breakfast and lunch and meals heavy on carbs. for dinner help to re-set your internal clock and therefore help with reducing jetlag. Hm. I thought. I wonder if that works? It seems as though everyone has their own "theory" as to what will help reduce jetlag. I still haven't found one that really works for me, so why not give this one a try?

The next day, after checking in to my hotel in the centro of Sevilla, I wander into the street searching for some protein-rich food for lunch. Glancing up and down the two lane street, I notice that, not to my surprise, most of the stores and cafes are closed. Today is Sunday. The entire world of Spain closes on Sunday. Spaniards do not like to work, especially on Sundays. So finding food will be interesting.

After stopping into a couple of places that were not serving food, I stumble across one cafe that does happen to be serving food. The woman there is very friendly and is speaking very quickly to me. Or maybe it sounds quicker because I haven't heard Spanish in several weeks since I've been home? I order a Coca Cola Light (the Diet Coke of Espana), and look at the menu. Hmmm. Protein, protein.

Placing my Coca Cola on the table, the waitress proceeds to tell me that the full menu is not available right now (because it's Sunday and they don't want to have to cook too much, claro - clearly). She starts talking to me about what she can offer -- she mentions croquettes. Croquettes! I love croquettes! They are kind of like hushpuppies filled with warm cheese and ham -- delicious!

I'll have some of those, please! I tell her.

But where is my protein? I doubt that the tiny specks of ham in the croquettes will suffice for re-setting my internal clock.

Carne! Carne means meat in Spanish. The waitress describes some meat that they are serving today -- it is delicious! she tells me. She says that the other people in the cafe are eating it right now - it is so rich, so good! Wow, I think. This must be some meat. She is speaking very quickly, telling me about the meat. All I can really understand is that (a) The food is meat. and (b) The food has something to do with "cola." Cola means "line" in Spanish. Like, you wait in a "cola" (you wait in line). Maybe she means it's a line, like a stack, of meat? I've had something like that here in Spain before, and it was amazing.

Ok, I tell her. I would like that too!

I wait, sipping my Cola, reading my book, lifting my head occasionally to people watch.

The croquettes come - familiar and delicious and satisfying. And then, the mystery carne cola meat comes. It smells kind of like a pot roast that your mom has been cooking for hours -- fresh, warm, seasoned. Ok...this smells good at least! I look at it. It is not a stack of meat like I expected, rather it is several different pieces of round shaped pieces of brown meat in a small bowl.

Hm.

I notice that in the middle of each piece of meat there is a bone.
Brown. Round shaped. With a bone in the middle.
Don't think about what you are eating, Brittany....just eat it. You know the rule abroad! You can't think about what you are eating....and you have to be fair and give the food at least three full bites.

Fork and knife in hand, I dive in. Placing the meat in my mouth, it feels chewy and soft. Squishy almost. Chewing, chewing. Hints of ham and bacon being to come alive in my mouth, but it's not quite ham, and it's definitely not bacon. Ok....it's not bad, but it's not great.

Bite two....the texture is horrible. Way way way too squishy. What am I eating?
What if this is what I think it might be.
What if this is what I have heard is a popular dish here in Spain.

Oh my goodness.
This is bull's tail.

Don't think, Brittany...you don't know that! Take at least one more bite! Bite three....and I'm done. Putting down my fork and knife, I surrender to the carne. The mystery meat wins. I do not like it.

As I pay for my food, I glance at my check. It reads "Cola de toro." Oh dear, I think. Toro means bull....

Returning to my hotel, I whip open my laptop and google the meaning of "cola" in English....And just for your information folks, "cola" does indeed mean line in Spanish, but it also means tail. :)

A nun, a homeless woman, and me

I'm waiting with a nun - yes, an actual habit wearing, cute, tiny, black-and-white outfit donning real-life nun - and a woman who I can't figure out if she is homeless or just carrying all of her things in several plastic bags. I glance up at the blue and white Taxi sign. Ok...I'm in the right place....so where are all the taxis? I just arrived at Plaza de Armas (one of the bus stations) in Sevilla, and I am now on my way to my hotel. I would take a bus to the hotel, but my hotel is close to the airport which also happens to be very far aways from the bus station. So I had just planned to take a taxi. I have a lot of bags and I want to rest in my hotel before I have to get up tomorrow morning at 3am for my sinfully early flight home to the US for the holidays.

So I thought that taking a problem would not be a problem. There are normally at least ten taxis just waiting outside of the bus station to take people to wherever they want to go. This is really strange. I look at my watch - it's 5pm. Maybe 5pm is rush hour in Sevilla too? That must be where all of the taxis are....they are all busy picking up other people who need them. Or maybe the taxis are getting caught in ridiculous city traffic. Ok...I'll wait 20 more minutes. It's only been 10 minutes so far, I should be patient. I am in Spain, I remind myself, they are much more laid back about everything. Let's just wait a little bit longer.

So I wait. It's cloudy. And cold. And windy. Still the nun, me, and the homeless/heavy traveler woman. I start looking at all the cars in the street - surely this is rush hour. The traffic seems really heavy - that must be where all the taxis are. Or maybe everyone had to go to the airport like me and all the taxis in Sevilla are busy taking eager passengers to the airport (which is a solid 30+ minute drive away from the bus station). That's it. That's where the taxis are.

Five more minutes pass, and then a white van rides into the taxi lane. A taxi! I think. I am beyond thrilled. The nun hobbles to her black suitcase. I look more closely at the taxi and realize that it isn't a taxi at all - it's a van with three nuns sitting inside of it. It's like a nun mobile. A nun driving, a nun in the shotgun, and a nun in the back. They are here to pick up the other nun. Maybe I could ask them for a ride? I think. They are nuns...maybe they would go all good Samaritan on me and be gracious...I mean, that's what Jesus would do.

The nun climbs into the van after greeting her fellow sisters with holy kisses, and then they ride off. Ok....I look. Just me, the taxi sign, and the homeless/heavy traveler woman who has now left her things on the sidewalk and is begging people for cigarettes. She didn't even ask me for one - she probably figures that I would be smoking a cig right now if I had one.

Great. Where have all the taxis gone?

Maybe I'll just call my taxi number. I do have a taxi number in my cell phone - I came prepared. So I call....and it rings...and rings....and rings....that's odd, I think. I'll try again in a few minutes.

I look into the streets - maybe I could just leave the taxi waiting area and hail my own cab from the street. But the thing is, I still don't see any taxis in the street. Where are they?

Suddenly, as though the heavens opened up and sent a little slice of Jesus down, I see a white van with the taxi emblem on the side. He begins to ride by. I eagerly smile and approach the car as I exclaim "Si!" I need a taxi! The man slows the van, stares at me, raises a tan, wrinkled finger and waves it back and forth as he mouths "No, no, no!" No, no, no? Oh...ok? Maybe he only wants to take someone with a lot of things since he has a big van. That seems kind of fair.

Now in retrospect I have concluded that I am either overly optimistic or extremely good at rationalizing ANYTHING.

Another van rolls up and out comes a man in a bright yellow top and dirty jeans. He too decides the join the wait for the taxis. About ten minutes later, he strikes up a conversation with me. He speaks quickly in fairly thick Andalucian Spanish until I explain to him that I am not a fluent Spanish speaker. The usual conversation begins. I am living in Spain. No, I am not studying. I am teaching. Yes, English. Yes, I have blonde hair. No, I am not German (not all blondes are from Germany). Do I have a boyfriend?

I need a fake engagement ring.

Twenty minutes later, a man walks up to my new construction man friend and myself. We begin asking about the taxis -- where are all of them? The man goes on to explain that there is a taxi "huelga" today. Huelga? What does that mean? I ask. Construction man cannot really explain it to me, but he says it means that we need to take the bus to other main bus station in Sevilla to see if there are taxis there. I'm not sure what other options I have -- I have to get to my hotel, and there are NO taxis....so construction man graciously pays for my bus ride to the next station. I am extremely thankful for construction man's grace and kindness, but I do question his motives for his kindness since he was constantly trying to hold my hand, and let's just say that the "dos besos" was very awkward.

Did I mention that it is raining now? Three suitcases, an hour wait, and no umbrella, we get off of the bus and walk to the next bus station. Still no taxis -- the woman explains that there are no taxis in all of Sevilla today. Why - I still don't really understand. It's not a holiday - so why wouldn't they be working? How can they just do that? People need taxis!

We show the woman at the bus station my hotel address, and she kindly explains which buses I need to take to get there - 2 more buses. Construction man offers for me to stay with him for the night and just get up "very early" in the morning to go to the airport. "I have an extra room. Or you can stay in my room."
"No, thank you!" I smile. I explain that I REALLY need to get to my hotel. Tonight.
I thank him several more times, and then we awkwardly say goodbye as he tried to kiss me and I stare at the ground and grab my bags to leave as quickly as possible.

Ok....only two more buses, and I'll be at the hotel. I can do this!
Bus number one -- the bus driver was, again, very kind. I explained where I needed to go, and he told me if I sat at the front of the bus that he would tell me when to get off for my next stop.

And we make it to the next stop. Ok...just one more bus! Bus 55. Thanking the bus driver, and feeling extremely grateful for the kindness and helpfulness of the Sevillians, I hobble off the bus with my large bags. Pushing the wet, matted hair from my eyes, I find a friendly looking Spanish woman. I ask her where the stop for Bus 55 is -- I tell her my hotel is near the airport. The woman's brown eyes met mine and she laughs heartily as she tells me that I am wrong, my hotel is very close to where we are right now. I don't really believe her, but she did tell me that the bus stop was on the other side of the plaza. Pulling my suitcases through the puddles, I make my way to the other side to find about four more bus stops. But I don't see one that says it is for Bus 55. I ask a couple of Spaniards where the stop for this bus is -- this is the bus that the woman at the bus station told me to took, so it definitely should be correct.

It doesn't exist, they say. That bus line doesn't exist.

Ok. At this point, I am exhausted, freezing, wet, and very lost. I have no idea where I am in Sevilla, and I feel like I'm on the verge of tears. But I have a choice, I can cry and get upset, or I can take a deep breath and keep going. I WILL get to my hotel - yes, it is taking me a lot longer to get there than I had hoped, and yes, this is an exhausting situation, but I WILL get there. It will be ok.

Taking a deep breath, I show them the address of my hotel and ask them if they know which bus would be best for me to take. They direct me to another bus stop nearby. I stumble to the next stop. I check with a woman there to make sure I am at the right stop - the last thing I need right now is to get on the wrong bus. She says this is the right bus - she also said that I might need to take another bus after this one so that I won't have to walk in the rain. Extremely thankful is how I feel.

As we board the bus, a man sees me struggling with my luggage and helps me heave it up. He also explained that he overhead me talking about the hotel I needed to go to - he said he would talk to the bus driver to let him know where I needed to go and to have the driver tell me when I needed to get off of the bus.

Thankful, extraordinarily, thankful.

I get off of that bus and onto my last one (I pray it is the last one, anyway!). I tell this driver where I need to go, and he said I am on the right bus. As we are driving, the man sitting across from me points out my hotel. He explains where I will need to get off and cross the street to get to my hotel.

What kindness.

And finally, 3 hours, 4 buses, 3 drenched suitcases, and the kindness of countless Spaniards later, I arrive at the Sevilla Congresos Hotel. And it is there at the front desk, as I stand with my soggy socks, matted hair, and slick,wet luggage, that the woman at the front desk explains to me that the taxi drivers were having something today - something where they do not drive as an expression of the fact that they want more money.

A strike - a huelga.

So, lessons learned:

-Never leave your house without your umbrella.
-Don't be afraid to ask for help for it is often the kindness of those strangers that will save you.
-Pack lightly, because you never know how far, or on how many buses, you may have to lug those bags.
-Oh...and make sure you learn the word "strike" before you travel to a country that does not speak your native tongue. :)

Gratitude

“Gratitude looks to the past and love to the present...” – C.S. Lewis

It’s funny spending a holiday overseas in a place where they do not celebrate, or perhaps even know about, a day that is so important to your own culture. It seems as though this experience makes you realize the truth of the holiday that you deem as important – the truth of the holiday, whether that truth be good or bad. Being abroad, you begin to see things with new eyes. I really think that is much of what traveling and living abroad does for us – not only does it enhance our knowledge and experience of the world in general, but it also transforms our own perspective and the lenses through which we see everything. What was once foreign we may now find more common place, and what was common to us may now be renewed and unique and refreshing. We see the world with a new kind of vision, perhaps a more accurate one. We appreciate things differently. We learn what really matters to us. We become immensely aware of our flaws and problems (which, amazingly, stay with us even when we cross the Atlantic Ocean. Go as far as you wish; you will never escape yourself.) We learn what we value – what we fear – what we love.

And this, this experience and growth and learning, is the joy of life abroad. And this is something I am unbelievably thankful for. And there is a tiny word bursting with immense might: gratitude. Gratitude is what I feel. Gratitude is what I want to give. Gratitude and love – always.

Measuring Up

November in Spain. The days are filled with up to 70 degrees of warmth (typically), and sunshine still graces the skies each day. I think it has rained – really poured and pounded and drenched the earth - a total of two times since I have been in Spain. I love the weather here – I've concluded that I am basically living in the Florida of Spain. :)

I have spent more time in Antilla and at my apartment this month. Part of that has been out of choice, out of a desire to make Antilla feel more like home and to develop a sense of community here, and part of it has been due to my health, or lack thereof (I caught a nasty flu that hung around for about a week, allowing me plenty of bonding time with my piso and my bed here). :)

Antilla is QUIET. It boasts and shouts and abounds in quietness. The weekends are the most populated and popular time here in Antilla, especially if the weather is warmer. I have concluded this about Antilla: people come here for the beach during the summer. People occasionally come here during the off seasons (aka, now) for a weekend beach get away if the weather is nice. And that is about it. I walk along the streets, CERRADO, CERRADO, CERRADO read all of the restaurants. The steel doors are shut, and windows are closed; the stores are not open for business. I look up at the apartment buildings – windows shut, curtains closed, windows shut, curtains closed. I walk back to my apartment – I glance at the fruiteria next door – closed. The cafeteria across the street – closed. Needless to say, it is difficult to build a sense of community when there doesn’t really seem to be one there surrounding you in the first place.

Now please don’t get me wrong, this quietness is not all bad. I am certain that God has me living here for a reason. And despite the quiet and lack of people, I have still found a strong sense of community in my school and the children that I work with (whom I see in the local Mercadona as they scream “TEACHER!” and run down the grocery aisle after me). I still love my apartment – it is beautiful and so peaceful. And I love having the beach as my backyard. Strolling on the beach, people watching, and listening to music are some of my favorite things to do. And being here where it is quiet gives me a lot of time to think. A lot of time to write. Read. Reflect. I am fairly certain that if I lived in Huelva, I would spend a great deal of my time with my American friends, not reading and writing. Some days, I wish I lived in Huelva. But then I also love living by the beach and I enjoy living by myself (98% of the time anyway). I guess it is true, that the grass is always greener on the other side. We always seem to wish for that which we don’t have. We think the other thing would be better. Contentment – perhaps this is another thing God desires for me to learn here. :)

My friends here in Spain are amazing. We are quite a unique mixture, but we all have something in common: we are searching. We are searching and questioning to try to find out what is the next step we want to take in our lives. We are curious. We are adventurous. And we are searching.

Huelva is my second home, and Ashley is one of my Spanish sisters. Ashley is one of my closest friends here in Spain, and she has been an amazing support and loyal friend to me during our time here. Her unending hospitality and kindness mean so much to me, and I feel truly in debt to her. She constantly opens her apartment to me, allowing for me to stay with her anytime I want or need. When I plop my head on Ashley’s red throw pillows after the one hour DAMAS bus ride to Huelva, I feel at home. As we eat French fries seasoned with Old Bay and watch Sex and the City, I feel at home. Ashley and I are two very different people – she views herself as sarcastic and witty, and I view myself as simple and happy. And I would say that all in all, it is amazing how well these differences work in our favor. We balance each other – we support each other – we are there for each other, always. And for this, I am extremely grateful.

Joanna is a second one of my closest friends here in Spain. She too lives in Huelva. She comes from a Catholic, Italian background, and at times you can hear a twinge of this strong thick Jersey accent come out. A Wisconsinite (Ashley), a Jersey girl, and a Southern belle – we are quite the trio. :) Hilarious – best one word summary of Joanna. We definitely have the same sense of humor – we find the same jokes, TV shows, and movies amusing. She has this incredible way of making anything sound funny – my friends and I have concluded that it is her unchanging tone of voice that makes her so hilarious. Jo is so level headed, logical, easy-going – all three things that I often wish I was more of.

Alicia. Red headed with gorgeous green eyes and ALWAYS a huge smile across her face. Alicia and I have gotten to know each other through a few trips – ones that she has made her to Antilla and the Portugal trip. She is so happy. So incredibly happy about life. She is always laughing, giggling, and making a joke about something. She is extremely sweet as well – an absolute sweetheart – when we are together, you can typically find us hugging or with our arms locked as we walk down the street. In Portugal we held hands and walked through the streets together until I awkwardly ran into a guy I had meet the night before (who later told me I should come to London and visit him right away. Maybe I should have told him that Alicia was my girlfriend?). Alicia is amazing, and I look forward to getting to know her even more.

And Julie. Sadly, Julie does not live in the Huelva province. Julie and I met each other in Sevilla because we had the same Spanish class together at CLIC. Julie lives in the province and city of Malaga, about a five hour trip away from Huelva. I have not been to visit her yet, but it is on my list to do very very very soon. :) She and I are like Spanish soul sisters. We just mesh. We enjoy doing the same things, we both try to remain positive and optimistic about everything, and we are always up for a good time. Hopefully we will be reunited soon. :)

So how am I measuring up here in Spain? In the words of Tim Cahill, “A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” Perhaps Antilla is a bit quieter and smaller than I expected it to be. But I would honestly and confidently say that I’ve come a very long way on this journey, and I am extremely happy and thankful to be here. And I owe a great deal of my joy to the support and constant love of my friends here -- my friends, who I prefer to call my Spanish family.

Top Fives

So in the spirit of change and variety, I decided to do a bit of a different blog post this time. I know I have not posted in a while, and there is a great deal to catch up on, but for now I'm going to share some of my own "top five" lists from here in Spain. Top five foods, top five phrases, top five things to watch out for....so this entry is a little different, and a little shorter, but I hope you enjoy it! :) I have also created photo albums with Snapfish -- please check them out and comment away! I would love to hear your feedback. :) I love you and miss you tons and I hope that all is going wonderfully with you!!!

http://www5.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=536877028/a=1061076028_1061076028/

Top five most common foods in Spain

1.) Ham (jamon)
2.) Bread (pan)
3.) Cheese
4.) Tapas
5.) Beer (cerveza -- and yes, I think they consider that a food here)

Top five sayings in Spain

1.) Vale! (OK)
2.) Venga! (Come on! or OK!)
3.) Hombre! (Which literally translates as "man" in English, but they often say it here in conversation meaning something kind of like "listen!" or "really!")
4.) Bueno (OK, well)
5.) Dime! (Tell me!)

Top five favorite things about Spain

1.) The beautiful beaches :)
2.) The friendly people!
3.) The laid back culture
4.) The warm weather
5.) Learning Spanish and my AMAZING school!

Top five random differences between the U.S. and Spain

1.) At the grocery store, you always bag your own groceries. Do not stand there waiting for them to bag your groceries (like I did the first time I bought groceries).
2.) If you invite someone to eat with you, you should pay for them.
3.) Handshakes are not used here – dos besos, por favor. :)
4.) Banks close at 2pm everyday – plan accordingly.
5.) When people answer the phone here, they do not say hello or ask how you are doing. They always say "Si" (yes) or "Dime" (tell me). It's a very direct culture!

Top five favorite foods in Spain

1.) Spinach lasagna
2.) Tinto de verano (Red wine with soda)
3.) Shandy (in the picture above, along with Spanish sunscreen and my Spanish cell phone. Shandy is like a lemony-lime drink.)
4.) Café con leche (coffee with milk)
5.) Yogurt azucardo (sweet yogurt)

Top five foods I miss from Los Estados Unidos (hence the very excited picture of me above with a delicious frappe from Starbucks in Sevilla!)

1.) Mexican food (although I finally found Mexican tortillas and yummy chips and guac. in the Mercandona!) :D
2.) Chick-fil-a (Oh how I miss the ease of fast food...)
3.) Chocolate chip cookie dough (I LOVE freshly baked cookies, but they don't have cookie dough here!)
4.) Half & half creamer for coffee
5.) All of my Mom's food :)


Top five things to watch out for in Spain

1.) If you are in a touristy area, beware of the gypsies who will try to sell you weed-looking pieces of grass. If you take one from them, they will expect you to pay for it...and if you don't, they will harass you to no end and possibly place a "curse" on you until you give them money.
2.) When taking the bus, be sure to be there on time, and do not be surprised if there is at least one couple making out on the bus and one really loud and rowdy person who gets in a verbal fight with the bus driver.
3.) If you are going to a cell phone store, come with plenty of patience and plenty of time.
4.) Don’t be timid here! People will often cut in front of you in line or try to be helped before you in stores – stand your own ground!
5.) There is no concept of personal space here, so be prepared to have your personal bubble burst. :)

Top five memories in Spain so far

1.) Halloween at school :)
2.) Swimming in Portugal
3.) Going out in Sevilla
4.) Exploring Plaza de Espana and the Parque de Maria Lusia in Sevilla
5.) Lunches with Oti :)

Five traits I think I’m developing

1.) Independence
2.) Faith
3.) Adventure
4.) Openness
5.) Flexibility

Five things I can work on

1.) Believing in myself more
2.) Taking care of myself more
3.) Practicing my Spanish more, despite any laughs or comments I may receive
4.) Embracing what God is doing for me
5.) Relaxing :)

Five things I believe

1.) That I am right where God wants me to be.
2.) That I am unbelievably blessed.
3.) That my God is a God of faithfulness and abundance.
4.) That we live in a world of adventure and beauty and joy – if only we will seek it.
5.) That change and growth and risk are some of the most challenging and also the greatest gifts in life.

“People don’t take trips – trips take people.” – John Steinbeck

It started with a five hour bus ride and a one hour time change. Five girlfriends of mine and I decided to head to Lagos, Portugal for a long weekend trip – since it was our first trip outside of Spain, we were extremely excited and ready to explore another part of the world. We didn’t quite know what to expect in Lagos. Stories of gorgeous scenery, beautiful boat rides, and fun night-life were mainly what we had heard of Lagos – and all of that combined sounded like a worthwhile weekend get-away. :)

There were six of us who went on the trip (all teachers from the CIEE program) – Ashley, Amanda, Katelyn, Alicia, Joanna, and me. Amanda, Katelyn, Alicia, and Joanna do not have to work on Fridays, so they all took the morning bus on Friday over to Lagos. Ashley and I, having to work on Fridays but not on Mondays, decided to take a later bus on Friday post-work and then stay Sunday night to get in some extra sight-seeing that might have been missed on Friday.

The bus ride was long and exhausting, especially after a day of work, but it was more than worth it in the long run. Lagos is absolutely gorgeous – and that short statement hardly does it justice. I know I write that often in my blogs, talking about how beautiful places are and how limited words are in their capacity to express beauty, but it is just so true. The more parts of the world I see, the more people I meet, the more things I do, the more I realize just how inadequate words are at genuinely and wholly expressing the experiences of life.

Lagos, or at least our experience of it, was quite small. If you met someone one night, you will, undoubtedly, run into them the very next night. The people were extremely friendly and laid-back, and there honestly was no language barrier issue. Everyone we meet in Lagos spoke English. The first night I asked one of the men who worked at our hostel if he spoke Portuguese. He laughed and said “You don’t have to speak Portuguese to live in Lagos. You just have to speak Aussie.” And his statement was unbelievably true. Australians, Brits, and Kiwis (New Zelanders) rule in Lagos. Of course some people (in the restaurants and small stores) spoke Portuguese, but all in all, we got by more than fine with speaking English. :)

We stayed in a hostel named “Stumble Inn.” It was cheap, in a central location, and met our needs. The people who worked there were also extremely friendly and helpful in giving suggestions of good restaurants and places to explore for nightlife. After going out for drinks and dancing on Friday night, we decided to take one of the famous boat rides of Lagos on Saturday. Lagos (and perhaps all of Portugal?) is known for their blue water and stunningly tall rocks that stand along the coast. We had heard that taking a boat ride along the rocks and into the caves was a must-do when in Lagos – so of course, we had to do it. :) And it was amazing! Besides taking an insane number of pictures, my other favorite part of the boat ride was going swimming. Half of the group wanted to go swimming, and the other half did not. Alicia, Joanna, and I decided that you are only in Lagos once, so why not go swimming? We would just jump into the water. Sometimes baby steps and slow progress is not the best way to do things -- sometimes you just have to jump. Donned in our swimsuits, we all stood together on the side of the boat, holding hands, counting and bracing ourselves for the cold water……. 1…2….3…..JUMP!!!! Freezing, freezing, freezing cold was the water. It was as though our bodies suddenly went into some form of shock from the harsh chill of the salty water. But we couldn’t help but laugh and be happy – we were swimming in Portugal! After a few minutes in the water and a little playing around, it started to feel pretty nice in there. Later that day, we went out into the town again and enjoyed a yummy Italian dinner, drinks, and dancing. :)

Sunday was a little more restful -- Ashley, Joanna, and I explored an old fort in Lagos and enjoyed the sun and good conversation while sitting on the roof of the fortress overlooking the blue sea. I believe that Robert Thomas Allen was right in saying that “Most of my treasured memories of travel are recollections of sitting.” :) Later that afternoon Ashley and I (staying our extra day in Portugal) decided to head to Sagres – a town on the southernmost tip of the country. Sagres too was gorgeous – it almost reminded me on a Portuguese version of Antilla. It, like Antilla, is best described as quiet and quaint – a sleepy little town that rests on the coastline. Ashley and I attempted to eat authentic Portuguese food, although the steak we ordered (which was really more like breaded/fried pork or chicken) wasn’t all that tasty (sadly). Maybe during our next visit to Portugal we’ll have better luck? As we finished our dinner, a group of British guys that we had met in Lagos the night before (they were staying in Sagres and had just gone to Lagos a night out) met us at the restaurant. We enjoyed some drinks and light-hearted conversation for the remainder of the night. :)

It was an amazing, and exhausting, trip. Sitting here on my couch and writing about it makes it all seem so unreal. Did I really go to Portugal? Did I really see the things my pictures tell me I saw? Did I truly met surfers from England? World travelers from Australia? And the backpackers from New Zeland? Do I really live in Spain? How unbelievably blessed am I that I can answer yes to every one of those questions….