Knockin' On Heaven's Door

      This past week, I have had no classes at all and instead have been enjoying a week of traveling with my friends Kelsey and Elana in honor of La Semana Santa here in Spain.  The three of us were very much looking forward to the vacation we had planned: four days in Seville in the South of Spain followed by two days in Paris.  I was planning on relaxing during my first four days in Seville, since we had plenty of time to see all the sights and would be able to take on the pace of a true vacation.  We headed for the airport in Bilbao last Thursday without a care in the world, ready to enjoy a relaxing week together.

      We boarded and plane and took our seats.  Kelsey and I were each on an aisle, but we were still directly across from one another.  Elana was a couple rows behind us.  We settled in and prepared for takeoff.  Now, I am used to flying at this point.  I know that the plane sometimes makes weird noises that make it seem like we are going to explode even though we aren’t.  I know that the plane might dip a bit and make my stomach flip.  I know that turbulence is perfectly normal and that the scientific laws that work together to keep us in the air are not going to suddenly stop working and send us catapulting to the Earth.  All of these little bumps along the way are perfectly normal and do not ever make me feel that I am in any danger of any sort.

      That being said, I know that our takeoff from Bilbao was anything but normal.  We started speeding up and I could feel the plane start to tilt upwards as we ascended into the air.  Within 5 seconds, I felt the plane jostling both side to side and up and down much more violently than I have ever experienced before.  Kelsey and I didn’t expect anything to be drastically wrong and kind of laughed when we looked at each other, while simultaneously and surreptitiously clutching our armrests.  I figured we were just having a bit of a rocky time getting off the ground and that the feeling of being trapped inside a dryer on the spin cycle would end soon.

      It didn’t.  It got worse.  The plane started continued to violently shift back and forth while continuing to drop down at random.  This shaking and dropping could no longer be classified as turbulence.  Something was terribly wrong.  Kelsey and I stopped laughing.  I put my head down and closed my eyes, both to stop myself from getting sick and to avoid watching the panic seep into the passengers around me.  I felt like I was going to throw up anyway and was already beyond panicked. 

      The flight attendant came over the loudspeaker, telling us in both Spanish and English to remain seated with our seat belts fastened.  She began speaking with a steady tone and a steady pace, yet it quickly became clear that she was just as nervous as the rest of us.  She began speaking faster and faster as her voice got higher and higher. 

      “Como medida de seguridad les recomendamos que mantengan el abrochado durante todo el vuelo. Please remain seated for the duration of the flight.  Please keep your seatbelts fastened, please remain seated, stay seated keep your seatbelts fastened, SIT DOWN, ABROCHE SU CINTURÓN, PLEASE KEEP YOUR SEATBE----”

      She cut out mid-sentence, at which point I was positive that I was going to die.  I kept telling myself to calm down and accept the fact that there was nothing that I could control other than my own state of mind in these last remaining minutes.  The bumping and shaking and jostling and free-falling continued minute after minute after minute, and therefore I cannot describe the thoughts that flew through my mind as my life “flashing before my eyes,” but I did see images of my family and my friends, seeing the names of important people as words in my brain, flashing and fading, as I felt a great longing to call out to them.  I told myself to stay calm as I sent panicked prayers up to Heaven and screamed within myself, “I have so much left to do!  I have so much left undone!  Please, give me a chance to do all the things I have always planned on doing!”  I was sitting in my seat, clutching the armrests, and shaking my head.  There was so, so much left for me to do. 

      It got to the point that I started wondering if the end would be slow and painful, or quick and to the point.  I was hoping it would all be over before I knew it, and was saddened that my study abroad experience would be remembered by this terrible ending.  I was just about to reach for Kelsey’s hands when suddenly, the shaking stopped.  We climbed a bit higher, and the bumping and sloshing around came to an end.  We were smoothly flying through the air.  I slowly opened my eyes, and the Spanish woman next to me looked over and whispered, “Ya,” meaning – it’s over, it’s done.

      At this point, I looked at Kelsey with wide eyes and saw that she had been equally as panicked as I was.  I looked back to Elana, who held out her hand to show me that she was uncontrollably shaking, and noticed that the woman in the row between us was uncontrollably crying as her husband hugged her in an attempt to calm her down.  I turned back to Kelsey.

      “Kelsey, I was about to reach for your hand!”

      “Me too!  I was wondering how I was going to be able to hold   your hand and Elana’s at the same time!”

      I almost kissed the ground when we landed.  I felt like I had been granted a new lease on life.  We spent the next hour reliving the experience and trying to make sense of it all.  We discussed the thoughts that flew through our heads, both rational and irrational.  Elana wondered how her host parents would ever know if she had died, while Kelsey was glad that only the clothes she had packed in her carry-on would be damaged in the plane’s explosion. 

      We made it safely to our hostel and were greeted very warmly at the reception desk. There was a group in the lobby heading out for a pub-crawl, and they told us that we should meet up with them as soon as we could get out acts together.  We threw our suitcases in the room and were out the door.  Enough worrying for one night. 

      We quickly became a part of the hostel community, and made instant friends with whom we shared a truly hilarious night.  Elana, Kelsey and I danced our stress away as we followed our new friends from bar to bar, singing our favorite Spanish songs at the top of our lungs.

Girl Power.

Here we are taking a break on our walk back to the hostel, eating an orange that we picked off one of the many orange trees in Seville.  It was not until the next day that we read in a guide book, "The orange are too bitter to eat in Seville."  You can say that again.

     

      The next four days were spent exploring the beautiful city of Seville.  The South of Spain is a totally different ball game from the North.  The people are certainly much friendlier.  However, one of our teachers here made an interesting comparison between the people in the South of Spain and those of the North, saying that people in the South of Spain are indeed much friendlier up front, but they smile they appear to be hiding something behind their eyes, while Northerners have their friend’s backs and their loyalty for life, even though they might be harder to warm up to in the beginning.  

Plaza de Espana.

Elana and I dressed as twins in the Plaza.

Plaza de Toros - Bull Ring.

I like this girl.

By the river in Seville.

We love each other.

      On Monday morning, we were up by 6:45 to head out for our flight to Paris.  I was slightly (read: incredibly) annoyed at the RyanAir flight attendant who decided that my carry-on was oversized and decided to charge me 55 dollars, but I decided to put it behind me, as I had bigger things to worry about.  Namely, the takeoff of this next flight.  Once the engine started, I literally bawled my eyes out for 5 minutes straight.  Elana continuously whispered, “We’re going to die,” into my ear, which was less than comforting, but I held her hand anyway. I would have held Kelsey’s hand too, but she was in her own world of suffering and could seriously not be talked to for about 5 minutes before and after takeoff.  The landing was equally as terrifying as the takeoff had been, as we bounced on the runway, which was just about the last thing we could handle at that point. 

      We landed about an hour and twenty minutes outside of the center of Paris, so we had to grab a train towards the city at the train station.  It was in said station that I went through a basic rite of passage in Paris: being pick-pocketed.  Goodbye money, ID cards, debit card and Ipod!  I miss you!!!!

      At this point, I was rather puffy-eyed and pissed off at Paris. People had warned me that it was an expensive city, but I most certainly had not expected to lose hundreds of dollars before even arriving at the city center!  After 9 hours of traveling, we arrived at our Bed and Breakfast starving, sad, and exhausted.

      Luckily, our Bed and Breakfast was by far the cutest place I have ever been in my life.  The host took unbelievably good care of me, setting us up with coffee and a plate gingerbread cookies (and then another one when we shoveled the first 10 cookies down our throats in record time) while calling the debit card company to cancel my card and offering his phone about a million times to call my mother.  My parents were sending me a barrage of incredibly sweet emails reminding me that these things happen, and Elana and Kelsey were doing everything that they could to make me smile.  I was reminded about a million times over that the people in my life are so much more valuable than anything a silly pickpocket could ever take from me.  Mind you, I do hope that whoever ended up with my Ipod is enjoying my awesomely crafted playlists, organized by the names of colors that correspond to certain moods expressed by certain songs.

      We headed out that night to enjoy the city of lights. We ferociously ate dinner and then took a boat tour along the river and saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up.  Then, we happily headed back to our cozy little room and watched Ratatouie until we fell asleep in our warm and comfy beds.

Note the Eiffel Tower in the background!  Also, please note our silly new hats.

      We woke up to the most precious breakfast in the entire world, including the freshest and most delicious croissants in the entire world.  Our two hosts at the Bed and Breakfast had truly thought of everything to make their place as comfortable and welcoming as possible.  They helped us to plan our day ahead, and then we were off to climb to the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral (as recommended by my dad), walk along the river and grab lunch, visit the Arc de Triomph, and head up to the Sacred Heart Basilica.  Paris is absolutely stunning and so full of history, and I truly enjoyed exploring it all day, despite the fact that my absolute inability to say even one word in the native language allowed for some rather awkward interactions.  It turns out that speaking a mixture of Spanish and English will not trick people into thinking that you are speaking French.

Sacred Heart Basilica.

In front of Notre Dame.

At the top of Notre Dame.

Locks of Love! CA + EG + KA 4ever.

Our yummy breakfast!

      The following day, we toured the Louvre and visited the Eiffel Tower during the day.  We couldn’t believe our time in Paris was already up, so we made sure to buy some chocolate croissants before we left.  Honestly, I would give Paris another Ipod and another few hundred dollars if it would give me another one of those bites of Heaven.

Oh, hey Mona.

      We made the journey back to the airport and braced ourselves for takeoff once again.  This time, we were all holding hands.  We suddenly found ourselves singing Backstreet Boys as the engine revved up in an attempt to keep our minds off our panic.  We were far from over the trauma of the first flight, and even small bumps on the metro had terrified us over the course of the week.  Our eyes were all closed, our hands were interlocked, and we were huddled together, singing.  “You are…my fire.  My one…desire.  Believe when I say, that I want it thaaaat way.”

      The plane started moving.

      “But we are two worlds apart, can’t reach to your heart, when you say, that I want it that way.”

      The plane started its ascent into the sky.  I buried my face into Elana’s shoulder.

      “TELL ME WHY, AINT NOTHING BUT A HEARTACHE, TELL ME WHHHYYY, AINT NOTHING BUT A MISTAKE, TELL ME WHY!!!! I NEVER WANNA HEAAAAAR YOU SAY, I WANNNNTTT IT THHHHAAAATTTT WAY!!!!!!!”

      And then we were in the air, smooth sailing, cruising back to our Spanish homes.  Safe and sound.  Back to Basque Country, for my final 10 days in Bilbao.  I can’t believe that my time in Europe is ending so soon, but at the same time, I can’t believe how many amazing opportunities I have had over here in such a short period of time.  This past trip has reminded me of how blessed I am to be here with the amazing friends that I have made.  We made one friend at the hostel in Seville who, after a day and a half with Kelsey, Elana and me, told us, “I have never met anyone who laughs quite as much as you three girls do.”  I feel I have done so much.  And yet, if I have learned one thing, it is that I have so, so much more left to do.

Laughing until we cry.  It is this, and these girls, that I will miss the most.

Mama, You've Been On My Mind

As I previously mentioned, my mom came to visit me in Europe.  She managed to blog about the first half of our time together, but has left it up to me to handle the second half.  Just thinking back to our two weeks together makes me physically exhausted.  I truly do not know how we managed to do so much in such a short period of time.  Lots of cafes con leche, and our fair share of siestas.

Seeing as I am surrounded by a bunch of loco 20-year-olds on a daily basis, for which Europe is an endless playground, I figured my trip with my mother would be relaxing, easy-going, and sophisticated.  As is usually the case with any assumption I make in Spain, I was wrong.  On her first night in town, we headed to a local bar to tag-team a Jarra de Sangria Grande.  Please note the “Grande” part of in this description, as the bartender blatantly laughed at me when I ordered it the first time when he realized there were only two of us.   However, by our third visit to his place, he no longer doubted our ability to take down the entire pitcher.  It was on this first night that I should have realized that my time with Peachie was going to be nothing short of an adventure.

After spending our first week in Bilbao, we were up before the sun at the beginning of her second weekend in Europe to head to Barcelona.  We were out the door of my dorm building by 5:00 AM and were on our way to the bus station, which I have been to about a million times, as there is a bus that goes directly from the center of Bilbao to the airport.  Usually, I take a metro to the bus station, where I catch the bus to the airport.  However, since we were awake before the metros had started running, we had to walk to the bus station instead.  The bus to the airport only costs one euro, as opposed to a twenty-five euro taxi ride. I assured my mom that the bus station was not that far away, and that I could find it on foot. I have been living in Bilbao for three months and have been to that same bus station a million times, where I have always taken that same bus to get to the airport.

Forty minutes and one very unattractive meltdown later, we were in the middle of nowhere, helplessly flagging down a taxi to take us to the airport. Apparently, when mommy is around, I remember how to throw one hell of a tantrum.  What I could not remember was how to get to that stupid bus station. I was overheated, under-caffeinated, and teary-eyed.  Just get me to the airport, and get me to Barcelona –the place where dreams are made.

Upon landing in Barcelona, I whipped out my instructions detailing how to find our hostel from the airport.  We hopped on a bus that would take us to the center of the city. We were to get off at the first stop the bus made.  Well, the first stop came around and the doors of the bus did not open.  We stood there like mute babies and did not think to ask the driver to simply open the doors and let us get off.  The same thing happened at the second stop.  And the third.  I was working up a sweat, screaming about the indecency of our bus driver and the fact that his unbelievably rude decision to keep us as prisoners had taken us way off track from the route my directions instructed me to follow.  Finally, at the last stop the bus was to make, the doors opened and we got out, now completely disoriented.  It was not until our trip had ended and we were on our way back to the airport on this same bus that we realized the multiple “STOP” buttons located throughout the vehicle, with clear instructions (in English) indicating that we were to press any of the many, many buttons to alert the driver that a passenger was looking to exit the bus. 

Luckily, I learned a few things about the metro stations in Barcelona during my last visit there, and I was able to backtrack without too much added hysteria.  However, I noticed that my phone battery was blinking on completely empty, and remembered that I had not packed my phone charger.  I had plans to meet Chema for lunch and was not going to be able to tell him where to find us.  He had planned on skipping his afternoon class to meet up with us, but we had not yet set a time or place.  At this point, I was getting just slightly annoyed with the series of unfortunate events that were unfolding.  We dropped our things off at the hostel, and I declared that my only mission in life was to charge my dinky little cell phone.  I found a MoviStar phone company relatively easily, and asked to purchase a charger.  They told me that my phone was so cheap that the charger was going to be 18 euros whereas buying an entire new phone would be 19 euros.  I told them I had neither the time nor the patience to set up a new phone and to please kindly allow me to pay them whatever they wanted so long as I could avoid the wrath of Chema Voilo. Let’s just say that he did not exactly voluntarily decide to skip his class to see me, and he MAY have had to deal with just a BIT of an overreaction on my part on Wednesday night when he had tried telling me that he couldn’t easily meet up with us on this particular Thursday.  If I ended up screwing up this lunch then we probably wouldn’t be talking today.  Or ever again, for that matter.  So, I bought the phone charger, charged my phone for ten minutes, and decided to mentally erase the entire morning and start again.

Alright, Mom, it’s time to put these minor roadblocks behind us and enjoy my favorite city in Europe.  We bought a map the size of Texas and, checking the street signs to orient ourselves about six times, headed in the direction of La Sagrada Familia.  About 45 minutes later, we realized we had gone in the exact opposite direction from that which we were meant to walk.  Luckily, everywhere in Barcelona is beautiful, and we ended up in the Gothic Quarter of the city, which I had missed on my first trip and was happy to stumble across on my second one.  We then headed over to Las Ramblas to walk towards the water and wait for Chema, our tour guide for the afternoon.  We had a great lunch and walk along the beach, followed by a visit to a magic little café in the style of Alice in Wonderland. Things were turning around and I was remembering why I loved Barcelona so much.  Thanks for dealing with me, Chemita!  

This picture is awkwardly in black and white, and I'm awkwardly holding an H&M bag, but BFFs regardless.

America's Next Top Mom Model

After lunch, my Mom and I made the journey up to Park Guell in time to watch the sunset.  While that was a beautiful sight, I realized it was already way too dark for my mom to understand how beautiful that park is during the daytime.  We decided to return in the morning, and headed out to have tapas in the city.  While sitting outside in the middle of Barcelona, sharing our tapas and drinking some more of our much loved sangria, we took a few minutes to realize that this was probably one of the coolest moments of our lives.

Buenas Noches, Barcelona!

The next day, we shared the most expensive meal of our trip, AKA we went to Starbucks, and then headed back to Park Guell.  I would like to remind everyone about my previous decision to get married there, and would also like to once again reach out to Javier Bardem and let him know that he has 3 more weeks to find me in Spain. 

I miss this woman.

Pretending we are on a photo shoot.

The perfect place to walk down the aisle.

After exploring Park Guell for a couple hours, we had to head right back to the Barcelona airport to catch our flight to Rome.  I was beyond excited to go to Italy.  I brought my stretchiest pair of jeggings to prepare myself for the binge eating that I intended to do.  I was also extra excited because I had booked my mom and myself a private room at a place called Salvador Bed and Breakfast. I had never stayed at a Bed and Breakfast before!  I couldn’t wait to see our cute little room and settle in. 

We stumbled upon our B&B around 7:00 PM or so.  It was not much to look at from the outside, but I was sure it was going to be wonderfully charming on the inside.  I rang the buzzer at the front door.  Nothing happened.  Rang it again.  Nothing happened.  Huh.  What now?  It was then that I noticed an older, stout gentleman bumbling up the street towards the building.  “Salvador?” he asked, as he headed to open the door for us.  “¡Si, gracias!”  I told him, before remembering that we were not in Spain, but since I knew absolutely zero words in Italian other than “gelato,” I just had to hope that he would get the general idea.  I figured this man was just someone who lived in the building and was used to confused American tourists standing outside the door, wondering how to get inside.  He did not speak English by any means, but somehow managed to tell us that he had just finished eating dinner.  Spaghetti, to be specific.  His name was George.  Alright, old man George, that’s nice.  He took us all the way right up to the door of the B&B.  How kind!  Wow, Italians sure go out of their way to help people. 

Then, he did something that I had not been expecting.  He took out some keys and opened the door to the B&B.  Wait, are you staying here, too?  What’s going on?  He then walks up to a very messy little desk, with about a million shreds of paper strewn everywhere, and proceeds to ask me my name.  It is then that I realize that this bumbling old man is the owner of this place.  And by “this place,” I mean…his place.  His personal apartment that he is pretending to have transformed in to a Bed and Breakfast.  He sloppily writes down my passport number in a calendar (under the month of March, mind you), and takes us to our room.  It is spacious and clean, so I can’t complain.  George points to the clock, at the numbers 8, 9, and 10, and says “Breakfast.”  He then goes over to a door marked “Privado” and motions for us to knock on the door.  He proceeds to go back and point to the clock again.  We figure breakfast is beyond the doors between the hours of 8 and 10.  How cute!  The kitchen is behind closed doors to keep breakfast a surprise.  He must go through great pains to personally prepare our meals, considering we are staying in his personal apartment.  Thanks, George!  With that, my mom and I head out to eat our first Italian meal.

As we were stumbling through the streets to find somewhere to eat, we happened across the Pantheon.  Rome is the most bizarre city on Earth.  There is not just a mixture of new and old, as there is in Bilbao, but rather a striking juxtaposition between brand new and absolutely ANCIENT.  The magnificent buildings I have read about in history books my entire life are just mixed in amongst commercial shopping and dining areas.  It is so amazing, and so weird. We ended up eating on a side street near the Plaza Navonna.    I could write an epic poem describing how delicious our food was, but all I will say is, YUM.  We also came to love the owner of the restaurant (who also most likely loved my mother), and we decided that we were going to love Rome.  

The Pantheon

Vatican City

The next morning, my mom and I woke up, showered, and talked about what we might be having for breakfast.  It was 9:00, but there seemed to be no one else awake except for us.  We could have sworn George told us breakfast was anytime between 8:00 and 10:00, so we awkwardly crept up to the door marked “Privado.”  I guess we should just…knock on the door and see what happens?  My mom knocked on the door quietly.  Nothing happened.  My mom knocked on the door loudly.  We heard someone rustling about, followed by George’s shouting, “Minuto!”  Behind that door does not lie a kitchen.  We just knocked on George’s bedroom door.  He was asleep, and our knocking has just woken him up.  I feel incredibly awkward and run back to our room. 

George emerges from his room, groggy-eyed but cheerful. He points to my sock-covered feet and says, “Shoes.” What?  Why do I have to put shoes on to eat?  He then opens the door that leads out of the B&B.  Okay…is breakfast downstairs or something?  I put my shoes on and follow him.  Follow him out the door, down the elevator, out the front door of the building, down the street, around the corner, and into a café.  My hair is soaking wet.  We are in a café.  There are two cute baristas looking at me like I am an absolute idiot, and also as if they are expecting me to say something.  I don’t speak Italian, I don’t know what I’m doing here, and I look like a wet dog.  I feel incredibly awkward and run to the closest table.  George gets us two cappuccinos and 2 pastries.  He tells us not to wake him up the following day, as he will be sleeping, and now that we know where the café is, we know what to do.  So, this is the breakfast part of our Bed and Breakfast.  We are uncontrollably laughing, and I still looking like a shaggy poodle, so we down our cappuccinos and leave. 

Our day is filled with sightseeing and exploring.  Rome is by far the most touristy place I have ever been, which makes sense seeing as the entire city feels like one big museum of amazing buildings forever frozen in time.  For lunch, I was able to meet up with the BEAUTIFUL and amazing Sara Gil, who is Rebecca Drake’s roommate at Emory College in Atlanta.  Although I had never met Sara before, I had heard so much about her and had wanted to meet her for what feels like forever, so I was beyond excited to get the chance to see her…in Rome.  She took us to eat one of the best meals of my entire life, followed by the best gelato in the world, followed by a tour of the city.  She knows just about everything about Rome, and was simply the most lovely person with which to spend the afternoon.  I seriously feel like I have known that girl for years, and am so, so, so happy to have finally actually met her in person!

Mama making a wish at the Trevvi Fountain!

Sara!!!!!!! I'm so happy just writing this caption and remembering this happened.

At this point, it was Saturday evening.  Saturday, November 12^th, 2011.  I had been waiting for that day for months, for that was the day that Bob Dylan was playing in Rome.  That was the day I picked out last Spring from Dylan’s tour dates as the concert I wanted to see while studying abroad.  That day was the reason I traveled to Rome.  That day was the reason my Mom’s trip fell at the time that it did.  I was going to see Bob Dylan…in Rome.  I couldn’t wait.  There was just one little problem, that being that we didn’t actually have tickets due to an unsurpassable error with the ticketing site.  However, I have been to over 40 Dylan concerts, and I have witnessed countless numbers of people pick up tickets the day of the show.  My mom and I got at the venue at about 5:30pm, for a 9:00 show, which we figured would give us plenty of time to buy a ticket (either from the ticket booth, from someone with an extra ticket, or from a scalper).  I saw some people I recognized who I have met during various legs of the Never Ending Tour in the States.  I also met a very nice (and very handsome) fellow Californian with whom to pass the hours outside the venue.  I was so happy to be there.  I couldn’t wait for the concert to begin. 

The next 5 hours are a blur of emotion that I do not really wish to describe.  Let’s just say that at 10:30, in tears, I turned to my Mom, still ticketless, and simply said, “I’m ready to go home now.” I’ll leave it to the words of Bobby D himself to sum up how I felt that night:

“I see nothing to be gained by any explanation
There are no words that need to be said
You left me standing in the doorway crying
Blues wrapped around my head.”

We took the metro home in absolute silence.  I suddenly really missed my Dad, who I know would have found a way to get  us in to that show, even if he had to rip down the walls to do it.  When we got back to the B&B, I decided that we had to look towards tomorrow as opposed to dwelling on the unfortunate events of that night.  I took out the tickets to the Colosseum, Palatine Hill, and the Roman Forum that I had bought weeks ago in preparation for our trip. The tickets were valid for 2 days.  I thought that I had purchased them for Saturday the 12^th and Sunday the 13^th, and my Mom and I had planned on visiting these sites on Sunday.  I was especially looking forward to seeing the Colosseum. I took out the tickets and read, “Validity: Friday, November 11^th- Saturday, November 12^th.”  I pulled the blanket over my head and went to sleep. 

The next morning, my Mom and I resumed speaking.  Maybe last night had not gone as we may have wanted it to, but we were visiting the cradle of Western Civilization.  We truly could not complain about anything at all.  Not one thing.  We could not have been more lucky and blessed to be in Rome together.  However, we still decided to cut our losses and scratch every item off our to-do list so as to have a completely stress-free day.  We spent the entire day shopping and eating.  It was the best decision we could have made.  We headed to the airport with our suitcases stuffed with souvenirs and our bodies stuffed with pizza.  It was a good day.  It was a great trip.  We headed back to Bilbao on Sunday night.

On Monday, I skipped the majority of my classes (school isn’t real, my life isn’t real, nothing is real) and had a picnic with my Mom and my best friends here.  I then reluctantly helped my mother pack.  Well, that’s a lie. I mostly just watched her pack and yelled at her not to leave me.  Then we went for Sangria.

My mom looks younger than my friends.

My mom left on Tuesday, and I spent the entire day in my bed, in mourning.  I had gotten so used to having her here with me, and I was just truly so sad for her to leave.  Luckily, I had spent two of the best weeks of my life with here –two weeks that I will never, ever forget.  I have so many wonderful memories with her that I will genuinely always cherish.

I woke up the next day and went to the cafeteria to have some coffee by myself.  I was still feeling very sad, especially while having my coffee alone, as having coffee with my mom is one of my very favorite things to do.  I went to my first class and came home to take a run.  I put on my left running shoe, and went to put on my right one, but there was something blocking my foot.  Something rather large.  What the heck?  I stuck my hand in my shoe and found a little package, with a note from my Mom.  She had bought for me the bracelet I had obsessed over in Barcelona but had not bought for myself, wrapped it up, and left it in my running sneaker.  What’s more, she left me a little bag with euros inside it, with directions to buy myself a matching ring.  I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.  My day was infinitely better from then on.

Highlights of my last couple weeks include eating gnocchi, eating pasta, eating pizza, eating gelato, and eating a cookie the size of my head, all in Rome.  Minor setbacks include gaining ten pounds in Rome.  One major, MAJOR setback was being flashed in Rome.  Yes, flashed.  By a man.  A man flashed me in Rome.  TWICE.  I am still having nightmares.

Needless to say, I loved having Peach here.  In three weeks from tomorrow, I will be seeing her again.  I cannot even believe that I will be moving out of here in three weeks.  We have 21 days left here…and we are going to make them count.

Are You Ready?

The past couple weeks in Bilbao have been two of the most ones fun by far, all because of the lovely Peach showing up in Spain and leaving me with some of the best memories I have made to date...here is her take on the first half of our trip together.

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I ran away to Bilbao, Spain.  (don't worry, I had to look it up on a map, too).   After ten days and nine nights on a plane I arrived to the beautiful sight of the one and only Christie Amrein waiting for me.   How I have missed that girl!  Christie greeted me with a huge smile, open arms and an extensive itinerary.

Day Number One

Morning

Arrival in Bilbao 9:55AM

Arrival to Colegio Mayor - Check In - 11:00AM

Afternoon

Lunch in the city

Walking tour of Bilbao

Coffee break

Grocery shopping

Evening

Dinner in the dorms

After dinner drink to see the city at night

A very full day.  Bilbao is a beautiful city.  Europe is so unique.... the buildings, the architecture, the scenery, the people. So cool to be in a place completely different from where I live.  It was great to have Christie show me around a city she has come to know and like so much.  Her new home.

We did a lot of walking that first day. Up stairs.  Yes, up stairs.  In a city.  So many, many stairs.  not. prepared. for. the. stairs.  whew. dying.  have to..catch... my breath.

Typical street in Bilbao

stairs

more stairs

Window in my room

amazing view from my window

Ok, see the last item on the itinerary?  After dinner drink. This elevated my already great day to a new height.  Sorry, Dad, your cosmo has been replaced.

SANGRIA.    My new love.

Day Number Two

Morning

Breakfast in the dorms

Run along the river together

Afternoon

Shopping in Casco Viejo

Picnic lunch at top of Casco Viejo stairs

Coffee stop

Shopping on Gran Via

Evening

Split:  Continue shopping or take a siesta while Christie volunteers, 4:45-6:00

Dinner (Pintxos) in Casco Viejo

I have a deficit in my brain.  Specifically, the foreign language processing center in my brain.  There is some vital synapse or collection of neurons or something that is completely missing.  This is the only explanation I have for what happened on the morning of day number two.  

The sum total of all the words I know in Spanish can fit on on the tip of a pencil.  But I was determined to pick up a few phrases on this trip.  I started to get the hang of saying "gracias" and "hola" and "buenas noches" without feeling totally geeky and self  conscious and proceeded to add "perdon"  after repeatedly bumping into strangers on the street (Spaniards do not move to accommodate oncoming people.  They just keep right on walking.  They will walk right into you.  This is a fact.  I learned it the hard way.  Thus, the need to add perdon to my repertoire).   

I was staying on the fourth floor of Christie's dorm.  She was on the sixth floor.  Each floor has a common room.  The coffee maker was located in the common room on Christie's floor.  Christie is well aware of my need for coffee first thing in the morning (bless this child) so she told me to just come up to her common room as soon as I woke up and put my coffee on...nobody would be in there.  When I awoke I was a bit disoriented.  Bleary-eyed, I grabbed my coffee and filter and headed out my door, down the dark hallway and towards the stairwell.  I didn't notice her until I was practically right next to her.  A cleaning woman.  "Hola," she said to me.  I can only blame the early hour and my faulty wiring for the words that proceeded to come out of my mouth.    "Buenas noches,"  I replied and ran up the stairs.

I would like to say this was my only embarrassing language fiasco.  It wasn't.  To my blog readers, please refer to Christie's blog post "Series of Dreams" for further examples ......http://christieamrein.blogspot.com/

Day number two was jam packed with activities including shopping in both the old section of the city as well as shopping in the new section of the city.  I, of course, loved it all.

The rain in Spain does not stay mainly in the plain.  And thus, the next couple of days did not go strictly according to plan.  However, the rain could not stop us from going to a futbol game on Sunday night, Bilbao v. Barcelona.  Totally, totally cool.  Great seats, a real live bicycle kick, an extremely close game (Barcelona scored in the last minute to tie the game) and a crowd like I have never experienced before made it a true highlight.

Day Number Four

Morning

Breakfast in dorm

Split:  Go shopping at Gran Via while Christie in class

Afternoon

Reconvene for lunch in the dorms, Christie will not be eating in the cafeteria and will instead make lunch and eat with you, 2:30pm

Survey of Hispanic Literature Class, 4:10-5:30pm

Coffee break

Evening:

Dinner in the dorms

"Go shopping in Gran Via while Christie is in class." See where it says that there? Go shopping. By myself. In Spain. Where they speak Spanish. And I, well, you know all about my Spanish speaking abilities. As well as my sense of direction abilities. So the thought of finding the metro, getting on the metro, heading in the right direction, getting off at the right stop and finding Gran Via was all a bit overwhelming. But it was on the itinerary. I had to do it. I had to step out of my comfort zone. Oh, wait, step out of my comfort zone? Sounds familiar..... Like, maybe, when I decided to train for a triathlon? I GOT THIS. And I did. It was amazing. I rode the metro (in the right direction), found Gran Via, went shopping, bought a few things, paid in Euros, and made it back home a happier, more confident woman. Yay, me, Yay, itinerary.

Day Number Five
Morning

Breakfast in the dorms

Free time while Christie goes to her first class

Afternoon

Run together after Christie's last class, 12:00pm

Lunch in Gexto (beach town)

Walk around and shop in Gexto

Coffee stop

Evening

Dinner in dorms

Gexto is a beach town on the Bay of Biscay about 45 minutes outside of Bilbao. We walked around for a bit enjoying the town then got a little lost in our effort to find a cafe for our coffee stop. It seems a young man noticed our plight and decided to come to our rescue. "Sandy," (like the song from "Grease" he told us, doing his best John Travolta imitation) was a transplant from Cuba who took us on an hour long walking tour of Gexto, telling us about all the town, showing us different sights and leading us up to by far the most beautiful spot in the whole town with an amazing view that we never would have found on our own. (ok, I have to admit, I was a little freaked out at first and had no idea what this Sandy guy was all about and what the heck he was doing and how the heck we were ever going to get away from him and was he going to follow us back to Bilbao and stay with us forever but after a while I realized he was actually just a genuinely nice guy who wanted to show us the best part of the town. Sometimes, it's just that simple).

Beautiful day at the beach

Stairs.  There's a surprise.

Sandy showed us a hidden cove

Best views courtesy of Sandy

Day Number Six

Morning

Breakfast in dorms

Run together

Split:  Visit to the Guggenheim Museum

Afternoon

Reconvene for lunch in the dorms

Split:  free time while Christie goes to her last class

Evening

Reconvene for visit to the Museo de Bellas Arstes

Dinner in the dorms

Early bedtime

"The Guggenheim Bilbao's collection spans from the mid-twentieth century to the present day, concentrating on post-war painting and sculpture in America and Europe. The collection includes key works by significant artists including Anselm Kiefer, Willem de Kooning, Robert Motherwell, and Richard Serra, whose work The Matter of Time was created to be a permanent installation in Bilbao's largest gallery."   

Ok, that didn't mean anything to me,  either.  I will confess I didn't think I was going to be that impressed by the Guggenheim, just because it's not really my cup of tea.  But I was absolutely captivated by the exhibit "the Matter of Time," by Richard Serra.  It was awesome. 

 "Mega-sculptor Richard Serra's mega-installation, A Matter of Time, opened June 8 at the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. This huge permanent installation of eight bent steel sculptures is possibly the largest installation to ever be housed in a museum gallery. The work weighs about 1,200 tons, is over 430 feet in length and has taken up residence in a 32,000 square foot gallery. The eight pieces swirl and glide together, creating spaces while imposing upon the space they are in. Imposing as they may be, the sculptures invite the viewer to become participant: to explore around them, to find the spaces within, to play with sound, to stop and start at any point, to move at any speed. Because of its mazelike structure, this installation will leave different imprints on every person that passes though the experience."     (look at it on you tube).

The Matter of Time.  Blurry because the lady slapped my hand as I was taking the picture.  Clear translation in any language:  no pictures allowed.  

Why is there a ginormous dog sculpture outside of the Guggenheim?

Observations so far:


The people of Bilbao are beautiful.  No, seriously.  They are dressed to the nines at all times.  You can scour the entire city and will not find one person in sweatpants or wearing Uggs.  Young and old alike.  The eighty year old woman sitting next to us in the restaurant looked effortlessly chic with her jewels, her  blond bob and her black leather pants.  


Siestas are wonderful.


Trips to the market for warm bread quickly become a necessary activity of daily living.


Looking strangers (particularly men) in the eye and smiling is strictly verboten.  I learned this the second or third day I was in Bilbao.  It is considered extremely forward.  Well, I guess there are about 15 men (and probably about 12 woman) who are waiting for me to give them a call.  


Time with my daughter in Europe....priceless.

And on the seventh day....we rested.

ABSOLUTELY NOT.






To be continued.......