Some Nights in Murcia...

Michiel & me, Granda, June 15, 2013

From the streets and mountains of Murcia, to the sprawling boulevards of Valencia, through the magical gardens of the Alhambra, and in and every damn playground we could find from Spain to Romania, my friends and I treated the act of having fun like a contact sport and a drinking game.

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There isn't much to be said about me reliving my college partying days on an epic scale of  international and therefore ridiculous "come home with the sun" proportion, aside from the obvious in that it was a lot of fun . In 10 months I literally drank more beer than I had in all four years of undergrad (because I didn't really do beer in undergrad and had upgraded almost exclusively to vodka once I got to grad school), discovered the upper limits of my alcohol/consciousness limits...twice (St. Patrick's Day was the set up!), loved and loathed la madrugada, and got to know some of my fellow expat friends in awesome, terrible, and hilarious ways.

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Walking Backwards

Granada (revisited)  June 15, 2013

¡Hola a Todos! So let's just skip past the part about me not blogging for 6 months, and start over from the beginning. Which, because I'm the author of this story, means I'll start at the end. And I don't actually mean the end, because this international love story between me and Spain is far from over...

16:50 Tuesday, June 25, 2013

So there I was in Madrid's Puerta de Atocha Estación de Tren. With the aid of a kind stranger, I had just stepped off the train with three, overstuffed pieces of luggage, two carry on bags, AND Kona in his travel carrier (which he loathes traveling in).

My struggle was so much worse than this. My suitcases were twice as big 

 Ignoring the puzzled look on people's faces as they watched me on the platform, I put forth my best "I can do this shit" attitude, confidently assembled my bags for exit, and 5 minutes later was smoothly walking backwards towards the escalator. And then I got to the escalator and realized I was majorly fucked. 'Cuz ya know, escalators are moving stairs, which created the very real danger of me falling face forward as I tried to haul my crap while walking backwards. I tried not to panic, but I was at a loss of how I was going to make it work AND I was blocking the escalator. Another kind gentleman witnessed my dilemma and helped me get on the escalator without face planting. We got to the top of, he helped me get my bags off and just barely out of the way of the travelers who had been trapped behind my little sideshow, and disappeared. Considering that when I got on the train in Murcia, and was fighting the good fight to lift my suitcases into the hold and NOBODY helped me, I was grateful. But then I looked at the 1000+ feet journey just to get to the main vestibule of the train station and my heart sank a little.  I made several attempts to walk facing traffic with my bags behind me, only to lose control of them and have them fall sideways nearly taking me down with them, so I surrendered my pride to what worked. I have to say that walking backwards with 200lbs of luggage and a dog through Spain's largest train station was probably the longest 20 minutes of my life. By the time I made it through the main terminal and outside to the taxi stand, I could barely stand upright or even speak. But I stammered out my destination address, collapsed into the taxi, and exhaled. I was I halfway to on my way home. In two days I would be in Madrid's airport and heading back to the U.S. for the first time in 10 months. I had made it! So let's go backwards a little more.

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

So after much preparation, and absurd last minute drama, I finally embarked on my journey to Spain. In the year preceding my decision to move abroad [2011] and the last weeks leading up to my move, however, I felt incredibly lost. In both these instances it felt as my life was in endless turmoil. With respect to year preceding this decision, I felt that every decision I ever made was wrong, and despite my best laid plans, the world insisted on stomping them into oblivion. In the weeks leading up to the move, the significance of my departure started to weigh on me like a ton of bricks and there were three tearful breakdowns. The first at my going away party, the second and most physically significant being fueled by a massive amount of vodka, courtesy of table service at my favorite strip club, and the last was brought on by a series of unfortunate events, including, but not limited to Kona being incredibly sick the day of our departure. As I sat in the vet's office that morning, giving them my tearful permission to run whatever tests were necessary, it was in that moment I was convinced that packing up my life and moving to a new country was the WORST IDEA EVER.

Even after leaving the vets office $200 poorer, with a bag full o' medicine and poodle on the mend in tow, I wasn't so sure that the energy that I was expending to speed to my mom's house in New Jersey where I was supposed to have been the night before, was worth it at that point. What was supposed to be the most exciting experience of my life, had morphed into the nightmare that wouldn't end, that kept getting more expensive, and invited everyone in the WORLD to tell me I was going to meet  a Spanish man, fall in love and get pregnant. On the day of my departure, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and stay there forever. But instead, I pressed on.

It's Real

Having had my own Spanish adventures I can say that the transformative effect of that Barcelona air isn’t just movie magic—it’s real.
-Melissa, Mostly Madrid 

Truest. Story. Ever.

The same has been said about Sevillla, and I assume therefore it will be the same for Murcia.

{Source}

I'm feeling a lot of things right now, mostly tepid excitement given the economic crisis. But ultimately, lo que será, será.

Jump

I haven't got much time to waste, It's time to make my way

I'm not afraid of what I'll face, but I'm afraid to stay

I'm going down my road and I can make it alone

I'll work and I'll fight till I find a place of my own 

Are you ready to jump
Get ready to jump
Don't ever look back, oh baby
Yes, I'm ready to jump
Just take my hand, get ready to jump

-Madonna, Jump, Confessions on a Dance Floor

  
I love Madonna, and this one of my all time favorite songs of hers. Part of the reason I love this song, is because it's the background music in the montage scene in The Devil Wears Prada, where Andie has clearly gotten her shit together, and is seen sporting several fierce winter coats [and I have a growing obsession with outerwear]. And the other reason I love this song, is because it's motivational anthem, which for the past 3 years, 11 months, and 15 days, has often been necessary to get my ass out of bed and into my office. It's a song I've played often in order to invoke that sense that "I've made it"and as an educated, gainfully employed, independent, and occasionally awesome grown woman, and I'm totally living some version of 'the life' ".

Not.

As I've talked about many times on this blog, I was never really feeling it. So I decided to do something about it. I thought, a new job, a new city, an amazing fellowship could all be mine with some perseverance, prayer, and the hardball determination. But that all turned out to be a bust, and some of my closest friends and my family can tell you, I did NOT handle it well.

So I withdrew to recoup and mourn the loss of what I thought I wanted. In the process I made a few bad choices [retail therapy, an epically bad dating experience, more retail therapy] and one phenomenal choice. I didn't realize at the time that that one decision would lead to a moment of sharing, and that the result of both would alter the course of my life.

But here I type, life course completely and forever altered.

It's finally happened y'all.

The Road Twice Traveled

If you had told me on this very day last year, as I was practically bursting with excitement, flitting around BWI's Airport with my sister and two of my best friends as we embarked on our amazing journey to Spain and Morocco, that I would return to Spain for a second time just ten months later, I probably would have believed you. If you had told me that I would vow to move to Spain (as did Alihah) after that first trip, I would likely have believed that too. I mean, who wouldn't vow the same thing after two weeks in Europe, most people have that reaction. Besides, I was very serious when I made this declaration, which I actually originally made in 2005, following my 5 glorious weeks of study abroad in Italy. However, in both instances when I made these declarations, something was missing and I'm not talking about the really important details of HOW, WHEN, WHERE or the fact that I speaka only English [for now]. They were missing something that made them real, something that tapped into the heart of the matter.  This missing something is probably, if not definitely, the reason why even after having declared my intentions to semi-permanently part ways with the U.S. of A for a second time last year, I failed to actually start my research on the mechanics of such a move.

Día y Noche en la Feria

When I last left you, I was just getting to the good stuff. And by the good stuff, I mean, well all of the feria. Like any fair that's operational 17 hours a day, the feria has two identities, which, as I'm sure you can guess, divide along the rising and setting of the sun. I wasn't joking when I said the feria is the like the state fair on steroids. During the day, the crowd is more family friendly--whatever that may mean by Spanish standards--there are wee children, dancing, horses, booze and cigarette smoke, jamòn, you know the usual.  It's a sight to behold, and experience not to be missed if one can help it. What I loved most about the daytime was the atmosphere and the feeling that I wasn't missing out on any of the cultural experience. Oh no, during the day, I was never able to forget that I was in Spain, and that in itself made my trip more than amazing. I feel extremely priveleged to have participated in this celebration, which is shockingly, but pleasantly devoid of tourists.  Below are some of my favorite pictures during my time under the Andalusian sun.

A La Feria!

¡Buenos días mis amores! I know you're probably wondering what freakin' rabbit hole I fell into that would cause me to disappear for three weeks smack in the middle of telling you all about Spain. To be honest, I really did fall down a rabbit hole, and without going into further detail about it, I'm going to focus on what's important, and that is, of course, la feria!

España, We Meet Again



Beachside in El Puerto de Santa Maria

I'm baaack! Well, obviously I've been back. For a full two weeks now. But in typical me fashion, I've been wallowing in my "back from vacation blues", and just couldn't bring myself to blog. Actually, that's not true. I mean, I'm definitely suffering from the back from Spain blues--because Spain was legen---wait for it---dary! But unlike last year, I didn't actually cry at my desk when I returned to work nor seriously consider grabbing my purse, and fleeing my job, to never return. [no bullshiggity]. Oh no, this time, I came back determined to fulfill my vow to move to Spain, and started my research, while fighting on hell of a cold [damn, the Spanish love their cigarettes!]. And then it was Memorial day weekend, and I partied so hard that I got sick all over again. And thus I don't have the physical strength to put my air conditioner in the window. And here were are in the third day of an EPIC heat wave in which I have slept without air conditioning [and have been showering the poodle in cold water until he gets a hair cut], and I now finally have the mental capacity to begin chronicling my outlandishly awesome time in España. 

¡Estoy Aqui!

Hola Guapos! I'm back! I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but Spain was AWESOME. I've got plenty to tell, tons of pics, and delusions of granduer galore, but before I get to that, I'm going get caught up on all you YOUR blogs. Catch y'all in a bit.

¡besos!

Good to the Last Drop



{Source}

It was only a matter of time before I ran out of my beloved caramel vodka. Considering my obsession with all things caramel, and my appreciation for fine wine and spirits (read: booze lust), it's actually rather impressive that I managed to make this vodka last for six whole months! This was largely due to the fact that this particular libation held a sentimental value of sorts, as it represented my incredible time in España and Morocco last summer, and therefore was reserved almost exclusively for reminiscing with my partners in crime, Hillary and Alihah (my sister doesn't really do shots...silly grownup she is) and other close girlfriends. But sadly, all good things must come to an end, no? So here's to the Caramel Vodka! We had a good run, thanks for the incredible memories...

¡Salud!

Well you know how the saying goes, there's no use crying over spilled milk vodka? Well I took that literally, and have decided to buy several more bottles while I'M BACK IN SPAIN THIS MAY!! That's right, I'm going baaaaack! I can actually hardly believe it myself. Remember my cousin that we stayed with for part of our trip last year? Well, he was at Christmas dinner this year, and mentioned he was going back "home" to Spain to visit this spring, and extended the invitation. Or maybe I invited myself and he obliged (probably what happened), I can't remember exactly, but those details don't matter because my tickets have been purchased! This time around, our trip will be a little more low key. Rather than traipsing all over several cities, we'll be settling in Sevilla for eight days, half of which will be during the Feria del Caballo--The Festival of the Horse. Apparently, it's a big freakin deal, and most of  of Southern Spain will be the scene of one epic party. I'm so stoked, I literally did a happy dance when I bought my tickets!

Speaking of those tickets though...they weren't cheap. Which means I'm on a 30 day spending freeze, which I hope to extend another 30 days and so on and so forth because, now I HAVE to buy a DSLR camera. I can't fathom returning to Spain and taking grainy pictures with the hot Spanish men on the beach of the gorgeous scenery and all of my food with my little rinky dinky point and shoot. Me being me, I did some research, and have picked my gorgeous future new camera (see sidebar). So here's where I need your help. I need to you remind me that I'm not allowed to purchase non necessities for at least 30 days. That means no clothes/shoes/accessories, no make up (even though I really need to replace my mascara, but that can wait), no non grocery food, no kitchenwares (which means I have to stay far away from TJ Maxx and Marshalls) NADA! I'm counting on you guys to keep me in line, and help me resist the urge to spend, which I'm sure I'll be lamenting about about on Facebook...and Twitter! That's right, as of yesterday afternoon, I totally caved and entered the twitter (so follow me!). I'm working on a few ideas on how exactly I'm going to finance this camera purchase and stack spending cash, none which invovle selling the poodle, details to come in the future!

Oh, and please believe, I'll  be returning with a giveaway gift or two! :-D

Here's to the road twice traveled...

*squeal*

Sold, for 1000 Camels! Morocco: Part Duex

So I may have tried to sell my sister to a shop owner for 1000 camels. And I definitely tried to sell Hillary for 300. See right what had happened....was that the men in Morocco were quite friendly... and forward...lol.  But then I remembered that there was no way I could go home to my mom without Odichi, and had I promised Dan and Debbie I would keep Hillary safe [her parents were really worried, bless their hearts], so I decided it would be in poor taste sell my sister and friend to strangers. And besides, 300 camels is an insulting price, the guy was trying to take advantage of my naivete--but I know better for next time--I won't consider anything under 650 camels. True story.

This guy tried to buy my sister. We settled on us buying silver teapots from him instead

He thinks he just bought Hillary...that might be my fault

Anyway, the remaining two days in Morocco were spent shopping in the market, getting henna tattoos, eating honey pastries, riding camels, drinking mint tea,  lounging around our riad, sweatin' buckets, discussing the sociopolitical relationship between Morocco and the United states (apparently Secretary of State Clinton has a home somewhere in the country--and they love Obama there [yeah, son!]) politely refusing marriage proposals,  shopping [yes, more shopping] and watching the world cup final.

I'm rich, bitch!

lounging at the pool

Just walking around was an experience in itself. For one thing, the Moroccan men sure do love dreadlocks. My sister and I got a lot of attention, compliments, and questions on our hair. Walking through the streets, men would shout "Rasta Pasta!" and "We love Rasta!" "Bob Marley!" etc., it was hilarious. The market was like a microcosm unto itself, it was a sprawling maze of twisting alleys packed full of fabulous stuff. The deeper we went in, the further away from the rest of the world we felt, which after you get over that "this is where the white people in horror movies get killed, what the hell am I doing walking down this narrow street?!" feeling, it was pretty damn awesome.  First and foremost, there were leather shops EVERYWHERE selling leather EVERYTHING. I thought I would buy a nice leather bag, but before I knew it I was trying on leather jackets--in July--in Morocco*--and yes I did eventually buy a fabulous lamb skin bomber jacket.** It was like cocaine laced chicken noodle soup for the shopper's soul. There were antique lamps, ceramics, tangines of every size and color, antiques, tea sets, jewelry, wood boxes and carvings, paintings, pashminas, jalabas and kaftans, etc. I was in heaven! I ran out luggage space and kept shopping until I  ran out of money. Lesson for next time, bring more money. Lot's more money!

Our third and final day in Marrakech, we finally did something other than shop.  We went on a two hour camel trek. It was as cool as it sounds, except that it happened to be the hottest day of our trip, like 105 degrees walking around in a damn oven hot! I sooo regretted not bringing my water with me. Aside from nearly dying from heat exhaustion, the whole experience was awesome, and Carrie Bradshaw and crew  ain't got nothin on us!

Pongo, our trusty guide dog!
 It was so hot, it looked like he was gonna pass out at one point
At that point, I was worried for myself 

an hour into the ride, we were given a break with bread, honey, and more tea
I just wanted some cold freakin' water!

And to end our fabulous mini-holiday, we watched the world cup final, broadcast in Arabic [which is such an angry language, lol] with a ton of Spanish fans and two lovely British gals that we met while walking to the bar.

before

meets GOOOOOOOL!
this guy is obviously a die hard, lol
and he was on both of our flights to and from Morocco

A fabulous time was had by all, the memories are forever a part of my psyche, and I can't wait to do it again!

Aur Revoir Maroc!

*the Saharan Desert starts in Morocco
**I didn't include a picture b/c I'm just that lazy. But best believe the second it's cool enough, I'll be wearing it and including a picture of myself wearing it :)

Bienvenue au Maroc! Part Une

Tsamina mina
Zangalewa
Cuz this is Africa!

Tsamina mina eh eh
Waka Waka eh eh
Tsamina mina zangalewa
Anawa aa
This time for Africa!

As I am wrapping up my vacation related posts, I must detail my journey to Morocco. I don't want you to think for one moment that España overshadowed my time in Morocco, because it didn't. If it were practical for me to try to move to a Muslim nation as a single woman, Marrakech would be a real possibility. I cannot emphasize how wonderful the people were. Contrary to what ALL of the online reviews said about the men being aggressive, touchy, and rude to foreign women, our experience was the opposite. From the moment our very attractive cab driver picked us up from the airport, we were shown nothing but the warmest of hospitality by the people everywhere we went.  When our cab driver dropped us off on a busy street in what seemed to be the middle of chaos, the manager of our riad was waiting to meet us and show us the way to paradise.

The walk to our riad was short, but unforgettable words can hardly describe it. Try to imagine walking down a busy dusty road, the Saharan sun on your back, rows of with little shops selling leather goods, fruit, spices, jewelry, and cheap touristy crap, etc. with their merchants sitting outside looking at you with friendly eyes and big smiles, practically yelling "be sure to visit!" and "welcome, new neighbors!", dodging motor bikes as they whiz by so closely you can feel the heat on your ankles, exotic aromas wafting about, cats lazily lounging in the shade, and donkeys pulling carts of fruit, and a sort of organized chaos that would never sustain itself peacefully stateside. And we hadn't even put our bags down yet! Upon arriving to the riad, we were immediately seated in the courtyard for cool* water and hot mint tea. It was the first of many cups of tea on our three days in Morocco, and the beginning of a glorious experience.

When traveling to Marrakech, the preferred lodging venue is a riad rather than a hotel, and I have to say this is the way to go! We stayed at Riad Diana, and it was beautiful!

After a week of jamón, gratuitous partying, inhaling secondhand smoke by the metric ton and driving almost an hour to Sevilla's airport for our morning flight, we were in serious need of some R&R. Based on the recommendation of friend of my sister, we booked ourselves a spa treatment at the Le Bains de Marrakech Spa for the afternoon of our arrival.  BEST. DECISION. EVER! We traversed the dodgy street traffic in Marrakech on foot to get to the spa--crossing the street looked something like this--but once we got there, it was like being transported to another world. Once we arrived inside, they informed us that we couldn't take any pictures, and I know why. When standing at the gates of heaven, the last thing God wants is for people to be snapping photos. It's rude and disturbs the other bliss seekers. $105 bought three hours of BLISS: a 1 hour hammam body wrap/scrub, a 1 hour hot stone massage, and a 1 hour relaxation massage. Gotta love that dirham/dollar exchange rate!

The hammam was an experience I just have to share in detail, because it makes me chuckle. Basically, we were paired off and put in a steam room, naked from the waist up, and allowed to SWEAT out EVERYTHING. After an unknown amount of time, we were then practically manhandled by Moroccan women with a super scrubby body sponges (which they gave to us to keep, and yes I still use mine), and various soaps and oils . You would think that being roughed up by a stranger while being practically nude in a 100 degree steam room would be odd and off putting. But honestly, I was too tired to care, and then seeing all the dirt, dead skin, and what I'm sure was cigarette smoke residue coming off my body, I was amazed [and slightly mortified] and super appreciative of their efforts. After that scrub, my skin was softer than a newborn's ass AND my neck was several shades lighter. I was delighted. And then then they took me to the massage chamber where they rubbed me with hot stones and oils for two hours, and I'm pretty sure I left about 8oz of drool on the table because I was knocked out! I remember waking up at one point during my massage and having no clue where I was for probably 5 whole seconds, and not caring at all. I didn't know it was possible to be that relaxed. After it was over and they practically had to shake me awake, I could barely walk to the finishing room where there were rose petals and fountains and misters, we were seated on chaise lounges, given more mint tea, honey pastries, and allowed to continue to decompress. The few images on the website do not lie! Best spa experience of my life!

After dragging ourselves back into the streets of Marrakech, we saw fit to shop. We found our way to a "pharmacy" that we had stopped in on our way to the spa, and made a time of it, which included inhaling various herbal remedies--menthol in it's pure form will literally burn your brain and put hair on your chest, but it'll clear the sinuses! We drank mint tea, bought spices, herbs, and sandalwood, and made new friends. Honestly, I can't think of a better introduction to this wonderful country!

We wrapped up our evening in Morocco with a fabulous dinner at the fabulous Dar Essalam restaurant. You can read about the food in this post. But obviously the coolest part was the belly dancing and the woman dancing with a tray of candles on her head who did splits. It was wild, y'all!

And all of this was only on our first day!


*the water was never, ever cold. I don't think they understood the concept of ice cold water. Maybe it's b/c they can only drink bottled water, and therefore don't ever have ice. I dunno