SPAIN

Where to begin? I know I haven't been keeping up with this blog, but in this post I'll tell you about Spain and my adventures with my cousin. I carried a huge, dorky backpack, but it was much better than carrying a suitcase. I don't mind taking my shoes off, my belt off, baring my very soul to the TSA, but the feeling that you have to do it at a thousand miles per hour, lest you upset everyone behind you, is not a happy feeling.

Plane flight, a couple of cute kids with accents, and I was in Barcelona! I got off the plane and nearly started weeping. It was warm. Warm enough for me to wear short sleeves. Yaya met me at the airport and was my de-facto translator for the trip. I thought I was dressed pretty hip. I paled in comparison.

Barcelona is one of the prettiest cities ever, and I've been to a few. The way everything is so old and Spanish is amazing. Yaya lived next to the Catedral Santa Maria and the square where the monarchy welcomed back Columbus. Her apartment was glorious, albeit a little cramped. We got tapas and shared a jug of sangria. Sangria is delicious.

The next day, after a wonderful breakfast of jamón y café con leche, we boarded the tourist bus and saw the sights. I am awful with remembering the names of places--but it made me so homesick. Everything was like california. We were in San Francisco and then, a few minutes later, we were in the middle of Tiburon.

Especially the garden. It reminded me so much of scripps I nearly wept. I sat in the sun for hours and remembered what the blue sky looked like. Then--paella. Oh lord, paella. There were shrimp that stared at me with hatred in their dead little eyes, but I ate them with gusto. Then I had chocolate con churros, a shandy, and then Yaya and I shared a bottle of wine while watching Frequency. That movie is dreadfully underrated. Of course, that could be the alcohol talking.

Sunday morning, I had bread and a latte for breakfast, and moved into the hotel where I would be staying once Diego, Yaya's boyfriend, got back to the apartment. Oh goodness, it was lovely. Of course, the only TV channel in English was showing a documentary on Hiroshima, which was a downer. I had dinner with Diego, who is such a lovely person. He was also very jet-lagged, which makes me think he's a saint. He reminded me a little of my boyfriend, and only made me miss him more. I let Yaya spend the night with Diego, and I was able to go full starfish on the large, wonderful bed.

Monday was shopping, where I trusted Yaya's judgement and bought a ridiculously European outfit. I hope I can pull it off in the US. Then I had lunch with Diego, who continues to be amazing, and registered for classes. They are:

Looking at Religious Worlds
Heretics in Early Christianity
The Religion of Islam
Asian American Psychology

I spoke my best Spanish at the airport--mostly "si", "no", "no lo necesita", "estuve visitando mi prima" y "mas cafe, por favor." One of those things is wrong, but I realize, if I had to, I'd learn Spanish pretty damn fast. Yaya already told me that you don't have to speak spanish to live in Barcelona. Future plans? Not likely. I'd probably live in the canal area of San Rafael before Spain. I will relearn Spanish. This trip has only strengthened my resolve.

I didn't want to go back. I don't want to work. I do plenty of that at Scripps. I want to stay in that pseudo California forever. Oh well. The important thing is that I'm happy and safe and experiencing new things.

31 days. Holy horsefeathers, Batman!