There and Back again.

Life is ambiguous right now. Berkeley is an eye opening experience, but when it comes down to it, I feel like this could be home for awhile.

I can't explain how it goes, but when you see me again,

it will go to show,

that though the howling winds may blow,

what I've learned, what I've lost,

I still know.

-Greg

Word Vomit

 I got Minnesotan today. I went on a series of hikes to get a little fresh air and increase in heart rate, which ended up being a terribly awesome idea; because of the high heat warnings in effect with temperatures reaching 100 degrees Fahrenheit, but nonetheless  an awesome one, because of the atmosphere the heat provided me.


Much like the Spaniards, the only news people really pay close attention to in the Midwest is the weather, and as per normal they love a good whine about it. When it's colder than a witches tit in a brass bra, they wish for it to be more heated then Hades on a bad binger. Then, when it's post-apocalyptically hot enough that the last snow pile in the St. Paul/Minneapolis area was finally melting into slushy mush, they wish for it to be subarctic with twelve feet of fresh pack. 

So naturally, nature was my own today.

The animals were out and about, taking advantage of the lack of human invasion as well. So as I sat upon the lake at the end of a dock I finished writing a poem that I've been working on for awhile. I like, but I don't know if it's it good. But in the end, who really cares?



 I'm looking for a dime.

A penny for your thoughts,
a nickel for your heart,
That's my six sense.


 Four, one is none
and, none is done
nor, one can not be done without one.

Four, nothing is everything and everything is nothing.

Your progress is pouring out into the pockets of the insatiably unpristine.




Now playing: Phoenix- "Love like a Sunset"

Today, I listened to nature.

Adjustments, They need to be constructed.

Adjusting back to an American lifestyle has been for lack of a better word, strange. I feel like a german cog being put into a swiss clock. It works, but it's not the ideal piece to make the system be, well, clockwork. Don't get me wrong, America is great, it's been peachy keen getting to see my friends and family, but I feel so different.

Europe was one of the biggest experiences of growth I had ever faced. I liken it to the growth of a flower. I went to europe under the impression that I was a blooming or at least budding flower, but upon arrival through the situations I encountered, I came to the realization that I was just a seed. Unfortunately at first I  traded in alcohol for the watering can, and I missed out on a few experiences and friendships that could have been cherished for a long time post-travel. Although that was a downer, and I'd never felt so lonely and little in such a big and unfamiliar place, it was one of the most crucial parts of my experience abroad. And instantly from that point I knew I could start sprouting or I could claim unfertile ground.

I sprouted. I went independent. I chased experiences that I wanted to have and relied solely on me and defined myself outside of the group of wonderful people I had just met.

I took a week to myself, I walked and wandered. I was a vagabond, a nomad, but at that point I was not a passenger, because I was in total control of destination.  No one had the map, and I had the wheel.

Alone and metaphorically lost in Europe, I had no group, I had no plans, I had no destination, aside from living and surviving. I wandered the  streets of Salamanca, taking solace in the golden limestone archeticture and the vined iron confines of the hidden gardens. I learned the place like the back of my hand. I found it's wonders, it's unseen spots, and the glory that only someone with my situation or a local who had lived there for years could seek out.

I moved from tourist and visitor, to adventurer and apreciator.

I fell in love.

As the weeks went on, I adjusted, working my way slowly but steadily and surely back into the swing of things. I began formulating lasting relationships with people, and assimilated, but with a new purpose of taking care of myself and my experience first. The whole time I reminded myself to take care of me and my mistress, Salamanca, first.

Leaves of mine started to sprout as the cold and chill of winter gave way to the warmth and joy of spring. I got to know myself better than I had previously thought as I adopted the mentality and heart of a lion, the symbol of pride in Spain. I retooled, and reinvented my way of thinking. I had renewed vigour, spirit and pride in my accomplishment of overcoming an incredible and daunting misstep.

Then I blinked.

And there I was, an experience, come and gone. I sat in the Madrid airport, tired, sad, and mourning for another breath of Spanish culture and lifestyle. But with that sadness, was happiness for what was to come. Because I was ready to come back to the United States with my new outlook, hoping to continue to grow the seed that I had planted, reaped, sowed, and nurtured.

I was looking forward to college, and rightly so as I was accepted to Berkeley upon my return, I looked forward to friends, family and food, because let's face it, the Spanish know nothing about good pizza. But over all of that I looked forward to coming back, and giving Spain another go.

As I boarded the plane I looked out the window at a country I had grown to love, and I knew not to call last time in Spain, because as a grizzled, wave and sun hardened surfer once said to me in the line up, "It's always bad to call last wave, at any point in time. Last is final, and there is always another wave to ride, and experience to have, and you never want to limit yourself."

So I gazed out, let my eyes glaze over, let one tear roll down my cheek for the place I loved, and looked down at my book, Ernest Hemmingway's the "Sun also Rises."

And it truly does. With every rise and fall of the sun, there is a new experience, a new challenge, and another chance to grow and bud into the full fledged flower that each one of us is meant to be.


 Now Playing: SOJA "Here I Am." It's sad, it's caring, and it's beautiful. Without getting to Mushy.

Copy, Paste, Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07mVsQA-awQ

Save the Last Dance.

It has come. The trees are clearing and in the distance I can see the edge of the forest. The journey through it had it's dark times, it's relaxing times, it's lonely times and it's downright enjoyable times. Some times I sauntered through, other times I was in such a run that my vision was blurred and the memories are indistinguishable from one another, like one long day.

But as Ernest Hemmingway said, "The Sun Also Rises."

and the end of this day means the start of a new one.

Never have I been so sad to leave a place such as this. I've found my home 6,000 miles away from my place of birth. Salamanca has taken me in, grasped, held me, comforted me and scared me.


On the journey of figuring out who I am and who I could be this was a crucial if not vital pit stop.

This is why I'm not ready to say goodbye. Even as I am in my dwindling hours here I keep discovering new places, people and parts of myself that have yet to be explored.

I'm changed. I realized that I don't know anymore. I don't know what tomorrow brings, I don't know what today has in hold and I don't know if what I wanted for myself is still what I want now.

Is this what they call growing up?

All I can do is set goals.

1. I want to carry the mindsets and mentalities I adopted here back to the states with me, because positivity and the ability to be carefree are a couple pleasures I haven't enjoyed in awhile.

2. I want to be a Renaissance man. Everybody here speaks at least three languages out of necessity, as a personal goal I would like to get to at least that by continuing my work on Spanish and then learning another language in hopes of helping me accomplish my final goal.

3. I want to live here eventually. I don't know how or when I can make my way back, but there is something so right about Spain, and honestly, I feel like more of European than I have ever felt American.

So this is the last dance, It might be beautiful, it might be sad, but I plan on taking it slow and savoring every minute of it.

A weekend Get Away Where Young and Old Come Out to Play

I have yet to really write personal accounts with what I have done here, reason being, is that Spain within in itself is so breathtaking and captivating that I feel like my personal stories don't do it justice. But I believe this weekend has some merit worth sharing, and this way those of you righteous readers can catch a glimpse of a sleepless night in Salamanca.

Salamanca is a university town in all the sense of the word. It is also a weekend get away for lovers and party animals alike. Thus many a bachelor and bachelorette party come here to indulge in what this city has to offer. These groups of thirty somethings usually adorn elaborate costumes. Last night I saw many a grown man walking around in diapers, wings and afros. I witnessed a soccer game amidst hundreds of people in the plaza between men in soccer jerseys with the bride to be's face on them and a group of matadors and their lone bull. Only four women got hit the head by the ball and the game was called a tie after the bull fell on top of a group of people dressed as pac men and bearing a blow up doll on a stick. It was only three in the afternoon, but the beverages were obviously flowing.

On to me.

I met a friend here through our university wholeft for his home in germany on saturday and naturally he wanted to give it one last hurrah thursday evening. I will refer to him as “Ze German.”

So the Ze German calls me a few times thursday night and insists on going to the Hookah bar, naturally I obliged as hookah is definitely one of my simpler joys in life and he said my favorite word in spanish “Gratis.” Now I don't know if many are familiar with Germans, but they enjoy drinking, especially in copious amounts, so upon my arrival at said hookah bar there was already a large frothy beverage awaiting my consumption. We talked economics, both German and American, and the conversation was enlightening as we puffed plumes of smoke into the crisp spanish air and laughed and mused about the state of things in the world market. We finished our smokey treats and completed our golden goblets, or as there more formally known, pints. We agreed to meet at a Reggae concert later that evening.

Now, I'm in Spain, this Concert was held at an Irish bar, and the large African men in the band were apparently from France. And they sung and strummed Bob Marley like they had lived in Jamaica for the Majority of their lives. Talk about quite the identity crisis.

Much fun was had, the German continued to down pints and tried to insist on my own heavy consumption, but I was just along for the ride and experience. Eventually, the speakers started blairing with interference and said German could not handle it and insisted on moving to another watering hole, Being a gentleman I obliged.

We walked down the street towards a bar called the Irish Rover, infamous for it's large crowd of international students and illustrious lack of locals. But to our immediate surprise, there was a band playing. This event may have been the highlight of the weekend. First off the singer was a gorgeous brunette with beautiful curls that draped all the way down her back, and bounced and swayed to the music she was crooning. Her Luscious locks were crowned by a pink hat reminiscent of Slash from Guns and Roses. This matched perfectly with her aqua marine nylons and pink tutu. Her eyes were piercing, a brilliant blue that gave the impression that she was staring right into to you no matter how into the music she was at the moment. I fell in love with the idea of finding a spanish rockstar to marry that evening. To my dismay and probably to my mother's joy this didn't happen.

Aside from the inherent beauty I was visually seeing, I was also listening to some of the coolest live music I have ever heard. This was a Ten piece band. That included both an acoustic guitar, trumpet, and trombone. Every guitar rift sounded straight out of a Sublime song, and the energy of the singer was somewhere between Janis Joplin, punk rock, and a Japanese bullet train. But it was inherently Spanish. The music and the accompanying pieces played with a flamenco feel, that counteracted the sublime rock rifts. The acoustic guitar did it in though. He led the entire band with the fastest finger picking I have ever had the joy of encountering.

The energy of the place was absolutely ridiculous. People were getting down with their bad selves, mosh pitting, getting down and dirty, or just acting as court jesters. The place was full of locals, from the ages of 18- 74, and Ze German and myself were the lone international people in the parlour. It was awe-inspring, to see both the passion of the crowd and band coinciding into one and creating one of the most beautiful train wrecks of awesomeness I have ever witnessed.

I wanted to stay and try my luck with my new favorite Femmé Fatale rock star crush, but Ze German had other plans, and pints on the mind. So once again we departed into the night.

We walked down the street and ran into another group of americans and push came to shove and suddenly I was leading a crowd of 60-70 individuals in show tunes, 80's one hit wonders and christmas carols. Who would have thunk it?

Of course some overly inebriated adolescent English folk stole our thunder and our my sixty to seventy backing vocals with some classic spanish songs.

And then my pants were on fire.

Yes. On fire, I turned to see the german on bent knee blowing on my buttocks. Exclaiming “ I didn't think they would start on fire so quickly! Ahh, I'm Sorry, Lo siento!”

My only response at that point was, “ That's cotton for you man.”

In a flurry he told me to wait at that spot while he took off. He told me he would be back in ten minutes. I didn't know what to expect at this point. A pint? A Pair of Pants? Or the old Kansas City Shuffle.

He returned frantically waving fifty Euro in my face apologizing profusely. I tried to explain that the pants only cost thirty, but he insisted that he could tell they were Italian and had to be at least forty, and that he just felt bad and wanted to give me fifty.

Luckily I have this issue were I can't say no to free Euro. And you know what, I'll probably still wear the pants.

Luckily our next destination of debauchery was an electronic show being performed by a group called “The SexInvaders.” And thanks to the German I had the perfect costume and location of hole for a SexInvaders event.

We got into the club and waited for an hour, but no SexInvaders so I called it a night, at about 5 am.

This is what can be expected in Salamanca, adventure, debauchery, and fire.

Seriously, Fire breathers are the norm here.

But on a different note I experienced something phenomenal earlier this sunday evening. As I was walking about after dinner I came across a procession that at first looked like a Spanish funeral.

At the front where somber older gentleman in fine dark well-cut suits bearing silver crosses and candlesticks. They were led by a man carrying a septre and dressed in religious sashes and medals. They stood absolutely still, awaiting the leader's motion with staff. Behind them were distinguished hard faced, proud, spanish women and small children bearing their own small red candles lit in their cupped hands. Men flanked the outside adorned with similar medals and holding the hands of their loved ones in the middle.

And then the Procession began. An unseen brass core at the back came in with trumpets blaring that sent shivers down my spine and almost inspired a tear to roll from my eye. The mood was somber, all were walking with heads down and even the four to five year old children didn't make a sound. And then suddenly an enormous intricately carved Jesus on a crucifix came parading down the street lifted high by 30 or so stoic men. His skin was Ivory, the sun caught it and it almost looked as if he was sweating from the setting sun and the spring heat. His body was draped in a deep purple sash. Out of respect to the religious nature of the ceremony I restrained from snapping but one photo. Then I saw the Brass core emerging from behind the brilliance of the statue. All of them were matching in outfits reminiscent of USMC formal dress. There were both old men, beautiful women, and children as young as 7 or 8 playing the somber croon of a mournful Lenten procession. As the sun set the drums slammed heart stopping beats in time with the trumpets, the procession passed, and Inspiration hit me.

Now Playing: “So Here We Are” Bloc Party

I still can't believe where I am, but so here we are.

Just a little Garden.

I've found my place in this world, physically speaking, my cornucopia of calm, my palace of peace, my pool of tranquility. A place where my mind is at ease and my body and soul are balanced. No cathedral can compare with how much this place makes you feel aware than everything is right and good, and that no matter how far you wander this place will always shine with benevolence and beauty.

This place is the Garden of Calixto and Mebilla. The Lover's garden, and being a hopeless romantic and somewhat selfish fool, my garden. The backstory is as brilliant as the unmistakeable beauty of it's physical appearance.

Fernado De Roja wrote a novel reveled as the “Romeo and Juliet of Spain,” called The Story of Buen Amor, or La Celestina. It's weaves the web of two lovers, Calixto and Mebilla. Calixto falls into love with Mebilla and is instantly shot down, a feeling many of us gentleman know well. He wants her badly and his servants suggest that he goes and speaks to an old Matchmaker called “La Celestina.” Interestingly enough she owns a brothel as well, which I guess is probably a bit more profitable than her matchmaking service based on how the story turns out. Another servant cautions Calixto, telling him that the Celestina is a cheat and a lie, and warns him to avoid her. The Celestina hears of this and lures these naysayers in with the promise of wine, women, and good times. Good times do occur, and the servants shut up. Oh the power of the fairer sex.

Well, The Celestina decides to rock and roll over to Mebilla and the lovely lady rejects the match, but then Celestina whips out some jewelry, and funny enough Mebilla falls madly in love with Calixto. Oh the power of wealth and money.

By this time La Celestina has aquired some serious cash flow from Calixto, The naysaying servants and pretty prostitutes want to be paid for their role in the swindle. Of course the greedy grandma, La Celestina, does not want to share. Thus, Calixto's servants kill her. Of course, like always, the authorities show up and not wanting to face punishment, Calixto's servants depart from this world out a window a couple stories to high.

The servant's prostitute lover's then become angry with Calixto because apparently this is all his doing and now they have no love... or money. So they enlist the help of some thugs to kill Carefree Calixto. He hears of this and starts to climb to Mebilla's room in the highest tower in her father's Castle. Of course Calixto is a little clumsy and falls off the ladder and to his death. Mebilla sees this, runs and tells her father of the affair and then proceeds to jump of the same tower.

And that folks is the story of great love. But believe me, the garden is great regardless.

It was placed in Salamanca because the author mentioned earlier went to school here. He published this book anonymously and placed an encryption in the back that named him as the author that wasn't broken until after his death. Sooooooo Da Vinci Code.

He wrote no more books after this one, or if he did they were lost or claimed by someone else. Come in with a bang, and go out with one. First Spanish one hit wonder?

But on a more serious note this place is something else, otherworldly in fact. Vines creep up metal overhangs chasing the sunlight during the day, and lit up by brilliant lights at night that make them dance like witches fingers reaching to grasp the full moon. White flowering trees make the garden look like the winter wonderlands of my youth without the chill and frigid cold that seeps into your bones in the land of cold air. And in the center of these tiny flowers lies a red and yellow bud, the colors of summer heat, reminding you that every cold winter has an end. To quote Sir Elton John, these flowers are a metaphor for “The circle of Life.”

The outsides are surrounded by ancient cobblestone walls that are three stories tall and drop off to show the whole south side of Salamanca. It is upon these walls that I read in the morning and muse over my day by night, staring up at the expansive cathedral whilst listening to the doves and cranes sing their melodies to their offspring and lovers.

As the birds croon to their loves, people congregate below hand in hand, or locking lips. Young, old and in between come to this place to renew and rekindle their love, or simply just to have a great picturesque spot to do a little making out. As much as I am at home here in the garden, on my travels, I'm still an outsider here. I bring no great love, just my mind, a journal, and my current Hemingway.

One of the more touching parts of this garden is the well. It's located in the center that has quite the tradition. Upon the cold metal sides are locks. And upon these cold, solid locks, are the inscripted names of lovers who have found this same garden. It is a metaphor for undying love because as soon as you lock your names onto the well you drop the key down, in hopes that your love will be there forever, locked in time.

I remember when I was a little boy, toe-headed with a full head of curly hair. Small and precocious, a little weird, but at the same time a little arrogant. But what I remember most was the goofy smile that was always plastered on my face. For a long time that goofy smile hasn't been around, but upon crossing the threshold of the rout-iron gates, it came back. For this is not the garden of good and evil, but the Garden of Great Love.

Now Playing: "Here I am"- SOJA

Boyyyzzz to Men.

As Boyz to Men once Said in their classic love song " End of the Road:"

Although we’ve come  halfway down the road
Still I don't want to go
It’s unnatural, I belong in spain, Spain belongs with me
Come to halfway down the road
Still I really don't want to go
It’s unnatural, Spain belongs to me, I belong to Spain.

Point of that being, I've passed the halfway point in my travels to this far distant and beautiful land. So I think now is a perfect time for some reflection, deep thought, and maybe a cookie or two with my cup of Spanish espresso.

I made goals. One of them was to improve my spanish vastly and to attempt to get as close to fluent as possible.

Currently, I'm not fluent, but from a standpoint of practicality, I should no longer have an issue translating "Caremel frappuccino with extra caremel and whip cream." at the ol' Starbucks, and believe it or not, I may even be able to figure out what pastry they want on the side. Regardless, with a month left I'm hitting the Spanish harder than to much horseradish sauce on a Sandwich.  Any  amount of horseradish is always to much.

The other goal was to have fun. And so far that might be happening. I can't say for sure, but everytime I look at where I am I can't help but feel that nothing can go wrong, and all is right in this world.
I love this city. It feels like home, and I don't know what will happen when I have come to the end of my proverbial road here.

What I've come to realize is that my life is different now, and It won't ever be the same after this experience. Knowledge flows through this city like wine flows into Spaniards cups every afternoon round 4:00.  Not just through the multitude of universities and learning facilities, but through the safe and beautiful environment that Salamanca gives you to just figure your shit out.

From the Gardens of Calixto & Mebilla, to the river by the ancient roman bridge, Wisdom and beauty seep out from beneath the golden sandstone. As Beck Said, " I think I'm in love, and it makes me kind of nervous to say so," because this city, and the many people who are in it and apart of this fantasy have helped exponentially on my journey of growing from Boy to Man, and I hope I don't get turned back again.


Now Playing:  I've been listening to The Black Key's new Album Brothers all morning and currently it's getting sentimental with some "Never Gonna Give you Up."

That one Goes out to you Salamanca, and all the Special People that call you home.