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.

Quick Update

This week my family showed up in town. After spending a lot of time feeling a bit lonely it was good to see a couple familiar faces strolling towards me across the plaza. Unfortunately, they were not here for very long. While they were here they got a crash course of Spain, but more specifically Salamanca.

We went out to some amazing tapas restaurants. This one called Cervantes had both the best steak as well as calamari I have had in my life. They also got a taste of the local wines. My stepmom had previously traveled to Italy with her daughter, and was big on Italian wine. But after her first sip of Rioja she was a changed woman.


All in All, things are going good, and unfortunately I don't possess that much time to write this, but I'm planning on going full steam on another blogpost later this week.


Luego.

A Coffee Talk with my Barista Buddy.

Cpt. Richard Eugen Main III

After Yesterday's post, one Richard Eugene Main the Third asked me a series of questions. Now Normally we would discuss this over coffee prior to putting in blood, sweat and tears at Starbucks store 5454, but alas thousands of miles separate us and I decided to do a morning cup of coffee and a "blogversation" with REM III.


This series of questions was posted on my Facebook wall in large paragraph format last evening. Ric will speak in Blue,  and I will respond. (P.S. This cappuccino I'm sipping on kicks the pants off of yours Ric.)

Ric:You know me too well amigo. The pics are great. However, I haven't heard you mention, how the ladies are; where are they?

Well Ric, The ladies are here, in Spain right now. Generally you can find them almost anywhere, the streets, coffee shops, discotecas, and even Mcdonalds! So awesome!

 

Ric: and what do they look like? 

They come in all shapes and sizes, but I have yet to see anyone overweight. The way everyone eats here is phenomenal, you stuff your face with fried foods, that according to my house mom are good for your heart because of all the olive oil, and then you walk all over the place and burn mad calories. This walking also keeps most of the women, ehm... very toned. But to actually answer your question this is a very international city you have women from across the world here, but by far Ric, you would be interested in the Spaniards. To make a generalization, they tend to be 5 ft 2- 5 ft. 4, Beautiful shiny dark hair, and the most beautiful eyes. They either come in dark chocolatey brown, or they have eyes that shift color from green to hazel to deep grey depending on what light you catch them in. To be honest man, you would probably be married already.

Ric: Are they as bossy in real life as they are in my dreams?

I don't know if bossy is the word I would use to describe them. They are strong, bold,  and confident women. They walk with their heads high and have a lot of pride. The local girls pretty much run the show round these parts, many of the girls in my group feel as if the lionesses stalk about flashing their claws at any foreign girls who go after any potential mates. That being said, this confidence is the definition of attractive. They aren't timid, if they think you are good looking they let you know. On my way home the other night I stopped for a second to adjust myself and three girls came up and stood in front of me arguing over whether or not I had a girlfriend. (This has never happened to me in the states, and I told them I was completely flattered.) In the clubs they stare you down until you make eye contact and then they burst into smile. This truly is the garden of Eden.

Ric: Are you reading EH? 

Ah yeaaaaaah, I'm getting my Hemingway on.  Right now I'm perusing Death in the Afternoon, and I'm going hard after Farewell to Arms. It's connecting me with my inner chica, as it is fairly romantic. I ordered The Sun also Rises and a couple others and they are still en route to my locale at this time.

Ric: How's school going?

Geeeez Hombre, you know me, School is going good, I find time to make time, despite being in Spain. I'm making grades; so that someday I can get paid for more than a 190 degree, semi-wet, three pumps of hazelnut two pumps of sugar free vanilla soy mocha with half the pumps of mocha, light whip cream and sprinkles.

Ric: What's the food like? 

The food is the bomb.com. They are obsessed with Olive Oil which is really good for your heart apparently.They fry everything in it, and then they put it on top of as well. You also never stop eating, there are close to seven meals a day. You start out in the morning with a light breakfast, coffee break at ten with a tapa (a tapa is a blanket name for appetizer or anything light you get at a bar or coffee shop) then you get another break around noon and  you either grab a coffee or a beer and another tapa, lunch at two is the big meal. At my house, she stuffs me silly with a bowl of soup to start, half a baguette, and then a salad. After that she gives me a plate filled half with meat, usually pig, chicken,  or fish and the other half is heaped with either vegetables, pasta, or french fries depending on the meat. Finally we finish up with 3-4 apples, oranges or bananas. After that you nap, for two to four hours. Then my house mom kicks me out to go eat again between 6-10. This is like a pre-drinking meal, generally with friends. You grab something hardy but still pretty light and you have a few drinks. At this point you have two options. You either go home and nap again till about midnight, or you start drinking and continue eating tapas at all the local bars. (So many bars, so little time) Generally I sleep, because that can get a little spendy, but it's good fun on the weekends with a group of cool people. An adult beverage and a tapa usually run under four euro at most places, but you have a lot time to kill before the clubs open so you can end up sending thirty euro pretty quick. After that you shake your tail feather at the multitude of discotecas until six in the monin'. Generally there are promoters out in the main plaza who try and lure you to their clubs with cards valid for multitudes of free drinks, which also saves on cost but for some raises consumption. Then you sleep for a few hours, rinse and repeat. Oh, and for my mom's sake, usually I rock the homework out when Rosa (My housemom) forces me into one of seven naps a day.

Ric: Does the coke taste the same?

Bromosapien, there is no such thing as a soda fountain in Salamanca. It all comes in a bottle, just as it should, it doesn't matter if you order it straight up or with booze, it comes in a bottle. And get this, a Rum and Coke at some places costs less than a bottle of coke at Hagen Daz  in the mall. Ridiculousness.

 

Ric: What does the city smell like? 

Depends on where you are. In the main square it smells of fresh air, after shave and perfume. AS you walk down the multitudes of corridors and alleyways it smells like whatever shop you are outside of. In the mornings, it smells of fresh bread, coffee, and oranges. In the afternoon, fried foods and wine. By the night time it smells of beer and hard liquor. 

Ric: Have you gotten any shit for being American?

There is definitely a little bit of negativity towards Americans here. Luckily, I have adapted and I don't come off as very American anymore on sight alone. Although when I open my big mouth I sound straight out of America, but luckily the european girls love our accents. The younger Spanish men don't generally like me they have a lot of Bravado, and as I mentioned earlier about the women running the town, the men treat us very similarly.

Ric: Is there any social unrest?

Here, not so much, this place is kind of a weekend oasis, but I think there is unrest everywhere in the world right now. Look at some of the graffiti I've posted, I think that speaks for how the educated, artistic, culture sees the government right now. I mean, It's very big brother, as they have posted signs designating areas as video camera zone, thus if you look at the stencils I posted earlier it will make a little more sense. The thought that someone truly is watching is a little discomforting. Also, I really wanted to go to Morocco, but my Moroccan friend told me it wasn't a good idea, and the teacher who was going to take us decided we shouldn't do it as well.

How do people live day to day? 

I think that you have gotten a feel for that? if not let me know, and I will explain. Basically, sub out my nap times for their work times, in between meals they work. The whole city shuts down from two to five for lunch and siesta, all storefronts lock up and only some bigger cafés stay open.

Ric: 40 hour work weeks?

I guess. I've never asked. Money seems like it comes and goes for them, they work, and they work hard but they also work efficient. Customer service isn't that big of a deal here, and you don't need to tip unless you get phenomenal service or you are trying to make a friend with a cool bartender. (I've worked this angle, and it does pay off.) On top of that, Euros remind me of monopoly money, all different colors and sizes depending on the bill. Basically the service works like this: you get what you order as soon as they can get to it. But in the meantime, sit back, enjoy the fresh air, and realize that you are sitting in a beautiful ancient city.

Ric: What's the general "vibe" like in comparison to here? 

I think you got that, it's really chill, but also more sophisticated. Everyone dresses well, all the time, my style has increased tenfold. But to sum it up, The Men are Men, the Women are confident and beautiful, and the energy is unmatched by anywhere I have ever been.

Ric:Dang nabbit (edit, I do get graded on this Ric, so I don't know if we can swear) boy, I need to know this (edit)! I miss you little brother from another mother. I hope you come home and stay local. 

Miss you too man, I will see you when I get back and at least be local for a bit. But honestly, you need to be my compadre de viajes, (My travel partner) I want to tear up the rest of Europe and South America with you in the near future a l Motorcycle Diaries.

Now Playing: "40 Day Dream" - Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeroes. I like this song, the whimsical nature and tonality is reminiscent of how I feel as I walk around this place. 

 

Spring has Sprung, dum, dum, dum.

Spring has awoken in Salamanca, casting light into unseen crevices, whilst illuminating the golden limestone into a brilliant shimmer reminiscent of the sun casting warmth onto the glittering waves of the golden coast.

Home.

A funny word, one that so many people hold as a place, but to me it's pure feeling. Although oceans separate me from any semblance of a place related to home, I can't help but feel that same connectedness to this locale. Youthful laughs, smiles upon every face and good food put a mind, body, and soul at ease.

Luckily, I have the comforts of home right here in Salamanca. I finally was placed in a homestay with a wonderful lady named Rosa. Now Mom, I'm not here to make you jealous, because you “raised me right,” but this lady exceeds motherly. If you took a Mom, Grandma, 4 aunts, and that really nice lady from across the street who pays you $20 to mow her lawn and bakes you fresh cookies after, you begin to get a feeling for how Rosa treats me. I try to clear the table, I try to make my bed, I try to take the trash out, and every other time I try to help out, I'm met with a scolding or a Sientense! (Sit down now!) Rosa forces me into napping, which is not a bad thing. She forces me to eat food. Not a bad thing. And the kicker, she forces me to go out and party. Not to shabby.

“Greg when I was your age, I stayed out till 5:30 in the morning, do what you want, you are much better than the drunken germans I had here before you.”

And on that note, I have to depart, for Rosa just yelled, “Vamos, Comida.” Time to eat. 

Luego.

Now Playing: “La Totura”- Shakira. Rosa talked to me about this music video for 45 minutes at lunch one day. Watch it for Rosa, get a feel for our conversation, because you can't get a taste of our comida.

I'm posting pics in a little bit, I have no computer battery and I need  to get this uploaded for them deadlines and what have you.

Present Company, Excluded in the night.

 A blanket of lavender darkness creeps over Salamanca around 7:30 every night. It engulfs every corner and crevice of this ancient city. In the states these shadows and specters signify the end of a day, time to break bread, tie up loose ends, and take the edge off before drifting off into the grasp of the Sandman. In Salamanca, it's the middle of the afternoon! The clock Tower Chimes two bells and the city washes out in the brilliant shine of thousands of perfectly placed floodlights. Hardened locals and city virgins alike cheer, for this spectacle rivals the initial shock and beauty of that first firework on Independence day. This is when the elderly retire to their local watering holes to reminisce on the days activities with their trusted bartender and group of compañeros. Without the eyes of old watching over, the young and rebellious come out to play. The city transforms in the wash of the moonlight and takes on the persona of a werewolf. It unfurls it's claws and draws youngsters into loud, colorful, elaborate bars, discotecas and other locales of light-hearted debauchery. The city bellows in howls, yelps, and yips of ecstasy and enjoyment; not ever giving thought or care to that frightful moment when the moon drops over the horizon, and signifies the necessity for the most minimal amount of sleep to survive till siesta.

But instead of joining in the fray and pursuit of pleasure, tonight, I walk; breathing in the crisp, clean, biting air and contemplating when I will be rested enough to challenge the beast once again. A nice walk clears the mind, allows it to wander, observe, and respect the magic that is Salamanca.

Phew. I think I'm done being flowery for now.


I brought my camera along this evening, well actually my Iphone 4. Shout out to Jay Walker for the ProCamera app suggestion. It is the bomb.com.com.com. 3 USD well spent. The top two pictures are pretty standard alleys in Salamanca, you don't have to ramble, roam, or Meander more than fifteen feet before you run your nose into sights like these. Hell, the Local Golden Arches is located in a building that matches these perfectly. The point is hands down, no frills, frocks, or philandering this city, day or night, takes one's breath away quicker than a swift punch to the kidneys.


 On a different note, The Mother Unit requested more pictures, she wants to really get a visual feel for where the hell I am, so I took a few this afternoon whenever something cool sparked my interest. Peruse and enjoy, and if you have a favorite, and you happen to have my mom's cell phone number, (Unfair hint: Her number is the same as mine except the last digit is one number higher.) give her a call and let her know which one you like. I'm sure she would love to hear and talk to all of you brave enough to take the plunge. But be nice. She is my mom. (If you have never met outside of the matrix it might be weird, but I'm not stopping you I guess. use good judgement. I'm talking to you REM III.)

I felt sooooooooo artsy, when I snapped this pic with my IPHONE.

HMR got me loving Stenskulls.

Another Stencil: Nobody puts Baby in a Corner, or Spain on Melmac.

Shouldn't coke always be poured from a glass bottle, into 6.5 oz. tall glass, with two ice cubes so as to not water it down, and a lemon ring just to twist things up?



Now Playing: "Lights Out- Santogold" Get ready to get down with your girly, groovy, bad self. (Turn off the lights for greater effect, and lowered inhibitions.)

Luego Hombres.

In Case You Were Wondering

Initially, I was going to use my Iphone as a camera. I bought a cool app that enhanced the camera, and allowed me to mess with the colors or whatever, (Forgive me camera buffs, I don't know the term.) But upon arrival in Europe the ol' Iphone decided to go into hibernation. I will buy a camera tomorrow if this guy doesn't come back to life tonight, and I will begin uploading original, and hopefully cool and interesting pictures. Until then, lay back and imagine.... Luego.

Now Playing- Nothing, I'm actually just listening to the guy singing in the shower in the room next door. No ladies, it's not Juanes.

EDIT: I JUST GOT IT TO WORK. SAVING EUROS LIKE IT'S MY JOB. GET READY FOR SOME PICS. YEEAAAAAAH.

The Start of Something New.

So, I am totally late to the game, both in the blogging community and in my creation of this required Blog. But first, let's clear the air, I'm not treating this as a requirement but as a necessary indulgence. I've been wanting to start a blog for ages, but I never felt I had reason to do so. Prior to my travels to España I was just a lonely, displaced, vagabond Barista from Minnesota who up and moved to California post High School. Luckily enough, that is all about to change, for I am in a true land of opportunity. But enough about that, let's get into the intersting stuff, my adventures.

My first week and a half was quite the whirlwind, but now I sit in the plaza mayor with new outlooks and a white blank page.

I am in Salamanca, but more specifically the Plaza Mayor, a gigantic square in the center of old Salamanca. It's impossible to put into words how beautful this spot is. The saying goes that a picture is worth a thousand words; but one hundred thousand pictures could not do a lick of justice to this place.  This is because a person needs to feel the energy Salamanca has in order to truly grasp how stunning this place truly is.

The Plaza is where I have spent most of this trip just trying to grasp the fact that I am in Spain. and while I have spent most of my time alone here, it is impossible to truly feel alone. At any time, day or night, there are many people, children, dogs, and animals mulling about and enjoying it's pure indescribable beauty and energy.

This is how the Plaza is set up.  Quaint Cafés litter the rim; on the inside is a massive open space where children ride bikes, play with balls, and fall over in fits of giggles on to the hard, ancient cobblestone. Dogs roam off leash, always in the sight line of their master, but ultimately doing what they please, wherever they please(Please catch my drift). Majestic cranes with wingspans of over six feet fly above the square complete with branches in beak in order to expand the nests they have built on top of the massive golden stone structures. Students sit in the center, giggling, laughing, and sharing bites of Big Macs and Whoppers. Couples voraciously make out not caring about who or what is watching. Elderly ladies walk about with bags of food in preparation for the fantastic meals they are about to prepare for their friends and family durante el siesta. But the ones who take ownership and pride in the square, are the distinguished solitary gentleman who walk about the square for hours regulating with silence, stoicism and kind smiles.  This is  Salamanca, a place happier than Disneyland, Disneyworld and every other themepark across the planet. But more specifically, this is the Plaza Mayor, my temporary home, my anchor, and my true north.

As much fun as I have had composing, my fingers grow weary. I believe it is time for another double espresso, Black, but fulfilling and happy. As they say in Southern California, Later.

On a side note, I listen to music to stimulate my writing, so at the bottom of the post I will leave you with a song, give it a listen, in hopes that you can connect with where I come from with my writing. "Mom, Dad, Maggie, Scott, Once in awhile the songs will have naughty palabras in them, I will give you fair warning, but please still search for an edited version on Youtube;)"

In conjunction with the title of my blog: Now Playing- "The Passenger- Iggy Pop"