tu va pa' chiclana?

I know it's been forever, but the strangest thing happened to me yesterday. I realize that my last entry here was about how I wanted to treat even my home as though it were foreign to me, but yesterday it actually hit. Hard. Walking around the U District I passed a woman posting the daily special at her kebap shop, and taking in a deep breath of second hand smoke from some Ave-rat hipster, I was brutally thrown back to Europe. Since that moment, I can't get the feeling out of my head that I'm seeing everything for the first time and that it's all completely new and foreign.

And just now my world shrank a few more sizes, when listening to "my recommendations" on Last.fm... Los Delinqüentes, a band from Jerez de la Frontera, playing "Chiclana." These moments are my favourites. What gives a better feeling than stumbling across a tie to your own most-beautiful-most-loved place ever?

Additionally, I must say that this weekend has been the greatest ever. (Aside from the Swollen concert Thursday night, which...actually, let's not even go there.) Friday night I went to Ocho, a tapas joint in Ballard (I am so in love with Ballard) with patatas bravas and la carolina to die for. The restaurant itself is tiny and packed to the brim with people (suffering from the most debilitating nostalgia, too?) but the struggle for elbow-space is a good one: amiable and punctuated by the happiest smiles.

As if that wasn't enough, the sunshine has been truly relentless and has led me (finally) to the discovery of my building's beautiful roof. I must say that surrounded by the mountains and within sight of the Seattle skyline and lakes, I could not be happier. Well...maybe bump the temp up 3 degrees, but really I'm not complaining.

little oyster / abroad at home

My world seems to be shrinking more and more and I find that I am completely enthralled by it. I mean, it blows my mind to think back to the days when high school seemed like the craziest thing my parents had ever suggested (they still let you make popcorn and cranberry garlands and play with plastic dinosaurs in high school, right?), and I don't think I could even begin to comprehend college. Now it's all almost over. And I don't even "live" at "home" anymore. To be perfectly honest, I don't feel like I live anywhere. But not in a bad way.

After all my travels the world really has become my oyster. I can get anywhere I want if I decide to, and hopping on a plane seems like no big deal, a train the simplest thing ever. And missing the school bus? Ha. It's a weird feeling that's gonna take some getting used to, but so far I think I like it.

On that note, I've been trying to decide what to do with this blog now that I am no longer abroad and I think I don't want to give it up. I've been wondering lately why going abroad is so much more exciting than staying "here." In Spain, in Italy, I find that I can't keep my camera charged enough, but why only there? Hans has pointed out to me time and time again that it's equally, if not more important to get to know where you're from before anywhere else. So my question is why don't I know where I'm from? And why can't I find the same kind of beauty here in my "everyday?" Anyway, that's where I'm going to take this blog now.

I'm abroad at home.

the return

I know it's been forever - and that might actually be an understatement - but i'vfe lacked internet at home and have been working like mad. It's really funny, actually: I thought that upon my return home internet would be easy, but as it turns out, if anything it's harder!!

Anyway, I though I would back-track (a LOT) all the way back to Rome...

When we returned from Circeo I dug further into my massive backpack with the intention of trying on a pair of shoes I had bought in Spain on my last day in Madrid. Upon finding the bag I had shoved them in, I pulled them out to find that they WEREN'T THE SAME!!! Almost, but not. One had a massively thick heel, while the other had a much more delicate heel... Great. Too bad this was the one time I was NOT returning to Spain... I showed Camilla and Patrizia and they both gasped and exclaimed, "Non mai avrebbe successo in Italia!! MAI!" ("This would never have happened in Italy!!") Too true. Camilla then went on to say not to worry, that her father would fix everything. (A few nights earlier he had invited us out to dinner. He picked us up in a really nice Mercedes, Avril Lavigne blaring on the radio, and actually fullfilled one of my Roman dreams: to drive down Via Condotti in a really nice car...)

Sure enough, he and Valerio did fix everything. Valerio took me down to the post office after Salvatore had taken me to a tabacchi for an envelope. Valerio explained to me that he must go with me because they would be very rude to me otherwise. In the end, I'm glad he did, even though I felt terrible that he had to wait in line with me for an hour... It all turned out ok, even though I had my doubts. I sent the shoe I didn't want back to Madrid and they told me they would mail the correct shoe to me in the United States. Well, I just got the shoe about a week ago. I thought it would never come!!

A few days later Hans finally came to Rome. I found an apartment on Via del Corso, right by Piazza Venezia, and above a store called Class. It was a great location, but very very small. We spent the days sight seeing. THe weather was unbearably hot and we walked and walked and walked. We went to museums, to the Coloseum, to the Foro Romano... It was wonderful. So different from travelling around all on my own. I have more to say, but I'm afraid I have drunk too much coffee and (ironically) there's this Italian guy sitting on the window who keeps leaving me notes and things... But I'll be back soon! Bye!

lagging

I love the fact that after all my complaining about how hard it was to get internet in Cádiz and how unreliable it was, it's even harder now that I'm home!! It worked for maybe the first week, if that, and now nothing... Which inevitably means that my posting is a little behind. And by a little, I mean a LOT. I'm sorry!!! I will be back soon, I promise!

come ho gia detto...

[also I've added pictures of Rome to la citta eterna]

As previously stated... I have been living a myth. Really. I have recently returned from San Felice Circeo, where I was for the weekend with Patrizia (Camilla's mother) and Valentina (Camilla's sister, whom Patrizia calls "Valentine" when speaking in her broken English - I like this). Patrizia and I drove down towards Napoli Friday evening, dodging the other drivers on the highway, who wove in and out of traffic like you don't even know. Patrizia is trying to quit smoking, so the drive was filled with half-smoked, super-slim cigarettes. The car would sway a little each time she reached out the partially-opened window to extinguish the cigarette-ettes on the side of the rearview mirror (which, I might add, seemed to be its sole purpose in this life). Though we both made a sincere effort at normal conversation, it tended inevitably towards syntax and lexicon and was very stop-and-go, half in Italian and half in English.

We in Circeo to a dinner of deliciously fresh pasta (truly al dente - on a slight side note, apparently pasta packages in the US actually multiply cooking time by 2 or 3!) with garlic and cherry tomatoes. The conversation at the table shifted dramatically from that of the drive there, to Italian men (and later, Italian men in politics, i.e. Berlusconi). Essentially what was established is that Italian men are idiots (Idioti! Idioti! Idioti!), though Valentina made sure to say that really she liked Italian men, they just needed to be trained. And that Berlusconi (who has explicitly likened himself to Napoleon…?!) pretty much embodies all that is schifoso of Italian men. "Kiki, tu sei troppo vecchia per lui…" Too old?? He's 72! But ok, if I'm too old, I'm too old, I think I can live with myself - but how can he???

The next morning, after my two or three shots of espresso, several biscotti, and a slightly depressing look out the window (clouds, clouds, clouds), Valentina offered to take me on her bike to see the paesi di Circeo on her bike. If there's one thing that I regret not having done last time I was in Italy, it's seeing more of the country, so of course, I accepted. By "bike" (in Italy) I was kind of expecting her to mean scooter. But, no, she meant motorbike. Like serious business motorcycle.Something I had definitely never been on before. It was fun, though. She took me to her favorite beach, Saubadia (?), where the mountains of San Felice (San Felice Promontorio) come straight down into the sea. It was absolutely stunning.
I confess that I did not actually catch onto the full meaning of "Circeo" until Valentina explained it to me. Evidently, this town is where Odysseus landed and had his encounter with Circe. More specifically, this beach. I couldn't say why it never occurred to me that the Odyssey might take place in really real places. Well, I guess it did, I just never thought I would visit any of them! Least of all someplace like Circe's beach.
When we arrived here it was actually sunny, but though we were wearing our swimsuits, we had forgotten towels, so we returned to the house, got towels, and stopped to buy some pizza for lunch, on our way back. The second we stepped off the bike it started to rain. But we went down and ate our pizza on the windy beach anyway, before giving up all hope a half hour later. The entire day was changeable like this. Later the three of us went into town, did some "shopping" (kind of) and bought chicken and potatoes for dinner.
This morning we woke up to more clouds, and though for a few minutes things seemed to lighten up, we ultimately decided to head back to Rome, Patrizia and I in the VW and Valentina on her bike. In the rain. This drive was different from the one before (though syntax and lexicon were still highly prevalent). I had noticed before many women standing by the side of the highway, and while I assumed that they were prostitutes, it still seemed a little strange. So I asked, and she confirmed. The weird part was her explanation. I asked why they were allowed to be there (I assumed prostitution was illegal - and it is) and she said that the police "chiudono gli occhi," they shut their eyes to it. Somehow I wasn't surprised. Really the rest of the explanation was only odd to me because when I was here before, it was made very clear to me that the Mafia really only existed in the south of Italy (though, I guess, Napoli could be considered the south). However, Patrizia told me that all these prostitutes were controlled by a Mafioso. She even gave me the name of the man, though I don't remember.

sto vivendo un mito

Iàm not going to write very much right now because I have a whole entry regarding my incredible weekend written out on my computer, and I need to transfer it to the flashdrive, etc. to save time (cause time is money, in this case quite literally). Also pictures. But I guess I felt the need to write something... So I guess I will just say that - I had an amazing weekend at the sea. Also, happy belated birthday mumsy!! I miss you a lot! Ok, thatàs all...

la città eterna

(bear in mind while reading this, that it was actually written a couple days ago - I just didnàt have internet access)

Oggi fa bellissimo!! I am currently sitting outside on Camilla's terrace, taking sun and relaxing to the hustle and bustle of the traffic below. I am surrounded by flowers - honeysuckle everywhere, beautiful purple flowers, and tamed and potted cacti. Oggi fa bellissimo. My keyboard keeps heating up so I can barely type. As it turns out, Camilla's house is right by Ponte Milvio, one of the most ancient bridges in all of Rome. Last night when I walked home from the center it was completely filled with young couples. It was recently made extremely popular by an Italian film, whose name currently escapes me, where couples would write their names on a padlock (luchiette) and then lock it to the chains wrapped tightly around the lamp posts on the bridge. Unfortunately this cause structural problems, as more and more people began to do this and eventually the weight of all that love pulled the lamps down off the bridge. Now they have set up chains along the sides of the bridge where people can express their "undying love" for each other. Honestly, I think it's really too bad that placing the locks on the lamp posts became so popular, because it was extremely beautiful (at least in the stills of the movie - before now, I had never actually visited the bridge, as I wasn't sure which one it was…) but the new set-up is also beautiful. I very pleased because it was one of my destinations for this trip, that I regretted not seeing two years ago (and, well, still kind of do). The best part is that in order to get to the city center I have to cross this bridge on foot. In the morning it is empty, but later in the day and in the evening it fills with couples and vendors selling shiny new padlocks. Just me, but if I were to do this (and I don't, since it's become as cliché as throwing coins in the Trevi Fountain - oh wait, I've done that) I would want to bring my own padlock from home. Or something at least with a little more meaning than buying an overpriced chunk of metal from a stranger.



Yesterday was a good day. Though, somehow I ended up once again at Piazza del Popolo and Via Condotti at 8.30 am (after Camilla introduced me to the bar at Ponte Milvio, where I had the most delicious cornetto and cappuccino). Weird how that happens. As mentioned, I thought the most appropriate thing to do would be to say hello to my beloved metro stop where the ticket validation machine didn't work and then proceed over to the Spanish Steps (actually, appropriate for more than just one reason!!), where I must have spent 2 hours writing and having all the heat in my body soaked out through my bum into a slab of cold, cold concrete. I then walked around for hours and hours, with little to do. As it turns out, yesterday was the day I left Rome 2 years ago (2 giugno) and is also the Festa della Repubblica, which basically means a long, looooong parade of soldiers marching through the center, starting at the Colosseo. After a while I got bored and decided to wander some more, perhaps over to Campo dei Fiori to get some lunch.

There I sat amongst the hoards of turists and ate my bowl of Minestrone con Crostini (which, according to Camilla, is very unpopular amongst Italians, though she says that she loves it) and my Acqua Mineralle Frizzante, followed by a Caffè. Mmmmm. Once I finished, I decided I needed to pay a visit to my favorite bakery, where I used to always get little marzipan fruits. Yes, daily. They are highly addictive! I think more so than gelato, because gelato always ends up very big, while these little fruits are miniscule. Unfortunately (or fortunately), they did not have marzipan, so I ended up with several Amaretti cookies instead, quite possibly my favorite Italian cookie. I would say cookie in general, except I think that chocolate chip / oatmeal chocolate chip cookies will always take the cake (so to speak).

I then walked through Piazza Navona and got extremely lost (and therefore learned a lot about Rome - really I like not having a map!) and got to see many things, including some Audi-sta (man driving an Audi?) who had somehow managed to get stuck in the middle of a very, VERY small intersection (on a side note, this reminds me of my taxi ride to Camilla's house, during which the driver literally backed straight into a parked car - yes, I heard a crunch! - and then drove away as thogh nothing had even happened!!). But I eventually made my way back to the Spanish Steps, now absolutely packed with people and from there to Piazza del Popolo, where I found a spot on the center monument to sit and read. It proved to be harder than I expected to read the only book I have - a Spanish book by Santiago Romaglilo or something, called Memorias de una dama - due to all the people watching. And eventually even harder when two very gay-looking guys (highly styled hair, pierced ears, and nose-rings) walked up and with a "Posso?" sat down next to me. They showed me that Villa Borghese was actually right behind me, and asked me if I wanted to go (I have STILL not been!!) But I said that as much as I wanted to see Villa Borghese, I really needed to go home.

And I did. And got lost.

Ciao! Baci!

(back to madrid)

So, Iàve got a lot to say... But I thought I should start by putting up some fotos I took in Madrid. And here we go...

La Reina Sofìa

Just before the storm.

Aio Cai, Ciao Roma!!

Well, not entirely... Actually between leaving Càdiz and arriving in Rome, I made a stop in Madrid to visit my amazing friend Mimi, from home. It was really great to see the city again from a different perspective. We did the Prado, followed by shopping, as well as the Reina Sofia, followed by shopping (now that Iàm in Rome Iàm realizing what a stupid idea all the shopping in Madrid was - especially considering what happened on the way here, but Iàll get to that...) (also, I appologize for the weird accented "a"s - turns out thereàs no apostrophe in Italian, and therefore it doesnàt appear on the keyboard, instead à does. And I canàt not hit that key!!!!) We also had a fantastic picnic in the Parque del Buen Retiro. We bought fresh strawberries, cherries, cheese, bread, and little miniature cookies at the Mercado San Miguel (HIGHLY recommend) and then took them to the park, where we sat in the shady grass and people watched. It was the best afternoon!!! I was in Madrid a total of 4 nights (3 days?) and then it was off to Rome.
I arrived in Rome yesterday, and since then, I feel as though Iàve walked all the way back to Madrid. But I will tell you all about that tomorrow - internet is limited, and I must go.

Ciao, arrivederci, e baci, baci, baci!!

still catching up

there's no place like (2nd) home

Tomorrow I leave Cádiz. How can this be?? I don't know... (Also, there will be more pictures soon, I just have too many last things to do to sit here waiting for them to load...

المغرب/maroc vi

Last one, I swear...So we managed to get rid of the guy who seemed to be scamming us, and went in to catch the ferry. There were a ton of people still waiting, even though we were if anything, late. We ended up waiting in the terminal for about a half hour before they let us line up. We then waited in the line for another half hour to forty-five minutes before actually getting on the ferry. And then once on the ferry we didn't actually leave until an hour and a half later. So the ferry left Tangier really late. It was supposed to be about a 45 minute ferry ride, but after probably an hour and a half into it (yes, after having departed from the port), we overheard some other Americans lamenting the fact that even once we docked in two and half more hours, we still wouldn't be where we supposed to be. WHAT??! Turns out because of BAD CONDITIONS (haha. hah. Oh wait, NOT funny) the ferry actually wasn't supposed to go at all, and the only reason we were on a ferry was because this was the biggest one - the ONLY one they thought was big enough to make it through the swells, and furthermore, this ferry was NOT going to Tarifa, but to Algeciras, where there would supposedly be a bus to take us to Tarifa. Of COURSE this would happen to us on our way back to Spain - I think Spain really just doesn't want us to be here... Good thing we're all leaving so soon, I guess. 

I have NEVER been on a rockier boat. Ever. It was terrifying. You could hear the the doors to the bathroom stalls slamming as we rocked from side to side and throughout the entire trip there were people running to the bathrooms, where you could hear them pucking. For about 3 hours. If you wanted to walk around you couldn't without bouncing back and forth like a ping-pong ball or something between the walls. And I swear I could hear dishes and bottles falling off shelves. When I looked out the window (bear in mind that this was at about 2 or 3 in the morning) everything was black. Except for when a swell would break on the windows (EVEN THOUGH WE WERE ON THE THIRD DECK) and everything would go completely white for a few seconds. I was convinced we were going to make like the Titanic and go down. 

But we survived. We finally got in to Algeciras at about 5 in the morning, went through the passport check, and made our way out to the bus. Which was full. They told us we would have to wait for this bus to drive to Tarifa and come back for us. So we went back into teh building and sat on the floor. And waited. And waited. There was a gigantic group of Koreans who were all clearly dressed for the beach, sandals, visors and all. Finally we overheard someone saying they had found a taxi and that it would cost 20 euros or so to drive to Tarifa. Which, split between 4 of us was nothing. Or close to it. 

We arrived in Tarifa at 7:30 in the morning and upon finding that the (sketchy) hotel was locked up, we buzzed the manager. A head poked out of a barred window part way down the side of the building, and he called us over. We gave him the money, he gave us the keys to two double rooms. Inside, Sarah and David went to their room and Michelle and I went to ours. But when Michelle opened the door, she screamed, yanked the keys out, and ran down the hall away from the room. There was someone IN our room. Our tired minds might have blown the situation a little out of proportion, but it seemed like it could quickly turn into a horror movie. The hotel was NOT nice. We had looked in the bathroom on the way to our room and seen that the showers were dirty and seemed kind of concentration-camp-like. We ran back down the stairs and outside and buzzed the manager again. After explaining 3 times what had happened, he told us apologetically that he had given us the wrong key and that we should come back to the window. This time the room he gave us was empty. Thank goodness.

After a kind of short night's sleep, we got up in the morning to look around the town. Tarifa's nice - a little surf town - but I wouldn't want to spend more than maybe 2 days there unless I knew how to surf. Correction: windsurf. It must be the windiest town I have EVER been in. We found a little café that served delicious smoothies... I got one with plums, almonds, honey, cinnamon, orange juice, and yogurt. It was unbelieveable. We went back later that day for an early dinner (by Spanish standards) before catching the bus from Tarifa to Cádiz (which went well, surprisingly). 

And THAT is the end of my Moroccan adventure. Finally.