Always Gold to Me.

I try really hard to do everything the parents ask me to do with their children. But when it is just the kids and I for a time, I sometimes go behind their backs and let them pick out any outfit they want to. I quickly become the girl of the hour. Wednesday I had them to myself almost the entire day. Before we went out to the carnival I let them choose their outfits. After all, this was probably the last time I would be able to do so. M of course chose her Athletic jersey. L was in red head to toe, even put her red checkered shorts on underneath the skirt. J was giving her tips throughout the choosing process as he smartly put on his best matching shorts, shoes and cardigan. Were they a little goofy looking? Maybe. Would their parents be dissatisfied with it? Most likely. Was I proud to go out with them as if they were mine? Absolutely. They looked wonderful to me and always would.

My 'Holiday in Spain' Recap.

Moving across the world with 200dollars to my name was probably not the smartest thing for a 20year old girl to do. But I did it. I did it without knowing the people I would spend the next 5 months with. I did it without knowing more than a basic college level Spanish. I did it anticipating eating tacos and rice. I did it thinking I would be surround by people dressed in white and red who liked to play the guitar, dance, and run from bulls.

The first morning in Spain I woke up, jet lagged, to children running around on a creaky wood floor and the bright April sub shining harshly through my un-shaded window. I felt like crying. It was an otherworldly feeling. As if this must be a dream. Questioning in my head over and over again why I thought this was a good idea. Thinking to myself there is no way I can make it through these next 5 months.

1 month later there was no question as to whether or not my life as real. I had made some friends in the church. I had gotten used to the schedule of things. I had used the 200 dollars I had on film and lenses. I realized that caring for children is really, really hard. I was humbled. So humbled. For one, I was treated like the dirt of the earth by these children for the most part. 2, I was so separated no matter how hard I tried from everyone around me because of this language barrier. I was enjoying the experience though one day at a time, and happy about it.

2 months in and I am keeping up a good blog with my funny experiences with these children. They still drive me crazy, but we have good moments. My life is like a sitcom. I have made friends outside of church who speak English and have traveled with them. I relate my life to that of Hemingway in The Sun Also Rises. The life of going to bars, drinking slow, talking, really talking. And spending the rest of the night bar hopping, drinking and enjoying the company of others.

3 months later I finally feel good. The kids and I are close, are comfortable. I realize that I love them, woah, I really do. I laugh and have fun with the parents too. I feel good with the language, enough to have a conversation with someone. I am saying goodbye to these friends I naively hope I’ll see again. It’s an odd feeling, being such good friend with someone for such a short time, each knowing it’s not bound to last. I take my first big trip and experience a lot. I get to fiesta. I have my first day of being a little “homesick”. I realize that I really am getting fatter.

I’m at month 4. Getting comfortable-again to a new town and people. Beach bums and English class. Dietas and daily walks to the lighthouse. I have planned 3 trips: Sevilla, Dusseldorf, and Rome. I’m now at the point where my dreams are haunted by visions of home. Some good, some not good at all. In the beginning I would randomly get hit by the realization that this is my new life, and it’s almost unreal that I’m here. Those thoughts eventually went away. Now they have returned but with a different take. All that I’ve experienced…it’s unreal. It’s unreal that in 4 ½ weeks I will be home and thrown into the college life with people who most likely won’t care where I’ve been and what I’ve done. It’s unreal that I am feeling anxious, so anxious about it all. I have fiesta’d a lot. I have seen a lot. I have had great conversations with people I will never, ever see again. I need to leave here with no regrets, with makes me even more anxious. But I need to take it one day at a time. Enjoy each one. Make people happy, serve them. Be happy. Make a difference. Know, Conocer, this place, the people, the family. Take pictures, Do it all.

3 weeks left. I have lots of goals and plans, ways to make sure I have no regrets when I leave. I have to make the most of it. I still have moments where I swear this has all been a dream. I’m terrified of waking up. It’s surreal that it happened, is happening, and in just 3 weeks I’ll be doing the same thing I have for 3 years, in the same place, with many of the same people as if it never happened. It's true, tengo ganas para estar en mi país, but just as well it makes me anxious and I can’t believe it’s almost over. I know I’ll wish I was back real soon after arriving. I know these will go by soon because of my travels (Bilbao fiestas, Germany, Rome), which heightens my anxiety. But mom told me it’s all in my mind, and can control that anxiety, stress or whatever. And it’s true. I really want to make the very most out of the rest of my time here. I’m grateful for it. I will miss everything about it. The kids…oh man… Here it goes…

2 Weeks left. I am very very happy. Happy with how far I've come, what I've experienced, the progress I've made, what awaits me back home. My heart is what some people call, very full. Midnight I am sitting on the edge of the world thinking... What an odd thing to do, to let a random girl into your home and take care of your children, sleep in your house, eat your food, and be with you all the time. And what a strange thing for a 21 year old girl to do. Travel across the world and live with people you have never met, can hardly communicate with, agree to be part of their family through thick and thin. We are strange people. What an experience. I can’t believe its almost over. I was very sad. Yes I want to go home, yes I want to see my friends, family. I want to do things I haven’t done, eat things I haven’t eaten, watch movies I’ve missed in these last 5 months. But knowing that I might not ever see this place, these people, or experience anything like this again is a really hard feeling. Whoa…2 weeks.

The journey back home. I have 3 breakdowns today. #1, I finally take a breath and sit down in my seat on the plane leaving Bilbao. I just about missed that flight. I look out the window as we are taking off and see the beautiful misty rolling hills I've called home these last 5 months. I can't bear thinking I might not see this again. #2 Rushing in the Charles de Gaulle airport from my arrival place to the departure. I have my passport and ticket checked. I step onto the plane and hear a thick southern accent, "hello!". As I walk down the isle to seat 36B I hear nothing but English and top 40 radio songs. It really hits me. This is it. I drop my stuff off at my seat and walk briskly to the airplane Bathroom. I switch the door to occupied and burst out in hard tears. #3 Whilst watching the 2nd movie on my 9 hour flight a little boy says to his future-self "I guess you never know if the last time you see sometime will be the last time you ever see them." Oh brooottthhher. Nobody look at me. 

Being back. I think the strangest thing of all is not that my home and things in it surprise me, as they are much different from Spain, but the fact that everything is so... normal. Nothing has changed here. It is as if I never left. And that is the scariest thought of all. I am happy to be back. But there are parts of me that are all unsettled still. I am changed. And I'm happy that Spain could be the one to do it.

That Awful Goodbye.

Last night was my last night with the family. We had a little fiesta at the house with the kids, made American cookies, got out the balloon table cover, blew up some balloons, put on some 'Suavemente'. Then for "la ulutima cena" the parents thought it would be a good idea to eat American food. So we went to the McDonald's in the mall. (of course) Got a bunch of dollar menu things for the kids. They hated it. Except M. It was hilarious. Hilarious! The kids hated McDonald's. Oh what a great last night.

This morning I watched TV with the kids on the pullout bed. I made tortilla de patata with Joseba. He taught me. Then we made natilla. Then played with the kids, made videos, took pictures. Then we went downstairs to meet Joseba with the fruganeta /multivan. Took a couple pictures. Gave kisses to each of the kids and iciar and joseba a big hug and kisses. As they were getting in the van I couldn't help it and I started crying. I never cry. Last time I cried really hard was days before I bought my ticket to Spain 8 months ago. And when you cry you can't just cry a little. It's either a little glisten to your eyes or crying. And I was crying. Embarrassed. Iciar was too. I got in and gave the kids each big hugs as tears were running down my face. They looked confused, they were worried. Leire told me I have tears. They were good hugs. I told them I was happy. And thanks all of them. The parents were trying to hurry so they wouldn't start crying. It was all a blur. The kind of thing where you aren't thinking, just feeling and doing. I didn't know if i'd cry or not. But when I realized I might not ever see these 3 crazy, wild, horrible and wonderful children again, it just came out. How can 5 months go so quickly when it seems like just yesterday we got in that same van from the airport. Suddenly it didn't matter that people were seeing me cry (no one see's me cry). When I went in for those hugs they were worried and confused (never seen me cry before) but they knew it was serious. Joseba gave me another hug and said "te queremos mucho" As the door was shutting I could see the kids through the dark tinted windows waving at me unsuredly, but lovingly. I saw the silhouettes blowing me kisses, I did the same. I waited till the drove around the corner and immediately turned around and went straight to the house. The tears, the ugly tears kept coming. 

That's it. Just like that. A goodbye. I cried really hard from the creaky elevator back to J's room. As I sit down my mind is searching for some sort of comfort.

Now I'm sitting inside this empty house, the faint smell of tortilla with American cookies we made. The balloon birthday table cover still set. Balloons hiding behind the couch. A plate with the lunch they just made all ready for me in the kitchen, and my large overstuffed bags neatly stacked in my miniature room I've called home for the last 5 months. What an end. What an end to a most unbelievable 5 months. 

I still am terrified to wake up and this all be a dream.

 I am grateful for the kids and the love that I was able to gain for them. And let me tell you, It was gained. Slowly. Progressively. But that's the best and strongest kind of love, right? Love that is learned? I am grateful that as I leave them, leave this place, I feel nothing but joy and love for my time here. I have been so happy these last weeks. Not for going home (Although I had joy for it), but just for where I was in my life. I am so blessed. I hope and pray that I never forget them and this experience. I look forward to the day I see them again, my Spain family.

Family.

I just went out with Iciar and Joseba. A walk through the town. Got back at 12:15am. It was great. The kids are at their grandmas and so I was free and they invited me out. They referred to me as their oldest daughter. We walked and got ice-cream. Joseba told the guy 2 scoops for me while he got 1. He’s “supposed” to be helping me with my diet… Iciar met up with us and we walked to the plaza. Talked about the food I need to learn before I leave and the cookies and American meal I need to make. We get tp the plaza and there is a mini carnival that has been out there. I take some pics. Joseba takes me to the churreria where I admit I love them. Of course he offers them to me. Nooo. Pobre Erica, Iciar says. He’s trying to make me fat! Or he’s testing me in which I am definitely failing. But we decided we would get them tomorrow. (I had churros with them my 2^nd day here). We talked along the port and went to the club and sat on the deck. Beautiful. Nice Beatles cover songs playing. It was so nice just to be with them. I felt so comfortable. We looked at photos on the phone and talked about things. My family, theirs, the kids. It was all so…idk…. “family like.” And there I was sitting on the edge of the coast in beautiful weather looking out at hints of waves and clouds and recalling how far we’ve/I’ve come. Thinking how much I would miss them. As in icier and joseba, not just the kids. Thikning how they might fell-this experience for them. And how much they have done for me. I started getting emotional. In my head. Then I started thinking how strange it was that it was almost over. No way. It really is was an other-worldly feeling. Like surely this must all be a dream. Half thinking I might wake up right then and there. A part of me wanted to say what I was thinking. But I stopped myself. Not wanting to ruin the night with awkward Spanish explaining and possible tears. They have been very good to me. What an odd thing to do, to let a random girl into your home and take care of your children, sleep in your house, eat your food, and be with you all the time. And what a strange thing for a 21 year old girl to do. Travel across the world and live with people you have never met, can hardly communicate with, agree to be part of their family through thick and thin. We are strange people. What an experience. I can’t believe its almost over. I was very sad. Yes I want t go home, yes I want to see my friends, family. I want to do things I haven’t done, eat things I haven’t eaten, watch movies I’ve missed in these last 5 months. But knowing that I might not ever see this place, these people, or experience anything like this again is a really hard feeling

Nicknames and Things

THINGS:

“Aqui, no puedes adelgazar” (Here you can’t lose wait.) You said it grandma.  – Amuma Julita.

“Lo que no te mata, endordada.” – You’re right there Spain.

They call me dormilora. Cause when I have the chance to sleep, I do.

My nicknames: Eríca. Kika. Eri (Eddy). Culo gordo. Tetas gordas. Dormilora. Comidora. Wapa.

What they taught me in Spanish class: Adios!

What it really is. “Vale, venga, hasta luego, agur!”

….That could have made my word-count-conversations sooo much easier.

I don’t and will not ever understand why at 1-2 in the morning when I am bed trying to sleep, I have to put my earplugs in to drown out the sounds of the children loudly playing outside. Whaaaa??

The day when I decide to put my baby blanket it the basket for the maid to wash. And later in the day when Joseba is taking dry clothes off the rack I swipe it and he says, "that's yours?"....ohhhh que beruenza".

It’s been a surprisingly very humbling experience. You feel very very small when you realize how big the world is. But overall it’s been a crazy adventure.

Gathering Peas.

(3 weeks left, agh!)

 Whilst telling the kids a goodnight story I get to the end where the character Shakira, a hardworking farm girl, enters a music competition where she wins singing/dancing to Waka waka, and the kids of course where dancing all around and happy. Well Leire decides to jump on top of Jon who is lying down. They are both little but it was clear Jon was hurting, a think it took his breath away for a moment. He cries. So after talking him through some slow and steady breaths I get the frozen peas to make him feel better. The kids see those peas often, it comforts them I guess. So for the next 15 or so minutes Jon lies there with the peas on his ribs and I sing nighttime songs like Raindrops on roses. Well at some point Jon rolls over to look or talk to Maia and I hear something that resembles the sounds of falling marbles. Or maybe falling peas. Yes, somehow the bag opened up and the peas fell onto Maia's bed and through the cracks on the wood floor. The light was off but I knew what happened. I tell everyone to freeze and I turn on the light and see a giant pile of small green peas next to Maia. The kids look at it and break into laughter. It was a fairly easy clean up but when I looked through the crack and saw a whole other pile on the ground. Great. So the kids insist on going under and getting them. It's a tight fit and I don't want anything to get moldy under there so at 1220am I let them cogerlos. I hear laughter, head bonking, I see random peas flying out from under, and then about every 4 minutes one of them comes out to give me a handful of peas. I am lying on the bed as both the children and I are laughing out loud. One of those my life is a sitcom moments again, it's been a while. So many minutes  later I am on my hands and knees talking through things with the kids and trying to convince them that putting frozen peas in the pants was a bad idea, and then I hear the parents come in. They look at me strange and look even stranger when they come in and see 3 empty beds and hear muffled uncontrollable laughter. They get a kick out of the situation. Eventually all the peas (so far as I know) are out and the kids are finally in bed. It made me laugh a lot. I like these funny moments with the kids.

Sevilla and Coming Home.

SEVILLA WAS INCREDBILE! Everything I thought Spain was before I came here. (Yes I am inferring Bilbao/Leketio are hardly what I imagined, I’m very aware of my ignorance on the country before). The white with yellow lines houses, flat roofs. People playing the Spanish guitar everywhere, everyone using beautiful fans because it’s bloody hott. Men with dark hair, very often slicked back. Everything about the look, the people. I loved it. We saw Alcazar Palace; The Cathedral (3^rd largest in the world) – we climbed to the top; Parasol, “Mushrooms”; ate Paella; Saw a flamenco museum and show; ate sushi; Saw the Macarena – gorgeous!; A little bit of some roman ruins “italica”; and a Bull ring tour; and watched the Athletic vs Bêtes game where we almost won. We stayed at Audrey and Jimmy Wilkins gorgeous Spanish home. They were amazing hosts/tour guides. Fed us good food and took us out. Their kids are so cute and fun.   

Back from Sevilla: When the kids get home I hear from the doorway "erriiicaaa!!" It's L. She looks at me and runs into my arms for a big hug. Oh my gosh I want to cry. This hasn't happened since the 2nd day I got here.

Later in English class I brought up that I'm almost going home. I have 21 days left. I said I was sad. Then everyone else did too. Then they all came over and hugged me. What a great a day!!!! Throughout the class they kept saying how much they liked the class and me. We were learning about what we liked to do.

'An Adventure' or 'How I Ended up Sleeping on a Beach in France'

So here goes my latest adventure… last weekend I went to France with a friend who is a fellow Au Pair here. You know of San Fermín; well every week after that for about 2 months a different city in the Basque Country hosts their ‘fiesta’. So it was in Bayonne, which is like a 2hr bus/train ride from where I live (cool that France is that close right?) It really is crazy that you can get off short bus ride and suddenly it’s a different world: the language, the people, the food (mm). It was kind of a last minute trip and we left without every finding a hostel to stay at for the night, but the crazy Spanish parents are like “oh you’re young, you don’t need a hostel, fiesta all night, sleep on the beach or meet some guys to invite you over”. They are nuts. So we take a bus to San Sebastian Saturday morning and finally get to Biarritz in the early afternoon. By the way I don’t know a word of French, I don’t know how I continue to survive my trips there. I’ve been to Biarritz before so I show Mika around the shops. Mika is a 24-year-old Californian who’s been in Spain for 2 months.

We hung out at the ‘famous surfing’ beach for most of the day, the waves were ginormous. In the evening we catch a bus to Bayonne for the fiesta. When we arrive everyone is happy, drunk, French and wearing the familiar white and red. A nice site. We go through the streets to the carnival. I love carnivals. Something about the look, the smell, the people, it’s some kind of magical. We stop and get churros because I love churros. Afterwards we walk around the old part of town. It’s beautiful. Similar to the Casco Viejo’s in Spain but a little more French and with a beautiful river running through. Each street is filled. People are dancing and singing and whenever they walk by me I pretend I know French and sing along. Everyone is in good spirits there. We make our way through the narrow streets. A few times we were packed like sardines, literally squished in as we tried to get through. Music is playing in the streets so loud you don’t have to go in the bars, which is convenient for us because we both have backpacks on carrying all our stuff. I’m sure I looked like an idiot dancing in a full backpack, but it was fun. At one point Cotton Eye Joe randomly came on and people laughed at me because I knew how to dance to it (“I’m a little bit country”…just kidding, it’s my Texas blood.)

To make a long story shorter, we spent all night walking through the streets, dancing, and meeting people (French people are extremely outgoing, very different from N. Spaniards). 4am hits and people start leaving the old part. This got me worried because we didn’t have a safe place to sleep. In Spanish fiestas the people literally do not go to sleep all night and so I was just betting on staying the streets. It was also weird because I am making all the big decisions. We first follow the crowd and get to the train station. Some harmless looking French guys offer to share and pay for a cab to Biarritz, (like 15min away) so we take it. When we get there we go to the beach, our backup plan. It’s pitch black and freezing so we decide to walk around the town where there’s some light. An hour passes and the sun begins to rise, it’s very pretty. We make our way to the beach, find a spot, lay out our towels and lie down. It’s still freezing. I fall asleep for about 30min and wake up with tingly hands. I decide I can’t do it anymore and we go to get some warm breakfast. We stay in the café for sometime until the weather looks better and then go back to the beach at about 930. It’s significantly warmer. I’m able to fall asleep and stay asleep until about 130 and when I look up the beach is packed. Mostly hungover young adults with hints of red and white on them. It was really very funny.

We get a crepe for lunch and make our way to catch the bus back to San Sebastian. We wait, and wait. The bus never comes. I call the bus hotline for help and of course they only speak Spanish. A true test of my Spanish level. I do great! He can understand me; I can understand him (more or less). In the end he tells me to ask the Office of Tourism where to catch it. My phone then runs out of money because of the expensive French charge. Well the office doesn’t know anything about the bus company. (Still a mystery.) They tell us it is safer to take a bus then 2 trains to San Sebastian. So we leave, I get a French pastry because I’m very stressed, and we make it to the station where I have to communicate with the French people through their small knowledge of Spanish. By the time we get to our 2^nd train we have an hour before our bus leaves for Lekeitio (home). Stress starts to hit. I do not want to have to try to stay the night in another town again. On that train I end up talking a solo backpacker from Canada and an old Spanish couple for a time. I was grateful for those moments of connections. Somehow we get into San Sebastian and run to the bus stop with 8 minutes to spare. It was quite the series of unfortunate events and it was the greatest relief to get on that bus. The ride home along the coast was horribly windy, but beautiful. 

We finally make it home and I sleep for ever and ever because I am tired.

Don't Make Me Cry.

Yesterday during English class the kids and I talked about how they wanted to come to my house. For the past month J has been talking about that possibility off and on and keeps asking me if he could. Of course, I say. And I mean it. We talked about my family, what we would do. How they would come when I left. Then I told them they had school so they woul come when there was a break from school. They would save up money now for the trip. We talked about it for some time. I told them that they could come when they were older to come and learn English. And maybe even they could be my cuidadora for my kids when I’m older. I got all excited thinking that maybe it could actually happen. Could it? Am I that naive to imagine that in 10/15 years I might be able to see these kids again when they choose to come live with me. Agh, I hope not. I started to get sad. And I told them that. I said I’m sad. They asked why, and I said that I didn’t want to leave them. Then they lightheartedly said, we’ll we’re coming to your house. Oh niños. I hope you do. I thought for a moment I might cry. They might drive me nuts, and we might fight, but every now and then me and these 5 & 7 year old children have real connections. Really real.

That was funny.

We're trying to figure out what to eat for dinner. Mother is out. The dad says, in broken English, "we have a problem" (that's never a good thing) He continues: "I've had three beers. I drunk. I am drunkie." Bahaha. I laugh very hard. I end up making most of the food. Then later as he's saying goodbye to the kids and walking out the door he yells "I love you erica!"

Oh gosh...if its not the kids being crazy it's the parents. I love this family.

My host dad in a few sentences

Bahah, this just happened... I'm in the bar using their wifi and all the sudden I see my host dad walk in and he's wearing my 'Deep Love' t-shirt. He sits down and I say laughing "that's mine". He says, "Really? It was in my closet so I put it on...well, I don't want to go back to the house and change so, sorry." He's now going to go out with his friends for the evening, drinking dancing and who knows what else in MY shirt.

 I don't know what's funnier, that a 40 year old man is wearing my shirt, or the fact that he thinks it's appropriate attire for a Friday night outing. (Oh these basques and their 'style' just kills me)

Another day.

Today is the day when I look at my ipod and it tells me it is empty. I don’t know when or how it happened, what button I pressed or maybe it’s just with age, but just like that, 7 years worth of collected music, playlists, my solitare scores, all gone. Just like that.

On another note…Woah, time is flying fassst. I took a walk to the lighthouse today. Surprised I didn’t get lost. It was a beaaauuutiful walk. Gosh. The Basque country is truly one of the most beautiful places. The walk was all along the coast. I said a few hola’s. Got home, wrote in journal. Ate tomatoes for lunch.

Nighttime: Leire doesn’t like me a bit tonight. Not sure why. She doesn’t want to change her clothes, brush her teeth, nada. She tells me “…mejor cuando no estaba”. It was better when you weren’t here. It gets quiet. I give her the look of ouch. She looks back shrugs her shoulders and says like a prissy teenager, ya esta, ya esta – that’s all. Then Maia quickly jumps in and says “no, no Leire its better now when she is here” and continues on. My heart recovers. I give her a kiss. Then Jon comes in and says, yeah es mucho major con Erica. This makes me feel great!! Afterwards there was still drama but it got fixed and I end up on the feet of their beds again singing them to sleep. But this time I actually sing Maia to sleep. When it seems quiet I creep out the door. Jon asks if he can come with me, I tell him I’ll stay till they’re asleep. I stay longer and when I think they’re asleep I creep out the crooked wood floors. Jon says “Erica, te veo!” I see you! He is scared. I tell him its okay; he asks if he can come with me again. I say yes. Then I hear Leire say “me too”. So I clear my bed and in jump Jon and Leire and I all squished on my bed. I’m smiling. Eventually Jon and Leire realize they can’t all fit and push each other. Leire ends up leaving. Jon stays and we fall asleep. Around 230 I wake up to footsteps, a light on in the hallway, and finally laughing. I look up and Iciar and Joseba are outside my door surprised and laughing at Jon in my bed. They carry him to his room.

Dreams

I have really distinct dreams all the time. They probably have no significance.

I had a dream last night I was going home. It was nice, I was happy. Then all of the sudden while I was talking to my friends on a train, discussing classes I was trying to take, my laughing turned into to crying and I yelled out, “where is the nearest direct train to Spain?!” I didn’t like everyone speaking English. I didn’t like the lifestyle of Rexburg. I didn’t like being away from Spain. It was very sad. There were only one or two things I was happy about being home. Then we looked at pictures of Marrakesh on this magical train we were on that resembled (in the dream) something of Hemingway’s stories. Then I woke up.

Morning

I’m free this morning. I wake up to seagulls, as usual. I shower with the window cracked open. Breakfast is Cola Cao and biscuits. I head over to the Bar Maite. I get an orange juice and do my hw, at the same time trying to figure out travel plans but it’s sooo stressful, joooeee. Morocco seems more expensive. Dangit. I send mom and dad an email; it’s been forever since we’ve spoken. Weird. An hour and a half ish later I finish everything. I’m done with Art 117 forever!! Phew. I hope I still have an A after this final project. I get home. I take off my shoes. I put on my slippers. Another morning in Spain.

A Day in Lekeitio

It’s a nice nice day. Girls finally wake up at noon. I turn on some Gramatik. M and L and I dance in the living room throughout the whole song. It’s a beautiful thing. I love it. Getting dressed and English class is difficult, but its fine. Joseba and J get in. We go to the beach. Eat our lunch: Arroz con tomate, pechuga. Their friends are there too. We chill out. I bathe, “swim” alone for a while. Lay out. Go in the water with all the kids, help M in the boogie board. She’s so cute in her surfing outfit. We snack, lay out a bit, play with M. I love these kids. We go search for sand crabs. All the kids and the dads. Those things are disguuuusting. Freaky. The kids love them. They also get tiny baby shrimp like things. And a few tiny fish. After catching a giant crab thing they let them all go. The sun is setting. It’s really very beautiful. The boys and I get in the water to bathe. The tide is very far now, but the waves are large. It’s a lot of fun swimming with them. I can be crazy and scream and be over the top and they love it. J and I had fun.

Around 1015 we leave. Time for dinner.  We eat at Joseba’s mothers house, she lives right down the street. I like it there. She is so happy and nice. We watch cartoons while it’s cooking, all of us on, grandmas nicely laid bed. We eat Spanish egg (cooked on one side-I love it now) with french fries, croquetas, lomo, bread and tomatoes. I am shy, of course and they tell me I can’t be. She told me if I’m shy and don’t eat a lot I can’t come over anymore. Haha. We finish and go home. I go to a bar to turn in my hw I thought was due that day. Turns out it is due in 3 days and what is due today I have not done. Go figure. It’s only the bartender and me at midnight. I feel bad. He’s very nice. I finish some things and decide to leave cause its way late. I say sorry and he says no no, tranquila, don’t worry, eat something and relax if you’d like. I laugh. Maybe it was my tiredness but I decide to talk. I tell him I’m doing hw and it’s awful. He laughs, asks where I’m from, I tell him, explain why I’m here, etc... He says ill probably learn more Euskera here – hah, maybe if it wasn’t the most difficult language in the world. He was super nice. It was good to talk to someone, a local, for a time. He said eskerrik asco – thank you. I said de nada, he told me the basque word for you’re welcome, I repeated it. We said our hasta luegos.

I get in bed, I hear a few seagulls.

 

San Fermin

Ever heard of San Fermin??

Words cannot describe my anticipation and excitement for this trip. I just finished Hemingway’s ‘The Sun Also Rises’ (I’ll do my review on the book later) and I was so excited. It was surreal that it was actually happening.  Mika and I got into Bilbao Thursday night, chilled Friday morning – got our outfits ready: pure white shorts with a slightly cream button down tank (I know, but it was sheer and with a white tank underneath it semi passed as white) my white Mickey Shoes and my backpack. We meet Richard, Willie & Carolina at the terminus to take the 4pm bus to Vitoria. After getting to Vitoria we meet Alex and we go to the Eroski mother store (HUGE) and get our food for the next 24 hours. We stop at a few more places for necessities. We make our way, get lost and por fiiinnnn make it to Pamplona-Iruña (its Basque name) around 8pm.

As we drive through the city, every person we pass, old and young is wearing white with a touch a red (around the neck or waist). It’s so magical. I’m really here. We park and meet up with a Pamplonian who will show us around. He brings his funny French friend. They take us to the town to where the fiesta is. First is a giant park filled with nicely set up large stand of food, beer, wine and souvenirs. My eye goes straight to the churro stand of course. There are tons of people. We continue through and the stands turn into set up blocked off tables of street vendors. These are less fancy. Less food and more t-shirts, African bags and perfumed soap. We finally make it to Casco Viejo / Casco Antigua (every Spanish town has one-except Lekeitio of course which is all the old part). We are up high, on the edge of the ‘mountain’ looking at everything below. There is a giant carnival going on, the Ferris wheel and colorful lights are hard to miss. We continue walking and notice many lined up at the edge and as we look over it seems lots of people are crowding around anticipating something. We find out that the bulls will be going through this street at 10pm to go to their holding place getting ready for tomorrow. It’s 15 till so we race down to try to get a good spot. The sun is setting now (945 and sun? I love summer). We find a way to climb up to a somewhat grassy area. It’s quite the trek. We get a little muddy and some leaf irritated my skin but we made it. Whites still white. We saw them being led, running. Cooool! Everyone cheered. It finished. WE go down to the carnival area. I love carnivals. The smell, the look, the people. I just love it. We walk through, there are so many people, nothing new. All foreigners no doubt. Willie and I get churros. It was hard to choose, they had chocolate filled, dipped, covered, but we got the classic. They were so good. A little later we all shared a ridiculously large sized cotton candy. We see the famous fireworks go off. Everyone stops where they are and looks up. It was neat. But to be honest, I feel like I never enjoy watching them as much as everyone else…is that bad? Anyway, afterwards Mika and I buy San Fermin sweaters and scarves. The guy was like super cool at first but then got all annoyed and lame by the end, weird vendors. We then made the trek to the car. We park it closer; I change into pants (so glad I brought those, habia frio!) We eat our dinner (never mind it’s about 1am). Bocadillo de Lomo, jusanitos and cerveza sin alcohol. It’s fun. We then leave to fiesta.

It’s approximately 2am now. In the giant plaza/park area there are hundreds of people listening/dancing to a live music group. They played all the popular hits (Spanish/Latin/Portuguese). Everyone was dancing, a lot of Latinos there. It was sof un. After forever s girls have to pee. The line to the “nice” bathrooms is ridiculous. We try the boys bathroom. There’s a man there that says no….who knew they’d have a bouncer for public restrooms..? So we go through the park to find some portables. Turns out those bathrooms are pretty much just like a shower. So Mika and I are in neighboring bathrooms and I’m about to pee my pants as we’re trying to talk each other through how we are going to accomplish this. Oh gosh and the smell was just wretched. It was the most awful, most funny thing ever. Joee! We go back to the concert and dance with everyone some more. The French learning Spanish boy is quite funny and dances with each of us girls all dramatically. The concert finished.

We make our way to the real Casco Antigua. It’s jam packed! And also smelly and wet and just crazy. There are random people barbequing in open spaces and selling it. We hold hands to make it through without losing anyone.  We get to the plaza, square where we can breath a little. It seems like this is where all the piss drunk people area trying to get a hold of their selves. It’s funny. I see a Hemingway monument and map thing showing where one would go to see what he saw. Man, If I was here for more than 24 hours I would try to go through it, really neat. WE finally make it to this bar our friend wanted to show us. It’s packed of course but it’s whatever. There are attractive men everywhere. It was fun to be checked out even though they were probably all drunk. I may have danced with a few randoms. Speak some spanglish. Its funny cause some people who are obviously foreigners will try to speak to us in Spanish because we look Spanish. We walk around to find another place. We get to a much bigger place. We dance. I really do like dancing. I ask for a coke and the guy gives me a half whiskey half coke mixture. I tell him cause I don’t want to pay 8e for that and he apologizes and asked if the coke was better then usual this time. Hah. It’s cool because when I’m surrounded by people who know barely any Spanish I feel fluent when talking to bartenders or random Spanish people. Yes! I’m sure these details are boring so I’ll just say it was a long fun night of fiesta-ing, I met a lot of people from lots of places, a couple Americans, English, French (this one guy, no matter how many times I told him I didn’t speak French, would only talk to me in French) and lots of Spanish.

By 630 everyone leaves the clubs and finds spots for watching the bulls run (8am) we walk around a bit, the sun is rising, get a neapolitan, and then get a spot. The fence is all filled with people so we’re betting on being able to see by standing on top of this trashcan. We wait and wait, and finally 8am comes and we hear the first shot. A couple minutes go by and we see people coming in the street. They are walking. Another shot comes. The runners begin to pick up the pace. Finally we hear the bulls coming. People run and look frightened, looking behind them as often as they can. They come! We see it! We scream and yell in Spanish! We hear another shot. Some people begin to leave. No way it can be over… So I go to the 1^st gate, then pass through to the 2^nd, bordering the streets. More come! And I’m right there! It’s so cool. And then one more batch. Woah. And then just like that it’s finished. Right now everyone is in the stadium to see the coming in of the bulls. We wait outside the stadium and when the doors open and some people leave we sneak in and find some seats. All the runners are in the arena where the trade in and out baby cows and the people will try to get as close as they can to it without being steered. It’s really cool. A lot of people get trampled but they seem to be all right. Some people held on to it’s back for a good amount of time. Everyone cheered. The sun was really coming in the arena and it was beautiful. When it finishes we leave. The actually running of the real groomed and large bulls and bull fighting is at 6pm tonight and costs a good amount of money. We decided that we would see that in Bilbao during their festival (apparently the bull fights are much nicer and better there.)

We walk back to the car, it’s about 10am now. We get in the car and drive back to Vitoria. We are all passed out. When we get to the bus station we all trample out of the car, dirty white pants and shirts, crooked red scarves. We are tired out of our minds, some drunk, it’s quite a funny site. People around are looking at us like “yeah we know exaaactly what you did.” I laugh. We take the bus, take metro, get off at Moyua, buy a pizza, eat the pizza. The Mika and I go to sleep at about 2pm.

Fiesta all night, siesta all day.

It's been 3 months

I tell the kids a bedtime story. But not before the little man ha hecho un pedo. – farts – Then like 7 more time. I fan it away with the pillow and the kids cannot stop laughing.

The story begins. It’s about a girl named Erica (they like when I’m the main character. She is muy guapa, of course, and she meets a dolphin and together they find a sunken ship with treasure in it. Gold, money, salchichas and chocolate. Then after I turn off the lights little M asks me if I can sleep in their room for a little bit. This is a first, so I say yes. So I lay at the feet of their beds. I sing some songs. Rosebud; You are my Sunshine; Lullaby. It’s nice. Then the father comes home. Lays down with the kids. They make me sing Sunshine. Then M sings it, then L, then J. They know almost every word. Adorable. I can’t stops smiling/laughing. It’s a good thing the light was off.

At the 3 month mark, I really feel like I love them, this family. We are comfortable with eachother, happy (more or less). They come to me now. Cry less - less. It’s a nice thing. A very very nice thing.

Photographs Update

I've calculated how much money I have (not much) with the money I'll be making (also not much) added in my desired traveling costs, living costs, flight back home, the few souvenirs I might get and realized I don't have money to get my film developed anymore. So I won't be adding anymore film until I get back in September where I can develop them for free.

A big bummer, but I guess maybe it can be like a cool surprise..?

Portra 400

I've moved to a place with no internet, well only in cafes and bars for me. So I'm just gonna throw them all on here. Photos include my trip to San Sebastian, Bilbao, some engagement shots and trip to Paris.

 

Family Vacation: Marbella

Marbella!! What a trip. It’s a girl trip. The mother and the kids, me, her sister and child and then the grandmother. Everyone is just so chilled and happy. We literally spent all day everyday by the pool. We spend the evenings walking around the coast. So many foreigners.

I went out with a friend of theirs son and his friends the 2^nd night I was there. Hah, crazy evening. Very nice guys, they knew English pretty well so we spoke in Spanglish. By 4am we finally made it to the disco/club. I’ve never been in a club like that before, jooo ee!! It was fancy. And it better have been I paid 10e to be there. It was super sweet. We left the disco with the rest of the world around 630 and by 8am I finally made it home in my pull out bed. Guys, these kinds of hours are totally normal for Spaniards. And I fear I’ve somewhat gotten used to it.

Overall it was really a lovely trip. I feel like I got a lot closer to the family, I got to swim, I got super black, I made fiesta’d, I made friends with the lifeguards, read a lot, I laid on the beach by myself under a full moon, I ate a lot of chocolate and ice cream, I told some really great bedtime stories, I finally finish Hemingway’s “the Sun Also Rises”, I figured out how to change the TV to English and watched my first show since being here in English, watched Spain win the Europe Cup and minus the 20 min on the mother phone, I went 8 days without internet.

Paris!

Paris was wonderful. Like, woah, that was a crazy awesome birthday weekend. And it's pretty cool that I'm finally 21. (Holla).

So like I said before, what happens in Paris, stays in Paris. But I’ll touch on a bit.

Friday: I arrive at noon and quickly realize that I don’t know a WORD of French and I’m about to spend 12 hours by myself in this giant city lugging around my suitcase. Oh I’m such a tourist. I first stop at the Luxemburg Gardens because it’s the only stop on the train I recognize. I read some Hemingway. Walk. I head over to Peir la Chaise Cemetary. When I get there a very nice woman tells me its “marvelous” then said more stuff, and I had to tell her I didn’t speak French. She was very nice, showed me where I should go. I go. I still have my rolly suitcase with me (sorry errbody). I finally find Sarah Bernhardt grave, but then French men tell me its closing time so I have to leave. I walk without any sense of where I am for about an hour. I guess you might call that being lost. On the way I see a tons of people crowded around, a man is run over by bus. Finally I find a metro and go back near Louvre.  I stop for a crepe, and speak Spanish with the waiter (I’m so good). I’m almost inside the Louvre, and I get stopped by a 30yr old looking man who calls me sexy and we proceed to talk in spanglish, he gives me his number and fb name. Thank you sir. I finally get in.  It’s beautiful. HUGE. OVERWHELMING. Among numerous beauties (I’m in love with their sculpture collection) I see the Mona Lisa. 2 hrs later I leave. Take Metro to Antony to meet Dianne at 1030. But she’s not coming. I wait for almost 2 hrs. I assume I can find a bar to chill in but the nightlife there is nonexistent. (I’m used to the Spanish lifestyle). While I wait I get asked if I want to be driven to Orly.  No. Well, then coffee? NO. Weird French people. Finally Dianne and Fabrizio arrive! We get to his place where Dianne and I share a bed and go to sleep.

Saturday: What we saw…Arc de triumph, Invalides, Eiffel tower, crepes! little hamburger looking delicates (mm) Notre dam - beauty, beautiful French men playing the accordion, guitar and violin, they play Ámelie - I’m in love; we have a moment but I ‘forgot’ to give them my #. We head over to his place, to Downtown Disney to watch the game, Spain vs France!  It’s crazy. Spain scores early. I share my joy with other Spaniards, its wonderful. Spain wins. Celebrate!! Meet more people, crazy people, a lot of Spanish and Italians. They sing happy birthday to me around midnight. We go to Billy Bobs, we dance like crazy.

Sunday: Happy birthday to me! Fabrizio, Fabio, Dianne and I get delicious pastry for breakfast, of course We take lots of trains and get to Moulin Rouge. Let me tell you, Escorted by Italians while having them sing in your ear – it’s the best. We stroll down the street of sexy shops. Apparently it’s a famous street. Somewhat awkward, but there is some super sweet lingerie. We eat crepes for lunch –that makes 3. We try the Catacombs but the line is redic, so we go to a Café, get lemonade.  We make our way to Opera Garnier. Beautiful! But we can’t get it. So we end up finding a café with wifi for Dianne, after sometime we head home. Long train, I fall asleep.  We get in to Downtown Disney, Italy vs England tonight. Italians are crazy awesome. No one scores and it’s the 15min break, so Dianne and I go to Rainforest café! Why not, it’s my birthday right? Fajitas, mmm. We go back to finish the game. Finally gets down to penalty kick. Italy wins. People are crazy.  Like really crazy. We Celebrate, sing I pretend I know Italian. Everyone is dancing, taking pictures, jumping around. It’s wonderful.

Monday:  We get up early, say goodbye to our lovely host, Fabrizio. Eventually Dianne and I make it to the Luxemburg gardens, take a few pictures, eat our delicious food (mmm) and say our goodbyes. I take a train to the airport and then flight back to Bilbao; it’s nice to be home where I can [somewhat] understand people. I am so tired. What a nice trip.

Happy birthday to me

Going to Paris, be right back.

**UPDATE:

What happens in Paris, stays in Paris.

Connections

A few days ago I read a post on a friend of mine's blog about tender mercies. Here is what I know of them: the Lord knows us very well. It may be safe to say better than we do. Sometime's he places little things in our days that is just what we need. Something we can appreciate, something to help us through. That night I was thinking it over and remember that blog post. I decided to pray that I would notice these 'tender mercies'.

For the most part, I am absolutely loving my time here. But one of the most difficult things is the language and moreover, the communication and connection - or lack of. I miss that ability to connect. Don't get me wrong, I have had many connections, but sometimes I find it so difficult when you can't fully understand what the other person is saying.

Yesterday I was on my way to pick up the children. Just after the ZubiZuri bridge there often is a man who plays the accordion. He plays the Godfather, The Entertainer and a few other recognizable tunes. I always enjoy it. But one thing I keep thinking is he never smiles, I have seen it a couple times when the kids give him a little money, but he is pretty deadpanned when he plays. Such a shame I keeping thinking to myself. Well as I was walking by him yesterday out of nowhere I decided to look him in the eyes (I try to make as much eye contact as I can with these people) and then smile. He looked at me, and smiled back.

I was so happy. I laughed the second I was out of his vision. I don't even know why. It just made me so giddy.

Well today I was walking down Gran Via, the main large road in Bilbao, to meet the mother to grab the kids pullovers. I passed a boy (25 something yr old) who looked like he was trying to stop people to sell something. He asked me if I had a moment. I did what I am always do and said no and continued on. After I picked up the pullovers I went back the same way. I saw the boy in my peripherals and assumed he wouldn't try again. He did. I have no idea why but after he said 'just one little moment' I let him continue talking.  Not only did I let him, but I let myself stand there and hear him speak, not really understanding most of it (something about building some store to help with humanitarian aid) for almost 5 minutes. Eventually he asked me a question that I didn't know and I had to break it to him that I don't really speak Spanish. After being asked, I told him I was from Texas and we continued to chat about what I was doing here, how [according to him] I spoke Castellano very well, how he speaks terrible English and a bit more.

I allowed myself to be late to pick up the kids,  and not understand a boy for almost 5 minutes just so I could have that connection again.

Once again, after I left him to get the kids, I couldn't help but smile and laugh giddily. And its not because the accordion man or humanitarian boy were necessarily dreamy looking Spaniards, and its not because we had some great conversation. But when you pass hundreds of people everyday the smallest connection, the tiniest moment can be so wonderful.

Water Balloon Skeleton

It's the little boy's birthday tomorrow. Which means I've spent all night filling up water balloons and tomorrow I will have 20+ screaming Spanish children throwing them at me. Can't say for sure if I'm looking forward to it yet...

My birthday is in approx 1 week...what are the chances I get to throw water balloons at the children?

Also, I told them a few weeks ago that for birthdays in my house we do breakfast in bed, and that for his birthday we would do it. So tonight, as I was pretending to be a skeleton pirate, J was telling me how excited he was for his birthday breakfast in bed. So cute. And then he invited me, the skeleton, to his birthday party. Then all the kids gave me a hug, the skeleton, goodnight. Why this skeleton gets so much love from the children I will never know, but man, I need to be a skeleton more often.

This is a good story.

This is a good story. I promise.

So it's wash-up time. Like bath-time except in Europe they have things (I have no idea what they're called) with an adjustable fosset for washing your bum bum. (For the kidos.)

Anyway, this is my least favorite time ever. They never want to take off their clothes, they never want to be the first one to wash, and then they never want to put their clothes back on.

It's little L's turn. She has a "hard time" listening to put it gently. So I carry her to the bathroom and close the door. She begins crying. I lock it.

For the first 10 minutes of her crying in the bathroom I have to give myself credit for being extremely calm and funny while I try to make this less painful for the both of us. She bangs on the door. Eventually I move to get the wash ready and she continues banging and pulling on the door handle while screaming for help in desperation for her brother and sister as if the world is ending. Long story short(-er), about 7 more minutes pass and I managed to get her to sit for a whole 25 seconds.

Little M, her twin, comes and bangs on the door. She hasn't washed yet either so I bring her in and lock the door again. She is calm and her being present helps little L. So I wash M first, L is much more calm but still trying to get out every now and then. Then, FINALLY, I wash L. Meanwhile M has a try at the door. Finally, they are both dry. I hear little man J come over and bang on the door. I can make out him saying that he doesn't like being alone while he desperately tries to open the door. I tell him to calm down and that I can't open it until he let's go of the handle. I try again.

It won't open.

"Let go" I yell at him again. He says he has. I try again. And again. And again.

Oh no, the door won't open.

I am part unbeleiving, part only half surprised thinking of how much the little handle just went through, and part panicking because at 9:05pm I am stuck in a bathroom with two unfed, naked little girls, I have a crying boy outside, the parents are gone, I don't have a phone, and no matter how many times I try, the door will not open.

I look out the window. The kitchen is so close but I don't think I can make it... My mind is racing devising any and all kinds of plan.

I scold the girls for what they have done but I can't help but laugh through it. I yell that I don't want to die. We are all now laughing. Meanwhile J is having panic attacks in the living room. He is just safe, ironic eh? He tells me he is calling mom, a few times, but he is so whiny I can't make out what he's saying. Many minutes pass.

An idea!

I call J over and ask him to help me. I guide him to my room to get my backpack. He gets it. Inside there is a small bag with my money and cards in it. I tell him to give me my cards. He sticks about 12 bus/train paper cards through the door. No, not those. Finally he get's my new plastic Sephora card I got 2 days ago.

Perfect!

Of course I am doing this all by wishful thinking. I've heard its possible and saw it in a movie once where someone opened a door with a card. I try. Fail. I try a few more times. The girls want to try too. Finally, I slide the card one last time. The door pops open. OH! We all let out a scream in relief. At that exact moment Mom comes through the front door asking why we are screaming.

I spend the next 10 minutes hugging and kissing the girls for making it out alive, doing the same to J for saving our lives and then through my laughter explaining to the parents what happened.

Man. That was great.

A Few More

These have no specific category.

Minolta 35mm, 400 Tri X.

Public Transportation.

For the happiness of the children.

Make-up time after school.