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.

All Things Athletic

Ole Ole Athletic. On Wednesday I went with my super-groupie British friend Amanda to see Athletic Club practice at their stadium the last time before leaving to Madrid for the big game.. We stayed after to get autographs from all the players. Then game day came. It was Friday so I took the girls out of school early. They had a picnic in the kitchen and then we went to the park and ate ice cream sandwiches. Then in the evening I went to the plaza with some friends to watch the game. It was a horrible loss (Barcé scored their first goal within the first 5 minutes, the second within 15 minutes, and the third within 30) but such a great time was had. It's neat to be a part of something that everyone is so passionate about.

Minolta 35mm, 400 Tri X.

 

 

Exploring

Sometimes I go exploring. Whether its with a native Basque friend, my little kids, or by myself, its a favorite pastime.

Minolta 35mm, 400 Tri X.

Exploring the Puente Principes de España and Guggenheim.

 

 

Exploring the Basílica de Begoña Church.

Exploring Parque Etxebarria. Met some interesting characters while there.

Travels: France & San Sebastian

Last weekend I took a trip with some friends in Bilbao who are English teachers at nearby schools. The trip consisted of a lot of trains, buses, walking, food, desserts, laughing and truth or declare. We traveled to Biarritz France first. Shanelle and I relaxed on the french beach for a time. Then I ate a french quishe and a french eclair and got to say bonjour, oiu, and avua. (I'm in love). Then we went to San Sebastian, Spain in the evening. Enjoyed a night of delicious pintxos, staying in a hostel where we slept next to complete strangers. The next day we passed the time in exquisite weather on the most beautiful coast I've ever seen. I finished this roll early on in the day. The rest are on color and will be coming...who knows when.

 Minolta 35mm, 400 Tri X.

Firsts and Things

There have been a lot of firsts since I've been here but Imma recap what's fresh on my mind.

This weekend I...

- Bought 10e flaming strawberry pink lipstick. I don't wear lipstick. And I definitely don't pay a lot for makeup. It was a whim decision in my cause to be more bold.

- Purchased my first non-H&M non-thrift store piece of clothing. A random little boutique. A dress. I love the dress.

- Had my first real purchased meal* in Bilbao. Italian, mmmm so good.
   (*Basque country is famous for their pintxos - not real meals, I normally eat en casa, I sometimes eat McDonalds)

- Fell asleep in a bar. It was a hippie bar with a no-shoes lounge bed-like place. Then almost got touched by an angel, a man dressed in an angel costume that is. (For his bachelor party no doubt). Men and women in crazy costumes is nothing out off the ordinary here.

- Ate my first real weird thing in Spain. Melon with jamon on it. I was freaked out to try. But....I LOVED it. Weird.

- Weighed myself for the first time since I've been here. Bad idea. I'm the most I've ever weighed. It was even worse because it was in kilo's and didn't seem that bad. Then I used the online converter. Man...I need to lay off the breads.

A Good Wife Afterall

Anyone who really knows me knows that I don't bake. I don't cook. I am not a very good at those woman things. I mean, every now and then I do and of course I'm a great helper. But I am NOT one of those bake every Sunday and bring it to the neighbors - or in past roommates cases, bring the boys to the yard, ahem, kitchen.

I fear I doomed myself to being a terrible wife/mother/homemaker.

Well I do like cookies. So 4 weeks ago I told the kids were were going to make American cookies. It was a success! They loved them. Since then we have made Texas Sheet cake and no-bake cookies. For the most part, they have turned out delicious. Muy muy dulce, but delicious. Well it was Amuma's (grandma)'s birthday yesterday and the kids wanted to make something for her.

"Strawberry cake!" yells Jon. Followed by happy words of approval from everyone else.

Whaaa?

I don't know how to do that.

Well I can't disappoint. For all the these people I'm a wonderful baking homemaker. So I look up a few recipes online, see which one has Spain-friendly ingredients(harder then you think), and get everything together.

830pm, they are finally ready to make it. (Por fin). We begin. It is going wonderfully! Not only do things seem to be mixing well but everyone is happy and helpful. I think it has something to do with the pink color.

My little helpers

Yes M, you're right, this accomplishment is DEFINITELY something to celebrate.

 

And the final product, well, the morning after. It's supposed to be all pretty and have frosting on it, and I was going to make it, but people here don't use frosting...they like it better without. 

Meh, whatever makes them happy!

Success! 4 desserts from scratch in 4 weeks? You can't know how surprised and proud I am of myself.

Well look at that, I may be a good wife after all.

My Life is a Sitcom

Let me explain.

Warning: this story is graphic, not for the faint of heart.

First off, today was a great day, I liked most all of it. This morning the mother had to leave to work early so I was in charge of getting the kids ready and off to school. Things went smoothly compared to the usual. We left with enough time to make it to school by 915. On the way we were walking down the street. Little M said she wanted me to hold her, well this opportunity doesn't come too often so I say yes of course. I pick her up and she gets comfy, head on shoulder. Not 1 minute later she let's out a big sneeze. She pulls back and faces me. She has two long strands of mucus from her nostrils down to her chin. (Is this normal? Because for these kids it's always this nasty). So I laugh, grossed out, and put her down. She is laughing too. I look for my tissues in my bag. I always have my tissues just in case. I can't find them. But I do have a piece of notebook paper and so I do my best to clean M's face. Then she yells at me saying that there is mucus in my hair. Oh no. Ohhh no. Her twin little L comes over and looks, then see's M, then get's a real nasty look on her face.  All the sudden I look over and see L running to the nearby tree where she begins to vomit profusely. Meanwhile people are walking by looking at us like we're crazy. L finishes and so I try to rush them over to the fountain to clean a few meters away. Well we finally get to the fountain when I hear a big cry. Little man has fallen, tripped on who knows what. He is unnecessarily rolling on the floor. Then he gets up and spins in circles crying as if being chased by pain. I am trying to clean up the girls and at the same time calm down the boy. Apparently he can't walk, talk, move. He has a small scrape on his face and his knees are a little roughed up. Trying not to seem panicked I look for my band-aids in my bag. Nothing. Of course! Where is my emergency preparedness kit!? (I supposed I should get one of those). I try to gain control of everyone. Finally the crying has stopped for the most part and I tell them we will get all cleaned up and better at the school. I pull my mucus hair back into a bun, pretending for the moment it never happened and the three of us continue on to their school. We went slowly, each step careful and paining. Finally we arrived. The girls on time, the little man barely late, but by George we made it.

The rest of the day consisted of me swimming at the gym, laying out on their fancy terrace with English friend Amanda - so lovely. Maybe checking out the ridiculously fit Spanish swimmers during our stay... Going home feeling good. Talking with the Father over lunch for about an hour in Spanglish about many many things. This included him telling me about the many fiesta's going on this summer that I will have to be a part of. Um, okay! There's the week long San Fermín (bull fighting) in Pamplona - can't wait! Bilbao fiesta in August, our trip to Marvella and finally he told me I can't leave till after Sept 5th because that is the greatest fiesta in Lekeitio - from what I understand it starts at midnight and consists of a lot of drinking, throwing people in the ocean, helping them out, throwing them in again and crazy laughing alllll day. Later we celebrated Amuma's (Grandma's) birthday at her place where it was so picturesque I couldn't take it. Beautiful window light. A love glass table filled with perfectly cut sandwiches, cheetos, cherries and a large platter of baked breads and desserts. Each item placed on maroon and white designed china. Amuma (who I am secretly intimidated by, always so proper and dressed up) in a comfortable yellow house dress seeming so lighthearted and focused on making the kids happy. The small old radio. Everyone at ease. So lovely! The kids were on great behavior and the Grandpa talked to me for a long time and even though I may have laughed and nodded naively the time was great. After getting home M and I played pretend where she was my boss who made me cry (they love my fake crying) because my family was in hostage. Then she wrote down all 8 of my family members names. And when I say wrote I mean she drew squiggly lines for each.

I really liked today.

A Tragedy

Two day's ago I was walking the kids to school. 910am. On the block of the school there is an ambulance holding up traffic. My little boy stops and asks the paramedic what happened (of course, he's quite the curious one). An "accident". I see two paramedics then put a person, covered in a blanket, into the back of the car. I saw her feet sticking out. Painted toenails, strappy green flip flops. As the mother and I are leaving the school she tells me that apparently this woman jumped from the 5th story just before we arrived. When the Paramedic found her she had a pulse. An attempted suicide.

Woah. Right there.

She says suicides around there have been increasingly frequent over the past decade. Possibly do to the economy crisis. The next day as we leave the school again she tells me that the woman ended up passing away.

This got me thinking....