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Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Todo tiene su tiempo
There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven—
A time to give birth and a time to die;
A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.
A time to kill and a time to heal;
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to weep and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.
A time to search and a time to give up as lost;
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear apart and a time to sew together;
A time to be silent and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate;
A time for war and a time for peace.
A time to plant and a time to uproot what is planted.
A time to kill and a time to heal;
A time to tear down and a time to build up.
A time to weep and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
A time to throw stones and a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace and a time to shun embracing.
A time to search and a time to give up as lost;
A time to keep and a time to throw away.
A time to tear apart and a time to sew together;
A time to be silent and a time to speak.
A time to love and a time to hate;
A time for war and a time for peace.
A time for Spain and a time for Michigan.
Un tiempo para España y un tiempo para Michigan.
Un tiempo para España y un tiempo para Michigan.
...thus close my 180 days in Europe.
...así terminan mis 180 días en Europa.
...así terminan mis 180 días en Europa.
What more is there to say? It was life; I met people: people who happened to be living in southern Spain near the grand Atlantic Ocean and who are really just the same as people in my little town here in the forest on the shores of Lake Superior. I am thankful for the opportunity to learn and grow, not to mention the chance to enjoy hours spent with new friends, delicious meals, necessary siestas and daily adventures.
No sé qué más puedo decir (el pasaje es de Eclesiastés 3 y resume mis pensamientos). Allí viví; conocí a la gente: la gente que vive en el sur de España cerca del mar Atlántico que en realidad es igual que la gente en mi pueblo aquí en el bosque en la orilla del lago Superior. Estoy muy agradecida por la oportunidad de aprender y crecer, y además, los momentos en que disfruté de pasar horas con amigos nuevos, comidas riquísimas, siestas necesarias y aventuras cada día.
No sé qué más puedo decir (el pasaje es de Eclesiastés 3 y resume mis pensamientos). Allí viví; conocí a la gente: la gente que vive en el sur de España cerca del mar Atlántico que en realidad es igual que la gente en mi pueblo aquí en el bosque en la orilla del lago Superior. Estoy muy agradecida por la oportunidad de aprender y crecer, y además, los momentos en que disfruté de pasar horas con amigos nuevos, comidas riquísimas, siestas necesarias y aventuras cada día.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
If I ever leave this place alive
[If I tell these stories here now, I won't have to do it later. I'm a pro pointless story-teller. ]
Oh, Lisbon.
The area of town in which my fist hostel supposedly is was so sketch I peace-d out of there ASAP. I didn't actually ever find it either. I just found myself in little alley ways. And on the walk to my hostel--whose existence I almost doubt--I ran into a friendly Portuguese cop. Now, the reason this cop was there was not because there was a Portuguese Donut shop. He was there because the street was that sketch. So, I gladly approached him, practically ran toward him just to feel safer, and after asking for directions in Spanish I asked "now, I'm not going to have to walk up this street? (Gesturing to the street he was patrolling in a rather sedentary fashion) It doesn't seem safe, right?" He looked at me with those big, mournful Portuguese eyes and said, "No."
We found another route to Rua do Maria (linguistic side note: they rrreally rrrroll their r's!). I found a Rrrrrua Maria but number 55 looked pretty absurd...in a negative way. It didn't appear to be a hostel nor was it on a street I'd like to walk down alone early tomorrow morning.
So, I am in a hotel! The fifth one I've entered after price-checking. I sauntered into a beautiful, five star hotel just for fun and the nice young man told me it was 163 Euro for the night, I think. I told him before asking that it was mostly out of curiosity and so he didn't think it too odd as I tottered out of there with my enormous green back pack and my squeaky, damp moccasins. I heard everywhere from that price to 100 to 63 to 77 to 50. And, here I am. Breakfast included.
Down the street from me is a hostel. The British girl working at the desk was helpful but could only offer me the TV room couch for the night. Various factors led me to my current decision: I would have had to wait to claim the couch until midnight; there seemed to be an astounding number of males between the age of 25 and 30 strutting about the place which doesn't make a public sleeping area that appealing; and the real deciding factor? A wake-up call. I left my clock in Sevilla for my Spanish flat mate. (I am going to make Spain more time-conscious, one person at a time. It's just so funny in the morning when someone starts fussing about how late it's gotten, as if time is some silent panther, creeping about! Thus, I am without an alarm clock. I thought my phone would do--but it won't.) That reminds me, I need to schedule that wake-up call right now.
...done.
The guy at the reception desk must think I'm nuts! I walk into the place, ask how much tonight would cost, and then leave. Five minutes later, I'm back. My first question is, of course, about the wake-up call. Would it be possible? Why then, I'd like to book a room. I found myself stumbling over English. Awesome. (I've been speaking Spanglish all day, which here, works.) My credit card didn't function--I tried two pin numbers though I knew the first was correct. Is there an ATM nearby? Just up the street? Great. I scurry back with the bills practically flying about. He looks on like a dear little Portuguese grand-father.
Of note: a) Look at the bags under my eyes: I'm tired; b) I'm blogging a photo of myself taken by Photo Booth? I'm definitely tired; c) I am also triumphant! I am in a hotel! by myself! Look ma, no help!; d) USA USA USA tomorrow!
Oh, Lisbon.
The area of town in which my fist hostel supposedly is was so sketch I peace-d out of there ASAP. I didn't actually ever find it either. I just found myself in little alley ways. And on the walk to my hostel--whose existence I almost doubt--I ran into a friendly Portuguese cop. Now, the reason this cop was there was not because there was a Portuguese Donut shop. He was there because the street was that sketch. So, I gladly approached him, practically ran toward him just to feel safer, and after asking for directions in Spanish I asked "now, I'm not going to have to walk up this street? (Gesturing to the street he was patrolling in a rather sedentary fashion) It doesn't seem safe, right?" He looked at me with those big, mournful Portuguese eyes and said, "No."
We found another route to Rua do Maria (linguistic side note: they rrreally rrrroll their r's!). I found a Rrrrrua Maria but number 55 looked pretty absurd...in a negative way. It didn't appear to be a hostel nor was it on a street I'd like to walk down alone early tomorrow morning.
So, I am in a hotel! The fifth one I've entered after price-checking. I sauntered into a beautiful, five star hotel just for fun and the nice young man told me it was 163 Euro for the night, I think. I told him before asking that it was mostly out of curiosity and so he didn't think it too odd as I tottered out of there with my enormous green back pack and my squeaky, damp moccasins. I heard everywhere from that price to 100 to 63 to 77 to 50. And, here I am. Breakfast included.
Down the street from me is a hostel. The British girl working at the desk was helpful but could only offer me the TV room couch for the night. Various factors led me to my current decision: I would have had to wait to claim the couch until midnight; there seemed to be an astounding number of males between the age of 25 and 30 strutting about the place which doesn't make a public sleeping area that appealing; and the real deciding factor? A wake-up call. I left my clock in Sevilla for my Spanish flat mate. (I am going to make Spain more time-conscious, one person at a time. It's just so funny in the morning when someone starts fussing about how late it's gotten, as if time is some silent panther, creeping about! Thus, I am without an alarm clock. I thought my phone would do--but it won't.) That reminds me, I need to schedule that wake-up call right now.
...done.
The guy at the reception desk must think I'm nuts! I walk into the place, ask how much tonight would cost, and then leave. Five minutes later, I'm back. My first question is, of course, about the wake-up call. Would it be possible? Why then, I'd like to book a room. I found myself stumbling over English. Awesome. (I've been speaking Spanglish all day, which here, works.) My credit card didn't function--I tried two pin numbers though I knew the first was correct. Is there an ATM nearby? Just up the street? Great. I scurry back with the bills practically flying about. He looks on like a dear little Portuguese grand-father.
 |
| My mid-travel face? My I've-walked-around-Lisboa-for-five-hours face? |
Obrigada for the cool weather
LISBOA, Portugal -- It is so nice here: grey, rainy and cool. It has
an entirely different feel than Sevilla. The temperature, the odd, guttural
language and the slow pace of the big-eyed Portuguese--really, people
here have large, sad-like-Humphrey-Bogart eyes--are quite a change from broiling and vivacious Sevilla.
On the delayed flight here from dear Sevilla, there was an 8-year-old boy crying for his life (I think he was tired and didn't like the sensation of building pressure in his ears). And I had thought that a baby's crying could be rather annoying...
When I got to the airport, I had to pick up my luggage (which is too heavy, I believe, but Sevilla let me go without paying extra). I had to talk to three different people until I found a way to store it overnight. So, it's awaiting me in the Left Luggage area to claim in the morning.
Prices here are cheaper than Sevilla. And people speak English. As of right now, I would recommend a visit. I am going to roam around some more, find my hostel and then prepare for my flight tomorrow.
...less than an hour later:
I am not in my hostel yet. I started walking there and got sketched out. I am glad I brought a scarf: it's going on my head when I do decide to make the trip to Rue do Maria 55. My rain-soaked moccasins and I are certain that once we are in the hostel, we aren't coming back out again until morning for the flight home! So I decided to make use of my time out of doors before I shut myself away for the evening. I am going to roam around some more in the not-so-sketch areas of Lisboa--there are plenty to be found--while ducking under trees to let the heaviest rain pass before I continue on my adventures.
What have I sought refuge, you may ask? Why, I will tell you. Starbucks--I confess. I have learned to be quite efficient in the 45-minute internet time limit.
About 14 hours and counting until I leave for the wonderful United States.
On the delayed flight here from dear Sevilla, there was an 8-year-old boy crying for his life (I think he was tired and didn't like the sensation of building pressure in his ears). And I had thought that a baby's crying could be rather annoying...
When I got to the airport, I had to pick up my luggage (which is too heavy, I believe, but Sevilla let me go without paying extra). I had to talk to three different people until I found a way to store it overnight. So, it's awaiting me in the Left Luggage area to claim in the morning.
Prices here are cheaper than Sevilla. And people speak English. As of right now, I would recommend a visit. I am going to roam around some more, find my hostel and then prepare for my flight tomorrow.
...less than an hour later:
I am not in my hostel yet. I started walking there and got sketched out. I am glad I brought a scarf: it's going on my head when I do decide to make the trip to Rue do Maria 55. My rain-soaked moccasins and I are certain that once we are in the hostel, we aren't coming back out again until morning for the flight home! So I decided to make use of my time out of doors before I shut myself away for the evening. I am going to roam around some more in the not-so-sketch areas of Lisboa--there are plenty to be found--while ducking under trees to let the heaviest rain pass before I continue on my adventures.
What have I sought refuge, you may ask? Why, I will tell you. Starbucks--I confess. I have learned to be quite efficient in the 45-minute internet time limit.
About 14 hours and counting until I leave for the wonderful United States.
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