The Best Weekend (So Far)

Sorry for the huge delay in posts. Silly broken keyboard is getting me behind...and keeping me at school in the arid computer room until inhumane hours of the night.
Before I do anything else, I want to apologize for two things. One, I apologize that this post is going to be UBERlong, and that much of the exciting parts are going to be interspersed with not-so exciting parts. Two, I apologize that I can´t upload photos or videos yet to help balance out all this writing, because my camera (with which I have captured wacko moments) is only compatible with the computer that has a juice-broken keyboard (I should have the new keyboard installed by next week, provided Amazon.com sends it to me a tiempo).
So here we go. This was hands-down the best weekend so far, for multiple reasons. I just put together exactly why carnaval is when it is...it´s the Spanish version of Mardi Gras, because the happy Catholic period we call Lent begins on Ash Wednesday this week. The Spanish (well, the Basques...I haven´t interacted with mainland Spaniards) are a funny bunch. Because they´re so darn Catholic, they party party party (sin?) approximately 325 days a year...and on the other 40, they atone for the partying with a very solemn Lenten period. I´m curious to see whether I´ll be able to buy meat on Fridays, for instance, or whether the bars lose business.
And when they party, they party. between Friday night and Sunday afternoon there were about 6 cumulative hours where there were less than 30 people in view and no music could be heard. During the rest of carnaval, everyone left their houses disfrazados (disguised) to join the festivities. I saw Arabs and cowboys in the same brass band playing Louie Louie. I saw a platform on wheels that 10 teenage boys were dragging around town, on which they held a faux-jousting tournament. I saw babies dressed as pirates and flamenco dancers and lollipops, and many manly men wearing boobs and wigs and pantyhose.
There was un desfile (parade) that blocked all the streets in El Centro on Saturday and Sunday. I´m used to parades involving floats, professional dancers, lights and confetti. These things were sort of involved here, but it was moreso an excuse for 17-year-olds to wear belly shirts and excessive make-up and dance in front of the city. It was entertaining, definitely, but a lot of it repetitive and silly. One group did Moulin Rouge, another King Arthur, another Wizard of Oz, Narnia, three musketeers...My favorite was, for lack of a better word, the ¨star¨section. Their costumes were hand-made from purple styrofoam and kitchen straws sticking out in every direction from their bodies. They kept running into each other, but boy were they happy to be alive and ¨shining.¨The danced to everything from Queen to Barbie Girl by Aqua.
Apart from the parade, small families and clubs and bands (called fanfares, who came from all over Euskal Herria= walked around town (specifically our Parte Vieja) with themed costumes. The hippie group made me the happiest. They wore long blonde wigs and earrings and skirts and carried guitars. They dragged around a volkswagen made of cardboard and painted pink, and the BEST part...they played some of my favorites on a boombox: California Girls, California Dreamin´, Twist and Shout...
The music was phenomenal. I don´t know how 50% of the city is musically gifted. I´m serious, the majority of the revelers had a trombone or an excellent voice or a gift for harmony. A lot of them made their way down our alley. Yeah, I was just ecstatic. This was my favorite moment of the entire weekend. A group of us was celebrating Aude´s birthday (cutie blonde from France) when we heard music approaching the flat. This wasn´t unusual, but Marie called my attention to it anyway, and I am so glad I checked it out. I swear the entire 20-something population of the city was jumping and spinning and shaking its way down our alley to the beat of 10-or-so snare and base drums and tamborines. Everyone was of course in full costume, and the joy and youth seemed to fill the air. I was beaming and screaming and dancing and failing to take a video because my hands were shaking so much. I just wanted to leap off the balcony (but I decided I valued my life) and join them.
I did not want to join the biker (as in bicycle) gang wearing naked man suits. It reminded me too much of another instance. There were 5 of them, all between 25 and 35, wearing felt, skin-colored full body suits, complete with chest hair and the exaggerated part between the legs. I was too chicken to take their picture as they came toward me, but I did get their backs.
Hannah and I shared a sweet moment when strolling down the Boulevard when we hit a group of older couples tango-ing. She explained to me later (she did ballroom dance and knows this stuff) that it makes sense; you never see younger couples tango-ing b/c it's a very intimate, familiar dance...not like salsa or merengue, which are more flirty. These couples were obviously in love, but the sappy, giddy love young people feel. They danced with feeling, with wisdom. It was electric; I was drawn to the circle, and for a second I longed to be an old woman dancing with her husband of 50 years. But only for a second. For now, I love living in the moment called SPAIN.
Kursaal, the large glass building that acts as an exposition hall and theatre, was lit up in rainbow colors in honor of carnaval. Era fantastico. The only place not completely crowded (there were a million youngins still out at 4am in Parte Vieja on Saturday night/Sunday morning) was the Jesus Mountain, A.K.A. Monte Urgull, which Hannah and I climbed sleepily on Sunday afternoon. I was part of secret garden...or back in Guatemala, only much cooler and more peaceful than a volcano :). At the summit there were 5 or so people wandering peacefully around, enjoying the foggy view of the city below. Drum echoes and laughter still found their way to our ears, even from the top of the "mountain." I will definitely hike it multiple times (Jesus stands protectively on top).

Mind Knots: Euskaltel, Lebanon, Hannah etc.

This is going to be more like a journal entry than a here's-what's-up blog entry. I have so much on my mind and heart right now that I need a place to release it all where the world can see it and give me a big hug.
First of all, this damn keyboard issue. John Mellencamp was right, "you don't know what you got til it's gone." I think he was referring to youth, but I'm referring to something a little less sentimental...my laptop :(. I am so spoiled, checking facebook every few minutes for signs of activity from friends I haven't seen in years, watching funny dog videos on youtube. Let's make this an open forum. Share with me your favorite ways of wasting time on a computer via a comment on this blog...then make me a promise. Don't do it for one day. Read a book, take a walk, send me an intense philosophical argument via email. I'm making do with Miriam's laptop right now, but instead of doing research for this silly Euskaltel project, I'm filling in my journal-blog. Well, they are both valuable, in their own ways. In fact, I'd argue the second is more valuable in the long run.
So about this project. I really do like my class TOI (Teoria de la Organizacion Industrial...if you are an American who can't translate that into English yourself, God help you). It has opened a new channel in my thought, away from words and scatter-brained imagination to concrete, applicable study of a pressing issue: how industry works. For this class, which is half Erasmus students (so many b/c it's an English class) and half natives (I really need a better word for them with a better connotation), the 10 Erasmus divided into two groups and were given the happy option of doing a semester-long study of Euskaltel, a Pais Vasco telecommunications company, or Policlinica (don't even know the spelling), which does medical services. Let's be honest. Neither interests me one bit. This class will definitely expand my...um...patience. And, hopefully, interest in something that isn't utterly theoretical, where pushy relative after pushy relative follows me around with "bachelor's in English? whatcha gonna do with that?" They're right if they're implying that I don't know. They're wrong if they're implying it won't go anywhere.
Speaking of leading somewhere...going places...whatever transition you choose to apply at this point...the Honors Program at LMU emailed me today and told me I'm a "fellow" for this summer. For those who don't know what this means, here you go: the Honors Fellowship is usually a $5,000 scholarship funding self-designed summer study abroad programs. I went all-out. I want to study Arabic language and culture in Lebanon in July. You heard me. If you need to hear my reasons for this, they are too complicated to fit onto a pantalla (computer screen), so ask me in person, or email me. Anyway, I pulled an all-nighter finishing a pretty hard-core application for this scholarship AND our Shakespeare paper due the next day. I'm glad I worked so hard...it appears my decision to go all-out paid off, and I may very well be studying Arabic in Lebanon in July. Pending a few things. It sounds as though the donors who usually fund the scholarship are not sure how much they're giving this time around, and I may not receive as much money as I planned, throwing my budget outta wack (whack?). Also, I applied for the Arabic program in Lebanon...check it out...before the situation escalated in Israel. Any American in her right mind should question the safety. Not that it wasn't dangerous before, and not that I didn't consider it before. If the knowledgeable people I trust enough to give me an unbiased opinion on my own safety say go for it (and I believe they will; they already have), I will go for it. But not without fear. Not only for my comfort and safety. I also fear the logistics I will have to hammer out over the next few months: buying clothing suitable for Beirut weather (very different from San Sebastian weather, or even California weather) and culture, getting plane tickets, safely navegating my way through the Beirut airport in a country where I'm not just "extranjera"...I'm utterly the opposite: American, blonde, and feminist. I may have to tone a few things down.
Don't think I'm not uttery ecstatic at the opportunity. I will be giving my future in the language and culture and field some serious thought. This is why I am so glad to be abroad, where time to reflect and plan and risk is plentiful. LMU can be stifling, sometimes. Fabulous, but stifling. So here's my plan of action...while waiting for confirmation on a monetary amount, 1. look for alternative programs in Morocco or Jordan, the safest Arab countries for Americans. 2. Talk with people I trust about the situation in the Middle East, and my traveling there: Kathleen Harris, Elias Wondimu, Shannen Rossmiller, Nasry and Fulco. 3. work on plane tickets to beirut, and then back home to LA. 4. acknowledge my fear, release it, and GO. I'm not one to back down from a challenge. Because here's the thing. It's dangerous, yes. I may be naive, yes. But here's the thing; I wish all of us could grasp how important it is, if only for a milisecond. If we, the scared-stiff, ignorant side A, don't open our arms and hearts to side B and say, "Yeah, I may think you're crazy, but show it to me through your eyes," this hatred has no end in sight. It will escalate.
What would you do right now if you weren't afraid?
Oh, there's more. And I'm running out of creative juice. Hannah is coming tomorrow morning. VERY exciting. I can't wait to show off this city to somebody, especially to this like-minded midwest chica who is having one cold time in Uppsala, Sweden. We will be going to a few bars and definitely a discoteca...she wants to fiesta like the Spaniards do. That means all night. But not all night. This weekend is also carnaval in Pais Vasco...wack-os dressing up and celebrating before Lent begins. The festivities will be biggest in Tolosa, a 30-minute bus ride away. We may head over there on Saturday. There. Describing my own weekend just motivated me a bit. There's a lot more I could write...about the "Erasmus stereotype," for instance, or about the people I miss most right now, but I'm typed out, and it's almost 7 on a Thursday. Time to siesta, then find something fun to do.
As always, don't doubt you cross my mind, because everything does.

Observaciones

Some things that I have noticed lately, or that have been on my mind lately. The women here are very small. Well, the men are too, but that has no bearing on clothing sizes. I went to a huge sale at a store called Pimkie on Valentine´s Day and the racks were strewn with excellent clothes marked down to 5 € a piece. Great! If you´re physically fit or Spanish...I am neither. I am a (extra) curvaceous American who wears sizes that, it appears, Spain does not offer. So no new clothes here! Or let´s hope all this walking will help me drop a size or two...but that´s not the issue. The issue is how TINY these women are. Even walking into class, I tower. I´m five foot three. Come on, people. That´s below average. Actually, it´s a perspective I´m enjoying.
Something I´m not enjoying...the separation between Erasmus and the locals. In every class their is an unspoken line. I sit on one side with the Germans, Swedes, French...and on the other are the furrowbrowed Spaniards who may be polite but have no shame in telling us they will not work on group projects with anyone from Erasmus...I can see how they would think we would hold them down. I think I would pleasantly surprise them, however. I am learning uberfast and I´m a harder worker than most Spaniards they know. I wish this division didn´t exist...it may be up to me to randomly and awkwardly cross the line one day. And this has no reflection whatsoever on Vascos, only on Deusto students...as a whole, people here are very pleasant, though, um, strongwilled as well.
Santiago Serrats (mentioned him last post) and Deusto have a neverending list of activities for Erasmus students to try. One of them is a salsa-merengue class that meets every Thursday night and includes a free drink and free entrance to Bataplan (the club where the classes are taught) every week until May. All for 30€. That is a fantastic deal which I am considering. Problem is, I wanted to leave Thursday nights open, so that I could leave early for long weekend trips. Also this leaves less money for surfing, my number one priority.
Tonight I will go try to find a mechanic to clean the juice off my keyboard...I hope I don´t have to pay for a new one. Gnight.

DON'T Shake it Like a Polaroid

This is going to be fast, b/c I'm on roomie Miriam's computer. Reason to be explained. I had a great Sunday for the most part...went for chocolate con churros with Katrine from Denmark, the other strawberry blonde. They were PHENOMENAL. They boil pure cacao and store it in a steel kettle, and when you ravenously ask for C con C, they pour the chocolate into a tea cup in front of you. It takes much self-control (which I don't have) to resist sticking your fingers into it immediately. Then they sprinkle a ceramic plate with huge sugar granules, then load on the thin, curly fried dough churros. We had 12 between us. And could have had more.
As soon as I got back I took out my thermometer and discovered I was running a 101F fever...oops...so I went to bed at 6:30pm. My Spanishly scheduled body was very confused when I woke up at midnight and tried to go back to sleep. WHAT...this is party time...go dancing!! But I couldn't dance, I could only tremble. I've never shaken so powerfully. I got out of bed and literally laughed aloud because my muscles were spasming (?) from the fever.
My fever was the same, so I went back to bed and slept some 14 hours. Luckily no class today (Monday). I woke up at 8am ish as Miriam was getting out of the shower. It gave me some joy to see her bustling her backpack as I loafed around in pajamas. Ah, the joy of free Mondays and Fridays. Anyway, as my body was all slept out, I decided to pour myself a huge cup of juice and watch Lord of the Rings on my laptop. I didn't realize I was still shaking really badly. So as I sat down to Isengard, a hand suddenly flew on its own and spilled the sugary substance all over my keyboard. If this has ever happen to you, especially when you're bedridden, you know the stomach-sinking feeling. Miraculously, my computer still works. But while I was chatting with Marie from Quebec on facebook, my Y key suddenly went haywire, and then a blue screen interrupted my work. Oops.
I visited two different repair shops who both told me to go somewhere else. I went searching for the third one but ended up on the opposite side of town as I should have been...not a fun realization when you've got a fever. Luckily, on my way to the second store, I met Kate from Ukraine, who cheered me up a bit. She was on the way to the store where her computer virus was getting fixed up. I told the attendant what was going on. Unfortunately he was absolutely guapo and I understood almost nothing he said...not only because my Castillian sucks, but also because I was enraptured by his facial structure and green eyes and longish hair. Did I write that publicly? Oops. Molly, if you're reading this, I may return to the store for the sole purpose of getting him to deliver your video birthday message.
Moral of the story...when you're sick, don't combine food items with computers. Not that you should do it ever. Also, kudos to me for braving sickness and language barrier to go around the city looking for computer help.
I'm still sick...lower fever than before, but someone stuck a mucus hose up my nose and filled my nasal cavity. Class will be an adventure tomorrow. But this whole experience is an adventure...I'll take the fever with the gorgeous Spaniard technicians, the spilled juice with the view of the waves I passed on my walk.

Stupor and Happyness

The lights here are uncannily beautiful. Though sunlight has been in short supply (well, I know I'm better off than poor Hannah in Uppsala, Sweden), the color palate of the city (white, light green and blue, cream, clear, gold), the lights that come on at night, and the moon all assure that I'm never in the dark...not even when I'm trotting home from Bataplan the discoteca in the shadow of an alley (with plenty of people...yes, mom, I'm being safe). Here's a picture of one of the lamps that lines the pathway along Playa de la Concha, connecting the discotecas with Parte Vieja (where I live).
This week has been a blur. I just sat down and looked at a calendar and me di cuenta (I realized) that I've been here 2.5 weeks. What?! But yes, that's how beautiful times are. That's how life is.
I am beginning to feel at home here. There are obstacles; when locals ask me questions in the street like "tienes la hora" and "de donde eres" it still takes me at least 3 tries to hear them correctly, and I have to ask them to "hablar lentamente." Another obstacle that has become more and more evident to me is the lack of Erasmus singles (as in, without a significant other). Having had my first kiss with a Swiss named Nikolas in Guatemala, I came here certainly dreaming to find another European prince charming. But Badel (my roommate Mandy's boyfriend) said it nicely..."I think having a girlfriend is more important to the European lifestyle than the American lifestyle, and that means all the guys you could ever be attracted to here are taken." Well, I disagree with the last part of that statement, but it's definitely not as easy to be swept off my feet as my giddy girlish heart imagined. I am especially aware of this as Valentine's Day (tomorrow) approaches. But I am not absolutely the only soltera (single ladies put a ring on it!), and when looking at the big picture, this is a tiny hiccup. I'd be happy and giddy if Donostia were 100% female.
So it was my agenda to write all that up to this point. Now I'm just going to let it flow out. The pigeons here bother me. More than a few have waddled through my legs like dogs, and it takes restraint not to punt them. Speaking of pigeons, did you know that they explode when they eat rice, because they can't pass gas? How depressing.
Another thing I've noticed is how many more sleezebags and bizarre characters hang around Donostia than, say, LMU, West Los Angeles, or Ventura. I'm serious. Or I'm just more conscious about it now. I can't go a day without coming across a drunk 30-something year old taking a piss on a public corner. Today as I was watching the surfers on La Zurriola, a heavy-set, balding and perplexed 55-year old asked me for the time, then told me he was concerned his friends hadn't showed up yet. I told him I was sorry they were late, and went back to minding my own business. He was standing right between me and the water, so I was a little annoyed, but ignored his presence, hoping he'd get the hint and walk a bit down the beach, instead of blocking my view. Not so. He was there for a few minutes, and eventually my neck got tired of craning, so I nodded at him politely and walked a hundred yards down the beach. Then guess what happened. After a few more minutes of peacefuf sitting, he again walked between me and the water and stayed there. Then he got that grin that I have learned meant it was time to get out of there. More bizarre characters...the naked biker, the beggar on the corner who dresses like a clown and dances for coins everyday, the drunkard from Marruecos who grabbed my wrist on the way back from Bataplan. To all who come here, especially young women: hay que tener cuidado. But my gut tells me this: keep your wits about you, be firm, and you'll be fine.
Speaking of keeping your wits about you...oh, last night. It was the opening party for Erasmus at Deusto, and Bataplan hosted "Jueves Universitaria," or University Thursday, allowing free entrance to university extranjeros with a coupon. After a (not very good) dinner with about 50 of us in a crowded bar basement, where I had a great time getting to know 26-year-old Daniel from Sweden (we talked about smoking, the American stereotype, gay marriage, Robert DeNiro...yikes, it went everywhere), we went to Molly Malone's for drinks, where many of the students, including my silly roommate Miriam from Boston, decided to have multiple chupitas of Tequila, then mix with other drinks. So when we finally made our way to Bataplan at 2am, quite a few people were out of it. I know of three people who shattered glasses of vodka while dancing, and I got socked in the eye by the dancing elbow of a sweet German named Steffi who just wasn't paying attention. Sober Heather still had a great time. Then I walked home, step by laborious step, with my silly roommate, whose tequila had really gotten to her. It was kind of a cute, stumbling sort of walk.
The sun's out, my health is great, and I'm in paradise. It is impossible to complain...even if no sexy secret admirer is going to leave roses outside my door.
One more thing...my new favorite songs (listen to them if you haven't heard them) are Wild Honey (Beach Boys) and the big band classic Sing, Sing, Sing.
Until next time, keep me in your thoughts. You know you pass through mine (because I think about everything).

Bring on Academia

We went to Badel's piso (that means floor, as in flat) last night for sangria (sweet Spanish wine, so barato--cheap) and tortilla and company, then to Molly Malone's once more...which was fun, except that I wanted to meet new people and no one new was there...then to Be Bop Bar on the edge of Parte Vieja (means Old Part, the neighborhood in Donostia where we live). This would have been great if the majority of us hadn't had class this morning...at 8:30, 9, or 10. It's becoming clearer to me that Spanish don't "sleep" ever. They nap all the time. Or, rather, nap between 1 and 5, work between 5 and 11, party between 11 and 5, nap between 5 and 8, and work again between 8 and 1. This does not work for Heather, who has grizzly bear genes. When I'm out, I'm out, and don't you dare ask me to put on a nice dress and go to a bar where everyone else fills my lungs with smoke. Except it's SO MUCH FUN and I do it anyway :). Gotta live some time.
This schedule worked perfectly for me until this morning, when I went to what will be the hardest class of my semester (I think). It's called Taller de Escritura Multimedia: Multimedia Writing Workshop. 2 hours a day 2 days a week, and 75% of our grade depends on a multimedia guion (script) that we construct and create presentations on during the semester, in groups of 3. Group work BLAH. Catherine from Quebec and I, and Alejandra from Mexico, had a Spanish classmate ask the class if anyone wanted to work with us. All the groups were full. RIGHT. Bascially, they know we don't speak their language and don't want to work with us.
I am trying to be prepared. I brought a tape recorder and aimed the built-in microphone right at JA Marin's face the whole time. Just played it back. Can't understand NI UNA PALABRA (a single word). So yeah...I don't think he said anything terribly important. Let's hope not.
So here's a run-down of the "study" part of "study abroad."
Taller de Escritura Multimedia: Tuesday 10-12 and Wednesday 9-11
Medio Ambiente y Desarollo Sostenible (Environment and Sustainable Development): Tuesday (starting next week) 3-5
Conceptos de Etica del Desarrollo (I'll let you figure that out): Wednesday 3-5
Industrial Organization Theory (in English! Yes!): Thursday 10-1:15
The last one will be seven intensive weeks instead of eleven stretched weeks, meaning that toward the end of the semester I will have no class Thursday, Friday, or Monday. Bring on the travel!
Which brings me to the point of this post...I worked my butt off in high school and college and I'm ready for some fun, some worldliness, some risk. Yes, I will do my homework and fulfill my scholarly obligations, but if you'll notice, I'm only taking 4 classes, and the rest of the time is mine. What a great word. I've already been enjoying it profusely...starting in March i will be surfing again once a week for an hour through a class the university offers. I'm also going to visit Cadiz in March and I'm planning my Easter vacation right now...Sevilla, Barcelona, Madrid, ahora vengo! I say the same to discotecas, bars, and conversations with fabulous Europeans who are sharing this semester with me. That's what this semester is all about.
Plans for tonight: birthday party for a Norwegian girl, then Zibibo bar, which is right below our flat, actually. Then "early" bed (1 am, perhaps) to go to 9 o'clock class again.

Quick Update...promised I'd look into it

Dia de los Caldereros commemorates the Hungarian gypsies of Donostia who used to parade through the streets banging hammers on pots and pans, proclaiming their services and love for the city. I'll upload a video here.

Here Comes the Sun(day)

First things first...a silly eye virus has been passing around ERASMUS. Miriam (apartmentmate) got it Saturday morning and her eyes swelled up like she'd been crying for hours. I just want to hug her and tell her it goes away fast (it does), but then I might get it. So I'm cowering in the darkness where the eye monster can't get me. Though it might anyway. This morning I do have cloudly vision. OH NO. It's okay; I can handle it.
Also, I will need a dentist while I'm here. This is unfortunate. The tooth I had a root canal on (they aren't so bad) is acting up again...what are they going to do now, remove that section of my mouth? We'll see. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
In other news. Molly Malone's, the best Irish pub in this Spanish town, is a riot. I dig the atmosphere big time...multiple levels with wooden chairs and smokey air and chatting, smiling groups of friends. I hope to go there often with new European (and even Spanish! yes please!) friends. Monday will bring all 100 international students together for a general information session. I'm excited to meet new people and delve in to the actual semester.
Yesterday it was freezing. Literally. It sleeted on and off all day and I hid inside for a while, doing official things: making sure my class schedule is official, reading El Diario Vasco (a local news source), rearranging my room. So when night finally rolled around I was itching for an adventure. It came below my balcony. Out of nowhere a hundred school children dressed in gypsy clothes banging pots and pans passed the alley behind my window, followed by their adoring parents and a brass band dressed in similar attire. I stuck on skimpy clothing and decided to follow them...until Plaza de la Constitucion, a huge cobblestone courtyard enclosed by the starry government building and a posh hotel. Apparently yesterday (Saturday, February 7), is a local holiday called Dia de Los Caldederos. I'm still trying to figure out what that means. But after the kids paraded around, the adults came out dressed the same way. Gypsies, with gold embellishment, lots of men in colorful drag and wigs, carrying cauldrons and banging pots and pans to a popular tune that got boring FAST. But the rest of it didn't. Everone gathered in the Plaza, where Marie from Quebec and I stood in the cold and watched the people sway and dance and giggle and bang pots and pans. Then a God-voiced MC came to the front of the government building and started telling the story of the arrival of the Caldederos to Donostia. Unfortunately, I understood no more than 50% of what he said. I will explain it all and upload videos as soon as I figure out the reason behind the festival.
Other news...going to take a long, slow walk with God today. I will wear plenty of warm fuzzies and carry a few Euro for pintxos so I don't have to go back to the apartment. I cross my fingers for sunshine, but don't expect it. And don't need it; the greyness of this city during rain is just as magical, even moreso. I'm really trying to feel at home here and embrace the experience to the fullest, and the best way to do that right now is to be alone for a while, and think about the G-word I've been having so much trouble with lately. Please keep me in your thoughts. You know you're in mine.
As always, I miss you.

My Videos of Donostia

This is a view from Mandy's balcony facing Plaza Sarriegi. Borat reference at the end.


Also, a panoramic view of Playa de La Concha...five minutes' walk west of our apartment.

Naked Man on Bike, And Other Stories

I will explain the title of this post in due time.
First, I would like to emphasize how exciting it is to have internet in our apartment. Julian from Germany (hi, if you're reading this!) was quite a gentleman in helping us getting it configured. Now we are spoiled, uploading photos and chatting and showing off every which way. For those of you who have facebook, I put pictures up there. If not, you'll have to make due with what I choose to show you in the limited scope of blogspot.com
Life. Is. Good. I'm starting to feel comfortable here with a routine, which, ironically, will change come next week:
1. Wake up 9 am to walk to be at Deusto by 10.
2. Spanish class until 1, work on projects and study until 3:30ish
3. Chill-ax and siesta on La Zurriola, the surfing beach, until the sun goes down or it starts to rain
4. Half-heartedly attempt homework that I should seriously pay attention to if I want to be at all prepared for classes in Spanish, which start Tuesday the 10th
5. Go to a bar for pintxos (tapas)
6. Quehaceres: fresh produce at the market down the street, buying office supplies, avoiding the bank and my money issues, cleaning my somewhat smokey room
7. Staying up fashionably late to read/write, facebook chat, or, my personal favorite, DANCE...until 6am is my record so far.
8. Getting up too soon
9. Enjoying every minute of this opportunity
Zurriola is definitely my favorite part. Sitting on that sand, a 5 minute walk from my flat, is like being in Hawaii again. The world ceases to exist; there is only me, the ocean and its wetsuit-clad inhabitants, and the overwhelming sensation that I am finally here. It's still a little spooky having to wear a rain coat on a beach, but yes, I am learning 75F year-round is impossible everywhere.

So was walking to La Zurriola today with Julian when I noticed a mid-50s Spaniard in a skin-tight tan wetsuit biking toward us nonchalantly. Then I realized he wasn't wearing any clothes. I can't keep a straight face thinking about it. This man's legs were flailing open as he pedalled, freely and proudly displaying what was between them. How you could possibly be brave enough, let alone hard-butted enough, to bike naked in a bustling resort town is completely beyond me. I would like to know where he was going, and whether he had any idea what he was doing. It was an unforgettable experience; there will be many more.

The photo is the quaint Plaza where Mandy, Miriam and I reside. It's called Sarriegi. Even the name is a riot.

In other news, Hannah made my day today when she called and asked if she could come down from Sweden to visit me the weekend of the 20th of February. I told her the truth...that it was a terrible idea and that I hated her guts. Luckily we have the same sarcasm.

I Never Liked Walks Before

I´m a very Get-er-done kinda gal, so walks and socializing and the like have never really interested me...they have always seemed rather slow and pointles...until coming to San Sebastian. The difference is there´s so much to see (accordion players, Euskera graffiti, surfers, moonlit bars) and hear (languages, very old American songs no one listens to anymore, bronze church bells) and smell and taste (tapas, sangria, rum...yes rum, pintxos, locally grown produce, fish) that it is impossible to be bored at any point. Por ejemplo, last night I had a rough night, and mis compañeras accompanied me on a freezing but pleasant walk along the shore at night, where the waves were ridiculous. I almost wanted them to eat me...I did something my mom wouldn´t like (yes, I know very well she may be reading this right now)...I stood on the ledge between the bottomless pit of ocean and the street and stretched my hands out wide, letting the wind take me. It´s very releasing. A good walk.
Another good, long one today. We walked to the end of Playa de la Concha, passing many cute dogs and a few street performers. Then we walked down the surfing beach and laughed every time one of them got pounded...yeah, it´s funny watching surfers die. JK! We stopped for pintxos (once more, the American equivalent would probably be appetizers) and churros con chocolate in Parte Vieja. I basically wanted to keep walking forever...but as eternal and ready this city seems, my body is definitely less so. Eventually I had to put the Indiana Jones hat down.
Anyway, I´m looking forward to more walks, especially when I´m feeling down.
The picture is of surfers at La Zurriola. I will be out there with them some day.