Category Archives: spain

Bottlin’ the Sweet Stuff

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(I’m back in Spain…stuck in Santiago, which means I must have missed a clue/omen last time I was here and better make my way round town tonight to find it.)

So the quick update is that August is the MOST terrible month to travel in S. Europe. It’s too hot to do anything but melt. Everything is shut because Europe takes the month off (“Europe: Bravo! States: Follow Suit!”). The sand-scape is beach-umbrella bumper-to-bumper (see pic above). The trains and busses all need two-day in advance reservations (or you get stuck…in places like, say, SANTIAGO) And not only is there no vacancy at any of the hostels or camping sites, but even when you do manage to get in, high-season rates are enough to shock the panties off any petty pilgrim.

Sound like I’m bitching? I’m not. All this is true…but the fact is, I’m on my way back to San Saby to drown myself in a week long street festival! I’ve got beach-bumming, salsa-dancing and tapa-gorging all on the list. Have to keep my mind and heart distracted, because it seems they can do NOTHING otherwise, but dwell on the details of my homecoming.

OH yes! You heard right! Me, and my outrageous pilgrims tan are due to make an appearance in (one of) my best friend’s weddings in Portland, Oregon NEXT WEEK! Best friends, and parents, and siblings, and nieces and nephews, and Oregon beach trips, and fishing with dad, and a laptop to finally write out that story (of epic influence in the life of Sol) called, “The Living Camino” ALL eagerly await me. And I, with reciprocal anticipation!

*closes eyes* Ummmm. Anticipation :) . Is there any nectar so sweet? Or thirst thereof so unquenchable? Indeed, “home” for a few weeks will be the most refreshing glass of the sweet stuff before heading back to Guatemala. (Like how I just slipped that in? he.he.)

Oh it’s hard to keep my mind contained to this pretty little moment called, “now.” But I will. With great restraint. For San Saby awaits my love (as well as a 12-hour bus ride sucking on that previously mentioned nomad-nectar).

Okay. Got a moment to live in. Ciao for now…

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Confusion at the Crossroad

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Ah yes. Don’t ever think for one second that I am never confused as to the direction of my call. Right at this very moment I’m in deep contemplation of choices that will result in a decision, made by the end of this blog, that will forever change the course of my life.

(But then again, which ones don’t?)

On June 18th, I have given my intention, but not necessarily my full commitment, to working as an English camp counsellor in Italy for June and July.

But there’s a small, BUT clear, beautiful and powerful voice inside (surely couldn’t be my own) that’s telling me I should let go of that commitment and free my future for something or someone I have yet to encounter.

Tough decision. A decision I have to make right now.

But just look at how that works! All I have to do is re-read what I just wrote and see that my choice is obvious. Sometimes ya just have to listen to/read yourself, huh.

As if on cue, Bob is promising me (over the stereo system) “everything’s gonna be alright.” Thanks Bob. I knew it. But it’s always good to know you’re on my side along with the rest of the universe.

Wow. That leaves me with an extra three months to walk the Camino and get PROPERLY lost in Spain.

I have this dreamy idea of finding some kind of work along the camino in one of those small pueblos that’s managed to avoid a label on the “Let´s Go” map. Somewhere where I could maybe learn a new trade, speak Spanish everyday, and interact on a regular basis will other people that have been called to make the pilgrimage. Dreamy huh?

But funny thing about dreams. Once they are conceived, as a possibility, they exist. And then, if given some credit, some faith, a path presents itself. Of course there’s some dealing with the devil (who from my experience, seems to be the only guy that’s as misunderstood as the man that walked on water). Gotta sacrifice a little safety and trade some comfort for challenge. The sign on the dotted line is the first of many. And if they, and the other omens, are properly recognized and respected, the pleasures of the pursuit are enough to spin ya into a delightful dizzy. And then boom. You sit up one day. And the earth resettles with the realization. You’re livin´ the dream.

So I’m layin´it out. Proclaimin´ to the world my dreamy ideas.

And soon enough, we’ll hear what the world has got to say back. ;)

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Alive & Kicking…peacefully. Yo.

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Okay. Quick update, ´cause the theme of my inbox subject lines is definitely revolving around the status of my general existence…

Here’s the deal. At this moment, I sit in an internet cafe in San Sebastian, a wicked little coastal town just near the border of France dipping a chocolate croissant into a particularly fine cup o´cafe.

The last two weeks have been nothing less than an all-out binge on beach parties, singing, dancing, drinking, loving, laughing, surfing, juggling, bongo-playing, hugging, kissing, crying, tanning, intimate conversing, and friendship-making. I think I´m catching sunrises at the rate of about 4 outta 5. The whole experience is entirely too surreal to explain. Just let it be known that Sol has only just begun to recover from a toss in the hay with life. And she is one happy little cat.

My lessons learned on the themes of friendship, giving and love will one day be documented here…but alas I haven’t the time to print to post at this moment.

BUT if you’re eager for inspiration, grab Ralph Waldo Emerson´s “Self Reliance” and sit on a rock over the sea with me. I’m on page 48. And Ralph is so quickly making his way up to the digits of the first hand of my five-favorite-author-list (Richard Bach, Paulo Coelho, Kahil Gilbran, Tom Robbins & The Dalai Lama currently holding the thumb-thru-pinky places.)

ANYWAY. As you may already know, my 8th (is that where I’m at?) digicam is currently seeing 90/20. And despite my liquid-confidence-boosted (a.k.a. “alcohol-induced”) attempt at taking apart the silly thing and fixing it…IS still (can you believe it?!) SO in need of *professional* corrective eye surgery that it is broken as far as my needs are concerned.

BUT God bless that little angel that gave birth to me, because at this very moment, there is ANOTHER digital camera patiently awaiting my retrieval at the Customs office in Madrid. VERY patiently. I might even say…TOO patiently. For for all the beautiful and glorious things that Spain IS, what it certainly is NOT, is efficient.

The Customs office hours — closing at three each day for a 20 hour siesta, and having been vacated for yet another one of the 52 four-day “holidays” that Spain claims — has made it just slightly less than pull-my-hair-out-screaming-and-ranting difficult to actually claim the silly package. But the little Buddha in me will have nothing to do with all that “aggravation” stuff. He chants silently to my heart…”Yo. Be at peace.” (Cause my little inner Buddha for some reason has a Brooklyn accent.) And thus I am; At peace….and STILL patiently awaiting the package that holds the keys to my 500 mile Camino; my digicam, my hiking boots and my waterproof pants.

And here I am. The chocolate croissant is dunked and done and I’ve got an impressive errand list including such items as “find a pair of underwear that won’t ride for 500 miles”, “review last two years of Spanish vocabulary”, “email everyone I’ve ever known, express to them my love, and tell them what mile of the Camino I’m devoting to them” and “hit the cliffs and give thanks for this blessed being…yo.” (Cause that would be my Brooklyn Buddha speaking. Of course.)

Okay. I’ve got a little free time on my hands while I pull my act together and patiently (and peacefully) await my package/ticket to walk.

So I sign off for today, but I’ll be back pre-pilgrimage….

To be continued….

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Natural No-Doz

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Hum. Have I forgot to mention where and what I´m doing these days?!

I´m living in Sevilla, a magical little city in Southern Spain. A typical day goes a little like this:

7:30 am : Wake, stretch, mediate, clean, review homework & b-fast.

9:30 am – 1:20 pm : Spanish Classes

2:00 pm – 4:00 pm : Eat tapas and drink “tinto de verano” with friends.

4:00 pm – 7:00 pm : Hang out at the park, reading, writing, watching and being.

7:00 pm – 8:30 pm : Spanish Study/homework & Internet/email

8:30 pm – 9:30 pm : Salsa Dance Class

9:30pm – 10:30pm : Cha Cha Dance Class

10:30pm – 11:30pm: Rueda Dance Class

11:30pm – ? : Meet up w/friends for tapas and drinks.

I always know I´m on the right “path” in life when I´m absolutely restless. (Likewise, when I´m tired or need a lot of naps, I know something needs to change.) I´m tossing and turning through the few hours of sleep I claim each night. Hop out of bed at the speed of six spanish coffees. Can´t seem to keep my calm.

And what´s there to be calm about? I´m going to Africa for the weekend!

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Lost in Found

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Spain Photogallery

There are times in my travels, when I simply stop and sink hard into the present moment. The world, for timeless seconds, spins around me — and in that dizziness, all I can do is smile and send my thanks to every single thing, person, place or event in my life that has led me up to that very moment.

And one of those precious moments came to me last night.

It’s 2 am and I sit on a stool in a small bar, drinking a white-wine Sevillian concoction with “compañeros” I met in the street the day before. I suddenly realize that I have been speaking only, and fully comprehending, Spanish for over six hours. This realization is enough to startle a solid smile. A song comes on the radio, and Alex disappears behind the bar and returns with a type of box drum, of which he sits upon and begins to bang out the pulse that resonates with the heart of life in Southern Spain; Flamenco. The rain beats outside on the street in unison. Juan pulls me up off my stool and demonstrates to me the “paseos basicos” de Flamenco. A few minutes later, my arms are in the air, and his chest is puffed out in the manner of the Matador. We “dar vueltos” and stride around each other in pace to the “feel” of the music. Juan, in a rusty and enchanting voice begins the song. The couple that owns the place kiss silently behind the bar.

Alex is lost in his beat. Juan is lost in his song. The couple are lost in their kiss. And I am lost in what I have found.

For this is it. This is one of the moments I’ve been seeking all my life. And finding such a moment is comparable to that high I receive on the salsa dance floor. It’s like I’ve grasped hands with life, followed its lead into six consecutive turns, and fallen into a dip. I watch the world turn upside down, come back up, and smile out loud in the dizziness that ensues.

For this moment alone, I have lived. And for this moment again, I pursue.

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NO A LA GUERRA

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Well “crash for a few” turned into a 19 hour siesta. My head hit the pillow at 3:00 in the afternoon and my feet didn´t hit the floor again till 10:00 the next morning. I don´t think I´ve ever slept so much in my life. I walked in a daze for half the day, but am finally finding myself in a state of high alert tonight. And how could I not…amidst the pure power and passion of the tens of thousands of protesters who´ve closed down the streets of Madrid (including the one outside my hostel) waving banners, singing songs, painting windows, tagging monuments, and banging drums all to the pulse of “NO A LA GUERRA! NO A LA GUERRA!”.

I chant with them, sending my silent prayers of thanks that I am not recognized for the American I am. For I am certainly not oblivious to the thousands of signs that read, ¨Without the States, there is no war.”, “BAN BU$H”, “NO BLOOD FOR OIL AMERICA!”, “BUSH = HITLER”, “TERROR U$A.” And the countless banners depicting “peace doves” being shot down with missiles by “American eagles” and American flags with crossbones and blood dripping from them. And it certainly does not go without notice that the McDonalds and the KFC´s windows are spraypainted in large red and black letters with “BOYCOTT CAPITALIST AMERICA!” I´m so embarrassed, I have to fight off the tears.

And then I go back to my room, and I turn on the television, and I see the live cameras from Baghdad. And somewhere deep inside….I hear — I FEEL — the cries of innocent people dying. And I can´t fight the tears anymore. For to me, there is NO difference between the child that was killed in the daycare center at the bottom of one of the twin towers and the child that is dying — at this very moment — on the streets of Baghdad. Except for that the child in Bahgdad bears too much of a resemblance to the beautiful, but brusied and malnurished face of every child I met in the Dumpster of Guatemala City. And I can fight no longer.

I cry.

*****

“Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry

into a patriotic fervor, for patriotism is indeed a double-edged sword. It

both emboldens the blood, just as it narrows the mind. And when the drums of

war have reached a fever pitch and the blood boils with hate and the mind

has closed, the leader will have no need in seizing the rights of the

citizenry. Rather, the citizenry, infused with fear and blinded by

patriotism, will offer up all of their rights unto the leader and gladly so.

How do I know? For this is what I have done. And I am Caesar.”

- Julius Caesar

*****

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blank journal

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I´m HERE!

And I´m SO happy, I can´t stop my eyes from watering up with joy.

But three days of partying, severely limited sleep, and sad goodbyes topped off with 24 hours of traveling, a red-eye flight and a six hour time difference make for one very eager-siesta-seeker.

Okay…I *purposely* got lost in downtown Madrid. Time to crawl back to my room and crash for a few….

The exhausted…but happiest girl in the whole world,

sol

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High Winds in the Dominican Republic

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In regards to the last post, my name was cleared (thank you integrity), friendships rekindled and kisses made up.

But since then I think I’ve realized that the incident was only the last breeze of the “winds of change” picking up speed on my life. It’s not so much uncomfortable, as it is “restless.” I’ve attained the lessons (and cash) that I set out to the Dominican to gain. And now, prematurely *logistically anyway*, I’m feeling that my time here is done…and perhaps more importantly, that something “out there” is calling me towards it.

Not a new call at all. In fact, it’s a familiar and welcome call that has pulled my life into 90 degree turns towards fantastic adventures, dozens of times. It’s a call I love and trust.

I was vague as to the direction of the call.

When the winds start blowing, I have a process (as ironic as that may be). I open myself up to all the smaller omens. I listen more carefully to advice. I look more carefully into my dreams. I read more recklessly. And more formally, I throw out my resume to any odd or peculiar idea out there. As well as send out emails to all my past friends, contacts, employers, etc — notifying them that I’m on the loose and seeking the adventure that’s seeking me.

And all that done, there I was. Amidst a jungle of options and adventures — and still not quite sure which direction to go. I felt the PUSH very strongly. But the “pull” I was still unclear of. Of course, any direction I chose will be “right.” There’s no screwing up this formula as I’ve already learned. My adventures will never be lost, only changed.

And I’m not sure how it quite came to me. Except for that it’s been with me for as long as I can remember. (And perhaps before I can remember.) I’m talking about Spain — and its relentless and restless call to my soul.

It’s a call I put on hold when I got off the train in Barcelona in 1999. I remember the way the chills ran down my back and arms that day when I calmly and certainly declared to myself, “I will be back.”

And those chills are back. Because 10 minutes ago, I purchased my ticket to Madrid.

Departing March 18th.

Returning August 17th.

*Swept with the wind.*

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