willie.

his name is willie. it suits him well. he's a rich rich rich old man. a native of brugges, wealthy as they come, he owns an entire block of old apartments in the center of the city. his name is willie. he gives me the willies.

there is a secret tradition that happens in brugges every saturday night. and you're only lucky enough to know about it from word-of-mouth, from chating with the bar tenders, or from that small pamphlet your hostel gives you. its a hole in the wall tradition. literally. let me tell you.

you walk to the center of the city. turn left on twinklebottom street (not actually the name, but it turns out flemmish is incredibly easy to manipulate and crack yourself up with). and look for signs that say something about lucifer (i don't remember exactly). there are a few doors labeled. there are a few signs up. "art and museum ahead." "five euros." "open tonight." keep your eyes peeled. you walk up to the door with stairs. that's the main door. if it's open you're lucky; if it's not you knock and knock until he answers. it was open for us.

willie is standing there. impeciablly dressed. and crazy as fuck. he sings to you in a beautiful accent, some sort of mix between his fluent flemmish spanish english and french; something crazy. he's wearing a black suit, but with a purple velvet robe on top of it. it suits him well. he invites you in his home. his eccentric home. floor after floor of eccentric decorations, of interesting people, of wild and crazy people, of people looking for a story and a history and a good time. he doesn't have a liquor liscense, but he's not actually selling you liquor. he's selling you the invitation into his home, his art castle, his museum. the bar has a piano in the corner. on a lucky night you get live music; on the night we were there the musician was too drunk to play. it is packed. packed. packed. the menu is hand written and easy to snatch. walk around the corner to the bathroom and find a bag of pastries that you can snag for breakfast. oh willie, always appeasing the life of a traveler.

it is the secret of brugges. the walls covered in wigs and plastic heads and pictures of naked women. the walls covered with eccentric decoration and images and stories. it's crazy. and it is willie's pride and joy. but don't wait until too long in the night to ask for a tour of his house. he'll get too drunk and only know how to lead you to the door. thanks for opening you're house to us, willie. now lets hope you never want to leave the city.

secret's out. and willie, you're a mad man. And the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars...

christmas in europe.

merry christmas from belgium. where the beer is flowing, the air is cold, and the iceskating is a-plenty. :)

charming.

greetings from amsterdam. perhaps the most charming city i have seen in my life. why the whole world does not live here is baffling to me....

here we go.

i am writing this with exactly twelve hours left before i hit the road. with exactly twelve hours before i venture out and see this world. i have twelve hours left to decide whether or not to bring my ipod. my umbrella. my journal. my belongings are strewn throughout the room, things tucked and pushed and shoved in crevices of that trusty backpack. twelve hours and the next chapter begins.  

all allusiveness aside. here we go. 

i cannot believe that four months have passed. four! this is something i cannot wrap my head around. the pace of time here is unbelievable (which will forever be a mystery, seeing as this spanish culture is so nice and slow and relaxed). time has flown. and four months have passed. 

all allusiveness aside. 

these four months have offered me so many things. they have offered me growth and clarity, a new culture and a new language, days of sorrow and days of joy. 

they have offered me a place that i have fallen in love with. i cannot get enough of it here. i feel comfortable, i have sunk into who i am. with the sights and the sounds and the feelings of this spanish culture, it is what keeps me alive. 

and man, this city has transformed. in the past few weeks it has melted into a christmas hub (which baffles me, since to me the christmas season always means bundles and loads of snow). this means christmas lights (ones shaped like horseshoes, christmas trees, stars, presents), lights on palm trees, roasted chestnuts, homemade apple cider (for which the spanish will always think we're nuts), and chilly evenings. i love this. 

these four months have offered me friends that i cannot get enough of. there's five of us. And while three of them are leaving or have already left, the memories we have keep us going. The Salamanca Sassies. 

these months have offered me a spanish family. one that im still learning to love in entirety.my host mom has definitely won my affection. she is a riot. she scolds me and laughs with me and at me and makes dirty jokes and tells people we sit around and get drunk all the time. she invites my friends over, she cooks like a queen. and even when you forget to call and tell her you're not going home, she doesn't get mad. she mends the tension with gifts of space heaters and velvet jammies. and when its her birthday and you buy her pink nailpolish she thanks you for the thought but reminds you that she only likes brown. haha. what a lady. 

these four months have brought letters from home. letters that always go on the bulletin board. letters with updates and reminders, with words and pictures. letters that transport you back to where you came from. good letters. hand written letters. real letters. 

and skype dates with family. man the days that i get to hear those voices are good. to hear stories from dark mongolia, snowy michigan, lively new york. those days are good. we pick up right where we left off. shit is still as funny as it ever was. and the realization hits that there will never be people in this life that you are closer with; that there will never be people that know you so well; that make your heart beat, your face smile, your blood run.  

these four months have certainly been packed. they have certainly been good. maybe they've been a little taste of what is to come in the next months. and if that is the case, i have nothing be excitement. 

things will definitely be different this year for christmas. it will be the first christmas away from home. the first christmas away from 3840. and while it is the one thing that i have dreaded missing (the christmas trees, the lights, the lazy days, apple martinis, chex mix, egg nog, dolly parton, santa pictures, egg souflé, twiced baked potatoes, stars strewn from the chandelier, family), i will know that this is what i need to be doing right now. that this is perfect.t 

but its time to put on my traveling shoes once again. these adventures. these friends. these salty days. these memories. these dances. these butterflies. these you only live onces. ...... these things happen when you live your life right. 

and so twelve hours before i leave again, twelve hours before i hit the road, twelve hours before i start runnin', here i go. :) it's time to hit the road with my two best friends from this trip, erin and emily. these lovely ladies. these shining ladies. these ladies that have become family away from family. 

first... the netherlands, amsterdam for an afterschool special.

next... belgium, brugge for the christmas market.

next... france, paris to ring in the new year.

next... ireland, dublin to celebrate another year of being alive.

and back to spain. to meet erins family. to settle back in. and (CROSS MY FINGERS) to welcome my dear and darling sister. to welcome the next five months. 

its time. 

a whining update.

you know that game you play when you're a little kid? the one where the ground is lava? the one where you have to figure out a way to walk around without ever stepping foot on the burning hot magma that will in fact burn your feet? the one where you will die if you touch the ground? you go from imaginary lillypad to imaginary lillypad working your way through the house or the park or what-have-you? 

well. i have perfected the art. 

it's an unfortunate art, but it is necessary in this cold. always remember to not touch the ground. not with your barefeet. not with socks. not with anything. it's quite a sight: from bed to chair to desk to chair to bed. a lillypad (battleground? mine field?) maze. you've gotta do it. 

the shelly, shelli, michey, michigan, child within me is proud.  

ok. that's it about the cold. i swear. 

its a long way from michigan. and new york. and mongolia. and seattle. and santiago.

sometimes so strange. sometimes so sweet. sometimes so lonely. 

the further i go more letters from home never arrive.

you just have to go, go, go

where? i don't know, know, know

this is the thing somebody said, somebody told me a long time ago. 

its beautiful and truthful. and sometimes its lovely. and sometimes it aches. this is the song of a traveler. 

the cold.

 

 dear spain,

it's not funny anymore. 

last night i slept with flannel sheets. and seven blankets. yes, seven. i slept with three pairs of socks on. oh, and my slippers. on. in bed. i slept with two pairs of thick velvet pants. and a long sleeve shirt. a sweatshirt. a thick robe. a winter hat. and the hood of the sweatshirt drawn really tight. i don't have gloves, so i wrapped my hands in the seven blankets. and shivered. and shivered. and shivered.

spain, come on. it was funny at firs....no. it has actually never been funny. just cold. painful and cold. i really do love you, so can you just do this one thing for me? can you get rid of some linoleum? get rid of some cement? fix the breeze coming through the window? install some heaters? just one? one heater in the house? is that asking too much? ya, i know you're no mongolia, but right now, you're on my bad list. 

thanks. 

love,

michelle

ps. it's official. going to amsterdam in two weeks! 

 

the rain in spain falls mainly in andalucia.

the rain here is paralyzing. i say this as a girl who has lived in seattle for years, where the rain means nothing. it doesn't stop your plans, it doesn't get in the way, sure you might be a little wet but that's totally normal. the rain here in andalucia seems to be the antithesis of the rain in seattle-- when it rains, nothing can be accomplished. the city shuts down. people freak out. everybody races home to put their jammies on and call it a day, no matter what time it is. the funny thing is, i have absolutely fallen into this state of mind too. "i know we had a date.... but it was raining." "i can't go on monday, i think it's supposed to rain." "you're what? you can't be, it's raining!" or "i was really excited to go out and see your concert.... but then it started raining." the exact excuse of last night.

and so when it rains and storms and the winds start-a-blowin. you go home. you put your jammies on, they're flannel and pink with a teddy bear on the breast. you put your slippers on, worn from generations of exchange students. you plop yourself on the couch. your legs go under the table, where there is a space heater (actually, the only heater in all of the frigid house).  you laugh with your host mom. and you go to bed with the sound of water dancing around you. because the rain here is paralyzing.   

maybe some turkey.

in the past it was always a riot. an absolute riot. the farm. thirty-eight people in the shack with only one bed. man, we'd drink ourselves silly. and shoot guns out into the woods (cross your fingers on the fate of those bullets). there were only two burners in that kitchen (the hyperbole may be more prominent in my mind, there may have been four burners, alright). for thirty eight people? not a prob. there was only a brown-out once. uncle david pulls out his harpsichord-- then shit gets crazy. once everyone gets nice and tipsy we go deer spotting. pile in the back of the pick-up-truck and look for deer. chase them? was that the goal? who knows. and when you stuff yourself, when you are absolutely full past the state of being full we gather around and sing "alice's restaurant." man, in the past it was a riot.

then there were the years that the farm didn't happen. those years were always great, too. at home, family over, eat and eat and eat. we'd never watch football, just not that into it. just sit around and laze around. always great.

and then there were the years on the west coast. the one up in bellingham with ex-amantes and drums and guitars and apples-to-apples. and the other one with multiple meals in a day with roommates and families. 

and then there was last year. the one where we sat by the fire all night with glasses of red-wine. and we laughed and laughed and laughed ourselves silly, like we always do. and we rented a movie on the television, like we never do. 

this thanksgiving will be different. we'll celebrate in a bar. near an ancient cathedral. on the coast. erin and emily and i will bring broccoli with bacon and raisins and sunflower seeds. we'll bake sweet potatoes with caramelized pecans.  we'll be the only ones in the city with a turkey coma. we'll toast and laugh and soak up the memories that we've made and the memories of this day in our past. then we'll dance the night away. 

of course it will be different. but different always means great. 

happy thanksgiving. 

 

i mean it.

while keeping in contact does not seem to be my forte, it certainly does not diminish 

       --how much i love you 

                 and think of you  

                         and miss you.  

la sagrada familia. la familia es sagrada.

the trinity.

the life. 

its the holy trinity of traveling: the southwest northeast southeast triangle. 

last weekend, sevilla.

where we spontaneously hopped a bus! it was all in the name of a "lets toast to obama!" party that i had found on the internet. and as with most things found on the internet (hotels, clothes, apartments, wives), it ended up being a little different than we imagined. a small crowd of fifty-somethings in a quiet bar; just different than what we had geared up for. but to have an excuse to hop a bus and go to sevilla? that was a beautiful thing. we stayed with a local friend and botellóned with the pros. in one bar, we were served free delights of something the bar tender had made himself. in one street, you can get chocolate covered churros at any hour of the night. we drank starbucks (what? a real cup of coffee exists in spain? i wasn't convinced until last weekend) and spent our days with men who own horses and dogs and homes in the country and ride super-bikes. who finally have our sense of humor. who are the kindest souls i've spent time with. who open their doors and their lives and their cars to hang out with some young americans. man. sevilla? you and your guadalquivir really impressed me, you did. and now the trinity continues.

this weekend, barcelona.

next weekend, granada.

all is well. <3

ogana!

the entire world is celebrating. honestly. 

just my kind.

you know someone loves you when they send you fallen autumn leaves, a new place to write, amaranth, and a lullaby. and you realize there are people in this world that know you inside and out. they know to send leaves. and a new place to write thoughts. and amaranth. and lullabies. they know it will fill the things that are missing, that it will make you sigh and breathe deeply. they know that when you open this package you will once again feel normal, whole, mystifyingly good. and that is love. 

the salamanca sassies.

my health is finally back. here i am. alive. well. and happier than ever. 

what a weekend it was. man. we had no idea what we were in for when we loaded that big bus on thursday morning. sure, salamanca would be beautiful, but just how stunning the trip would actually be was unbeknownst to me. 

first things first... cáceres. 

where cj studied for a semester during college. and of course when i aksed him what i needed to see there his response included tracking down the best smell in the world. of course. 

look for "pintores" street. i can't describe what it smells like. it's a combination of everything good you can imagine. you have to find it. 

our senses were heightened, waiting to have this scent dance within us. in the two hours that we were there, erin, emily and i found the street and paid a bit of necessary homage to my dear brother. 

 

we worked our way up to salamanca. precious precious salamanca. the place is stunning. it is the ann arbor of spain (thusfar), the hip college town tucked away in castilla. finally we were able to feel crisp air, see fall leaves, need to wear coats and walk with coffee in hand. fall is a drug and i need my fill. we were able to all be together, to live as if life were normal again. we fell in love in salamanca. 

during the day, the city is full of history. how does it feel to be walking amidst thousands of years of history? to look that in the eye? to touch that? man. 

i walked through rich religious ruins, i found the frog on the head of the skull, i looked down the ancient well, reveled in the university, tripped on cobblestones, got my nose ring ripped out (oh, i guess that is not such a pleasant memory of such a pleasant city, although a funny one it certainly is...builds character.....), marveled at what the city had to offer. i soaked it up. 

        

but the thing is...just wait until you see the city at night. it is absolutely stunning. the night life is amazing. the "going out" night life is the city's pulse and reigns strongest between three am and sunrise. talk about a drink special: any shot at the chupitería is one euro. but the calm night life? now that is astounding as well. 

and really, walking around with dear friends and hot coffee after a meal of freshly made pasta and a damn good house wine? could it get better? 

i found my history of evolution in salamanca. i am convinced that spanish is in fact part of the debruyn blood. you cannot convince me otherwise. they saw it coming. 

and after two nights of sleepovers. two nights of pushing three beds together to make one big one. of finding a built-in radio in the wall that plays spanish and english pop. of finishing the ration of gin and tonic. of dancing ourselves silly. of flooding the bathroom. of making good new friends. of filling ourselves with the culture of salamanca, we hit the road once again and stopped for a night in mérida--a slightly disappointing pitstop of an appointing trip. 

the two highlights? vampires on tv and roman ruins. 

and now we are back. back in cádiz. home again. back to sweating and schooling. with the memories of a place that i hope to one day reside. yes. it was that great. 

a ballad for the ballot.

it feels so out of control, being a part of this election from so far away. and while a genuine effort has been made to contribute while at home, the rest of it is out of your hands. you've been a delegate, you've preached your words, you did your part, you move on-- and then you move away. so now, you can look online, you can hear about it from family, you can chat about it with spaniards, you can think about it till the rain stops in cadiz. but regardless of how certain all of spain is that obama will win, regardless of their convincing words, regardless of how many times your host mom says "you see that guy on tv? ya. he's your next president..." (thank you, spain, for trying to calm our nerves)--it all feels very out of control from so far away. 

but then. 

you walk downstairs. 

and there is your ballot. 

and suddenly, it feels so near again. 

and now i'm off to find "the best smelling street in the world" in cáceres, spain. then off to salamanca for the weekend. goin' west! 

a taste of home.

we had a huge thunderstorm last night. 

i saw it coming on my walk home around midnight when the sky was lit up minute after minute by lightning-- i took the long way and walked to the ocean, standing there watching it for a little while. it reminded me of the lightning storms in costa rica. man, how can it be so astoundingly different watching the sky light up over the ocean? its amazing. 

at about 4 or 5 in the morning i woke up thinking cádiz would once again detach from the rest of spain and drift away into the atlantic, the way it once was. it was amazing. the rain poured down in gallons (or, liters, whatever you prefer). the sky was constantly lit. the thunder was booming. i opened my shades and watched it for a good hour-- breathing it all in. 

thunderstorms will never get old. 

but a little whiskey helps.

the honesty that exists in conversations over coffee is palpable. 

and the crazy thing is, i am now convinced, that no amount of cultural difference can change this. sure, i don't understand everything that you say, but turns out that doesn't matter. we can have the most fascinating, the most interesting, the most inspiring conversations. we can sit at the cafe and drink coffee with cream and whiskey discussing biblical matters, life and death, what we believe, the good in humanity, our roots, the importance of love, and everything in between. we can repeat and repeat and repeat and always have something new to say. you've got it all figured out? no? me either. lets get a little coffee. man, its a beautiful thing.   

i can talk myself silly, but the truth is, the honest truth, the palpable certainty of it is that you have a lot to teach me. and i have a lot to learn. and, boy howdy, that might be the best part of all of this. 

i dreamt last night....

she lay there so peacefully. angelic. that beautiful aged skin. the skin that has lived for one hundred years. the skin that has stories of horses and history and homes. she lay on her side, in a soft position, slightly curled -but nothing forced. she is in my parents house, in my parents bed, on momma's side. her hands are pressed together under her face, in the way that children mime the sight of sleep, in the way that makes you yearn to do the same. the scene is tranquil and full of peace. 

cj walks into the room. ah, it is impossible to describe the mix that this man carries, so stoic and strong and bold and brave but so gentle and compassionate and kind and tender. the lion whose paws never strike. he sees her lying there. a grin comes across his face. he walks towards her and scoops her up, gently, swiftly, without questioning. this is right. 

they walk out of the room, she is lightly draped across his arms, and the scene changes. they are in fields. endless fields, rolling, ideal, yellow flowers far in the distance, but in the foresight green fields. and blue skies. and she starts to hum. with every step that they take the scene becomes more and more beautiful, and so they walk for a bit. and she starts to sing. her voice is deep, wise, all but frail. he bends down and gently lays her in the grass. he looks down at her and sees her porcelain skin, hears her singing voice, and listens to her song: "he makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul...."

i awoke. feeling only comfort. 

fever. tonsils. bedrest.

i am sick. there, first step in getting better, being able to admit it, right? if that's the case, i'll admit it all day and night. i'm sick. it happens. 

things to know if you ever get sick in spain. 

--first, no matter how much your tonsils hurt, no matter how much pain you are in, don't cry. your spanish mom will call you  "tonta" and a baby. (jury's still out on why.) 

--also, she will try to get you to eat everything in the house. and when you tell her you can't eat anything cold, she will then take many things out of the fridge and leave them out overnight in order for you to eat. a kind gesture, really, but i'm not sure how much rotten yogurt will help me. for now, i'll just say no to food. 

--but once you are able to choke something down, chicken soup here is pretty damn tasty. homemade chicken broth, basil leaves, and tiny little pieces of pasta. if you can keep it down, then eat up.

--next, always ask before doing. here in spain they put the thermometer under their armpit. it works.  

--next, if you finally muster up the strength to go to the emergency room, bring your camera. it is a beautiful building hundreds and hundreds of years old. i was in no state to bring mine, but maybe if i had been warned i would have. 

--and lastly, when you are at the hospital, pretend that you are in a 1930's old hollywood flick. because not only does everybody dress that way, but the doctor will also prescribe that way. besides the medication, i have been ordered to a week of bedrest. no, i'm not ninety and no, i'm not pregnant. just a girl with swollen tonsils told to lay in bed for a week. 

now you know. 

on profanity.

foul language is the ordinary here. "so can i use these words in madrid?" i asked guadalupe after our street talk dinner. "absolutely not! only here in cadiz." vale vale vale. i'm just saying, if i call you "picha" or "chocho," it is a sincere compliment. but oh man is it foul. :) 

this has been one hell of a long weekend. my last class on thursdays ends at 10:30 am, and today is some spanish holiday (often times the attitude towards holidays is pure acceptance. people often don't know exactly why they have the day off from work or school, what in the world we should be celebrating, we just know we should celebrate none-the-less) --- which means this is practically a five day weekend. phew. too many nights out until after sunrise.

there is a city just two hours south of cádiz that is supposed to be absolutely stunning. tarifa. there is tons of surfing there and from the white beaches you can see morocco.  i had plans to go today, but unfortunately the rain begged me to get some rest. another time of course. there will always be another time. 

for now, i'll stay in cádiz and practice this ordinary profanity. 

Michelle DeBruyn

c/García de Sola nº28, 2ºd

11008 Cádiz, ESPAÑA

 

----

a little glimpse.

it's been difficult for me to conjure up the words to recount to you what life is like here. i want to tell you, i want you to see it, i want you to smell it and feel it and live it. i want you to smell the ocean and walk on cobblestones and drink cruz campo and take the autobús and look at the cathedral and discover the plazas and barter at the markets. i want the hot spanish sun on your face and the accustomed dripping sweat running down your back. i want you to see this with me. i want you to know what i feel everyday. but putting it into words? now there is an epic task. so i needed to settle in a bit, saturate myself, before passing on the beauty that is this place. of course this in turn meant leaving you hanging for weeks on end about what life could be like. it's just... every day i am astounded. every day my breath is taken away. every day i am dumbfounded by this place. and yet, it is so natural. it feels so right. it feels so normal. and that, my friends, is the most beautiful of all. 

i am sitting now in my favorite plaza of the city: La Plaza de la Catedral. it's tucked away, bordering the beach, shaded, cool, and lovely. right now it is full of children running and chasing pigeons; full of people eating tapas and drinking beer. i sit on the stairs, listening to the flemenco guitarist pouring his soul into his music, watching lovers revel in one another's presence, feeling the air that has become so natural to me. palm trees line the plaza, and right now the sun is setting that last golden blanket of the day. 

i live in a city where there are five buses. but don't worry if you get on the wrong one, because none of those five leave the city. they go up and down the thin line that is cádiz, back and forth. or if the bus doesn't interest you, walking is no trouble (especially with new spanish sandals, thank you). you can walk along the beach the whole way. if you take this way, you get to walk by a wood-working shop and the smell of fresh cut wood pierces in just the right way. or, if you prefer, cut into the old part of town where the buildings touch one another like they've always belonged, like nothing can infringe on their strong bond, like nothing has or ever will look past them. they tease you, they stop and start and make you get lost. but don't worry, you'll find your way eventually. 

i live in a city where the nightlife begins at three am. don't try to go out between midnight (when the tapas bars close) and three am (when the bars open), unless you want to be the only ones out and about-- fucking americans, getting their times all mixed up. and don't worry about being tired, a stigma or a judgment about sleeping the day away does not exist. you can siesta from timbuck one to timbuck two. now that is my kind of life. :) 

i live in a city where respect for children and respect for the elderly are on the same level. you would give up your seat for that dearest grandmother, and here you would give up your seat for that dearest child. for they, too, deserve to be respected and adored and admired and given freedom and the ability to imagine and laugh and have their own seat on the bus. 

i live in a city where everybody drives motos (mopeds, only a bit bigger). where the streets would barely fit a normal car. where you are undeniably cool if you have your lip pierced with a stud. where your dog uses the services of the sidewalk. where little kids are up later than i am. where you dry your laundry outside on lines. where there is history. where everybody is proud. where there is passion in music and dancing and living. where the food is amazing. where you can buy a glass of beer for one euro. where everybody buys beer for one euro. or a bottle of wine? two euros. where people hurl insults at eachother and have never meant so much love with it. where things are safe. where things are good. 

and thus far, after two weeks, i can undeniably say that this place is great. it is wonderful. it is rich in culture. i needed to become saturated before i could recount these things to you. for even in my voice of writing, even in the words that i type, i feel as though things come up short. but i hope you now have a glimpse into life here in spain, here in cádiz, here in "the city that laughs." 

i want you to feel this. 

   

a hole lotta pain.

there is a chance i may be able to make the guinness book of world records. 

i bought these teva sandals in august. ........i've worn them through. 

nothing hurts so good. 

really?

i came home from class today and guadalupe had cleaned my room for me. 

oh, spanish moms. 

speaking southernly.

ma o meno, picha. ay, hora bibo en Cai. to e byen. asta ora. bale bale bale. ¿coméi peado? ay sí sí sí. adyo.

this is what my days are filled with. no, i don't understand it either. :) the locals drop letters left and right, in every sentence and in every word. i'm thinking about bringing this "tradition" back to the states with me. "ah oo oing o cla, toay?" yes, perfect. the language is rich, and beautiful, and impossible to understand. but, with time, with time it will come. ah. it's fantastic. 

i live in andalucía, the most southern province in spain. it's just me and maría guadalupe here in this little apartment-- and she teaches me how to drop my letters. the house is on a street that looks very much like the streets of central america--- narrow, many apartment buildings, big locking gates in the front, clothes lines strung between homes, beautiful. our home is just three streets in from the beach? ay, the beach! 

yes. this is my backyard. :) 

i have so much to write-- about the people, the city, the food, the classes, the nights, the parks and plazas, the weather, everything. but not now. right now, i need to soak everything in. 

i love spain. 

thing i do like (mm-mm, love)

it all started out as a dream, an ambition, a hope that something would happen. it all started out as that need to go, that need to step out, that need to expand and explore and experience. i never knew if it would actually happen. you know sometimes when you build something up so much in your mind that the reality of it never comes true? yes. so much dreaming. so much hoping. such a strong desire to explore. .....and then, well, it happened. and i packed. and i left. and the journey began. :) 

i am happy to say..... i am in cádiz, españa. 

or for those of you phonetics phans out there, ka-deeth, ith-pan-ya. claro. 

thing i don't like.

what? i have to pack? oh. 

the walnut tree.

the big city.

ah. lo siento. todavía estoy aquí. i warned you. i might not be good at this. :) 

cj came home last weekend. gosh it is good to see his sweet face. after a year and a half it certainly is a sight for sore eyes. a scribbilty scrop for scrippling eyes. let me tell you, the bittersweet of being home is a lot sweeter with him around. he's doing really well. a doctor's visit revealed that he doesn't need surgery--yes! so he's hangin' in there. 

but besides sharing stories and rocking on the porch with bear and drinking lots of beer and coffee and getting too full off momma's good cookin'--- i made it to new york last week. my dad and i ventured to the east so spend some time with my sis and see the life they've made there. it was so great. 

 

brooklyn first. 

subways.

kat and nate's apartment. 

pier seventeen. 

battery park. 

cobblestone streets. 

soho.

evolution.

world trade centers. 

times square. 

central park. 

museum of modern art. 

fifth avenue-- apple, fao shwartz, tiffanys.

the east village.

body exhibit. 

hell-of-a-trip back to michigan. 

a stunningly sweet symphony of swift sightseeing with my sister. 

things are fine. and as for the next months, plans are still developing. things have changed a bit with cj coming home, so right now i'm just soaking things up here in the northeast central. phew. thank goodness he is safe and sound. mongolia and all that it entails will happen next summer. so for now, each day is a day closer to settling into spain (i will now be heading there the 27th of august), and that keeps me going. :)  

homeward bound

cj's coming home!!! 

bring on the vibes

safe? who said anything about safe? 'course he isn't safe. but he is good. 

blogging. it seems odd to me to write a blog. i'm not used to it. a mix of personal feelings and thoughts with opinions and news and plans and updates. maybe i'll get better at it as time goes on? here's to hoping. after all, it's only been a long week since i left the homeland. 

and so here is where things get personal. perhaps i write this to sort through thoughts and feelings, but mostly i write it to get the news out there, to get other people's minds spinning, to get good vibrations out in the world. from one part of the world to the other. my brother cj is serving in the peacecorps in mongolia right now-- doing incredible work as an english teacher trainer in the town of darkhan. this past weekend was the national holiday/festival called nadam: a weekend of wrestling and wrangling and raucusing and a ravaging good time. cj is as adventurous as they come; a beacon of taking risks; a true genius in the avenue of trying things. but sometimes there is a price to pay for such genius. 

a few days ago, during the nadam festival, cj and a few buddies decided to take a horse ride; hop on, take part, tap into their inner mongol. unfortunately, cj was thrown off his wild horse. he fractured his skull (a hair-line fracture), broke seven ribs, and broke his shoulder blade into fragments. ah. one of his broken ribs has slightly punctured one of his lungs. ah. ah. ah. right now he is safely in a hospital in ulaanbaatar, mongolia. there is talk of being flown elsewhere for shoulder surgery; there is other talk of domestic rehabilitation; there is lots of other talk of slow  bureaucratic decision-making. he is not in critical condition. he is a tough cookie, the toughest. "ya, but at least i got thrown off a horse. at least it was a real mongolian way to go down. at least i have that experience." haha, cj, you're incredible. but of course he is in pain. of course he is frustrated that no decisions are being made. of course caught in the limbo of decisions made in washington, across the world, is not the place to be in. of course. of course i am scared.

and so i write this. to get it out in the universe. to ask your dearest thoughts to be sent his way. to be thinking of this man, this brother of mine. please think of him, pray for him, keep him in your thoughts--do what you will. the more it is out there the more peace of mind and body i hope he will feel.  i hope that is true.

 

we're thinking of you, bud. <3

a drive.

and so it begins. hit the ground runnin'. put on those travelin' shoes. cowboy up. take off. let go. i'm not standin' still on this mountain, i'm chasin' down what's been hauntin' me. i've got the wanderin' blues. whatever phrase or lyric you want to mutter under your breath, it has started. 

i'm not quite sure what day it is. that seems to be a common theme when i venture from west to east. i tend to loose track in the stillness of home. and it is a great feeling-- no deadlines, no clocking in, no rushing. it is still. and i loose track of what day it is. i think its wednesday. we'll go with that until somebody comes home and i can ask them. 

backtracking a little. last saturday things began. i packed up ol' mazey (that sweet sweet volvo that has done me well), and hit the highway. me. my cowboy hat. my side-kick buches. my map. some great mixes of music. a will to not use the air-conditioning. and a shit-load of my belongings. i'll spare all of the dreamy details of the trip. but here are a few highlights: 

day one: seattle to twin falls idaho. six hundred twenty seven miles. a lot of mixed emotions leaving a place and people i love so much. but ready to venture out and on. i play games with myself to pass the time. they're fun(ny). 

day two: twin falls idaho to north platte nebraska. eight hundred forty one miles. i realize i am a sucker for scenic overlooks, and for any excuse to pull off the highway and see somethin to see. i witness the beauty of southern idaho, the grand canyon-esque images of twin falls. it is on this day that i learn that mazey does not like to go 70 miles-an-hour in the rain, and she will in fact fake a flat tire in order for me to pull over. wuss. rightfully so, i wouldn't want to go that fast in that weather either. driving through southern wyoming is amazing, full of thunderstorms and rain and that incredible country scent. i'd bottle that if i could. cornfields and sunsets are worth mentioning. 

day three: north platte nebraska to grand rapids michigan. nine hundred miles. western iowa was my favorite part of the drive (highway 680). beautiful with rolling green hills and farms and land. it is hot though. without using the ac, i read 102 degrees on the thermometer. oh my. it is on this day that i get pulled over. a small bump in the trip. no i wasn't speeding, i was guilty of having flowers hanging from my rear-view mirror. "oh, and would you mind opening your trunk?" ok, douchebag. sure. and then i reach michigan. i hear the crickets--they're so loud that i can hear them even when the windows down and driving. and then, knapp street and the valley and the walnut tree and the front porch and home. 

i cried myself silly when i started. i laughed myself silly when i put in the comedy albums (thanks d and t). i danced. i sweated. and i made it. 

and from this front porch i write now. full of rivaling nostalgia: for what this home is and used to be, for my home in seattle, and for all that is to come. sitting on the front porch, rockin' away.