barack obama. katie marie. karyl marie.

first of all. we have a new president. and finally. sin verguenza. i am american. i am proud. i am delighted. watching this unfold from abroad might be one of the most amazing experiences of a lifetime. it might bring you clarity about this man that is taking office. and confidence. and pride. the whole world is cheering him on. i absolutely mean that. :) the day has never been so great. 

in other news. in the best of news. here comes my sis and my momma! for days! this little chikity has never been so happy. :)

wild.

the hills were alive with wildflowers and i was as wild, even wilder, than they. for at least i could run, they just died in the sun, and i refused to just wither in place.

just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow... so i ran fearing not where i'd go. when a flower grows wild it can always survive, wildflowers don't care where they grow. 

and the flowers i knew in the fields where i grew were content to be lost in the crowd. they were common and close, i had no room for growth, i wanted so much to branch out.

i uprooted myself from home ground and left... took my dreams and i took to the road. when a flower grows wild it can always survive, wildflowers don't care where they grow.

i grew up fast and wild and i never felt right in a garden so different from me. i just never belonged, i just longed to be gone. so the garden, one day, set me free. 

hitched a ride with the wind and, since he was my friend, i just let him decide where we'd go. when a flower grows wild it can always survive, wildflowers don't care where they grow. 

here i am.

"if you could get a tattoo, what would it be of?"

"that's the thing. there's nothing that i'm passionate enough about yet. there's nothing i will cherish forever. there is nothing in my life that i want to have put on my body. i guess that's why i'm traveling......i'm searching for my tattoo." 

-david

"are your feet cold?"

"yes, but look at these boots. see where they're worn? that's spain. i lost that heel in amsterdam. and see that hole there? that's from italy. and that one, from belgium. that tear in the top, i got that one in paris. and that scuff on the side, that's from dublin. there's a whole world under these boots." 

-alessandro, yo

they made it. [sort of.] these traveling boots were steadily with me every day, they carried every story along the way. they carried a world under them. they held all of my secrets and experiences and dreams and pasts. they treated me well. and then, in a ceremony of gratitude and despedida, i bid them farewell on the streets of paris. i bid them farewell for the next person to find them, for the next person to line them with cardboard or fabric, to warm them and worn them. for the next traveler to pick up on their way around the world. they treated me well. and now, let me tell you some of the stories they had in them. goodbye, you traveling shoes. 

we started going from cádiz to milan italy (for a flight layover) and then ended up in amsterdam. we made it to our hostel, a really famous one called "the flying pig." it was beautiful, a nice bar in the basement, really safe, really beautiful. but if that is all the city had to offer, i would stop there. the delight did not stop in the hostel. in fact, amsterdam is the most beautiful city i have seen year-to-date [again. not to say much. lets go farther. life-to-date, in it's own way, i suppose.] absolutely stunning. with old buildings, tall and thin, lining the streets and the canals. the streets full of christmas lights, strewn through canals. it is the quintessential european city, with trams and an iceskating rink and christmas trees and pubs and coffee shops.

 

all of you ever hear of this city is the drugs and the prostitution (both of which are prevalent, both of which exist), but there is so much more than that. there is kindness, there is a culture, there is beauty. there are more bikes than there are humans in the city, and they are rarely locked. 

there is trust. there is happiness. emily and erin and i were walking in the street one day and santa came around the corner. yup. santa. "DO YOU WANT A PICTURE??" of course we want a picture. "THREE OF THEM! WE'LL GIVE YOU THREE! FOR FREE!" and that was it. three polaroid photos, handfuls of little chocolates, and ya está. we hunted down what we wanted to experience, and ya está.

there was a freeing spirit during those days in amsterdam. 

a few days later, on christmas eve, we caught a train to brugges (belgium). the trip there brought christmas phone calls and carols of silent night from the family, an omen of course to how lovely our time would be in brugges. it was magical. 

the city is tiny. a disney-land of sorts, a city that feels like it has not moved [or maybe that it has not stopped moving] since the middle ages. it carries history, pride, and the flemmish language. of course i speak flemmish.

we checked into our christmas-present-hotel on christmas-eve: the die swaene. oh. my. gosh. this hotel was amazing. incredible. we had a room of magic: entirely decorated in rich, lavish red tones, with a small vanity tucked in the corner, with down blankets, with robes and slippers. the key came on a rope fit for queens. for kings. for princesses and, well, travelers.

with a pool that looked like it belonged to the most extravagant spas in the world. we had a balcony that overlooked the dining room and the various brown-toned-brick rooftops of brugges. outside the hotel was a canal, strewn with christmas lights. we hung our long socks by the radiator for stockings, we tucked into our robes, and we laid in bed and watched audrey hepburn movies on television. it was enchanting. 

of course we left the hotel room once or twice for an incredible buffet breakfast in the cave-of-a-dining-room where they used to age the meat and the wine. of course we left the hotel once to go iceskating in the center of the city. of course we left once to eat traditional flemmish meals (rabbit in a belgium beer stew sauce? of course i'll try it. sorry, oreo.) our first days in belgium were slow and delightful. 

we left the day after christmas to move to a hostel. still charming, of course (as are most things in belgium). we stayed in "bauhaus," where there was another happening bar and wonderful traveling scene. it feels different when you are traveling during the holidays-- everybody is searching for that bit of home and that bit of family that they are missing. it was in this city that we met some wonderful australians, mexicans, italians, and fellow americans. lovely folk, simply lovely.  

after throwing stones on frozen canals with new friends, after seeing the huge windmills, 

and drinking hot wine and eating brats and onions and waffles and chocolate, 

after hunting down the "debruyn" bed and breakfast, 

our time in brugges had come to an end. 

we soaked up our time in belgium, and headed off to paris (france). the train tickets were nearly sold out, and so it ended up that we needed to [... ehem... as we like to travel in style...] buy first class train tickets to paris. haha. así es la vida, ¿no? :) we did just that. and with a farewell to brugges, we boarded the train (the lavish train, with bottled water and a meal and wifi and plugs and dimmed lights and coat holders) and were on our way. 

the first few nights in paris we couch surfed (there is a website where you can find somebody's couch to stay on, saving money, getting a local and inside perspective of the city it seems to work out well). it worked out well for us. pierre was a kind gentlemen, gave us a bed to sleep in, and met us for drinks and evening city-tours.  

we spent new years eve with pierre and his friends in the forest. the parisian forest. his friend's mom owns an old theater, where they were hosting a big new years party. it was a "bring a drink or food and get in for free" sort of deal. drinking and dancing and ringing in two thousand and nine in parisian style. it was an interesting way to ring in the new year. and, yes, fun (up until the point that we realized the metro was not, in fact, running all night and we had a three-hour walk ahead of us). oh well, does the boots good. 

after a few nights at pierres we headed to hotel saint sebastian, where we spent the next week. it was a charming little hotel, an attic room with exposed ceiling beams. charming for the strong-of-heart. we [secretly[ enjoyed the dance parties that our middle-eastern neighbors privately hosted in the wee hours of the morning. we [secretly] loved the graffiti carved into the wooden beams and walls. it was from here that we meandered into the real paris: to amelie's cafe and the moulin rouge; to the eiffel tower and the seine river; to versailles and marais and le chat noir and sacre coure and the louvre and many marvelous myriads of neighborhoods. we had no rush. we had days and days to soak in the life that was. 

it was finally in paris that some snow came our way. delightful. thick. white. rich. the kind of sight that this michigander longs for. without snow it never really is a true winter. it was just what we needed to press on. 

the best part of paris. the story beyond stories. the tale that, not unlike hotel saint sebastian, is for the strong of heart, is this. one day we decided to stroll to the plaza where marie antoinette was guillotined. a little history never hurt anyone. and in this case, it only helped us. after exploring the plaza and ghosts and surrounding areas, our stroll begin. famous streets and lit trees and glorious views, it was incredible. we walked and walked and finally stumbled upon a crowd of people. if i learned one thing on this trip [a true lie let me warn you right now], it is that a crowd is always a good sign. always. we were outside of a theater, there was a red carpet, and so we asked around in our inability to speak french. we decided to stick around, weasel our way up to the front, get a good look at what was coming our way. and then it happened. he stepped out of the limo. he walked out onto the red carpet, black tuxedo, so sharp, so handsome, what a stud. he waved and signed autographs and waved and laughed and got close to the crowd. we were in the front, but on the fringe. "he's not coming our way." or so we thought. here he comes here he comes here he comes. i am ashamed to say [again, a complete lie] that erin and i completely lost our cool at this moment. things transformed, we reverted to sixteen year old girls, screaming and gooing and gahing. but it was worth it. what came out of our mouths? "in west philadelphia born and raised on a playground...." he heard us. not only did he hear us, but he joined in. "on a playground is where i spent most of my..." oh. my. god. will smith is singing with us. singing with us! will smith! right here! in front of our faces! singing! i had my camera in my hand, and in the excitement of everything he grabbed my camera, came into my embrace [yes, look closely, both of those brown mittens are mine indeed, i may or may not be hugging the handsome man], and snapped a picture. will. you are a good man. and, as it turns out, you are now my favorite actor. highlight of paris. 

on my birthday, erin and i woke up bright and early to catch our flight to dublin (ireland). it was the last stop on our journey, and a bittersweet farewell to emily and karina and paris and all the places we had been thusfar. four thirty in the morning came far to early, as we took our last walk to the metro in hopes of finding the bus to the airport. 

dublin was charming. a city of green, of guinness [and tours of said factory], of hilarity. it was the perfect place to spend a twentysecond birthday. 

i reunited with an old friend from spu; crossing paths in distant lands. we met some locals, they showed us their favorite places to see, and we ended the night singing "i love you baby" with irishmen in a packed pub. wonderful. a charming ending to the trip of a lifetime. 

a day and a half in ireland. and back to spain. back to home. back to where i belong for now. 

time to ring in what will come next. the next journey. the next place to bring these new traveling shoes. the next story to walk upon and carry with me and put inside of that place within me that holds so many things in this world so dear to my heart. this world makes me a better person. this world makes me stronger, more courageous, gives me strength and passion and hopes and dreams. this world a damn good place. 

they say i'm going to quit these wandering ways some day. i'm not convinced. :) 

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!