The Golden Years.

I'm 25 years old.

That may not seem old, but for someone that is only halfway to 50, I've gotten a pretty good start on doing a lot of the things common for someone in their dotage:

For starters, I've rarely met a 3-for-2 sale I didn't like, especially when it concerns getting sweaters dry-cleaned.  I doubt I'm alone in this.  After all, who doesn't like getting something for free?

I love me a good sweater vest.  Not to the point where I own one, but sometimes I could almost see myself getting one at a Goodwill store.  I have worn them before, however.  They are nothing if not dangerously dapper and impossibly comfortable.

One of my most cherished past times is getting 10 hours of sleep.  While this is obviously completely unnecessary, it'll make you feel like a new person.  Guaranteed.

I still relish the opportunity to take a good nap in the afternoons.  If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: If napping is wrong, I don't want to be right.

One of my favorite television shows of all time is the Emmy Award winning program, The Golden Girls.  I am in no way ashamed or embarrassed by this because, when it comes down to it, this show is hilarious.  Everyone can relate to it, regardless of age.

Sofia, Blanche, Rose and Dorothy: The Golden Girls.

Let's move swiftly to things I severely dislike:

I generally abhor staying up past 2 am (though it's fun occasionally).  This mostly comes from the fact that staying up super late requires skipping life the following day.  I went out a few weekends ago until 7 am, got back and went to bed, woke up at 3:30 pm, and then only got out of bed to make dinner with a friend.  After she left, I left the dishes in the sink, crawled back into bed, and stayed there until I was overcome with sleep.  Less than ideal.

People talking loudly outside my apartment (this is also in general).  I realize that I currently live on the ground floor, but c'mon, do you have to have a yelling conversation at 7 am?  It just seems unnecessary.  And who has the energy for it that early?

I have no patience for stupid kids playing stupid music too loud on their stupid cell phones while wearing stupid clothes and “sporting” stupid haircuts.  There is apparently no shortage of bad haircuts here in Spain.  It’s quite shocking how someone can get a haircut that, in the States, would do irreversible social damage, and everyone here seems to just pretend that nothing happened.  And don’t even get me started on the groaty dreadlock epidemic that is in full swing here in Spain.  It’s disturbing. 

It must be said, however, that all of this pales in comparison to one of my biggest pet peeves: What really gets me going is good-for-nothing, unwashed youths hanging out in parks with their damn dirty dogs and taking all the premium bench space.  It's the worst.  And of course, it just so happens that I live in the hippie capital of Europe: Granada.

Don't ever say God doesn't have a sense of humor.

I think being healthy is killing me.

I've been trying to be healthier lately.

Remember this guy?

It's nothing really new really.  I like feeling healthy and, though I'm not the most active person, do enjoy a good run, a trip to the gym, a hike, or other activities along the same lines.  It's hard with my work schedule right now to find the time to do such things.  My typical day resembles somewhat the following:

1. Wake up between 9 and 11:30
2. Waste time online
3. Get some breakfast and coffee
4. Go grocery shopping (only if I have literally nothing in the fridge)
5. Eat lunch sometime between 12:30 and 1:30
6. 1:30 - Get in the shower
7. 2:15-2:20 - Leave my apartment to meet my teachers to ride to school
8. 2:45 - Meet teachers and drive to school
9. 9:30 - Get dropped off by my teachers in Granada
10. 10:00 - Arrive back at apartment

Even though I don’t “work” per se the whole time I’m at school, I try to plan as many lessons as I can to get ahead.  I’m usually in front of various classes for at least 2 hours, performing an overly excited routine to try and get the students interested in speaking English: Big hand gestures, silly jokes, extreme facial expressions to show if someone is right, wrong, or really close to being right, the works.

Of all these things though, I think the aspect that is the most exhausting is trying to talk to people who simply don’t understand what the hell you’re saying.  So you have the de facto language barrier that exists in the classroom.  Then, when you leave the classroom, SURPRISE!  There’s another language barrier!  Now you have to talk to everyone in Spanish!  Throw in the odd French teacher, and it’s a recipe for mental exhaustion.

All that to say, there’s no way I’m going to throw on my runners, change into sweat pants and a parka and go for a run on the 30º, windy, pitch black streets of Granada.  No thank you, sir.

So what’s the alternative?  Well, I found this great website that creates exercise routines for you that you can do in your own room.  Plus there’s a great way to track what you eat.  I’m not trying to lose weight or anything, but it’s good to be conscious of what’s going into your body, ya know?  Just trying to make good choices.

The other day I did the first workout.  It was pretty simple stuff: two part push-ups, sit-ups, leg lifts, horrible horrible one-arm push-ups, etc.  I felt really good after.  I felt good—though sore—the next day too.  I even went out to a discoteca and danced the night away until 7 in the morning.  I merrily thought to myself as I was boogying down, “Exercise and I are going to be best friends!”

I think that might have pushed me over the edge a little.  I woke up around 3:30…later that day, and had this weird sensation running through practically my entire body, my arms especially.  It wasn’t pleasant.  It was as if Exercise had taken my plea for friendship and said, “NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

I’m finally feeling better, and am ready to pick up the cross again: I’m not one to give up so easily.

The other important aspect of being healthy—so they say—is drinking your daily eight glasses of water.  Now, technically (so the Internet tells me), you’re supposed to drink an amount of water relative to your weight for “correct hydration.”  Thus, I’m supposed to drink 10 glasses of water daily.

I’m here to tell you that this is not only impossible, but also uncomfortable and stupid.  I’ve never hated water so much.  After glass six I’m ready to switch to anything else.  Seriously.

The other stupid thing about drinking that much water is the innumerable opportunities you miss out on in life because you’re preoccupied by the constant search for the nearest bathroom.

It’s quite unfortunate, really.

All this in mind, it’s a well-established fact that beginning something new is always the most difficult part of doing it.  So I’m going to press on, obstacles be damned.  I hope all of your New Years resolutions are going just as swimmingly, if not better.  If you’re still doing something new into February, congratulate yourself: You’re winning.

St. James of the Field of Stars.

This past weekend I had the great fortune of heading to the farthest Northwest corner of Spainland to the city known as Santiago de Compostela.  That region, called Galicia, is distinct from the rest of the country for several reasons:

·      it rains every day and is super cold

·      they eat tons of fish and, especially, octopus

·      they speak two languages primarily: Gallego and Castellano (Castellano is the technical term for proper, correct Spanish)

It was a fantastic weekend that started off a little rough.  Our flight was out of Málaga at 6:15 in the AM.  And for those of you who have been keeping track, I live in Granada.  That’s about two hours away, by bus.  It’s definitely not the most convenient way to fly around the country, but it’s usually the cheapest.  So it’s not uncommon for those living in the surrounding provinces to converge upon Málaga to fly somewhere else.

Anyway, so I caught the last bus from Granada to Málaga with a friend.  We got into town around 11:30 pm and met up with two other people we were traveling with, and then headed to the airport.  Our reasoning for spending the night in the airport was that, because we’d have to get to the airport at 5 am anyway, it would make more sense to get there the night before, take our time, and just chill, then walk the 100 feet to the security desk.  What’s the point of going to a friend’s apartment, arriving after 12, going to sleep around 12:45 or 1, then waking up again at 4 to get dressed, call a cab, then get to the airport? 

Well, the point is that in one of these scenarios, you can sleep for three hours.  In the other....you just sit there waiting sleep or death, whichever comes first, while a baby cries in the background for five hours.

All nighters were never my thing in college, so this is an experience that is somewhat newish to me, still.  I’ve been fortunate.

When the office finally opened to do the check-in, we were the first ones in line, surprise surprise, and it was then that we found out that you absolutely, 100%, do or die, have to have your passport on a RyanAir flight, or else you are screwed.  This wasn’t anything mind blowing, but for my friend I came with from Granada…we had an issue.  After going back and forth with RyanAir, Vueling and Iberia, it eventually came to pass that she couldn’t join the rest of us on our journey to the north of Spain.  It was very sad.

So it was with that weighing heavily on our hearts (plus the lack of sleep) that we headed off on our adventure.

I didn’t actually feel horrible that day, but it sure wasn’t comfortable.  I kind of felt like my head was floating off my shoulders, and a little bit like my stomach wanted to jump out of my body.  However, the three of us kept our spirits high, and even the apocalyptic fog that had settled onto the city couldn’t dampen our spirits.

Until about 1 o’clock that is.  Then we all hit the wall.  Actually, I think we hit the wall around 10 in the morning, but we pushed through for as long as possible.  At that point, the beds in our hostel were ready, so we took a 6-hour siesta.  Más o menos.

We woke up and went to dinner, exploring the city by night.

Santiago is much more medieval than Granada or other cities here in Andalucía I’ve visited.  It makes sense, I suppose.  While the south of Spain was in the grip of North African Musilms for about 700 years, the far north remained relatively European.  Thus the streets of Santiago were grey and twisty, there were Gothic and Romanesque arches everywhere.  It felt much more like the old neighborhoods of little French towns.

We saw pretty much everything we were hoping to the first day, so the second day was for seeing things again if we liked them, and walking around in the sunshine.  And eating an ungodly amount of food.

Weekend well spent.

The Fog.  This is at almost 9 am.  The sun is technically up.

La catedral de Santiago de Compostela.

Cooked octopus on the left...and a salad on the right.  (We didn't go 100% Gallego.)

End of the Camino!

The cathedral by night.

Baa, Ram, Ewe.

I've never been what you would refer to as a "macho" kind of guy

Don’t get me wrong: I'm pretty active, I get into sports as much as the next guy (if I care about the team), I can swear, drink beer, and fulfill all other manly man stereotypes just as well as anyone else.  By most accounts, I’d say I’m pretty normal.  My personality is pretty even keel as well.  I don’t often get angry, I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, I’m not usually sad or emotional I’m a pretty uppity, positive person.

That being said, whenever I watch the 1995 box office sensation, Babe, all bets are off.  I cry.  And I cry.  And then just when you think it’s over, I cry again.  This is no misty-eyed, brave face, shed a tear and be done with it, type reaction.  We’re talking, “wipe the tears away to avoid tasting their salty sadness,” type tears.

1995 Movie Poster

I attribute this to a number of factors.  First and foremost, “overcoming tremendous obstacle” movies with animals will always have a near and dear place in my heart.  I both love and hate them.  Show me someone who wasn’t moved at the end of Homeward Bound when Shadow comes limping into the picture well after we all thought he was dead and gone down that big hole, and I’ll show you someone whose moral compass does not point north.

There’s something about animal movies that brings out the best, worst, and sappiest in all of us.  I still bear a grudge against my father for having made me watch Where the Red Fern Grows when I was six years old.  If you haven’t seen WtRFG, don’t.  You will want to throw yourself down on the ground and end it all right then and there.  It’s almost as bad as the ending of Old Yeller.  Worse, maybe.

The second factor that plays a part in my emotional upheaval is the innocent and trusting character of the pig, Babe.  Find me a truer, more valiant, and more decent character anywhere in the past 20 years of cinema.  I dare you.  You may think that statement a little far-reaching, but I assure you that I stand firm in this believe and will defend it.  Take this exchange for example.  After Babe had successfully herded the sheep without so much as a bark or a bite, his adopted mom, Fly, had to find out how he did it:

Fly: All right, how did you do it?
Babe: I asked them and they did it. I just asked them nicely.
Fly: We don't ask sheep, dear; we tell them what to do.
Babe: But I did, Mom. They were really friendly.

Gallantry indeed.

This is the classic story of the persistent, noble soul, despite the mockery, despite the tradition, and despite the obstacles, staying the course to ultimate triumph.  It’s what we all look for in an inspirational movie, as well as in our own lives.

(At this point you probably think I’m over-analyzing a children’s story, but I’m almost done.  Promise.)

The third aspect, and probably the most striking, is the relationship between Farmer Hoggett and Babe.  It’s true what the narrator says at the end of the film:

Narrator: And though every single human in the stands or in the commentary boxes was at a complete loss for words, the man who in his life had uttered fewer words than any of them knew exactly what to say.
Farmer Hoggett: That'll do, pig. That'll do.

The unspoken relationship that exists between Farmer Hoggett and Babe is truly a thing of beauty.  Obviously the two cannot directly talk to one another, yet the sentiments passed between them are significant.  When Babe is sick, for example, the farmer brings him inside the farmhouse, breaking tradition, and takes great pains to revive the pig’s body and spirit.  Using a song to speak the words he didn’t have, Farmer Hoggett sings and dances for of the little pig, passing along his love and care not only his words, but his actions as well.

“If I had words to make a day for you,

I’d sing you a morning golden and new.

I would make this day last for all time.

Give you a night deep in moonshine.”

It gets me every time.

I could go on, but for all our sakes, I think that’s enough for one night.  Hopefully you didn’t find this post too ridiculous.

Cobwebs be gone!

I've once heard it referred to as "Paralyzing Writers Syndrome" (PWS).  I dare say it's happened to all of us one time or another.

PWS is that ever-increasing feeling of guilt/despair we all get when we’ve been successfully (or semi-successfully) journaling, blogging, or otherwise documenting our travelings and doings.  You miss documenting things for a week or two for the precise reason that you’ve been extremely busy traveling and doing these things you’re supposed to be writing about.  It is, if I may be so bold, one of life’s more vicious cycles.  The more you do the less you write.  Thus you rapidly accumulate experiences and stories that you need to write about.  I ask thee, “What is one to do?”

My solution?  Well, normally I just look at the date on my blog, sigh, and then move onto to failblog.org or something to keep myself from thinking about it.  Thus the cycle continues.

I’m here to tell you I’m a new man.  I’m not going to let a little thing like trying to play “catch up” (whatever that is) stop me from continuing to share my life with friends and family!  Nay!  Nay I say!

This isn’t exactly a New Nears resolution.  New Years resolutions, in my opinion, are reserved for things that are going to make a significant difference/impact in your life.  Mine this year, for example, are to travel more, go out more, drink more, and eat more food.  I feel that each of these things will help to round out my experience here in sunny Spain.  So far things have been going quite swimmingly in the “fulfilling New Years resolutions department.”

Here is a quick montage of travels and friends since my last post.  Since October 22^nd, I’ve been fortunate enough to visit the Alpujarra region of the Sierra Nevada mountains, visit friends in Jaén, Córdoba and Sevilla, visit my near and dear friend Paris, fly home for Christmas and New Years, and even visit Ronda and the dynamic and rocky strip of land known as Gibraltar.

Enjoy this brief sampling of pictures.

 Mountain towns in the Alpujarra

 The Immaculate Alhambra

 "¿Qué?"

 Post mountain hike

 Weekend visit from my favorite Northern Europeans

 Post-bar kebabs

Me and Dana at Notre Dame in Paris

After my birthday dinner in Paris

Ronda

The ever-friendly Gibraltarians we met in a pub

The mighty Rock of Gibraltar

Christmas with the family in Williamsburg

The Albaycín in Granada

My dearest pain in the butt, Brittany

Guadix cathedral

 Also, before I leave, I would like to mention my dear friend Paula.  Almost exactly 365 days ago, Paula moved to Paris to begin a master's course at the American Graduate School of Paris.  I had the great pleasure of being able to see her when I was in Paris during my birthday weekend.  Paula and myself, along with our other wonderful friends in Paris, enjoyed an unforgettable couple of months together.  I can't wait for her to move to DC along with Libby and Kate....

Enjoy the rest of your time in Paris, Paula!  See you in the Spring!