Our Firecracker Meagan

It has been a week now since the ever-hilarious and passionate Meagan left us.  This week has been one of the most intensely emotional weeks for me.  Surges of sorrow were followed by bouts of laughter with intermittent sobs when reflecting on our memories together.  I think that's exactly how she would have wanted it.  Many people were saying to me, "She wouldn't want you to be sad and crying," and I just thought, "Oh yes, she damn well would!"  

Meagan is like me in this sense that she would want the world to stop for a while for her.  I can imagine what she would say to someone who hadn't cried and screamed to the Heavens at least once for this grand loss, because Meagan knew she was a treasure! Then, after some sincere mourning, yes, she would absolutely want everyone to find peace and happiness knowing that she is in a better place and that this was ordained for her.  Doesn't everyone want there to be a bit of drama when they depart this world?

Friday night, June 19, at 2AM here in Madrid, I had the privilege of watching one of the most heart-wrenching, epic, painful and yet beautiful celebrations of life, ever.  I am still in awe of the family's strength and courage.  To see Leonard's humility as he declared that he would worship his God even in the face of tragedy.  Rebecca's determination, Aaron's honesty, Melody's tenderness, her grandmother's charisma, and Jeremy's humor.  

I have taken so much from this great loss, and feel oddly enlivened.  It's like in passing Meagan gave all of us a bit of her fire.  And yes, I am fully confident that she possessed enough passion and life to give to the hundreds of people that are missing her (with some to spare.)  

I had this really vivid image of Meagan up in Heaven's living room moments before her funeral began, flopping onto the couch, crossing her legs, and with an enormous grin, rubbing her hands together, and exclaiming, "Yeah baby! Let's get this party started!" Followed by her cute, little squeak laugh! I could nearly hear it.  

I would like to say that she was probably amazed to see how many lives she touched, but let's be honest, she knew she was something special, and was saying "That's right baby! Glad to see you guys could make it to mi fiesta!"  She was so anchored in who she was and the talents she was given, and it was one of those things that maybe got under my skin at times, and forced me to roll my eyes at her confidence and admire it concurrently, but the moment she was in your presence, you couldn't remember ever being irritated with her.

In my previous blog, I feel ridiculous leaving out the most dominant characteristic about Meagan, because if there was one word that began to encompass Meagan, it is 'passionate'.  Due to the light, energy, and passion inside of her, she was able to be so many other things.  Witty, theatrical, loving, generous, and more adjectives than anyone wishes to read.   

Jeremy mentioned that she would buy random people's dinner for no other reason other than because she wanted to.  This reminded me of when two of my friends came to visit when she and I lived together, and we went to Don Pueblo's (Meagan, Mexican food? NO? Surely not!?) And at the end, she said, "I got it," and insisted on paying for all our of dinners.  I have a very difficult time accepting such gestures, but she did it with no motive other than she wanted to bless us.  

I remember thinking, "Meagan! What are you doing? You are always scrapping for money, why would you buy these boys', who you don't even really know, dinner."  Now, I realize why she was always scrapping for money.  Her immense heart and generosity consumed her bank account.  How inspiring! Another close friend of mine,  who is ironically named Megan as well, her mother has a simple but true saying when involving money, "You can't take it with you," and despite the disappointment of many Egyptian and Incan kings, it's so true!  Meagan obviously got that and used it as a tool to bless others!

I feel her presence.  I was at the gym and I was just having conversations with her in my head while doing the backstroke.  Listening to Lady Gaga on my walk home, I imaged her and I jamming out to other cheesy pop, driving down the road.  You know, it's fitting that she would be taken while in a car, giving a Celine Dion concert.  I am relieved to know she went instantly, no suffering, and managed to save her mother's life in the process.  I have countless memories of her and I driving around, just like Melody said they had so much fun on the 40-minute commute to MTSU, and I imagine her and Leonard had a blast as he chauffeured her to work the last months.  She loved driving around blaring music!

This sparks another short memory.  She once told me about how she was blasting the music and driving down the street.  She noticed that like magic, all of the cars started parting for her.  And dancing along, she thought, "Yeaaaah!" and cruised by with a smile. Haha, I can imagine her thinking, "That's right people! Move it, MEAGAN coming through!" After a minute or so of coasting like a queen, she glanced in her rearview mirror to discover there was an ambulance with flashing lights and angry EMTs jabbing at the horn! 

I am surprised at the serenity I am feeling about her passing.  I am not angry about it, and I am not questioning "WHY" any longer with brandished fists.  However, I continue to find moments of desolation at the loss.  I can't help but be sad for baby Olive, who never really got to know her aunt Meagan.  Can you imagine what an incredibly fun aunt Meagan was and would have been, especially about the time where a gal starts wearing make-up and getting into clothes?  Meagan would have had Olive styled to the 9s!  She wouldn't have any of those awkward, prepubescent photos to burn. Or the thought of her family trying to celebrate holidays without her. Or how much fun she and I would have had if we could have met up in Europe. Especially somewhere like Italy or Spain!  

Then, I am reminded for the millionth time.  Life is not a right, something we are entitle, but rather a conditional gift.  We are not guaranteed tomorrow, and we humans tend to think we should be entitled to not just one, but infinite tomorrows.  It's important to show love every day... to banish negative energy, to live each day, and celebrate it as a gift!!!  I have learned so much from Meagan, and Meagan's untimely death. 

Now, I find myself asking, "What would Meagan do?" and not just when it comes to make-up choices, although, yesterday I did ponder, "Would Megan wear this electric purple? Hmm.. or should I opt for a smokey berry... How would Meagan have applied this smokey berry!?" I will remember Meagan all the little things.  She has added a bounce and strut to my step, and I know she is up there still bouncing, strutting and being her FABULOUS self! 

Meagan, Love you eternally... miss you forever... and cherish our time together for always... ¡Chau for now cariño!

MEAGAN ELAINE AHLSTROM- October 12, 1984- June 14, 2009

 Truly, my heart is shattered at this incomprehensible tragedy.  Not only do I and hundreds of others weep for you, but Madrid is crying for you as well.  I woke up to a gray morning with rain steadily falling.  It seems to perfectly reflect my mood and the devastating event that happened just two days ago.  

I can't believe you're not on this earth anymore, Meagan.  I know I am not alone in pleading, "WHY? Dear God WHY?! Give me even a teardrop's worth of understanding and peace as to why?" Yet I realize there are some things in life, such as this, that I will never fathom! Never, will I understand why you were taken away from us so young.  How could such a beautiful, incredible creation be made simply to be taken away so untimely?! 

I don't think I need to tell you how incredibly loved you are, because I know that you had to have known this.  Meagan, you are irresistibly lovable!  First, people were instantly enchanted by the most gorgeous face, encrusted with a smile that shone brighter than the sun and accented by the most endearing dimples.  Then, all would capitulate to your wit, charm, poise, elegance, loving heart, sass, intelligence, determination, assertiveness and all the other components to your captivating personality. 

Meagan, you could relate a story in such a unique way.  With a flare, drama, inflection, and humor that was absolutely mesmerizing.  A true gift and talent! It was impossible to not be transfixed and devote 100% attention to your often hilarious or unfortunate anecdotes.  Your laugh! Oh my word, your laugh! You true laugh, (not just the polite one we all have when something is mildly amusing) where you would throw your head back in a quick jerk and out tumbled the most endearing laugh!  I can still feel it resonate in my ears. 

Did we have some good laughs or what?  I am so immensely thankful I got the opportunity to be your roommate and friend! I have been flooded with memories of all the silliness and harmlessly eccentric things we did!  Although, I know after our roommate-ship ended, we didn't keep in contact as much as we could have or would have liked, but I never stopped thinking about you.  You affected me Meagan.  Your friendship left a major imprint on my life! ¡Qué suerte! 

I am trying to remember every conversation we ever had.  I want to remember everything.  I wish my brain had this capability. It has failed me.  However, more and more adventures are sneaking into my head.

I can barely recall any events before a certain age because I have not been gifted with long-term memory, but what I do distinctly recollect is, when I lived in Mt. Juliet, you were my best friend.  You and another girl named Meghan.  Ironically, this started a trend.  When I moved to Kingsport, I met three more Megans and became great friends.  My first friend at MTSU was also named Megan, yet it started with you! You are my first Meagan!

Again, I can't exactly express how blessed I am to have been your roommate and partner in crime.  Those shorts months have provided me with unforgettable memories. I have to get them all out of me... I have to write them down, so that I may NEVER forget them.  I won't let them get lost in time.

I remember when we became roommates.  You had come over to the duplex and I hadn't seen you in years.  You were the embodiment of refinement, and I was completely intimidated.  I recall I had just gotten a new cell phone and was relentlessly fiddling with it to avoid having to interact with you because I felt so inferior.  I hadn't exactly blossomed into a graceful nor sophisticated lady, but rather a more awkward and insecure one.  

After you had a officially moved in, I quickly realized that under the regale and polished  exterior was the most fun loving, hysterical, cut-up, who loved books, movies and crocheting. What a match we were! Dueling crochet needles while watching episode after episode of Sex and the City!  

In the first weeks, Rebecca and Leonard came for a visit and brought you some groceries.  They also had bought us chips and salsa, and I distinctly remember us literally jumping for joy, hollering like we had won the lottery, so eager to sit in the living room and watch a movie over some salsa. Your parents gave us a look like we were insane. See, we could always appreciate the small things in life ;-).

At that time, I was so "in love" with a boy named Josh.  Remember him? You would curl my hair before I went to church with him, and were so protective and skeptical of him like a good mother hen! You also joined me often to church.  Oh the ridiculous schemes we came up with!

On the way to church, there was that house that had the most ostentatious and kitschy yard decor.  They had enormous, blow-up decorations (all illuminated from within for all-hours enjoyment!)  for every little holiday: a massive pumpkin for halloween, inflated cornucopia with pilgrim for Thanksgiving, and a gigantic snow globe for Christmas that rotated, and I believe there were a few others in between.  

You and I decided that their decoration dedication should not go unnoticed.  So, we went home and used a certificate template on the computer, which stated, "Congratulations on Best Holiday Decorators in Rutherford Country for 2004"  or something similar.  We even found some sort of stamp to make it look official, then signed and dated it.  After it was sealed up in an envelope, the following Wednesday we dropped it in their newspaper box.  :-) 

We weren't doing it to be spiteful, but really to let them know, people, regardless of how tacky, appreciated their hard work, because really you couldn't help but smile when you saw large inflated holiday articles.  You and I also discussed that they might be disappointed the following year after they had vamped-up their ornamentation and would not receive the certificate because we knew we would forget.

While on the topic of absurd things we did, how about our traditional "rent day" excursions? Yes, the first day of every month where we would drive to Taco Bell topless, only sporting our bras whilst singing at the tip-top of our lungs Ashlee Simpson's "La La" and "Love Me for Me."  We would speed up over the train tracks in order for the small hump to "catch" our stomachs, giggling the whole way of course with warm, burritos smelling up the little black Honda.

And our discussions of The Limited's annoying, house music choice!?  We put on Tweet "Boogie 2Nite" and especially, "Make Ur Move," and created dance moves that you could incorporate while helping customers.  Elaborate kicks and spins while pantomiming hanging clothes on the racks between head flicks with exaggerated cheesy smiles and saying "How can I help you? Do you need that in a small?"  How easily we could amuse ourselves! 

One thing that always amazed me was your ability to wear high heels for an entire day! Not only could you properly walk in 4-inch heels, but you could run.  One night as we arrived home, I said something offensive, teasing you.  Naturally, you came after me and I darted down the street, assuming I was safe after about 15 paces, I turned around only to discover you right on my heels, running at an impressive speed whilst in black stilettos and with a hilarious "I'm going to get you!" expression!  I was so surprised, I let out a scream, and immediately began laughing so out of control, I couldn't take another step, and had to take my beating ;-) haha!! 

Later, you divulged your secret of wearing high heels.  You credited it to your "paw pad" as you called it.  Then, you took off your shoe and on the ball of your foot, you unabashedly displayed a circle that was so tough, it felt exactly like a paw of an animal.  It was a perfect circle! I poked it in amazement! :-)

I loved how you were this dichotomy of finesse and coarseness simultaneously.  You could get dolled-up like an absolute lady and strut around like a model, and at other times you would burp loudly or pee with the door open.  My particular favorite was when you discovered your bathtub was clogged from an inordinate amount of hair.  You were so impressed that you actually put the massive wad of grotesque, slimy hair in a baggy and later proudly showed me! HAHA how disgusting and yet hilarious! I loved that paradox about you! 

We weren't always alone in that duplex if you recall.  It started with one of your favorite creatures.... the millipede! One eve, I heard a loud, horrified scream that was followed by flailing arms and jumping up down while yelling for me.  I rushed to the scene expecting to see something like a shark in the bathtub or a man with a chain-saw, but instead, it was a little red millipede slowly making his way across the carpet and into your bathroom.  I'm fairly certain you immediately called an exterminator before I could even work out the details with my parents haha! Hey, you're a woman who knows what she wants! Let's just be thankful it wasn't millipedes AND owls... you would have really flipped out!

There was one creature that we welcomed with open arms.  A mutt who inherited all of her parents most identifiable qualities.  She had the head shape and fur of a German shepherd, the colorings and markings of a Rottweiler, and the height and body shape of a Basset Hound.  Her long, low body hadn't quite caught up with her large head, always making it seem she would topple over.  Our lil' gravity defier!

We pondered for a long time what to name the little girl.  Creatively and probably your idea, we used part of our street name, Black Fox Crossing.  We took Fox and translated it into Spanish, which is "Zorro".  However, we had the dilemma that it is a masculine word, and so we simply forced it into the feminine, "Zorra".  Later, as you went on to study Spanish further, you probably learned, as did I, that the word "Zorra" in Spanish is not exactly a nice word, but actually means, bitch.  In the end, I suppose it is still fitting for a female dog! ;-) 

One night while you and Zorra were at home alone doing some homework and watching some TV (I assume Zorra was chewing on something or napping), you heard a terrifying noise from the kitchen... paper rattling.  Convinced there was an intruder you grabbed Zorra's small arms that were protruding from under the coffee table, in one swift motion slid her up and into your arms, and ran to your car.

  In a frenzy, you called me relaying the drama.  You joined me at two guy friend's house wearing no shoes, your pajamas, and holding young Zorra under your arm.  In great detail, joined by a theatrical reenactment, you explained the events.  The boys offered to go and "check" everything out, but I pridefully declined, certain it was nothing.

 On the drive back and upon reaching the house, you had successfully freaked me out by continuing to replay the story with more details each time!!! I was determined to save face.  I slowly unlocked the door, then, kicked it open. We slowly crept in, frantically looking every direction and turning on every light.  Then, we reached my room... the door was closed.  Had I closed the door?? NO! NO, I HADN'T! THE INTRUDER MUST HAVE CLOSED THE DOOR! We concluded and sprinted out of the house and called my friends.

Dutifully, they showed up with baseball bats in hand.  Nervously, they surveyed the entire apartment, and realized there was no trespasser to be found.  Looking back, it's rather hilarious because these boys were not even as big as you and I, Meag.  They were short, super thin boys. We probably would have stood a better chance had there actually been anyone there, especially if you had been wearing heels.  Watch out! 

Ultimately, it was discovered that we did have intruders of sorts. We had mice!! Those little devils had been chewing newspaper in the kitchen.  We found their "evidence" all over the place after that!  Our good friend the exterminator came once again! 

Ahhh and I will never forget the story of the Italian, leather guy.  I think you were driving around Nashville with Lindsey and caught his eye.  He was motioning to you and somehow you ended up getting his card by him slipping it through the slightly cracked window while driving.  Then, he took you to a lovely dinner where you discovered he was a gorgeous Italian man who sold real, Italian leather shoes and made several trips to Italy per year.  Nothing came of that, but what a story! Only you could catch the eye of some handsome Italian man, while driving, and make him so determined to meet you, he managed to give you his business card... again, while driving!

There are so many other memories I have of you that it would be impossible to list them all.  As I said before Meagan, you aren't just a collection of memories, you have had an actual effect on my life.  You have made my life better and certainly more interesting! 

To say that I envied you your elegance, mouth-dropping beauty, confidence, humor and intelligent wouldn't be correct, but rather admired, appreciated and learned from your amazing qualities.  I hope that I have given you a morsel of what you gave me by simply being Megan Elaine Ahlstrom!

You had just written me, June 11, you wrote, "shall i come visit you sometime? somewhere? i'll bring some new hoooot dance moves and some giggles! :) M"

I replied to you June 14th, 6:01 AM Central time, "Ummm YES PLEASE!! ¿Qué tal? ¿Dónde vives ahora? En Chicago? ¿ Qué trabajo tienes? Necesito un compañero de viaje este Agosto. Viajo a Slovenia y Croatia. Si tu estás en el barrio, debes venir conmigo!! ¡Qué sí! Te echo de menos! Muchos besos y un muy fuerte abrazo!"  (translation: how are you? Where do you live now? In Chicago? What work are you doing? I need a travel partner this August. I travel to Slovenia and Croatia.  If you are in the neighborhood, you must come with me! YES! I miss you! Many kisses and a very tight hug!)

What I didn't realize when I pushed "send" was that just an 1 hour and 15 minutes before, you had gone to your new home, and were seeing something more exquisite, serene and amazing than any country here on earth!  I just wish you could send me a postcard from there, telling me you are fine and happy, and wouldn't come back to this smelly, old earth for anything, and as much as you miss your family and friends, you know you will see them again, and that you are eagerly awaiting us! Welcome mat out!

I wish you could have made it to Spain.  A few years ago, we had made elaborate plans to see each other in Spain when you went with that class to Murcia.. or was it Malaga? I know you always wanted to come here, but trust me, where you are now is eons better than España!!!!!! 

People here in Spain keep telling me that they understand it is terrible and so unfair, but follow it with "that's life," or "life will go on."  How can they say this to me? Is it just that they don't know a more delicate translation.  Yes, life will go on, but why does MINE get to go on, and yours stopped at 24 years?  They tell me to stop crying, but I want to cry! I want to mourn. I want to feel this loss.  I don't want to just pretend everything's fine and watch a movie or go out with friends.  I know someday I will do all of those things, and I will laugh and be happy, but I need time.  

No matter how painful things are now, I am so appreciative to have know you for nearly 20 years Meagan!  I wouldn't trade this grief and despair if it meant never having known you.  I am trying to see life from the perspective of quality versus quantity. 

I looked up the meaning of your names.  Elaine means Light, while Meagan means pearl in Welsh.  How perfectly suitable, Meagan!  God's own pearl, a light that people are attracted to and it's mere presence makes everything more beautiful. The formation of a pearl naturally is nearly a miracle, and can take years for an oyster to produce. Finding a natural pearl is so rare that this explains their enormous value.  Selfishly, we all want to keep our bright pearl here with us, to adorn ourselves, but God's been molding you, a lovely formed pearl, for the past 24 years, and although we have no idea why nor why now, he has chosen to free you from your shell, to enjoy you and ornament Heaven with you.

I know you loved your family more than words could express, and vice versa.  All I can think about is your sweet, God-loving family.  I can see each of them in my head vividly, and I wish that I could be there to hug each of them and profess my deepest sorrow and sympathy.  I understand that they will never get over this immense loss, none of us will, but I am certain that they possess enough faith, trust, love and strength to gain some peace and understanding in the coming weeks and months.  I pray that Rebecca's body heals rapidly and her spirit as well.  I pray for you entire family to feel the love and support from everyone who knows them, and to trust God's will.  I pray for some divine glimpse of tranquility for all of us.

How gracious that you got to see your darling sister, Melody get married! How thankful that you got to meet your baby niece, Olive and see your sweet brother, Aaron wed as well.  How blessed are your parents to have had you, enjoy you, love you for 24 years, which will continue for eternity.  How privileged are we all to have known you, learn from you, laugh with you!! Meagan, all is not lost, you will live eternally in Heaven and in our hearts. I love you so! I love you so! I love you so! Te quiero, te quiero, mi amor!

Te doy todos los besos yo tengo!

With love,

Ashlea Hall

 

 

  

 

ANDALUCíA: Part 4- Corked and Screwed

Following the slowest check-in of my life, I went out and walked around the city.  Unlike Córdoba, which is really more of a town, Sevilla is a city swarming with people.  The street where the hostel lies was  full of tapas bars and cafés that were overflowing with people.  It seemed like everywhere I turned were a group of jovial young people have a great time together. 

At this point, I reached total despondence.  I can't explain the dynamics of it, but I had hit an emotional low and forlorn point.  In reality, I believe it was a combination of having two horrible days, already feeling lonely, being in a city where everyone seemed to be with their 5 best friends, hormonal influences, and convinced that everyone could sense my loneliness and self-consciousness.  I was feeling dreadful about myself and wished that I could just float away or be invisible.  (At that highly emotional time, I remember seeing a leaf falling from a tree, and with dramatic and poetic flare, I claimed I wanted to be a leaf, that just floated off its branch and the wind took it far away, where it lay in a open meadow for it's final days before it became part of the earth again... sadly, I was that emo at the moment.)

I walked around like someone had killed my pet guinea pig.  Somber and dragging my feet, I finally came across a grocery store to get some wine, cheese, bread and fruit.  The hostel in which I was staying had a large, rooftop terrace.  I reckoned that if I was traveling alone, a hostel with a rooftop terrace would be the place to meet people.  Preparing to make a friend or two, I bought two bottles of wine, and figured like in kindergarten when you shared a Little Debbie Cake, sharing wine is like a token to 

frienshipland! 

Not far from my mind, was the half-nude, possibly German, stud from the hostel.  I was motivated to go back to the hostel, put on a happy face, and of course, meet him if I possibly could.  I suppose it is rather ironic in some ways.  Here, I was moping around at bottom level self-confidence, and yet all I could imagine doing was meeting this guy who was, let's face it, he is eons out of my league. Plus, there was a significant chance he had already left or would be out all night, but I was hopeful not matter how slim the odds.  Anyone that could catch subtle facial humor and be such a patient sport about a rather embarrassing and frustrating situation was definitely worth meeting. 

Upon returning to my room in the hostel, I met a French-Canadian girl named Ellen.  She had a super toothy smile and was somewhat of a hippie.  Ellen was incredibly friendly and told me how she was going to work on a farm in Spain for a month.  I was elated to speak with someone, anyone, especially such a sweet girl. She asked me what I was doing that night, and I told her I had bought some wine and planned on opening it and sharing it, if she had any interest.

What came next I was not prepared for.  "Oh yes! Sure that sounds great!" she replied.  "I was just on the terrace talking to a German guy, and he speaks perfect English."  My heart stopped, then, commenced at racehorse speed. "You should come up and hang out with us.  I want to write in my journal, " she said taking the book from under her arm and giving it a bit of a wave, "but I will be up there shortly." 

As casual as I possibly could, "Really?! A GERMAN!?" clearly the nonchalant thing didn't work out for me.  I drilled her with questions.  Was she there with him? No, shew relief.  What did he look like? Tall, light eyes.. uh huh, uh huh perfect! I more or less grabbed my things and sprinted to the kitchen.  I searched for a bottle opener, but to no avail.  I NEEDED this wine! How else was I going to win friends?!  

Nonetheless, I rapidly climbed the spiral staircase leading to the terrace, the whole time saying a little chant, "PLEASE be the same guy, PLEASE be the same guy..." Holding my breath, I stepped onto the broad terrace and ** cue Angelic choir once again** Sitting off alone on the dark terrace, legs crossed guy-style, and overlooking the street sat the half-naked gent from earlier!! He was sipping a beer and relaxing. Elation!

I clambered over to a table and heaved my bag of fruit, wine and bread onto it.  I tried to collect my thoughts.  How on earth could I approach him without Ellen being there?  I mean, that couldn't be further from a typical thing I would do.  Randomly striking up conversations with fantastically attractive men on darkened terraces, shockingly, is not my forte. I needed a grand excuse, and I needed one now!

Then, it came to me! What did I need? A corkscrew.  What do German guys always seem to have? Swiss Army knives. Bam! That was it.  I would ask if he had anything to open the wine.  With a inexplicable bolt of confidence, origins unknown, I sauntered over to him. I knew my exact opening line.

"Excuse me," I began, "Do you have a---" I purposefully stopped myself and acted as if I just realized who I was speaking to. "Oh! You do wear clothes!?" I jested.  With a smile he joked right back with a witty comment.  Incredulity, he didn't have anything to open the wine and kind of looked at me suspiciously, as if thinking, "Why would I have a corkscrew on me?"  I couldn't help but think, Bad German, Bad German! How could he not be prepared?  He suggested I try the front desk. 

"Yeah, good idea.  Would you care to watch my stuff?" I asked.  "I mean, technically, you owe me, since, I did practically see you naked earlier." What the hell was wrong with me? Who was this girl? I don't make suave, overly flirtatious comments like this.  He shrugged in agreement and claimed that he would guard it with his life.  "Fine, If it's gone when I come back I get to push you over the balcony.  It's only fair. I mean, there's fruit in there!"  

"Oh yeah, absolutely. It's only fair," he retorted without skipping a beat.  I flew down the stairs and sure enough, the front desk kept the corkscrew safely tucked away.  

With the bottle opened, I rushed back upstairs and grabbed two cups from the

 kitchen on the way for Ellen and I, whenever she decided to join us.  I sat beside him, made some comments about he got to keep his life since my things were waiting for me, and then, placed the two cups on the table.  He looked skeptically at the two cups.  "Oh crap! OHH crap!" I thought.  He thinks I am putting the moves on him, which in some ways I was. He thinks these two glasses were for him and I. In panic, I quickly glanced around the terrace searching for Ellen, who I knew was still downstairs. 

"So, where's Ellen?" I inquired anxiously.  With slightly squinted eyes full of bemusement, he asked, "Who?" .......! What? What did he mean "who"?  I exclaimed, "You know, the girl you were just talking to?"  His expression began to look more dubious. "Ellen, the French-Canadian girl.  She told me I should come up and hang out... with you... guys ..." my voice trailed off, and my confidence started to wane as I looked at his puzzled countenance. 

After a few seconds of silence, he asked, "Have you been stood up?" A joke, thank goodness.  I snickered and felt at ease again.  He and I began chatting and I discovered that he was from Norway not Germany.  A natural banter and witty repartee formed and we were joking around, and I was shamelessly flirting to the point where I couldn't stop myself.  It was like some uncontrollable force had entered my body.  No matter how I tried, I couldn't stop making waggish retorts and I could feel myself going over the top.  It was like trying to pull a horse out of quick sand.  Good luck. 

I was still in shock and amazement at my stroke of good fortune.  Scarcely could I fathom that I would actually get to talk to him.  As you have seen, things generally don't work out for me with men.  I felt a strong connection to him.  I would go into more detail, but there is still the rather scary, although miniscule chance he could read this blog.  I am certain this entry already contains enough damaging confessions. 

We had been talking for about ten minutes, when I finally got around to asking him why he was in Sevilla.  Then, reality came a knockin'. He casually explained, "I'm here with my girlfriend for a few days.  She's studying in Valencia, and I just came to visit her, and we arrived earlier this morning here in Sevilla."  NOOOOO!!! Oh wait, yes, actually, that makes much more sense.  Of course, he would have a girlfriend.  Things do notwork out for me and men.  Just when I thought my luck was changing. Really it was like someone sucker punching me. 

After this revelation, I began to get a bit shifty.  I didn't know how to stop flirting without making it super obvious that I had just been throwing myself at him the entire time.  Plus, I was super let down by the reality. My mind raced.  His girlfriend was bound to join him at any moment.  I pictured her coming out with long flowing blonde hair, standing 5'10 with a perfectly toned body,  probably a player for the Women's National Norwegian soccer team, who studies neurology on the side, just to make me unutterably intimidated.  

Sure enough, minutes later a petite girl emerged from the the illuminated doorway.  She walked towards us, eyeing me with a cynical smile.  She wasn't at all what I expected.  She was a Swiss girl studying law in Valencia.  They had met while he studied physics in her hometown of Geneva.  They had been dating about a year, and she seemed to be a fantastic girl, but quite skeptical of me at the same time. I dubbed the Norwegian Naked Physicist.  Clearly, he was the true Nordic God I had been searching for (Chai;-) but that nickname was already taken.  

 The three of us chatted for around 30 minutes.  Naked Physicist and I were cracking stupid jokes, and I could tell I was becoming too much.  I needed to reel it back, but I couldn't.  It was true verbal diarrhea.  When I get nervous, I go to either extreme.  I am silent or I talk non-stop. However, he politely indulged me. 

Eventually, they headed off for dinner and I was kicking myself for being so annoying and chatty.  I was certain they both saying, "What was that about?" I finished my glass of wine, and later Ellen along with a group of French guys and the 'actual' German came up.  I went out with them that evening.  They spoke in French a large portion of the time, and I can't say that I enjoyed myself too much.

The next morning, I ventured into the kitchen for the "free" breakfast, and I ran into Naked Physicist's girlfriend.  Surprisingly, she offered that I go and have breakfast with them on the terrace.  A lovely, sunny breakfast turned into a full day of sight seeing with them.  The girlfriend, who I will call Ms. Pris, was brilliant.  Very laid back and interesting.  It's almost a bummer considering it's always more fun to loathe the girlfriend of a fantastic guy, but I really liked her. 

I will say, I don't think this is a mental fabrication of mine, but Naked Physicist and I really seemed to have a chemistry.  I don't mean in any romantic sense, but purely friendship and humor.  He is well-versed in American humor.  At one point, Ms. Pris and I were discussing yoga and I said, "Yeah, I think it's just a great way to free your mind."  Immediately after I said it, I thought back to the 90s En Vogue song, "Free Your Mind".  As if he read my mind, Naked Physicist sang out, "Free Yo' Mind and the rest will follow," then I joined in, "be colorblind, don't be shallow." We were laughing and smiling with each other, and  Ms. Pris looked at us like we were crazy. 

 He and I looked at each other like naughty school children with an "Oops" expression.  Then, she said for a second time that day, "I really don't get your guys humor." We both stared at the ground for a second and felt a bit guilty for continually excluding her by using very specific humor.  The whole day went like that.  He and I just seemed to have a connection, and were always doing something amusing.

 He was so patient and accommodating, and the two of them were really sweet together, holding hands the whole day and sneaking kisses when I wasn't looking. I liked them both so much! I was so thankful to them for letting me bum around with them all day.  I can't imagine how miserable I would have been if I had to go at it alone.  

By about 4 in the afternoon, their sneak kisses became more frequent and as soon as shopping was mentioned, I had to jump ship.  I felt they probably needed and wanted some time alone, and I was more than satisfied to go back and rest at the hostel.  Also, there was a secret part of me that hoped he would get sick of shopping and come back early and we could joke and chat freely. 

I managed to squeeze in a bit of a siesta, and then with little idea of what else to do, I went back to enjoy the lovely terrace.  I sat in a small alcove because Sevillana lessons, a type of flamenco dance, were underway and taking up most of the terrace.  I sat dazing out into the distance as the flamenco music blared.  As I was sitting there, Naked Physicist walked in, and startled each other a little.  "Do you mind if I sit with you?" he politely asked.  "So, you've been stood up again, huh?" he teased.  

I laughed and then told him that this time, there was no one to stand me up.  Then, I went on to explain the whole reason I had spoken to him in the first place.  I thought he was German and clearly, would have a Swiss Army knife.  This seemed to clarify some things for him.  I mentioned that since he was drinking, I should probably go get my second bottle of wine... peer pressure and all.  

I raced downstairs to get it and then to the lobby to open it.  To my disgust, there was no receptionist, only a German hosteler at a nearby computer.  I glanced around the desk seeing if the bottle opener was in sight, and I could just briefly use it.  I craned my neck around and moved a few papers to see where it could be hiding. The German guy, who also happened to be the actual German boy Ellen had spoken of, asked me, "What do you need?" Still searching for the blasted thing, I held up the wine without turning to him and said, "Something to open this."  He casually said in his thick German accent, "I have something." 

I turned to him as he was pulling none other than a red Swiss Army knife from his pocket. I was astonished and roaring with laughter inside.  He opened the bottle lickety-split. Giggling I hustled back up the two giant flights of stairs bubbling over with excitement and eager to tell Naked Physicist. 

I told him, slightly out of breath, the wild account.  We both had a laugh! I wanted to go over all the minute details with him, so he truly grasped how fortuitous our meeting was: the old men disasters leading me to write a desperate plea in my journal, then, him coming down half dressed, mistaken identity, etc. I couldn't help but think how insanely coincidental it had all been. Too coincidental to be only a coincident.  

Maybe I overanalyzed each detail. (nooo, not me, never!) I mean, the whole reason I had the nerve to speak to him was because I thought he was a German guy with a Swiss Army knife.  If I had run into the actual German before him, he would have provided me a Swiss Army knife.  I never would have had the gaul nor the motive to speak to Naked Physicist.  Some people ;-) might even see the irony about me thinking he was German, and in reality he is Nordic. Finally, a true and worthy NG!

Later on, Ms. Pris joined us on the terrace.  The three of us ended up going on a pub crawl organized by the hostel.  Despite the pub crawl, we had a fun night, and forged more inside jokes.  After only 1,5 days of being around them, I came away with a ton of inside jokes. 

They are both such good people.  I know my time around them was brief, but sometimes you just know you're in the presence of a quality person.  I think Ms. Pris is ridiculously lucky to have him, and what can I say, vice versa as well.  I suppose that if my dream guy must have a girlfriend, I am glad it's with such a cool girl! 

I am also happy to say that I have stayed in contact with both of them and received several sweet messages from her, and some long hilarious ones from him.  I hope I can stay in touch for a long time.

ANDALUCíA: Part 3- Is a German too Much to Ask For?

After getting off the train in Sevilla, things didn't seem like they were going to get much better. The directions the hostel gave were shoddy. I couldn't find the two alleged buses that went near the hostel. I asked close to ten people, and no one knew where these supposed buses were. Then, when I called the hostel to ask them what was up with their directions, overwhelming static impeded our communication. Eventually, I threw in the towel and took an 8 euro taxi to the hostel. No, 8 euros isn't going to break the bank, but I was annoyed to spend an unnecessary 8 euros on what I felt was the hostel's mistake.

Eventually, when I reached the hostel, I was carrying major baggage. I had severely over-packed my backpack; plus, I was still carrying around my resentment and anger about the entire past two days. I was in a mood!

There were no signs of my luck turning around. The hostel was in total disarray. Nothing seemed to be working efficiently and in an organized fashion. It took the girl forever to check me in. I handed her my money, and then, someone else came and asked for something and she helped them. Then, told me some more things about the hostel. Moments later, a group arrived at the hostel and she had to show them in. All I wanted was to put my self-inflicted, ridiculously heavy bag in a locker, and sleep or explore, but definitely not just stand there while she tried to check-in myself and four French people at the same time. I was at absolute boiling point, jaw locked, fists clinched.

As I faced the desk, probably staring a hole through the receptionist, out of the corner of my left eye, I noticed someone walking down the stairs. I looked over and saw bare feet. I continued scanning upwards. Bare muscular legs, hawaiian print underwear, t-shirt, HOLY GOD, beautiful German looking, half-nude guy. I can't be certain, but I definitely think he was backlit, while a church choir sang that angelic "AHH" note, and for those 5 seconds life slowed down. He had a fantastic, broad smile. I started to become internally giddy, thinking, "No way! NOOO WAY! Yes, yes, thanks Higher Beings!"

I couldn't help but gape at him. He stood on the bottom stair and kind of leaned towards the desk, and said in perfect English with no audible non-native accent, "Excuse me. I've managed to lock myself out of my room while I was taking a shower. Do you have a spare key?" Unfortunately for him, but definitely not for me, the woman didn't speak much English at all, prolonging the process. It took forever for her to even grasp what his problem was. But where was he key? Well, why was it in his room? Why can't he just get the key? An extra key???

No matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop gawking at him and what's worse, I couldn't erase the huge smile across my face. He looked at me several times, smiling his amazing smile and nodded, as if to say, "Yeeeppp.... this is awkward." The receptionist had to call her boss and more time passed. He turned to me and said, "Sorry to interrupt." I wanted to say something like, "They've sent you to me! *crazy person laugh* You are meant for me!! HAHAHA *twitch, twitch* You're... MINE!"

Finally, the girl brought a box to the desk, and scooped up, no joke, about 14 keys and ungainly dropped them into his cupped hands. He stared at them in disbelief, as did I. The girl said, "One of those might work." I let out an audible burst of laughter, and still smiling like an angel, he glanced at me, and we understood each other.  He found that as utterly absurd as I did.  How could things be so disorganized?

He retreated up the large staircase, and I happily watched his blue and green Hawaiian undies climb the stairs. Uhhhh, I mean... pshh, I don't know what color his underwear were... that's weird, right?... I also noticed he wore a gold necklace... I know, >head hung<>

For a bit, this definitely increased my mood.  I still had to wait ten more minutes before she would finally finish the check-in process.  In the meantime, the tall, gorgeous half-nude guy descended once again, but this time wearing jeans to accompany his t-shirt.  I looked at him, then at his pants and did this joking, shocked expression, head tilted, mouth open number, like I was saying, "Oh!!?? You wear clothes!???" The insane part was that he seemed to understand exactly.  He smiled and looked down and did a shoulder shrug that said, "I know, crazy!?!" 

He returned the keys, explained that two of the keys had worked, thanked her, and vanished back up the stairs again.  I couldn't place his accent.  American? No.. please God no! (that would ruin all the fantasies I had just concocted during his departure) Australian, English, ermm, Dutch, German? He looked northern European for sure, and I was convinced he was German, mainly because I wanted him to be.

From that moment and for the following hours, all I could think about was this half-nude mystery guy.  It was all so coincidental. Too coincidental.  I was hoped with all of my might that this wasn't his last night and that somehow I would manage to see him again.  I just had to.  I just had to!

ANDALUCíA: Part 2- "¡No Me Tocas, Por Favor!"

After I, along with all the other hundreds of tourists, had been ushered out quite inexplicably from the Mezquita, I sought shelter from the blazing sun under an orange tree in the charming courtyard.  As I began to write my rather unlucky and awkward old man encounter from the day before, at the same moment another old man approached me.  It seems as if existing, simply being, sitting alone and minding one's own business is code in Córdoba for "People! Come harass and molest me please!!"

As I was scribbling away, this old fart greeted me with a standard "Hola guapa" and then, sat beside me.  You know, because I clearly was not busy and involved with anything. Oh, no, no! Nose poked in a book, furrowed brow of concentration, pen moving wildly across the page are a clear "come hither" signal.  At first, it seemed like a harmless situation, sitting in the large terrace outside the Mezquita with fellow tourists buzzing about.  He asked me where I was from, what I was doing in Spain, and if I liked Spain.  He went on to tell me how pretty I was, how soft and pale my skin was, and how I was "gordita".... **tires screeching** Translation: "gorda" means fat, and adding -ita to a word in Spanish is just to make it cuter.  I don't think fat can really have a cute spin.

Now, perhaps back in this old fellow's courting days (circa- turn of the century), being "gordita" was some sort of compliment.   As if being fat and pasty white meant I was an upper-class, refined, and rich lady.  Clearly, fortunate enough to be spared a life of staring down the back side of a donkey with callused fingers gripped around a plow, whilst the sun beat down and toasted my skin. Not to mention how fertile I must be with them birthin' hips! I suppose I see how hundreds of years ago, that might be flattering.

Hi, Hello, sir. Bienvenido. Welcome to 2009, where fat= bad, skeletal= good. Chubby cheeks=detrimental, sunken-in cheeks= fabulous. Understand? No, he did not. 

He simply smiled his deceptive, grandfatherly-looking smile, and then asked if I was married.  Why I didn't say "yes" is really beyond me.  I have this unfortunate and natural response to tell the truth. I often regret that I am not more capable of lying willy-nilly.  After "no" blurted out of my mouth, I had to think quick.  Yes, in that exact moment, I began a relationship with a very intelligent, tall, funny, handsome, and very fictitious man.  Intrigued, he grilled me about his whereabouts? How could I travel alone? Who was tending to my horse and carriage? 

When I couldn't produce my "boyfriend" and said he was back in Madrid, he more or less proposed to me on the spot, saying I could just stay in Córdoba and be his wife.  He then chuckled a deep old-man chuckle, the type where it sounds like a lung is being detached, and claimed with a slightly heavy heart and hand resting on my knee, 

" I'm very old." 

 

Mind you, he was nearly as old as the Mezquita itself.  With a slight grin, I said "Yes, yes," feeling absolutely no need to sugarcoat it after the fat comment.  At some point in the conversation, his hands began to go on a little sight-seeing tour of my body, and apparently, no tour guide needed.  His old, rough, pedophiliac hands roamed over my arm and on my knee, then up to my cheek, back to my leg.  I politely said, "Hombre! No tocar!" (Man, don't touch!) Then, explained this was very strange for me and I that I didn't like it. 

The problem with these ancient scoundrels is that their true pervy, lecherous intentions  are cleverly concealed behind wrinkly, weathered skin, grandfatherly- like mannerisms, a smile that suggests they have a butterscotch hard candy resting in their chest pocket just waiting for you, all of this deception is compounded by a feeble gait that requires a walking cane.  All of a sudden, they become these slightly pitiful, completely innocent creatures in my mind, barely capable of gumming down some applesauce.  I guess I just assume that since by all outward appearances they have reverted back to a childlike state that their libido would have disappeared around the time I Love Lucy went off the air. 

 

My rebuffs and chastising did not seem to affect him. What I initially mistook to be a pleasant, old man smile, had suddenly turned into cheeky and impertinent smirk with all of his creepy thoughts pouring out the corners of his mouth.  He continued stroking my leg and this gave way into rather aggressive attempts to get a kiss from me... on the mouth.  He tried to grab my face and I wiggled free of his arthritic grasp. "Un beso, Un beso!" he pleaded. (one kiss)  Again, this time more sternly I bellowed, "Señor!! No me tocas! No me gusta. Este es muy extraño para mí!" (Mister! Don't touch me! I don't like it.  This is very weird for me.) He tried all attempts to convince me it was normal in Spain, and I immediately reminded him that I was NOT Spanish. 

I didn't feel any major sense of threat or danger, but just extreme annoyance that after a few minutes in the hot Andalucian sun, fermented into 100% proof anger.  Not only was I plain pissed off that he ruined a perfectly pleasant moment for me, but that I seem to lack the boldness to be rude to people, especially if they, not to sound like a 2nd grader, started it!  I mean, why the hell did I tolerate that as long as I did?  Has my polite, southern, ladylike upbringing made me incapable of defending myself in some ways?  

What's worse, was that the previous day's experience hadn't been enough to teach me! I suppose I should back up, and explain that this was not my first creepy man clash in Spain.    

The first, was when I met a Dominican guy on the metro and agreed to have an intercambio, a language exchange, at the library.  We met and he acted like we were long lost lovers.  He was thrilled when they told us we had to whisper, and he looked at me and said "Good, it's more romantic this way."

 Then, before I knew what was happening, he was holding my hand, looking deeply into my eyes, lacking an ounce of sincerity of course, he told me he wanted to take me to the beaches of the Dominican Republic.  I was still trying to figure out how meeting at the library for an intercambio had turned into what seemed like a guy trying to seduce his way into a Green card.

I can't forget my old bus driver fiasco, where I accidently agreed to private Spanish, night lessons at the old man's house, before my friend translated.  Subsequently, I learned when I don't understand, it's not a brilliant plan to smile, nod my head, while saying "Sí sí" just to be polite.  Still to this day, he happily swings open the bus doors and greets me with a "Bonita!" The other day, I was walking home from my class and he shouted out his window, "Buenos días Guapa!!" and honked the horn.

But back to the Córdoba incident... I was only in Córdoba for two days.  The second was when I visited the stunning Mezquita and was harassed by the elderly weasel.  The day before when I arrived, I had hopped off the bus in Córdoba and headed straight for my hostel.  Since, I was alone, and the five hour bus ride hadn't exhausted me, I decided to not waste time, and venture into the city and see the sights. 

With a tourist map from the hostel folded and tucked into my bag, I set out for the Roman Bridge, where at one end housed a museum about the city.  The hostel people had told me it hadn't gotten rave reviews, but I didn't have too much else to do.  

In the middle of the bridge stood a lovely statue.  I stopped and took some photos and noticed an older man seemingly staring at me.  He asked me, oddly, if the statue was by Raphael, as if I would know?!?  I was suspicious instantly, but answered him politely, and continued taking photos.  He walked slowly on and eventually I did too.  I am not sure it is possible to be followed by someone who is technically in front of you, but that's what it felt like.  It felt as if he was waiting for me, hovering about, and I wasn't sure what to do, or if maybe I was just being paranoid.

I headed towards the museum, and it appeared he was as well.  It's the same story throughout the museum.  Although, he was in front of me, he seemed to be following me, waiting for me. When I reached the roof, where you could overlook the river and a bit of the city, he took the opportunity to strike.  Asking me the typical, where you from, why are you here, are you married... yep.  It should be noted that if matrimony is a person's third or fourth question, just walk away... simply, walk away.  Now, I know. 

In short, this resorted in a very awkward, one-hour walk around Córdoba not knowing how to ditch him and not understanding a WORD he said with his thick Andalucian accent.  There were a few moments of sick pleasure for me.  I asked him to repeat everything, and he was getting so frustrated that I couldn't understand, and I enjoyed it.  Again, I didn't feel threatened, but it ruined my entire day.  I had to meander around the city not able to really see what I wanted, and again, I had no clue how to get ride of him without seeming "rude".  He destroyed any hopes of a schedule I had for myself. 

Later that night in the hostel, I did meet a super sweet Brazilian guy named Leonardo.  He helped me open an extremely stubborn bottle of wine and we chatted.  After a disappointing first day and a bottle of wine, I decided I must go to bed, so I could start a new day as soon as possible.  

As I headed for the stairs, a guy from Niger, who had been staring and smiling at me all evening from his seat in front of the computer, stopped me.  He asked me to stay and talk with him and that he had been wanting to talk to me all night.  He seemed like a genuinely kind-hearted individual, but I wasn't about to risk losing precious sleep over another man, who could very well turn out to be a creep.  

I left Córdoba the next day feeling completely deflated, exhausted from fending off all those unwanted advances, and lonelier than I could remember feeling in a long time.  I was regretting my decision to go alone and irritated that I don't know how to deal with those situations. Beyond all of those things, I felt exceedingly insulted.  How dare those old bastards?  Did they honestly think they stood a chance with me?!  Would they have pulled a move like that on some skinny, 5'8 blonde? I took it as a real insult!

On the train to Sevilla, I couldn't shake my bad experience in Córdoba. Truly, I don't often say, "I want a boyfriend!" That exact statement doesn't often escape my lips, at least not since high school.  Although I am interested in a few guys, I always enjoy the challenge of it, wanting what I can't have (which would explain my affinity for guys with girlfriends). Yet that was all I wanted after Córdoba.  A boyfriend.  A man who would keep me company, travel with me, protect me from sleazy old men, make me laugh, help me open stubborn bottles of wine, let me sleep on his shoulder during five-hour bus rides, and be mine.  Tears welled up in my eyes, and I was so supremely unhappy in those moments.

I wrote in my journal,

 "For the love of God, why do these things always happen to me?  Why can't a normal guy, who is my type harass and molest me? Why can't a 26-year-old German,  Nordic God type, who's tall, has nice hair and a good smile, intelligent- maybe even an engineer, but one who still knows how to have fun, with a great sense of humor approach me and follow me around for hours and try to force me to kiss him? Really!! I plead to the Higher Beings that I have better luck in Sevilla!!! sigh..."

 

ANDALUCíA: Part 1- Córdoba

A few weeks ago, Africa, the lady I work for, informed me that her and the family were going skiing for five days, and I would be free to travel or do as I please.  She didn't have to tell me twice.  I dashed off and started making plans.  It seemed the best decision was to go south, while I could evade the bulk of the tourists and the heat.

 Unfortunately, all of my friends were unable to join me, whether they had their boyfriend in town or their family, couldn't get the time off, or simply had other plans, no one could manage it.  I was only slightly deterred by this fact.  I have traveled quite a bit on my own, and I am aware that it's never as fun, but I can't miss these opportunities to travel either. Therefore, it was decided. I would go take those five days and travel to Córdoba for a day and Sevilla for four days. 

 The main attractions of Córdoba are the Roman Bridge, the Alcazar and the Mezquita Cathedral.  The latter being the biggest drawn.   A briefing on the cathedral's history: Originally, the site housed a Roman temple and then, a Visigothic cathedral.  In the 8th century, after the Moors had conquered much of Spain, the demolition of the cathedral occurred, in order to construct a mosque.  The construction began in 784 AD and lasted over two centuries.  It was one of the most important and grand mosques of its time.  In 1236, King Ferdinand III vanquished the Moors in Córdoba and returned the city to Christendom.   The mosque was then consecrated, dedicated to the Virgin Mary and used as a Christian place of worship.  

In later centuries, they added several chapels and a nave.  Architects continued to add Christian elements to the already existing structure until the late 18th century.  Clearly, the dichotomy of Islamic and Christian architecture creates a peculiar and beguiling sight.  It became a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1984.

The interior of the cathedral was a stark, cool contrast to the hot, tree-lined courtyard.  My eyes were met with hundred of Arabic arches. I stared down the length of the columns and arches, imaging thousands of Muslim men kneeling on their mats, all chanting their prayer, bowing down and kissing the floor in unison. 

The oddity of Islam architecture melting with Christian architecture, stained glasses of Christ facing arches decorated with Arabic writing, was something to behold.  There were so many small chapels radiating off from the main area and each filled with incalculable ornaments. 

From my journal:

I sit now in the rather magnificent Mezquita trying to find a bit of quiet from the construction and faint, but ever-audible, German tourists.  I arrived when the cathedral first opened and only a few people were here.  After a brief mosey around the temple turned cathedral turned mosque turned cathedral, which seemingly spans the area of five football fields, (I feel Americans easily relate to size in the measure of football fields...) I made fruitless attempts to wrap my mind around the concept that this structure's foundation dated over 2,000 years old.

I full-heartedly tried to be impressed with such an ancient monument, but my simple, human brain cannot seem to grasp the grandeur of it.  The same way we look at the night sky and try to conceptualize that the stars are  The mind just can't fully comprehend it and as a result, can never be wholly impressed, or at least mine can't. 

I wondered into one of the alcoves that house some of the many relics.  Scepters, statues, vases, crowns, plates, jewelry boxes, and other intensely ornamented gadgets.  Most dating from over 500 to 600 years ago.  Once again, I tried to convince myself of the incredible feat these objects have endured.  

It wasn't until I really began to examine one of the pieces that I discovered a link helping me to truly appreciate what I was seeing.  It was a gold contraption, perhaps a jewelry box, in the shape of a woman's head.  Around the crown of her head, laid a jewel-encrusted tiara and a small latch where it could be opened.  Attenuated lines were carved to give the appearance of hair.   I began to imagine how the artist created it with his rudimentary tools, possibly working into the wee hours by candlelight.  How many days, hours, weeks went into creating this one object?  And not only this piece, but ALL of the intricate details of the columns, statues and other paintings. 

Because I have lived only a mere 24 years, to grasp the concept of dozens of centuries might as well be like trying to understand infinity.  However, to gaze upon these ancient and marvelous pieces of artwork and craftsmanship, I discovered a link to help me better fathom and value this experience.  

I started thinking of things I have created or talents I possess.  I reflected back to my scrap-booking days in high school.  Oh, the painstaking hours I dedicated to this hobby! Sitting in my bedroom floor, engulfed in eighteen different types of squiggly scissors, 26 various paper colors, textures, and finishes, mounds of sorted stickers, and heaps of little pieces of scrap paper and torn stickers.  

Each photo and sticker placement was deeply contemplated.  It was completely normal that I would spend hours on end engulfed in this pursuit.  Not to mention all the buckets of money I poured into the activity.  Proudly, I would present it to a friend or family member, and be immediately horrified as they flipped through the pages at sonic speed.  Finally, they would retort with a "It's so nice!"

I would want to bellow, "NICE?! NIIICE? That's all you have to say?! Do you realize how much time and effort and BLOOD went into this!? Hmm!!? HMM!?" Then, thrusting my paper-cut fingers to their face as evidence to my strenuous labor.  Next, I would dump the wastebasket of all the stubborn, torn stickers and hundreds of paper slivers onto the floor.  Afterwards, indignantly snatching the offended scrapbook and stomping off.  Of course, in reality, I would simply give a curt "Thanks" through partially gritted teeth. 

Or what about my photography? What is the depression of a button, often haphazardly, in comparison with these artworks? 

So, just imagine these sculptors, artists, architects, designers, builders, who dedicated their life to their craft or maybe only one piece, screaming from the grave. "You daft, unappreciative, spoiled, ignorant, modern human! SEE my work! Don't just look at it! Do you know the years I spent creating this!?"  They would perhaps show us the scars, burns, missing fingers, cataracts or arthritic hands. "And you pass by with little more than a glance and nod of approval."  As a dramatic finish, the artist's ghost would hurl the large, precious object at the tourist's head.... Yeah...

As a result of my mental confrontation with artists past, I found my own path to appreciation.  I have been an awful tourist most of the time.  Being that unaware tourist who breezes through and is already contemplating what sight or activity I will do next.  Cafe or Museum? 

Now, I would like to make a conscious effort to try and appreciate these awe-inspiring monuments that I am so immensely fortunate to witness. 

Aranjuez and the Sisterhood

This past weekend was delightful.  On Saturday, a friend and I had decided to go to a little town about 50 minutes from Madrid for the day called Aranjuez.  My friend, Raeann of Seattle, and I instantly found an outdoor cafe, where we could soak up the sun's surprisingly intense (for March) rays.  I had no idea what there was to see or do in Aranjuez, and didn't care because I knew it would beat a self-loathing, cooped-up day in my bedroom as previous weekends. 

To our luck, there was already a group of au pair girls there.  They came to meet up with us at the cafe.  I stared up at the six new arrivals, five of which I had never met.  My stomach kind of lurched and I found myself wishing I hadn't come at all.  At that moment I questioned whether I had some slight social anxiety. 

 This has happened to me often though during forced meetings.  Not to sound as if meeting all the girls was against my will, but rather not on my own accord and in a natural or coincidental way.  I think that I am just so insecure and concerned with how people perceive me that seeing five new faces peering down at me, overwhelmed me with the task of having to entertain, befriend, and impressive these people.  Clearly with that kind of mentality, everyone would have wished to be alone in their room hiding behind a computer screen.

After the initial introductions, rearranging of chairs, and most of us ordering an ice cream cone, I began to relax a little.  I really began to feel at ease once this easy-going, sweet British girl and I began to chat.  The conversation went as smoothly as the ice cream that slid down our throats.  I think for people who know me well, this might come as a surprise, to know that internally, I freak out a bit when having to meet new people, in particular, large groups.

  The fellow au pairs

  

There we all sat licking away at the fast melting ice cream, two Canadians, two Americans, three British and one Swedish girl.  Each of us are au pairs.  Although, coming from all parts of the world, a sisterhood seems to be forming in Madrid... crazy enough, the majority of us met online first. 

After enjoying our chilly treats, the sisterhood traveled down the road to the Palace.  The sisterhood was quickly divided when we discovered the tickets cost 5 euros.  Many seemed to have the opinion "if you've seen one palace, then you've seen them all..."  I would have to disagree, and therefore, I along with three other gals, entered the palace. 

The unsightly scaffolding and first two dull rooms with no furniture and only a few carpets hanging from the walls made me reconsider my decision.  Yet the rooms got better and better, and more and more ornate.  The four of us had a grand time walking around observing what it would be like to live in a lush, ornamented palace, and occasionally making fun of a few portraits portraying rather unsightly and masculine Spanish women of centuries before.   I am super satisfied with my decision, it was a gorgeous palace.

An Arabic style smoking room

The entire room was covered in porcelain 

After the palace tour ended, we reconvened with the rest of our party.  As a loud, chatty group we slowly made our way back towards the bus station.  The sun had worn us all down and we all groggily went home. 

My night didn't end there though.  I went to Raeann's flat and we had a old school sleep-over.  One which included the usual: talking, overeating, movie watching, and staying up until we could barely keep our eyes open. 

The following day yielded yet another treat.  Originally, we had agreed to meet the girls from Aranjuez in a park on the complete opposite side of Madrid, around an hour metro ride.  Feeling lazy, having gorged ourselves the night before and stayed up too late, we were reluctant to go, and decided to go to one of the parks near us.  One friend decided to join us as well.  We were rather thrilled when we unexpectedly saw five of the girls come out of the metro.

El Capricho

We went to El Capricho Garden/Park.  We were a bit put off by the fact that they wouldn't allow us to have a ball in the park and confiscated our friend's.  Luckily, we had brought a pack of cards and had a good time playing the game "Spoons".  Considering we didn't have spoons on us, we had to make-do with using water bottles. 

I went home Sunday evening feeling completely satisfied (and a bit sun-drunk, which resulted in a sun-hangover, something painfully similar to a migraine.)  I enjoyed meeting these new girls immensely.  We had a brilliant time, and I am just so incredibly thankful to have friends and a social life here in Spain.  Now, if only I could meet some boys.......