Things I know.

Last week I packed my things and said goodbye to Conchita (aka The Cheetah).

 After a brief trip to the north of Spain and one night back in Barcelona with a few remaining friends, I lugged four months worth of stuff to the airport.

Then I flew away from one adventure and toward the next, arriving at home to be welcomed by the loving arms of family and friends.

During my plane ride home, I began to jot down a list of a few things I learned while in Spain, over many conversations and in unspoken words, alone and together, from the people around me and those oceans apart. Here's that list.

1. Europe is overrated, a bit too civilized and stuffy and cold. I'm more into jungles, tropical beaches, and wilderness to explore.

2. Moralism doesn't equal truth.

3. I'm actually proud to be an American.

4. A sea is nothing like an ocean.

5. No matter where I am, I can be content and happy if I find the will within myself to be so.

6. Happiness isn't real unless it's shared, but time spent well alone can be a path to truth.

7. Intangible things like laughter and beauty need no language.

8. Real courage is in the naming of your fears. 

9. Sometimes good things do happen after midnight.

10. I may never do Loma's $2 challenge, but I fared alright on my own €5 challenge for a week.

11. I need the ocean in my life.

12. Generosity isn't as ubiquitous as I thought, but it may still present itself in places you never expected.

13. Spanish food as a whole isn't all that impressive. Real Italian food, on the other hand, lives up to the hype.

14. With the right attitude, making friends is easy.

15. I'm actually not that fashionable.

16. European toddlers are way too stylish.

17. There's a public bathroom on every corner in Spain, well, not really, but you get what I mean.

18. I like hot weather more than I knew.

19. There's more than one genre of electronic music. still can't identify them.

20. My friends are greater than I deserve and greater than I could ever ask for.

San Sebastian.

This morning I took a bus from Bilbao, up the coast to the beautiful seaside town of San Sebastian. I hopped off the bus, picked a direction that I seemed to believe was toward the beach, and started walking

As I walked the sound of gulls overhead lovingly welcomed me to the coast and assured me of my course.

And there it was.

Awkward solo pics are always a must when you're alone on top of the world.

After enjoying the perched view, I climbed down to sea level and found a beach crowded with tanning bodies...

And surfers.

By far the most uneducated and unskilled group of surfers I've seen in my life, but still fun to watch.

Embrace the sea, and it will embrace you like a lost son or daughter

And when the evening chill set in, and the winds blew off the water, chilling my face, I walked back to the bus station to return to Bilbao.

And I walked along the most pleasing path possible.

Outdoor urinals? Yes, please.

Thanks San Sebastian, hope to see you again.

Bilbao.

This morning I left my hotel and meandered through town, trying to find the Guggenheim. As it turns out, it's not that hard.

 As I neared the museum I came across the most beautiful bridge, with slender white ribs upholding its elegant arch.

And then, suddenly, there it was, a brilliant spectacle of light and sharp edges and reflection upon reflection.

After hours in the museum I was weak with hunger, and I found myself at Subway enjoying the first free refills I've had since January.

And I crossed the river in the belly of a whale.

After the weight of the city became too great a weight to shoulder, I decided to head for higher climes in search of silence. I found a great staircase that seemed to ascend into the clouds overhead.

I followed it until all the city was laid out before me, and I tried to touch the sky.

On my descent, I came across I sign that pointed towards Bilbao in three different directions, and I felt for Dorothy's confusion.

And I saw a wooden gate that seemed to open into the sky. A path that ends at the edge of the world.

"I used to believe the skies were doorways home."

Escape Artist.

This morning I left Barcelona and flew to Bilbao. As the plane crossed over the city and circled out over the water before landing, I took in the view of the blue ocean with bright eyes. It was only the second time I’ve seen the ocean this semester, and there’s something about the deep, mysterious blue of an ocean that moves something in me that the Mediterranean cannot.

After landing, trying to climb a hill across the highway from the airport, and being thwarted by thorn bushes, I took the bus into the city and found my hotel. It’s technically called a “student residence,” and I can see why. I’ve got what is essentially a tiny studio, complete with a kitchen and bathtub.

After getting settled I filled the tiny bathtub (it’s about twice the size of sink) and took a tiny, cross-legged bath. Despite the miniscule proportions of the tub, it may have been the most relaxing hour of the entire semester. I let Iron & Wine play as I sat in the heavy steam and tried to work through some of the more challenging questions in my life right now. The thoughts slowly slithered through my mind like the steam above and the thick cloud around me seemed to be a barrier to the outside world, an opaque veil, through which no one could see and no one could reach me. I was safe from questions and pointed fingers and the pressures of living a complex life in a complex world. And when it was over, I stood and let the sweat of deep thinking fall from me in drops, and I felt new again. But you can only escape for so long.

Tiny kitchen

 Tiny bathtub/oversized sink

At Some Point It Ends.

After much adventure, exploration, many late nights and new friends, the semester has ended. 

My bags are swollen and full. In just two bags on the floor of my small apartment are all the clothes I wore, the shoes I walked and danced in, and all the small pieces of home that I brought along with me. In two bags is everything I have lived with, and lived in, for the last four months.

I’m leaving Barcelona. I’m not leaving home. I’m not going home. I’ve always been home.

My departure comes on the heels of what has been one of the best weekends of the semester. Julianna and three of her friends, whom I have the pleasure of calling my friends as well, came from Florence to visit me in Barcelona for the weekend. It was the perfect way to finish what’s been a wonderful semester abroad.

Having friends visit was great for a number of reasons. Of course it’s so nice to see familiar faces and share meaningful time with meaningful people, but what’s also great is the chance to show them all your favorite places, to share the wonder of the city you have come to know and love, and also to see it through new, fresh eyes. So here’s a huge thank you to Julianna, Jacqueline, Lauren, and Sarah for exploring the city with energy and passion, for staying up way too late, for forgiving me when my guide skills failed, for being fun and youthful and inquisitive, and for being awesome in general. Thanks guys.

Smoke & Mirrors

In my art class I was given the vague assignment of completing a "creative task." As much of the class deals with urban art and graffiti, the professor encouraged us to create something of that nature.

Now, I love Barcelona, but there are certain things I don't very much enjoy. One of these things is the unspeakable amount of people who smoke cigarettes. I live in a culture of smokers. Coming from Southern California, where smoking cigarettes is practically taboo, it hasn't been easy to get used to. Here, all ages, from early high school to nursing home elderly, continually smoke. So I decided my "creative task" would be a commentary on that.

Using a few images I found online, I pieced something together, rasterbated it, printed it, and, with the help of a friend, taped it up on one of the Ajuntament de Barcelona buildings near my apartment last night. Here's what I came up with.

And here's what was left this morning.

After School Snack

Spring Sunday

Spring, that season credited with blooming life, new warmth, and the resurrection, is upon us. In a few short weeks the trees that line the streets of Barcelona, previously sickly and ill under Winter's curse, have begun to breathe again. The wind that blows from the sea and rushes through city streets has now a softer touch, a hint of humanity to it. Men remove their coats for friendly competition, picnics become a pleasant pastime, and fresh colors paint the ground and sky with their innocence. This is Barcelona. This is Sunday in Spring.