Holidays: La Vuelta

Oh dear, this is taking me forever to pump out. It's not like I have much of an excuse either, I do almost nothing all day. Why is it that when I'm extremely bored I am extremely unproductive? Only when I've got loads of deadlines and projects hanging over me do I actually do anything with myself. Right now we're in the exam period at school, theoretically meaning we had one week off, then two weeks of testing. Well, I only have three exams which are entirely optional, the first of which is the 5th of February. Basically, I flew all the way back to Spain to sit on my hands for three weeks . . .

And it weren't no stroll in the park getting back here neither!

I left the beautiful state of Hawai'i on Friday, January 15, about two weeks ago now. First was a 5 hour flight to Los Angeles. It wasn't terribly restful but otherwise can't complain. I got in at around 5 am, dead tired. In an extremely classy move, I grabbed the airplane blanket and stretched myself out on a bench in the most deserted-looking corner of LAX, put in earphones and passed out to the soothing sounds of Kings of Convenience.

About three hours later I groggily pulled myself up into a sitting position, and slipped on my glasses. What had once been an empty terminal was now full of perky orange-clad football fans. I quickly ascertained that they were from Texas, and was momentarily quite captivated listening to them speak in very amusing accents about this uniquely American sport. The novelty (or re-novelty??) quickly wore off however, and I wandered off down the terminal.

I sat down at a pay-computer and pondered how I would pass the next 10 hours. Upon checking my e-mail, however, my question was quickly answered. The day before I had contacted Ashley, a good friend of Brian's I met on our trip to the Spanish and Taiwanese consulates last summer. To my great surprise, Ashley wrote that she was not only free, but would be happy to pick me up at the airport so I could get away for a few hours.


So, within the next hour I was in her car, driving up the 405. You can't imagine the joy and gratitude I felt to get away from the airport. We went first to this humongous mall in West Hollywood or Santa Monica (not sure really) and watched Avatar, in 3-D. Even though I was quite tired, it was exciting and intriguing enough to keep awake the entire three some-odd hours.

When that cinematic experience was over, she asked what I'd like to do next. I exclaimed without hesitation: "MEXICAN FOOD!!". If there's one thing I've realized in Spain, it's that I love Mexican food more than just about anything. Yes, I know, this sounds like madness, but the truth is, Spanish food is absolutely nothing like Mexican food. No guacamole, no enchiladas, they don't have frijoles or salsa, and nothing is spicy. You also have to keep in mind that Asturias is much farther from Mexico than even Alaska is; no Mexicans=no Mexican food.

So, we found a trendy cantina nearby and I gorged myself on chips and salsa, enchiladas a la Oaxacana and horchata. It was even better than I remembered.

After a drive around Santa Monica, Ashley dropped me back off at the airport, and soon enough I departed for London. Crossing the entire continent and the Atlantic Ocean took more than 10 hours, but thankfully I slept quite well.

Once landed at Heathrow, I hopped on the Tube to yet another hostel. As my luck would have it, the stop nearest the hostel was closed, but after a lesson in the London bus system I arrived alright. It was a cozy place, very much to my liking. Staying in the other beds in my room were two Swiss French girls and a French guy. I had no idea what timezone I was in and felt I could sleep at any moment, but they were very friendly, we got to talking and eventually decided to venture out into the cold and grab some dinner.

Now I am not a prejudiced person, but I must say going to dinner with a horde of French people is just about the least enjoyable way one could spend an hour of one's life. I mean, granted, I may have pushed Indian food, even when one woman expressed a dislike for spice, but there is absolutely no excuse for grown adults to act the way these people did. They complained about anything and everything. They refused to order rice or naan bread with their dishes and when the waiter insisted, they acted as if he were trying to swindle them. Then, when a bowl of sauce appeared (as ordered), they bitched that it was too spicy and impossible to eat! When asked if the meal was to her liking, one woman gave a blunt "NO" and pushed her plate away, looking a bit sick. ¡¡¡I loved the food for God's sake!!!

So much for French people being cultured. Sad to say, this experience has not improved my opinion of that particular nationality. Though, to be honest, this could be a lesson for any of us: it's fine if you love your own culture, but if you aren't able to appreciate the new and different things that make up other cultures, please just stay home. The world thanks you.

The next morning I got up early and began the journey to Stansted airport. I calculated in my head numerous times how long it would take to get from the hostel to Victoria couch station, from there to the airport, and left a sizable buffer to be safe. When I arrived at Victoria, I checked the timetable of the coach and saw, to my horror, that I had just missed a coach, and the next one wouldn't arrive at Stansted until 11:50, ten minutes before my flight was to leave. I had not accounted for how incredibly far (beyond freakin Egypt!) the airport is. In a panic I asked the woman what, if anything, I could do. In that moment, I had never been happier that I speak the English language. She had a thick accent of some type I think I last heard in Disney's 101 Dalmations, but I nonetheless understood that I would have to take the Underground to something called "Tautnum Hill", then take an overground train to the airport.

I darted for the underground station, my heavy duffel jostling wildly from side to side and my absurdly long green scarf trying its best to trip me up. When I looked at the map for the Underground line I had entered I saw "Tottenham Hale" and prayed to God that this was what the woman had referred to. I exited there and saw a train platform adjacent--so far so good. My prayers were further answered as I heard the loudspeaker announce a train to Stansted arriving in three minutes. One machine wouldn't accept my money, but the other finally did and I boarded the train without a second to spare.

As the train pulled in at the airport I burst out the doors and sprinted up the escalator, taking three steps at a time. As I skidded into the Easyjet Airlines Check-in counter it was 11:22, exactly two minutes after check-in closed. The agents let me check my bag with only a little fuss and I dashed through security to the gate.

Huffing and puffing I strode onto the plane. There, sat all in a row, were five or six of my British friends from school. I plopped down behind them, and let the sense of absolute relief wash over me. I think my heart didn't stop racing until I was well over the Bay of Biscay.

First sight of Spain

I landed in Spain, rode to Oviedo, walked to my house, jumped in my bed--what an adventure. You'll have to excuse me if I've been a complete recluse and homebody for the past weeks, there is just no place like home. Even if it's kind of a pretend home.

Holidays: Paraíso

So, I had just an amazing time in Hawai'i. It would take me thousands of words to explain all of it. Instead here are the best pictures.

All the family, together at last.

Hallmark card pose

I spent the majority of the time doing all the fun beach things I missed so badly.




View from our condo


Momma and Dad. On a boat! About to see some whales...

The best photo anyone got! Also saw two Humpback whales breaching at the same time and a ginormous pod of dolphins!

Caroline and Hannah snorkeling at Molokini Crater

Molokini Crater

A picture I would have taken there if my camera were waterproof...

Actually taken at the aquarium next to the port

Stingrays! and sharks

The Road to Hana. So gorgeous

My sister and I. I jumped off that waterfall in the background too

It's a rock, that looks like a thumb.

Hiking in the jungle. Would you believe Hawai'i is home to a very dangerous breed of polar bear? I saw it on TV so it has to be true, right?

Then after an amazing week or so with the family, I had a few days on O'ahu to myself. Surfing at Waikiki beach? check.

There were some really nice girls at the hostel I stayed at. We traveled around quite a bit. Here we are traveling 1.5 hours ...

To PolynesiaLand!!!! AKA the Polynesian Cultural Center, where they show you how different islanders live (or used to, in some cases.)


Samoan Dance. Look a little hip-hop to anyone else?

My friend Sumner met up with me for a great hike. What a view (pay no attention to that goofy guy in the checked shirt >.<)

The rest of the time was spent relaxing at some of O'ahu's beautiful beaches. This is Kailua Beach.

Waimea beach. My last sunset in Hawai'i.

Holidays: El Viaje

Happy New Year everyone!

I've got weeks and weeks of travels and adventures to update you all on. We'll see how much I can squeeze in.

I packed my duffel full of shorts, t-shirts, flip-flops and swimming suits, and realized I will be spending two days in London, and one in Canada. So I unpacked everything and tried to figure out the best combination of clothing for three weeks of travel, through three shockingly different climates, that would fit in one carry-on, based on four airlines' standards. I eventually just threw a bit of everything together, stuffed in some turrón, a little contraband jamón ibérico and perilously oversized hygiene gels/liquids, and flew out the door. Wearing a good five pounds of clothes and carrying at least 25 more in hand, I schlepped across town to the bus station. The bus arrived at the airport in plenty of time and I boarded my 3:00 flight to London without a hitch (Border control: zero, Contraband: 1).

It was a quick flight and after a nap I heard the captain announce our approach to the London area. He regretted to inform us, however, that we would not be stopping here as all airports in the south of England were closed owing to the immense threat of snow and ice. Instead we, and all other London-bound flights, would have to land in Manchester, some 200 miles (320 km) to the north. Once safely on the ground, we waited more than 2 hours aboard the plane for them to sort out all the redirected flights and the baggage and the accommodation, etc. We eventually did get off the aircraft and boarded a bus to return us to Stansted Airport.

At 10:00 p.m., following another stomach-rumbling hour of waiting, the bus departed. So much for cocktails and shopping in London, I thought. At 2 a.m. I arrived at Stansted Airport, boarded another bus, and at 3:00 was in Victoria Station, London. By this time I had used up the measly 2€ that remained on my SIM card and could only pray I'd be able to figure out the rest of the way using just the address. I finally wrangled a cabbie who knew the address and from there it was a brief, if costly, drive to Beth's friend Sara's house in Streatham . Once inside I collapsed on the couch.

The next day was bitingly cold, but we kept warm shopping at this enormous and trendy "mahl". "I feel like you have to say it like that with an American accent because it's the closest thing to an American mall in London," Sara told me. There I bought some socks from Uniqlo which I love so much and before long it was time for Beth and Sara to catch their train to Wales and for me to check in at my hostel.

On Wednesday, the 23rd of December, I boarded my AirCanada flight to Honolulu via Calgary (Border control: zero, Contraband: 2). It was easily the lushest airplane I've ever been on. Every seat had plenty of leg room and a personal movie player in the headrest opposite. They gave us a full meal, drinks every hour, ice cream, and a hot pie (like a HotPocket but less trashy) before landing.

After 9 hours in the air, we landed in Calgary a mere 2 hours later that day. In Calgary I got to experience Canada's stern Passport Control personnel. I was quickly singled out and banished to the office of Immigration. Now you know as well as I that I had zero intention of immigrating to Canada in the dead of winter. Nonetheless, I suppose they found my story a bit suspicious: A 22-year-old American flying from Europe with a preposterously heavy carry-on, says he's got a 24-hour layover and can he please go into town where he has no hotel reservation to speak of--a bit sketchy, I'll admit. Once I got a chance speak with the immigration officer, though, I explained that I will be couchsurfing, yes that is staying on a stranger's couch, yes I am quite comfortable doing so, and no I will not be secretly starting a new life in Alberta. She let me through.

I took a cab into the city and met up with my pre-arranged couchsurfing host Mark just as dusk fell (4:00 p.m.). He was an extremely generous host, giving me a little food to eat, letting me use his computer, and taking me out for a chill night on the town. Given that it was right before Christmas, it was more active than I'd thought, and we went to some hip and VERY Canadian locales This one tavern was like a ski lodge, with wagon-wheel chandeliers and various plasma screen televisions broadcasting looped video of a crackling fireplace (the best was when, every few minutes, a hand would appear and stir the fire haha). I met a few of Mark's friends and we had a lovely time conversing and telling jokes. The only thing I disliked about the evening was the ferocious cold; -25˚ Celsius (-15˚ Fahrenheit) with a bitter wind.

Next morning, Christmas Eve, Mark kindly drove me to the airport and I said goodbye to my first couchsurfing host. This stunning example of hospitality and the richness of a bilingual, bicultural nation left me with only good things to say about Canada.

I could not have been more excited to move to a warmer climate, however; on the road again. Interestingly, in Canada you go through U.S. Customs and such before leaving the country, on the way to the U.S. terminal. The U.S. security was easily the most thorough I went through and, sadly, my 3.5-ounce (100 ml) face wash had to take one for the team; the bootleg jamón lived on (Border control: 1, Contraband: 3).

After another 7 or so hours in the air, I finally finally touched down in tropical Hawai'i. Even though it may not be the most prototypical image of the United States, I was back in my country, mi patria. My final flight of the voyage took me from Honolulu to the island of Maui, where my family were all waiting for me with a big ol' box of Chinese food leftovers. While I inhaled the kung pao chicken I told them about my trials and tribulations over 4 days of travel, 11 time zones, and over 8,000 miles (13,000 km). I told them about Spain, about my life there, we caught up on all the goings-on in the family, what my brother Kyle's been up to, my sister Hannah, mom, dad, grandma, aunt, uncle, cousins, cousins-once-removed (or whatever the hell cousins' children are called, I can never remember) . . . whew!

We drove back to our condo, where I promptly stowed my contraband ham in in the fridge, ate myself sick on chips and hummus then passed out on the murphy bed. Paradise.