¡CARNAVAL!

Carnaval is something a little bit foreign to us Americans. When I hear the word I think of Rio de Janeiro and wild samba and women wearing more feathers than clothing. This is only the most well known Carnaval celebration. In Spain every city, town, and village pretty much has some sort of festivity or another. In some places it lasts as long as a month! Here in Asturias it is a week long, with each of the three largest cities, Avilés, Gijón, and Oviedo, each hosting a celebration on a different day.

Carnaval is a mostly Catholic celebration taking place right before the period of Lent (Cuaresma in Spanish) when people are to fast and repent during the 40 days leading up to Easter. It is a time when all the rules of good behavior are suspended and excess is allowed. It also marks the end of winter and welcomes in the spring (first blossoms on the trees sighted today, 23 February!). Everybody dresses up in disguises and there are parades and everyone is more festive. As far as the U.S. is concerned, Louisiana, being a former French colony and thus Catholic, is the only place I know of that has this sort of celebration. Here in Asturias there's nothing as raucous or debaucherous as Mardi Gras, but it's the same inspiration.

The party began Saturday in Avilés. After weeks of flip-flopping, I finally made up my mind to dress as a died-in-the-wool rootin' tootin' cowboy. Ever the procrastinator, I began my costume search Friday afternoon. Seeing as how I grew up in a pretty rural part of Utah, I personally know cowboys. They were my fellow classmates for most of my life and even had their own clique (or gang even) in high school. So I have a pretty good idea what I would need to wear to look as authentic as possible. As cruel fate would have it, accoutrements such as a belt buckle, cowboy boots, and a hat, ever so essential to the cowboy look, are completely unavailable here. In Utah I could find a warehouse of cowboy paraphernalia at bargain-basement prices in less time than it takes my Spanish friends to translate my exceedingly verbose blog. Here in Spain, though, cowboys are little more than a rumor. After scouring some discount retail stores, every Chinese Bazaar within 10 minutes of my house (and that's well over 10 stores, each full of all the crap you never wanted in the world) and the thrift store, I began to realize that boots and buckles were not so easy to come by.

A bit defeated, I picked up a plastic gun and holster at Yi Wan Long Bazar, and resigned myself to the pre-packaged, Spaghetti Western-style, costume shop cowboy hat. I made the belt buckle out of a tacky metal picture frame from the Chinese bazaar, and ultimately gave up on the boots. For the remainder I had only to look in my closet, which did make me think, "So, do I already dress like a cowboy?..."


It definitely wasn't what I had hoped for in a costume. A cowboy without cowboy boots? It's a contradiction in terms. All in all it was a pretty second-rate result, but such is a procrastinator's life. But, then again, while other people may have had better cowboy costumes, none of them could talk like a cowboy or sing "Down in the Valley" or line dance, so I added my own authenticity.

The bus ride to Avilés was a very interesting 30 minutes.

This looks like snow, but it is in fact FOAM. The main draw of Avilés is that in the afternoon the firefighters shoot foam from hoses at the hordes of people in rain gear. Even children participate, and the foam can get up to 3 ft (1 m) high! Sadly, we only got there in time to see the aftermath, but as you can see, there is still a good 6 inches in some places.

This photo was taken around midnight, which is still quite early in Spain so there were adorable children running around. I saw entire families dressed as bears, clowns, birds, Indians, Mexicans . . .

There was a large stage with music blasting, but it was pretty unremarkable in itself. There was this lady dancing on stage and I thought, how nice they got some local girl to dance, she's not bad. Come to find out it's the lead singer of DJ Sammy (don't worry if you haven't heard of them . . .)

My friend Rabea and I.

It was really fun to be in a new city, out on the town with my friends. It was pretty cold, high 30's (~3˚C), but luckily my costume was in itself quite warm with the coat, hat, bandanna and gloves.

After we'd gotten our fill of Avilés we stopped at one of the many Turkish Kebap restaurants and ate a "midnight" snack of the most delicious dürüm I have ever tasted. They're the closest thing to burritos I can find here (that is available at the wee hours anyway). Fat and happy, we grabbed the bus back to Oviedo and fell asleep.


If that weren't enough excitement, the following Monday was fiesta in Gijón. I decided to just reuse the costume, since it would be new to the people in Gijón, at least. With a veritable herd of friends in tow, we departed Oviedo once again.

The people I spent much of the night with.

My friend Paula (lion) watches as her sister María pours cider (sidra). This is a very Asturian sight, I'm glad I finally got a picture! It is always poured from way up high (even indoors in restaurants, leading to rather sticky floors here...), which helps mix it or something, and you drink just a little bit, very quickly, then throw out the dregs. It's pretty tasty, but the most appealing thing is really the uniqueness of the whole process.

Some San Fermines (running of the bulls) and their botellón. They dressed a shopping cart up as a bull as well!

Legos

Jaime being a bit mad.


Here's a video of the plaza, with some very Spanish sights.

This bar is like a cave.

Priceless photo; From left, new friend Hiroto, Jaime, and me.

Cecilia (right) and her friend, now in a less cave-like locale.
Hiroto makes an awesome Japanese photo face.

Jaime, María, and Eimear; resting our weary legs. This was followed by a most delicious Kebap (noticing a pattern?). After spreading the wonders of the "Second-Wind Dance", which Sadie taught me back in Salt Lake, we were ready for more.

We don't take too kindly ta yer folk 'round here.

After this though we were truly exhausted, so headed back to the bus station. To our great grief, we learned that there would not be any buses back to Oviedo until 6:45 am!! As temperatures plunged, we searched desperately for someplace to wait out the next two hours. There were no cafés or even normal bars open at such hours, at least none nearby, so we were forced to huddle together like hobos on the hard concrete floor in front of the parked buses. To pass the time I sang patriotic songs and cowboy tunes with my English friends Moo and Jenny, which I'll admit must have looked quite insane, but, desperate times . . .

Gijón was a great time, all told. I loved everyone's costumes and all the fun places we went. I'd say it was even more fun than Avilés. The complete and total lack of organization, on the other hand, was anything but fun. I have this image, of a board meeting at ALSA, the bus company. They thought, "I've got it! We'll hire a mogollón of extra buses to bring the hundreds (thousands?) of people to Gijón!" then closed the books and went to take a siesta and/or drink some sidra... Maybe they thought we'd all want to stay til dawn? I mean, granted, it was Monday night, but it was also carnaval for goodness sake. It's just unfortunate that such a great Spanish celebration had to be tainted with the oh-so typical mess that is administration here. Oh well, you take the good with the bad and such is life.

The next day, in Gijón was another important part of the carnaval festivities: the Burial of the Sardine. This woman dresses up as a sardine and parties around town Monday, then Tuesday they ceremonially "bury" her at the beach, and señoras cry their eyes out.


And then it's the end of Carnaval. I, of course, was not about to get on another ALSA bus so quick, so I missed out. But it's an interesting bit of folklore.

What a minute? Did he say the end of Carnaval? Why yes, technically that should mark the beginning of Lent and giving up things that keep you from God et cetera. However, as a sure sign of the secular nature of this part of the world, Oviedo throws it's raucous Carnaval bash the first Saturday of Lent.

This fact inspired me to mix up my costume this time and be a sort of multi-denominational goodie goodie. It's mostly open to interpretation, I must admit (and very last minute).

Wicked part in the dead center of my hair? check. (Once again I already had most things, making me wonder about myself a little...)

Doing the make-up. Aren't his cuts frighteningly realistic?

Some of the gang ^__^

Now this next photo is extremely freaky, but also hilarious so I had to include it.





...






... wait






...






...

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡AAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! haha

Here you can see the mass of humanity,

in every corner,

in every direction.

Yeah, that's a girl Waldo painting a boy Waldo's lips.
It's Carnaval! Everything goes.

After getting seriously lost in a sea of people, I found some other friends.

After a while things did start to quiet down.

Until all that was left were a few especially die-hard revelers and lots of trash.

In short, it was an appropriately festive week and a half, and great to finally experience a sort of "typical Spanish holiday." And now I am definitely ready for a bit of the cuaresma spirit, I must say.

Until next time.

Study? Ski.

Tomorrow and Tuesday I have exams, meaning right now I should be studying. I took my first test Friday, on Sociolinguistics, and it was extremely easy. I don't want to get too comfortable or over-confident, but I really don't think I need to study too much. I really can't understand it, all the Spanish students are studying all day everyday. I must just have really easy courses. Also, I'm sure less is expected in general of foreign students.

I really just wish I could go back to class tomorrow. School starts Thursday. Thursdays, when I have one class. Then the next week is Carnaval, so I probably won't have class Monday or Tuesday. I'm starting to wonder when anyone actually learns anything here. It is great for exchange students, though, plenty of time to travel and almost no homework to worry about. I only wish I had had the money over these three weeks, I would've liked to have gone to the south of Spain or Galicia. Plenty of British people I know just went back home! How I envy them...

It hasn't been a complete waste of time for me, mind. A while back I went skiing for the first time this year, and for the first time in Europe. Granted, Spain can't hold a candle to the Alps, and Asturias is a joke even compared to Spain's other ranges, the Pyrenees or Sierra Nevada (the original ones). Still, it was great to get out on the slopes, and to see a new part of Asturias.

After being seriously stood up at my first attempt at a skiing outing (alone in the rain at 7 in the morning, not fun), my friend Cecilia invited me to go with her, her flatmate Dave and his girlfriend Pernille. After an hour's drive south of Oviedo in Dave's bass-ackwards British vehicle, through some charming villages, we arrived at San Isidro Estación Invernal. Temperature: 1 degree Celsius (35 F). Base Altitude: 1,500 m (5,000 ft).


Up here there was a decent amount of snow, though I was certainly worried on the drive up; it was still green and bare of snow until about 15 minutes before we arrived. As you can see, shrubs are still visible. It was a nice view from the top (2,100 m/6,900 ft).


It was definitely a new experience for me. There was a disgusting amount of people at the bottom chairlift, which was giving me all kinds of anxiety. I have never seen so many people at a ski resort. Just all standing around the lodge and lift area, chatting, waiting, showing off their fancy one-piece skisuits. It's boggling to think a world class ski resort like Snowbasin or Snowbird doesn't have to deal with this kind of crowding, and poky little San Isidro does.

Once I got up on the mountain, though, it wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. For the most part I had room to maneuver. I was a bit amused and a bit perturbed to learn they blast cheesy elevator music from each lift tower. I guess this is very common in Europe, but I would have preferred a little more serenity.


The snow itself was also not as bad as I had (realistically) prepared myself for. It was like skiing in April, only this was January. I asked Dave about the powder situation in Europe, and he informed me that "powder isn't very big here." Powder's not big?? I still don't quite understand. When snow falls, it is powder, right? And then time or men in big machines make it not powder. I guess he means that everything is just cut runs, groomed for safety reasons or popular demand.

I learned a lot of things talking with these three. We got on really well. Cecilia and Dave are from England, and study English literature at Leeds University. Pernille is from Denmark and studies medicine. I, of course, couldn't help bringing up my own Danish and English ancestry more than a few times. Suffice it to say they are all well aware of Utah's immigrant history by now.

I also learned some new terminology, in both English and Spanish. Both "run" and "slope" are referred to as "piste" by the English (which sounds a bit too much like "pissed" for my taste, thank you), the Spanish equivalent being "pista." A ski pass is "forfait." The poma lift is very popular here, and goes by more or less the same name.

It ended up being a really enjoyable way to spend the day. Dave and I took turns teaching Cecilia to ski, and by closing time she was past the snowplow turn and starting on the Stim Christie. I got in some good turns as well.

We went again the next day and it was less than pleasant. It was a complete blizzard! I had to learn the Spanish word, ventisca, just to describe to people how bad it was. I really missed Utah that day. There was zero visibility and the snow had become choppy ice. I ate it hard when this madman cut me off and I hit a vicious patch of congealed slush. This in turn led to my explaining what a "yard sale" is . . .

Still, San Isidro wasn't all bad. It was a very comfortable temperature the one day, and the lodge had a liberal selection of après-ski refreshments the next . . . Also, it cost me a measly 30 Euros for a day pass and equipment rental. To make things even better, my student's dad lent me a coat, gloves, goggles, and snow pants. All in all it was very affordable, and a lot of fun, even when mother nature was uncoöperative.

If nothing else it's good to have the experience under my belt. I realized this was only my second time skiing outside of Utah (the other being New Mexico). This being only the first of many hopeful skiing adventures, I cannot yet comment on whether we Utahns do, in fact, have the greatest snow on earth. But I'm tempted to believe it. What I know for sure is that we are blessed with an amazing natural resource and I am definitely going to miss it, wherever life takes me.

Movin' on up

Hello Everyone!

I am writing you from my new desk in my new bedroom in my new apartment. I just moved in today and am enjoying pondering the possibilities of blank walls, a new neighborhood, and more spare money in my pocket. It wasn't the easiest decision, but I think it was the right one.

I really enjoyed living with Kike (my host family, whatever) while I did. I would definitely suggest staying there to others. It was a very comfortable, spacious place to live, with plenty to eat, internet, etc. And most importantly, Kike really helped me to get acquainted with Oviedo and Spain, how to get around, where things were, what to do. I still have the map he gave me my first day here, which I can remember consulting every time I left the house. Having guaranteed interaction in Spanish was also priceless. Aside from Skype calls, for the first month or so I don't know that I spoke a word of English. And it shows. I learned the basic survival language frantically fast. I think I probably had the best homestay of anyone, honestly. I could come home whenever I wanted, sleep as long as I wanted, and skip a meal if I wanted, as long as I gave fair warning, it was no problem.

Nonetheless, once you've lived alone, it is so difficult to go back to a family-like situation. Despite all the benefits and good intentions, I just felt like I was an adolescent there. Living by someone else's rules, no matter how reasonable, is exhausting! You wouldn't believe the number of little guidelines I was compelled to comply with, about cleanliness and order and organization. I mean, I'm a very fastidious person, but I felt like I had a checklist of things I had to do upon leaving or entering any and every room of the house. Despite my best intentions I just couldn't do all of them, which made me feel slovenly and irresponsible. At times it was suffocating!

The last straw came when Kike announced he would be raising my rent to 600 euros a month. Now, I get varying opinions on whether this is reasonable or not. Consider, ~$83o for rent, bills, and food, for one college student, in one bedroom, in a less-than-central location. I decided it was too much. Moreover, with the end of my scholarship money imminent, finances were becoming a serious concern. I still need a plane ticket home for goodness sake!

So here I am,

C/ Luis Braille 3, 4i
33011, Oviedo, Spain

As with anything it has its benefits and drawbacks. It's quite a bit smaller than my previous home, and I will really miss the view from my bedroom window. But it has all the things I need in a clean, cozy space, literally 2 minutes from class. And at less than half what I paid before, I had to take it.

Also on my mind was the realization that this is not only an amazing study abroad experience, it is also my last year of college. I want to live the student lifestyle to the maximum possible. This invariably means living with people your age, doing what you want when you want, being a bit irresponsible, and still somehow passing all exams. I reckon living here I'll feel less like a teenager and more like the Senior in college I am.

I now live with a guy named Diego. He's in his later twenties, born and raised here in Oviedo. He has quite a few things in common with my former roommate, and best of friends, Adaline. He is into photography and vinyl records, so I'm hoping he's somewhat as cool a person as she. He is employed at some photography store and has loads of books and magazines on the subject. He is also into Kendo, a Japanese martial art involving sword fighting. Other than that I'm still getting to know the guy, but he seems nice and down-to-earth.

PHOTO EVIDENCE

My new bedroom, where I am currently writing this. No ocean views or anything, but I get the Viajar ("travel") channel so I'll survive.


The living room (with aforementioned records and photo publications)


The kitchen (dishwasher! And this mysterious device which is a microwave, convection-, and regular oven combined.)


And maybe best of all, I finally have someplace to put my extensive magnet collection ^_^.


So, now I've been in Spain for 4 months, traveled to the largest cities and the teeniest pueblos, and lived in or visited various homes. Thus, I kind of thought it'd be interesting to compare how people live in the USA to how they live in Spain.

For many of you this might seem extremely inane, but this is one area where the U.S. differs greatly from Spain, and I thinks it's just a fascinating reflection of cultures. In the U.S., almost everyone lives in a neighborhood like this:

Of course, this is a bit of an extreme example (most streets do have sidewalks). Lots of people live a more urban or a more rural life, but still the vast majority of Americans live in a suburb not unlike this, 1-2 stories with a little yard, two-car garage, and a mortgage. It's very quiet, very spacious, very safe. And in my opinion very very boring.

This is a picture taken just around the corner from where I live now. Many people have the impression that everyone in Europe lives in breathtaking 18th Century architectural gems. This is very much not the case.

As you can see, most buildings are from the last half-century. I actually looked at one apartment in the historic part of town and though it had a beautiful façade, it was falling apart inside. Though it pained me, I chose beautiful on the inside (the more you know...)

So how do the Spanish live? Well the buildings all have at least five stories, most people (in northern Spain) don't even have a balcony, much less a yard, and if you happen to own a car you're parking it at least a few blocks away. It's not always quiet, we're crammed in like sardines, and I have to remember to close the blinds because my neighbor, 10 yards away, could very easily spy on me. And does.

Most people look out their windows at brick, concrete, and clothes drying. The blue thing is like an umbrella for the clothes, since they would sure take a long time to dry getting rained on every day.

It's maybe not the most romantic view of Europe, but it's not so bad. I love that anything I want or need to do in my daily life is no more than a 15 minute walk away. I can go to school, the gym, the supermarket, the mall, the park, bars, and all my friends' houses much more quickly and easily than I could at home even when I had a car. And it's still very safe. Somehow there are no homeless people, and crime (property or violent) is lower than even little Salt Lake.

It's also really interesting when you compare these two lifestyles with that of England. While England is, obviously, still very European, you can kind of see how the American mindset descends from the British. In England most people live in houses. They might be subdivided, squished together, with little or no yard (perhaps why they call the yard a "garden"...), but they're still houses. A greater percentage of Londoners likely live in houses than do Asturians. It's just a matter of priorities, I guess.

One more side note to this side note, when I was looking for pictures of American suburbs I found this one. Only, when I looked at the website, I saw that this picture was actually taken in China. This freaks me out a little bit. What is this world coming to??

In summary, my new home is indeed pretty sweet. I think I'm gonna go make me some lunch and practice my Spanish food cooking skills so I can impress you all when I get back.

ttfn!

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.

22 Years

Well, today marks another year of my life. A lot has happened this past year. Monday the 14th marks one year since my dear friend Heather died. I had never before experienced such loss and despair. It's always hard to lose a loved one, but all the more difficult when it happens without warning or explanation, to someone in the prime of her life. Back home my friends have organized a little ceremony, dedicating a little memorial of pictures and a plaque in the Linguistics Department at the University, where we all met and became so close. Part of the memorial is a webpage with an epitaph for Heather in all of the languages we know. I helped write the Spanish version.

If there's one thing such great loss has taught me, it's the value of the people in my life. I will never again take for granted my friends and family. Nothing else matters more than them and I cherish them today and everyday, knowing tomorrow I might not get the chance.

~~

This year has also brought a lot of joy. I had some amazing times: visited every city on the west coast with the best of friends, threw parties for Chinese New Year, Cinco de Mayo, and every other occasion you can name, and of course have the amazing opportunity of living in Spain and learning every day more of the language I love.

With regards to more recent fun, last weekend I visited Madrid.

Metropolis Building

Puerta de Alcalá

Puerta del Sol. With my friend David, who goes by "Monky".

Illuminated at Night

We stayed with Monky's friends Javi and Patri (above).

It is a a really lovely city. There are tons of beautiful buildings and it was all lit up for Christmas making it especially lovely (though some streets had a rather odd modernist take on Christmas lights...). It was really just nice being in a big city. Oviedo is fairly small, and I had serious Cabin Fever. Madrid was just what the doctor ordered. Like all big cities, it has a very large immigrant population. This is so refreshing. I really enjoy being surrounded by diverse people and languages, choosing between Thai or Moroccan for dinner, passing by street performers juggling fire and playing the Djembe (African drum) on our way to the Prado fine art museum.

This is a poster in the metro. It's just so very illustrative I had to snap a picture. Bolivians residing in Madrid are encouraged to vote for Evo Morales. And it's very easy to do so, as they simply have to go to this metro to cast their vote. Bolivians can vote from Spain! This is just crazy to me. Needless to say there are a LOT of Latin Americans in Madrid.

And also, there were all the downsides of big cities. It was EXTREMELY crowded. It took five minutes at times to walk one measly block there were so many tourists and elderly people sauntering about. And when it started raining and all said people opened their umbrellas, it was outright chaos; impossible to move.

And it was very expensive. A drink in a discoteca can easily cost you 15 euros. THAT'S OVER 20 DOLLARS!!! We found cheap places to eat, but it was quite common to see 50 euro dinner platter "specials" to share.

It was a fun trip. But it's good to be home. I guess Oviedo does feel a bit more like home now. Nonetheless, I am EXTREMELY excited for Christmas. My family has given me the incredible present of a plane ticket to be with them. In Hawaii. I feel so fortunate, I just can't believe I will actually get to see my mom and dad, Kyle, and Hannah. Plus, I'll get to be with my cousins, aunt and uncle, grandma, the whole lot! Some of whom I haven't seen in probably three or four years. It is truly the best Christmas and/or birthday present I could ever ask for. ^_______^ (Asian-style smiling face, for those not familiar)