sing to the mountain

November 18th already.
What madness is this? In one month, I will be crawling back through the looking glass, coming out the other side to a whole new perspective on my kind of normal. Definitely stoked about the girls arrival in a couple weeks. Truth be known, this is all happening SO FAST. A month ago, I was ready. Ready to head home, back to the world I knew; everything that was comfortable and reliable and, well, let's be honest: convenient. It's easy to call your friends on a boring Saturday night when you're feeling the sting of lonliness, knowing they live right down the road. Suddenly, an hour and half seems like a stone's-throw and the unfortunate nature of this business is that it took me overseas to realize this very simple fact: it's not where you are, it's who you're with that brings value and significance to your life. But now that my remaining time is dwindling down to mere minutes, I find myself wishing I could take a step back and slow it all down. But every time I try to take everything in before I miss it all, I find it flashing by in an instant and is gone again. Which is sad, because the last thing I want to bring home with me are regrets.
On a more cheery note, today. was. stunning. Still tentative to risk a jog, I took my camera on brisk walk along my usual jogging route around Algorta, Gobela and Las Arenas.

So there's a more in depth view of where I live from the path I jog.

This weekend is shaping up to be something excellent.
Pretty excited.
The countdown has begun:
14 days until the girls get here!

<3

gaztelugatxe

What luck Monday has brought me. First attempt: successful.

The adventure began like this:

Ali // well guys, we can either follow this road here to our right

or we can hang close to the coast. either way, we'll get there . .

We decided it was best to stay near the ocean, as we were heading to an island of sorts,

which kinda lives in the ocean, that was about all we knew.

After rounding our third or fourth curve atop one of the many deadful hills,

we caught a glimpse of our destination.

It was at or around this point that we came to a beaten path through the woods

and a decision was to be made //do we think this is the right way,

or should we continue up the hill of certain death and see what's up there . . ?

Continue we did. Sweating bullets and shedding attire,

not quite sure how far we had gone; not entirely sure where we were going,

we stumbled upon some random //tree-boat// restaraunt hidden amid the sloping hills and mountainous flora. 

It must be mentioned that it was Patrick, I believe who voted we press on,

as this was clearly a popular venue and with this many people visiting the church every day,

the path would CLEARLY have to be paved, therefore the beaten trail through the woods

is DEFINITELY NOT the way to go.

From said restaraunt/parking lot where all varieties of Spanish peoples congregated after driving a mere 5 minutes up the mountain it took the three Americans a good half hour to climb, we found excellent photo taking opportunities. Many minutes were spent here pondering the certain pleasure that would surely follow an event such as rolling around on this luscious lawn for an indeterminant amount of time.

After taking stock of our position in relation to the church, which I may point out is now hidden from sight,

we realize that we have passed it and we have now successfully made it to dillemma #1.

Was that really the trail we were supposed to take?

The one BEFORE hill-climb from hell?

sweet.

We decided to head back to the trail that OBVIOUSLY was NOT the right way, although clearly, it was.

This is a glimpse at the bottom of steepest hill of my life [until that point].

Stumbling through rough terrain,

avoiding picker-brushes and slippery ruts cut between rocks and tree roots,

we finally came to a cliff overlooking the ocean . . dillemma #2.

The church was, yet again, just beyond our grasp.

Buuut, we did have the opportunity to take in some breathtaking ocean-views

and joke about our unnecessary trip back to the unpaved path,

and what's more, our ill-fortune with once again having to endure

THAT BLASTED HILL. from hell. of death.

awesome.

I may have forgotten to mention that it was rounding 80 degrees this day.

Please take into account my sweater and jeans at this time. Thank you.

After re-scaling Mt.Everest - we returned to the //tree-boat restaraunt// and discovered, quite simply, acutally, that had we gone a mere 20 feet further, we would have discovered the paved trail leading directly back down the mountain of gaztelugatxe, you know, the one we just climbed. Yeah, at least it was paved. Thanks Patrick, you were right . .  

Continuing along this nearly 50 degree slope toward the center of the earth,

we come across yet another beaten diversion

away from paved footpath we were currently following.

Do we continue on or should we venture off?

Given recent events, logic dictates that we stay on the path MOST traveled. 

Which brings us to dillemma #3:

the. path. ends.

You have got to be joking me at this point.

Oh, but wait, Patrick, what was that about a touristy location being so busy,

they MUST have a paved path all the way there. CHEYAA!

I prayed for death at least three times making my way down this ragged crevasse

cut away by years of errosion and rainfall.

notice how there used to be a handrail to guide your way . .

yeeeah, thanks Spain.

Alas, finally we met our destination:

La iglesia de San Juan de Gaztelugatxe.

P.S. The answer is yes, to those of you who may be wondering if I contemplated collapsing into a slow, comatose like death at this point. Thank goodness, however, I denied myself that simple pleasure, as the view from above was worth the trip ten-fold. And had I simply fallen to my demise, you would all be unable to experience those envious feelings of NOT being on this island so as to take in these beautiful ocean-scapes in real life.

aaand, this was the way back - -

. . with cows.

In all seriousness, this was probably my favorite day that I have spent since coming to Spain.

It was a beautiful day, the weather was absolutely amazing, the countryside was breathtakingly gorgeous.

And if it weren't for the hills [of which, there were many] the reward wouldn't have been nearly as sweet.

I'm looking forward to a couple more adventures similar to this in the near future.

Then, I will be ready for my girls to come enjoy some of this wonderful country and culture along with me,

and after that: Snow. Bing Crosby. Christmas lights. Home.

Thanks guys!

guernica

Seriously feeling the heat from the pressure of performance on the blog front. I guess I wasn't aware of how many people actually read this nonsense. Where shall I begin? Well, last Friday the CIDE program took a trip out to Guernica where we visited the Peace Museum as well as the Tree of Guernica and the Basque Museum. Interesting trip, took a few photos. Very few.

remnants of the great oak.

pablo picasso.

the water here was a pretty amazing teal color.

cute little pueblo.

It's not that this trip didn't justify it's own blog post, I'm just incredibly lazy.

This weekend however, was indescribable and could not go without mentioning.

Friday I decided was going to be a day of productive enterprise, therefore I awoke promtly at 8am and got to work picking up the disheveled hovel that had become my room. An hour later, seated quite peacefully within my freshly primmed abode, I decided to start reading a novel for my culture project due a few weeks from now. A couple hours of that and I was feeling pretty inimical and decided a run would be just the cure. Laced up my kicks and set out ocean-side. [and I was opposed to running along the beach in Pier Marquette due to unwanted stares, ha!] I have never felt so objectified in my entire life. Perhaps it's not rude in Spanish culture to stare at a person incessantly while walking past on a sidewalk, halting conversation entirely until 5 METERS past, however I am not accustomed to this gesture and continue to be completely put off by it. Nonetheless, I kept jogging at a snail's pace and returned home to a hot shower and nice dinner of [not] squid. Around four, I set out to find a quiet park bench on which I posted up for a couple hours polishing off a few more chapters on the epic story of love, family and war. Feeling quite productive, I returned home to watch a couple episodes of American television and enjoyed dinner with Paula and Carmen. Later, I grabbed a beer with a friend and as luck would have it, we ended up running into half of the CIDE kids in Algorta [my hometown]. As a result of this chance encounter, I made plans with Patrick and Ali to head out to San Juan the following day to explore an ancient church atop a small island just off the coast.

Which brings me to Saturday adventures, however I have been sitting here at my computer for over an hour now trying to upload these 20 photos and something keeps malfunctioning leaving me no viable option other than throw my computer out my window and see how long it takes the street sweepers to gobble up the remains. Have no fear, photos will be available as soon as my patience returns.

and it's no nay never; no nay never no more

So w've got the trip to Ireland covered, as well as the bus ride to the hostel. Let's commence with Ireland II:
It may be easier to break this up into different parts

1// HOSTEL
So the hostel we stayed the first, second and fourth night was . . interesting. Let's just say it was a radically different experience each time we came back. The first night, we stayed in an 11-bed room. I was a little nervous about this simply because we were all on different schedules and naturally, I assumed I would be getting little to no sleep that night. On the contrary, however, everyone was very polite and mindful of the others in the room in terms of bathroom use and overall annoyance.
The second night, we were in a pinch as we waited until the day before to book a room, so we ended up staying in a room to ourselves, which was super nice because the bathroom was a little less sketch and we had a window balcony thing.
The third night, we ended up heading down to Cork, which is 4 hours [by bus] away from Dublin. We stayed in a bed & breakfast, which ended up being a little more pricey considering it was a holiday weekend and Cork was hosting a Jazz festival, neither of which did we take into account when planning this little vacation. Ahh well, it was a learning experience. It was actually kind of comical because the room was literally three times the size of the one we stayed in the night before. Which was necessary to house all FOUR of the beds they offered.
The fourth night we headed back to Dublin and the Barnacles Hostel in Temple Bar for our 4-bed room. This, we were mildly excited about, as there would only be two other people and it was 10 euro cheaper than the private room. Okay, looking back, I'm glad we saved the money, but it almost would have been worth 50 euro for a good night sleep. The assholes sharing the room with us were loud, disrespectful and beyond impossible to sleep next to. They kept coming in and out of the room, talking loud as all get out, rummaging through their suitcases for a half an hour, and snoring all night long. Luckily I had put a few beers back at the pub earlier, so I fell asleep without much of a problem.
2// PUBS
The pubs in Ireland are everything they are cracked up to be and more. There is so much character in Temple Bar, which is where we spent most of our time. However, we did venture down to the lovely city of Cork, which was absolutely adorable once you get past the creepy part of the river and the commercial atmosphere of Patrick St. The first night, we ate at O'Neill's, which was super quaint, despite its 3 floors and countless cubby-holes, nooks and crannies. We ended up eating there twice more before we left the city. The next night, we decided to forgo to numerous opportunities for pub-crawling activities in lieu of searching out a nice bar with live music and Guinness. Not hard, in fact. Almost every bar had a live band, and we're talking, every night of the week. And naturally Guinness was everywhere to be found. I was in heaven. After cramming into a couple places trying to no avail to make our way over to the bar, we finally found a nice little pub down a back street where the banjo was just a jamming. In we went and there we stayed until they closed up shop.
Cork was a little more low key, when we got into the city, we found this little italian-esque eatery where we were surrounded with cute Italian decor and authentic pizza. The waitress was nice enough to give us directions to our B&B, so from there we went straight to the Inn to drop off our bags and rest up a bit for the rest of the trip.
When we got back to Dublin, we went back to that first pub and enjoyed a few more beers with the bonus of Irish Halloween entertainment. [p.s. the Irish LOVE them some Halloween. It was nuts!]
3// BOYS
And now to the meat and potatos of the blog, that which I know everyone is eagerly anticipating: Irish boys. Okay, well I hate to disappoint, but unfortunately I was unable to procure any Irish men to bring home with me. However, that's not to say that my efforts were all completely for naught. In fact, something about my blue eyes must attract them to me like a magnet, because Lindsay and I were constantly surrounded in some manner or another with Irish boys.
After hitting up the theater to catch the new Paranormal Activity flick, we were accompanied by an Irish batman, spiderman and captain america, ironically enough. The Capt'n and Spidey were in a bit of a hurry to get to their party, but Batman hung back and was asking me every question under the sun about how Lindsay and I were enjoying Dublin and what our plans were for the rest of the trip. He insisted that if we found ourselves in any trouble that we were to look to the sky and flash him the bat signal and he would come to our rescue. Mind you, he was already 3-sheets to the wind, but he was super cute, so he gets a pass.
Then, whilst bar-hopping in search of a chill place to grab a beer, this kid like, slid up beside and was like, "HELLO! HI, HI HOW ARE YOU?!" haha, I was like, "oh hello there." He was like, "Hi, I'm drunk. My name's Patrick." Of course it is. So we had a mild drunken conversation in which he concluded with, "I'm drunk. GOODBYE BEAUTIFUL!"
Onward we took our journey to the bar with the banjo, and there we found the biggest creepshow imaginable. There were these two old guys who asked if we were waiting on other people to join our table. We said no and that they were welcome to chill with us. They told us that their two friends were also coming and that they were going to be a lot of fun. haha, okay, whatever that means. Well, the other two showed up alright. And one of them was a walking SHITSHOW. He was staring at me all night. So much so that I was like, "Are you alright?" He was like, "Oh-my-lord, you are beautiful." The conversation continued like this:
-"Thank you."
-"Seriously, you are gorgeous."
-"Thanks."
-"Your eyes are beautiful."
-"Thank you."
-"Do you have a boyfriend?"
-"No."
-"Do you want one?"
-"No."
-"How about an affair?"
[then he pulls out his left hand and shows me his wedding ring. mind you, this dude is like, in his 50's]
-"COOL! Lindsay, we need to go."
other guy -"No, you girls can't leave without one more drink."
So he bought us a beer, we slammed it and peaced out.
After wandering around a bit for another bar, we came up empty handed, so we went back to the pub with the four stooges and we just hung out by the bar. [The music was literally SOO good]. That was where we met our next set of Irish men. Struck up conversation with one guy which ended in him asking me for my number. I was like, "I don't have a phone." He asked if he called me, would I answer. I said, "No, I don't have a phone." Then he said he was coming to New York and would I visit him. I said, "No, I live in Michigan." Then he wanted to know how long it would take to get to Michigan from New York. I said that you can't get to Michigan from New York and he asked if I would text him tomorrow so we could hang out before I left. Obviously, this dude was wasted. But it was fun none-the-less.
Unfortunately, our efforts were thwarted. But I have hope for the future. Dublin is full of prospective Irish gentlemen. Just gotta look outside the bar, which is difficult in Ireland, but possible, fer sher.

musha ring dumma do dumma da

Well, if this feeling is any indication of how much I'll miss Spain when I get home, I am truly up shit creek because I've been back one day and I already miss Ireland like you can't possibly imagine.

Maybe it's the fact that I didn't have to think of a question I was going to ask a full 10 minutes before I actually needed to ask it or perhaps it was the ungodly sexy nature of the irish accent that sends my heart into a tailspin. Either way, all I'm saying is that I should have majored in drinking Guinness so I could have studied abroad in Ireland.

Where to begin? Well, I could start you out discussing the bus ride from hell, departing Spanish-land central promptly at 10:30 pm and arriving a grueling 8 hours later half-way across the country in Barcelona. Yes, we could start there only to continue to discuss the 9 hour lay-over [so to speak] that we had to endure in the Barcelona airport, which we found only after wandering around the Barcelona bus station for approximately 2 hours at 6:30 in the morning. That would then lead us to the 2 hour questionable [at best] RyanAir experience in which structural integrity of the aircraft and attentiveness/overall quality of flight-staff were taken under extreme consideration. Let's just say, our petty, meaningless lives were in the hands of a poorly paid, barely functioning airline that provided a nonstop infomercial selling smokeless cigarettes and lotto tickets. And when I say nonstop, please understand that I mean one stewardess would walk up the aisle holding a box of [duty-free!] cologne while another walked down the same aisle holding a smattering of airline reading material. They would perform a hand-off in the middle and continue on in opposite directions. We weren't seriously concerned prior to boarding, despite a few discouraging remarks made by fellow expats, however things took a turn when we asked the steward where we were to sit [as they clearly forgot to put our seat numbers on our boarding passes] and he replied, 'wherever you like.'

Anyway, we could start out there, but I'll save you the mundane details and we'll skip straight to the photos.

Armed with nothing but our backpacks, this is the first sight our eyes feasted upon after turning a corner from confusing irish city to bustling irish paradise. [perhaps for the sake of my mothers out there, I should leave out the part where we LUCKILY found temple bar after boarding a 30-mintute bus from the airport] but what's life if not adventure? aaannnd, obviously I am safe and sound here in my Spanish apartment, so I'll go for it.
Here Lindsay and I are, a full 20 hours post-departure with minimal sleep and optimal excitement, a bit lost in the lovely city of Dublin. We boarded a bus, dreary and a little disoriented, not quite sure where we were supposed to be getting off as we had booked a one-night stay at a random temple bar hostel the day before. We were quietly [which, as it turned out, was not so quietly] discussing our situation when these Dutch gentlemen queried as to our destination. As we were unsure as to where we were actually going, we just said that we were going to get off wherever everyone else got off and go from there. They had agreed that we had a good plan, and they were going to do the same. Continuing our decent into the abysmal quagmire that was our confusion, we discussed the possible outcome of perhaps sleeping on the streets of Dublin and how that may turn out poorly should we come across any unfriendly characters. Just then, as our luck would have it, an elderly irish chap tapped me on the shoulder and asked, 'where abouts ye girls headed?' [true, i could have forwent the quotation and merely stated that he asked where we were going, but he literally said, 'where abouts ye girls headed?' which is adorable] When we said Temple Bar, he whispered us some quick directions so as not to attract unwanted attention from the handful of other lost and disgruntled tourists on the airport bus headed for nowhere.

That was a long explaination for that one photo, eh?

ahh, okay. So onto more important ventures, irish cuisine.

Now doen't get me wrong, fish 6 out of 7 nights of the week can be wonderful if cooked properly,

however Spanish bacalao has got nothing on authentic Irish shepherd's pie.

Get out, this was amazing!

the Temple Bar in Temple Bar.

oh helloooo.

that's a jag. btw.

Our most anticipated destinated: Guinness storehouse.

We made it!

[after walking around for an hour, getting stopped by a street guard who asked if we were lost]
to which we replied, 'no, we're just not exactly sure of where we are. or where we're going.'

He swiftly gave us directions with the added bonus of this wonderful little piece of advice:

Just be careful where you wander, or you may not wander there again . . .

eerie, right? I know, I was there.

The one bit of factual knowledge I gleaned from the Guinness tour:

Arthur Guinness signed a 9,000 year lease on the property currently housing the brewry.

Smart man, I say.

This is the lease. It's kept in the floor.

So during this trip, I have stumbled upon a few neat funcions my camera is capable of and here I have tried to create something of a compilation of photos that can only be described as utterly guinness. i mean genius.

Oh yeah, then we took a beer pouring class and this is the result of excellent attention paying skills and an eagerness to earn my Guinness perfect pour certificate, which I earned, naturally.

[notice the proud-head just above the lip of the glass, as the head is proud of the rim]

hehe, proud head.

While sipping our delicious [dare I say perfectly poured] stout, we decided to try our hand at a few Guinness advertisement-esque photos. I think we would win an advertisement-esque photo shoot hall of fame award or something equivalent if there ever were such a ridiculous thing to be won.

This is O'Neil's, the irish pub we at which we ate dinner three consecutive nights.

We also caught Paranormal Activity III while enjoying our first night out in Dublin.

The theater was so cute. I tried my hand at a couple other photo color techniques on some unsuspecting passers-by.

This is so totally not R-Patt by the way.

Striking resemblence, just not him. : /

These two were together, hence the same coke cup.

This is a church in Cork, where we stayed Saturday night over into Sunday afternoon.

In Cork, that is, not the church. Although that would have been baller.

The yellow/orange leaves a changing and the moderately cool temperatures

made me miss home in the worst way.

A bit rainy and cold on Sunday morning, but we pressed on,

fulfilling our duties of picture taking and adventure having. All-in-all, great trip!

So this is going on record as the longest blog post to date, however keeping an accurate record of all the goings-on throughout the course of an entire weekend is a lengthy process. Of course there are more stories, therefore I am actually dubbing this blog post 'Ireland I' as I am planning of updated tomorrow with other nonsensical bullshit about the actual trip itself. So until tomorrow guys and gals . . .

<3