The Excursionist

» morgan » western michigan university » adventuring in: santander, spain »

[excursionistabroad]

some post-adventure complaining

I like to post quotes at the beginning of these, because it makes me feel better to know that other people get out of this shit alive.

What’s hard is never really belonging anywhere. The post-adventure phase is so lonely sometimes, and lasts longer than the journey itself. Do I do too much adventuring? Is it unhealthy to never stop and smell the roses? I like the smell of coffee and early mornings better. 

Sometimes I don’t feel like the Spanish will ever quite understand the impression they stamped into me, and it drives me insane to watch them carry on without me. I chose to be a forever nomad, and this has been the third September watching my españoles prepare for the new school year without me. 

And then the worst is talking to the other kings and queens who have conquered travel and the goodbyes associated, the ones who have a whole universe that is just waiting for them to come home. An exciting universe, equivalent in its own way to the European adventures.

For many, change is good for a short time, but what about us who get addicted to the lack of schedule? I miss the metros and how they whisked me to the other side of a city bigger than my dreams and tossed me into a whirlwind of mixed-up plans. 

More Robert Frost, perhaps?  “A poem begins with a lump in the throat.”

So maybe, one day, we will find a way to realize that the most exciting part of life is turning the page. Maybe I would rather be a tornado waiting for the sky to clear than live in mediocrity. Maybe I’d rather have say goodbye than never have met these people. Get in trouble than stay safe. 

I began working in the study abroad office today, and let me tell ya, the “travel bug” is going around in there. I am so excited to work with other kids who are just beginning to dream of their first tastes of adventure, but I am also so incredibly jealous of the world they are about to create. There is nothing like arriving at your first 2000-year-old cathedral, or seeing the ocean from the other side of “the pond” and letting the sounds of a foreign language carry your breath away. It never quite returns that breath. 

[zoesbook-deactivated20180405]

Louvre

[dancing-through-life777]

[excursionistabroad]

“When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.” 

Franklin D. Roosevelt

Who hasn’t had something precious ripped from their fingertips? Do you ever stop fighting for it?

The streets of Kalamazoo, Michigan, never promised me that they would stay the same. Maybe the city didn’t change on the outside, but one little excursionista changed on the inside. I can’t stop thinking of the last words exchanged with the people who made Santander a priceless treasure, I can’t stop thinking of Maria, the lady who gave me a bed when I was sure that Spain had run out of real homes for me.  To me, a home has become a place where I can unpack my suitcase for more than a couple weeks. 

We are home now. We have settled into a new reality; a twisted, upside-down dream. A new Wonderland filled with mazes, puzzles, and adventure. I refuse to let go of my last adventure, and I am stubbornly and proudly carrying my memories around with me. I don’t think I can breathe without remembering.

Life forces goodbyes upon us and only gives us breathtaking happiness to show us what it’s like to lose it and fight to get it back. 

[dreamthemoment]

[excursionistabroad]

What they don’t tell you

We all walked home from our last day of classes, suffocating in silence under the weight of the moment. I think for many of us we were caught up in the craziness and unprepared for what is to come. We are leaving behind the life we have worked so hard to create for ourselves; we are being ripped away from the routine that we have worked so hard to blend with. We are returning to what should be familiar but is truly just a blind return back to a new kind of “unknown.” Everyone back home has naturally evolved a little but most importantly we are forever changed. We are brave and valiant for everything we have gone through – the unexpected twists and turns nothing can ever prepare you for, the ability to gracefully handle insults, the confusing conversations, the unexpected heartbreak – and for coming out stronger people than we left as.

This is the stuff you can’t pay to learn, this is the stuff you don’t learn in books or in the classroom. Ordering your food at a restaurant, working out transportation for 10 people with only two small Spanish vehicles at your disposal with Spanish-speaking-only friends, explaining directions using streets you can’t pronounce, bargaining at the little street markets… this people, is real Spanish. This is how you learn to Spain, this is how you learn to “Europe.” By taking subways, not cabs. By figuring out the bus situations with a couple of other lost friends, not asking your host mom to take you. By making Spanish friends who show you where to meet friends, not sitting home alone. By being brave, fearless, and resilient, not by being delicate.

A memory forever burned in my brain is that horrible 15 minute walk to the bus station at 5:30am. I had said goodbye to Felix and Santi, the friends who had been there since day one, earlier in the night hours. My host mom, just in time, woke up to the vase of flowers and letter I had left on the kitchen table and we said goodbye and bit back our tears. I had pet those silly cats for the last time. All of this built up like a rock in my heart as I walked past all of our favorite places that seemed so much more beautiful after all of the challenges they threw at us. When I finally met up with my travel buddies and watched one of them say goodbye to his host mom, the other looked at me with the saddest look in his eyes and a forced smile and said “This is what they don’t tell you about, how we are just ripped away from everything.”

[excursionistabroad]

I still remember what the background looked like the first time, the red, yellow and white Spanish buildings against the mountains and a sea so blue it was almost unbelievable. My first taste of the Spanish ambiance, I shall never forget for as long as I live. And then I thought I was used to it, maybe even considered myself a solid part of it because for the past three years it has been a part of me. But as I am trying to appreciate my last few days of existing in Santander, I realize how much I have learned here and how much I will miss this sleepless city. It is alive even when the "villains are sleeping," as my lovely friend Santi says. I am leaving an entire life behind and will be forced to start over again. I love the streets that soak up the daily rain and how later the intricate and colorful buildings simply shine down on me wherever I walk. After dancing the night away this weekend, I met up with my Spanish friends again and they whisked me away and we ended up climbing on some cliffs and watched as the ocean waves slammed against the shore of our pretty city. I actually have never seen a color more beautiful soft yellow/orange/pink that settles over the city at 2am. The Spanish language is so much more metaphorical and profound because the creators had this to live by. The best kind of love sneaks up on you when you're least expecting it. I've been getting real sick of meeting amazing humans and having to leave them, attempted to desensitize myself (as the American culture so strongly encourages) but my small group of españoles stole my heart. I will miss listening to them joke and laugh and the random profound conversations that bloom late at night. They have forever changed me.

[excursionistabroad]

Perdida en París

“They say that when good Americans die, they go to Paris.” -Oscar Wilde

I fell in love with another piece of Europe on this gloriously gloomy trip. It is the most beautiful city that I have ever seen. We only had two days here, and Paris left us craving more. We decided to go on one of the Sandeman tours, which is an free tour business where guides passionately spew facts and history and they attempt to orient the wonder-stricken tourists in cities they adore. I got lost in stories of France’s bloody history. 

Our guide described the city as the “land of the OCD” because every tree is perfectly symmetrical and most of the incredible establishments that Paris can boast about are situated on the Paris Meridian, or the “Rose Line” if anyone likes the Da Vinci code (which is unfortunately inaccurate in the book). It apparently quite bugs the French that the Louvre is not on this line because the beginning of its construction was long before the idea of the first prime meridian. I feel like I could really fit in with this place! (below is a view of the city from the Sacre Coeur in Montemarte)

In 1850, Napoleon III ordered an architect to reconstruct the city. The unhealthy medieval streets were replaced with wide avenues and buildings set up to blend and draw your eye to a beautiful fountain, opera house, cathedral, or etcetera. For some reason I thought that the back streets might look a bit like Spain’s with the tall buildings and wrought iron balconies, but the color schemes were are different and the atmosphere was truly that of another world. I did not expect to be so blown away. 

On a more personal note, Paris taught me a bit about resilience. I had my 19th birthday here and the Eiffel Tower sparkled just for me for 5 minutes at midnight. I have realized that despite all of the terribly sad and terribly happy moments that this trip has forced upon me, I am invincible because I will always have myself and my 19 years no matter the location or the situation. My travel buddy, Lisa, and I had quite the stressful time making it here because we wanted to take the cheapest and most-likely-to-be-used-by-locals route because we are trying to learn how to Europe. However, trains, airplanes, and buses do not wait for lost little American girls. We had to retrace our steps several times and look deep into our Spanish and English to try to piece together the intriguing puzzle that is the French language. Although it was frustrating and we took on big problems with extremely little sleep, I don’t know if I could ever quite describe the feeling that we experienced as we emerged from the Trocadero station (not the closest but the best view of the tower) and could say while choking back some of those insanely happy tears “we finally made it.” 

The Louvre was my favorite place to get lost in. Fun fact: if you stood and observed every painting for 30 seconds, it would take you three WEEKS to see everything. We had to hit the touristy things, and it was the most beautiful journey trying to find them when we stumbled upon old treasures belonging to the royal families or to look up and realize that the ceilings and walls of the museum were artwork in themselves. It was incredible to actually see the masterpieces I’d only ever dreamed of seeing or read about in stories right in front of me. A particularly exciting thing was that the Code of Hammurabi is casually chilling in the Babylon section. Of course I will throw myself back into this museum one day, but I would also have loved to see Monet’s water colors and the modern art in other museums. Paris has been a muse for centuries, and now I can see why.

I would like to quickly point out that French people are neither snooty nor judgmental - I don’t blame them one bit for expecting a little French from their tourists...tourists who have decided to travel to France, after all, and destroy the local bridges with their love locks and pollute the city rivers with the keys. A polite “bonjour” and “merci” goes a long way... if you try, then they will try too and the game of charades is the best travel tool. I would personally be terrified of coming to the states and having someone tell me to speak “American,” which is much more likely to happen in my own country than in France. We stayed in an Air BnB and our host was a very sweet and fabulous Parisian. 

To top off our ultimate tourist excursion, we plopped under the Eiffel Tower to picnic with cheese, baguettes, macaroons, and wine from a local supermarket. It was actually the least expensive and best meal I have ever had in Europe! 

[excursionistabroad]

Ibiza: A land of, for, and because of music

What an island to be a part of. One does not go to Ibiza, one becomes a temporary part of an ever-changing culture that charges on and barrels through every night no matter who joins. The island is carved by sharp cliffs that majestically guard the soft green Mediterranean waters and later plunge into the lively discos that light up the night with all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages of people who decorate the land with languages from every continent. 

Ibiza is music: just one tiny little point on a map to represent it where a universally understood tongue with no barriers can be appreciated and differences can be smoothed over for a moment in time.

I have never been to the typical concept of “paradise” with the strange hovering trees and endless beach coves just waiting to be discovered, until a couple of weekends ago when we danced along the equator like it was the first taste of rhythm to ever settle on our tongues. Our heartbeats were not our own as they buzzed along to whatever song was playing.

Ibiza may be notorious for itsdrug connotations, but a weekend in Ibiza is not about poisoning yourself if you’re doing it right. It is a place to be whoever you are, like whatever you like, do whatever you do, and it will accept you all the same. 

There is still so much that I would love to explore; the slow pace of the island made it hard to cover much ground. So, until next time, paradise.

[excursionistabroad]

The Magical City of Barcelona

I walked around the world a hundred times and realized that Freight trains and airplanes are just like you and me 

-”Paper Planes” by East of Avenue

My adventure carried me along to this grand city and I experienced a whole new version of Spain. This country never ceases to stun me with its twinkling ocean-lined horizons and cathedrals that stretch towards the sun every single morning. It blows my mind that the residents get to casually stroll past architectural masterpieces on their way to the office. 

We arrived on a Thursday night and got swept into a club on the beach, and for the first time ever I dipped my toes into the ancient magnificence of the Mediterranean sea. We hailed a taxi after a night of dancing and disappeared in the loud and sleepless city, only to emerge again a few hours later. We booked a bed and breakfast basically right on the steps of La Sagrada Familia, a cathedral designed by the brilliant Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi and still being constructed a century later according to his plans. He took over the project in 1883 and dedicated the rest of his life to it. Some of his original plans have been burned due to times of unrest in Catalunya, but archaeologists from all over are working hard to finish it exactly according to plans. One day, there will be fantastical colors and shapes incorporated into 18 finished towers.

The first time I caught a glimpse of it was at night on the way to dinner, and even in the dim lighting it truly took my breath away. I have no idea how I managed to sort of get used to walking past it every day that weekend. 

Speaking of Gaudi, we were also able to visit his Casa Mila and take a detailed tour of la Casa Batllo. It’s hard to experience these without a permanently gaping mouth. 

Gaudi’s theatrical Casa Mila casually situated on the street corner of one of the wealthiest parts of the city.

Casa Batllo, also known locally as the “house of bones.” Now, I really have no better way to describe the tour of this gothic-ice-cream-cone of a house than an unexpected submarine expedition. This house was designed personally for a wealthy family that called upon the designer of Park Guell for a crib that could be truly unique. Gaudi, who was already centuries ahead of modern architecture, created this without limits of any sort, and I was unable to find even one straight line in the entire place. Each room flowed into the next with many aspects of nature and brilliant little tricks for everyday functions like air conditioners. I could have spent days in this home wondering what was going through the palace inside of this guy’s mind.

I still have yet to visit a few things in this city, but we also made it to the famous markets on Las Ramblas, went on a boat tour near the statue of our fellow Christopher Columbus, visited Barcelona’s own Arc de Triomf, saw a stunning fountain show that put fireworks to shame, and started our long days in Catalunya with the sweet Spanish breakfasts that I long for every morning in the States.

It is not uncommon for a group of young Spaniards to stay out until 8am and share a large plate of churros and hot chocolate. I love it.

[excursionistabroad]

El Faro

People come into your life for a reason, and come out of your life to teach you a lesson. 

Everything is a whirlwind here, and I try my very best not to analyze it until I return. What is the point of wasting hours worrying about what I cannot change? We humans are so good at running away, when something dies we keep on living.

However, I was walking home last night down these charming city streets where the tall buildings replace the night sky, and a scary thought occurred to me. I don’t want to return, and there is nothing I can do about it. I don’t believe that the place matters; a city cannot ultimately affect the decisions we make for ourselves, but the best version of myself appears when I am here, bouncing around and moving forward. I still love all of the relationships I have lost.

It is much too easy to lose connections. Living with people creates a unique bond that will never be replicated or relived, and that is so sad for us sentimental beings. I know I will be angry with myself later if I miss out on enjoying everything and spend too much time thinking about losing the Spanish friends and life I have just made instead, but this is a thing that just sucks.

Last night was one of the best nights I’ve ever lived. I was part of a large group consisting of Spaniards, Americans, and a Serbian guy. We planted ourselves between some rolling hills and watched the sun dive off of the cliffs and into the gray ocean over a couple glasses of wine. I have fallen so deeply in love with both of these languages, and how they clash but somehow find a way to intertwine. Either way, they provoke the deepest laughs and the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen.

If you asked me what Spain looked like, I would direct you to this picture of us and the old faro (lighthouse).

[excursionistabroad]

Bilbao - A taste of País Vasco

Edo garela urrun ilargia ikusten dugun bera da. (Ni que estemos lejos la luna que vemos es la misma = No matter how far apart we are, the moon we see is still the same one)

That crazy little language up there is called Euskera, which is the lovely tongue spoken in the Basque Country, situated in northern Spain. This is perhaps analogous with the Texas of the States….completely different world, but in the end still a large part of what and who Spain is today. 

Every day here is something new, something foreign, something frustratingly new, something insanely beautiful and uncomfortable at the same time. I would love to spend more time in this distinct part of Spain and get to know the inhabitants. I will always be partial to Galicia, the first breath I had of Spain, but this trip has truly showed me that there is good and bad to every region, and that experiences happen because of the friends we make and the relationships we maintain, not because of politics and history. We are making our own history.

[excursionistabroad]

Biculturalism is a lovely endeavor. I am having a splendid time forgetting myself and blending in at the crowded tapas bars. I was never a loud person until I came here, but Spaniards are particularly skilled at dramatizing everything. I love listening to our Spanish friends tell stories, and when I speak I try to imitate their unmistakable cadence. English is such a casual language, and Spanish is theatrical, layered with metaphors and hidden jokes.

We are the minority here, a bunch of awe-stricken American kids lost in the Semana Grande. This week there have been stands speckling all of the plazas called “casitas” (little houses) that sell the best quality tapas, beer, sangria, and wine. All of my dinners this week have looked like this, and we dance to a strangely comforting mixture of the Spanish and English language. Accents mix and mingle and things are misunderstood and mistakes are made, but our laughs sound exactly the same. 

[excursionistabroad]

Burgos

I am thrilled to finally be able to say I have arrived at this majestic creation: the Burgos Cathedral.  It is a breathtaking gothic masterpiece, dedicated to Jesus’ mama and slaved over for many years beginning in 1221. This was my favorite piece of architecture in a class I took about Spanish culture, and my inner nerd was simply out of control. 

Many thanks to Connor Smith for sharing these talented pictures of our adventure with me!

[excursionistabroad]

Prehistoric Cuevas and Skinny Jeans

About 15,000 years ago, some of the first men and women combined artistic and hunting skills and made their marks on the world, which is now part of one of the oldest and most important archaeological sites in the world.

The first historical site that was older than anything in the States that I had ever visited was the Cathedral of Santiago de Compestela, and I distinctly remember how heavy the atmosphere was. My shoulders felt like they were being weighed down by all of the souls who finished the Camino de Santiago and all of the effort that went into centuries of building the cathedral and all of the prayers ever whispered throughout 800 years where I stood. Over the past few years I have visited other cathedrals like this and the shock has slowly worn off, but it was renewed immediately when I visited these caves. The history of humankind is absolutely insane.

In other news, I’ve been having a lovely time in Santander. 

I’ve never been a fan of jeans and for a whole two months here I only packed one pair of them.... but I must say that I’m experiencing a change of heart. I think that Spanish women were simply born wearing skinny jeans and 6-inch wedges, because no matter how high the temperature or how unstable the steep cobblestone streets, they rock outfits worthy of vogue. I’m impressed. Spain is a world where the abuelas are decked out in wedges higher than I dare to attempt.

[excursionistabroad]

Nadie se conoce by Francisco Goya (Nobody Knows Himself by a favorite Spanish artist of mine)

I have noticed that a widespread common problem among all of the personality types is that we tend to rely on other people’s positive affirmations in order to approve of our own selves and love ourselves. This is so difficult, when our beautiful minds and souls were created so complexly that the only person we truly know is and always will be our own selves, and we are the only people who understand ourselves on an individual level. My aunt always says that we are all in our own little boats, and although we can latch onto other boats, it always comes back to just ourselves. It is a talent to put on a happy face, a lonely talent that has been kept alive and taught for centuries within families. That’s all fine and dandy, but the problem that comes from this is when we live our entire life without feeling comfortable in our own shells… always looking towards the future for someone else to complete us.

Love is a beautiful way to complete yourself. I believe that love is achieved through people (and puppies) but not in the traditional Nicholas Sparks or John Green way. If you ask me about heartbreak I will tell you about leaving Galicia this summer. That little town tangled itself within my heartstrings and not even the monstrosity of an airplane that can battle the stratosphere could rip through them, but the efforts were anguishing. If you ask me about falling in love, I will tell you about the days I spent realizing that Spanish people are not aliens, that they are exactly the same as Americans with families and financial debt and lazy days spent on the couch by the TV. Perhaps instead of the smell of Little Caesar’s pizza, the walls of my apartment building are drenched with the alluring scent of tortilla española (statistically, at least 2 families in this one building had to have made it for lunch today). They may be disguised in slightly better fashion and a green color of eyes that I literally have no words for and a metaphorical language that is a labyrinth of poetry and brutal honesty, but traveling has taught me more about the human race and this whole love thing than anything else.

Getting to truly know this country has made me hungry to go even farther out of my comfort zone. Discrimination based on race, color, culture, ethnicity, and even religion is the silliest thing I have ever heard of. I was born in the States and spent my most formative years there, but I also grew up a bit in Spain. My newfound ideas are a product of a culture created by thousands of years of philosophy, family, war, art, revolution, and etcetera and just because I am unfamiliar and unaccustomed to some aspects, that does not make any bit of it wrong, but just that much more of a mystery to uncover.

I recall a moment about a month ago, sitting on the steps of the party-street in downtown Porriño as everything was winding down. I have a friend named Juan who always starts his whatsapps (international messaging system) to me with “Where are you?” Finally able to talk to him in person again, I got the feeling that he didn’t feel like he could so dramatically coexist in a different country. He isn’t the first person to say “wow, I could never do what you could…” (I have received that phrase with judgmental, cautious, and awestruck connotations) but I have been thinking about it more.

Everyone can do this, anyone can travel.

It’s not everyone’s cup of tea to throw themselves across an ocean, but I can remember seeing the world and understanding foreign cultures through books as a young girl. I can remember getting lost in a movie from a different time period in a movie theatre and feeling disoriented when it was over. Nowadays, everyone is eager to share what they know and love, and we have all of the resources to learn. Learning Spanish is not just something to put on my resume, it is a lifestyle within which I have voluntarily lost and found myself.

[excursionistabroad]

“The more one does and sees and feels, the more one is able to do, and the more genuine may be one’s appreciation of fundamental things like home, and love, and understanding companionship.” -Amelia Earhart

I have been settled into my vida santanderina for a couple weeks now and I am living and breathing the Spanish lifestyle.The coffee here is thick enough to burn through the cold humid cloud that cradles my morning and when I fall asleep, my last glass of wine still tastes like a sincere conversation.

Speaking of clouds, I stood next to a few of them just the other day on the tips of the Picos de Europa. I’ve never quite realized how big the world could be until I could more properly see the edges of the sky. 

What better way to get to know the people on a trip than to hike up a mountain…. together?

The terrain of Spain amazes me each day; how can so many antique caves, rushing waterfalls, stretching beaches, and miles of searing hot farmlands be packed into such a tiny country?

I was finally able to meet some natives this weekend and they dragged me around to the best bars in town. Although it is frustrating, I love to test how far my Spanish can reach in an effort to get to know someone. Just like in Galicia, the nights here are accompanied buzzing and full streets washed over by a charming yellow glow.

The Spaniards go out much later compared to Americans, and by the time the night was over, I was able to witness a stunning sunset while walking home on a street parallel to the ocean with my new friends. Later on Sunday morning, Maria (host mother) whisked me out of my bed and I saw the very same view from my first motorcycle ride. Whether it was the unexpected speed or the amount of color that Santander can paint over a gloomy day, the wind happily carried my breath away. 

There are very few automatic vehicles in Spain, and so along with my first motorcycle ride, one of my new friends left me with a valuable new learning experience: driving a stick shift. In 20 stressful minutes of a lot of new Spanish vocabulary, I can now successfully shift my way down a calle and around a rotunda! 

I have been collecting all kinds of common interests with my American crew, and tomorrow we are adventuring in Burgos.