Live That Dream

[livethatdream-blog1]

Another Adventure

After visiting France, I was happy to spend a quiet weekend in Madrid with Valerie. We were so pleased to be together and to enjoy ourselves in that beautiful city!

(Valerie and I went to one of her favorite bookshops: La Central)

We had a grand old time:

(Val and her wonderful boyfriend, a PhD student named Jesus)

(The Christmas lights at el Mercado de San Miguel)

The next weekend, John came to Barcelona. My wonderful friends Pam and Eric Fitz (Americans from Colorado Springs--we met through my car insurance agent Brad) were going to Estonia for Christmas, so they loaned us their gorgeous house in Masnou, up the coast from Barcelona, for our entire stay in the city.

(My first tortilla de patata was a smashing success)

The house Pam and Eric live in was built in the 1880s or 90s. It features hand-painted vaulted ceilings and multiple stories of artistic tiling as well as a back yard with lemon and orange trees. Also in the back yard is a tunnel behind a fountain that leads to the other house: it was an escape route during the Spanish Civil War of 1936-1939--now Pam and Eric use it as a wine cellar.

The weather was beautiful. On our first day we went down to the beach and while we were looking for shells, John asked me to marry him! 

(Before)

(After)

As you can imagine, the rest of our trip was full of champagne and celebration. I’ve spent the last ten days preoccupied with taking photos of the ring:

Also, I had planned four Christmas surprises for John, and they all went off very well!

We went to a bar famous for its gin:

(My hand is at my side because he hadn’t given me my ring yet)

We went to my favorite upscale restaurant in Born, Tantarantana:

We checked out La Opera Samfaina‘s tapas tour:

And finally, we had a Christmas dinner with a family of Catalans followed by a cooking lesson from a Catalan grandma.

Abuelita loved John. (I do, too)

Catalonia had an election on the 21st of December for a new government, and many of the ministers elected were indepentistas, but not all. For now, Spain has more Christmas-season vacation days than almost any other country in Europe, so nothing is happening in the government, no protests have been organized or executed, and all is relatively peaceful and cheerful.

Also, the tourism industry, which was severely affected by the independence referendum in the fall, resulting in the worst low season my company has ever seen, bounced back for the holidays. The streets are full of cheerful and New Year’s travelers, just in time for our 60-degree winter weather.

My flight leaves tomorrow for Jerusalem, so I’ll take lots of pictures and keep you updated on that adventure!

In three weeks: home!

[livethatdream-blog1]

Vive la France!

My first travel goal was to go to France, and the two days I spent last week in Lyon, France, formed one of the most enjoyable short vacations I’ve ever taken.

Last summer, when I came to Barcelona, an old classmate from Hillsdale College contacted me and invited me to visit her. Carrie and I didn’t know each other well in Hillsdale, but now she is in her second year of teaching English in France. She speaks excellent French and enjoys learning about the culture and history of Lyon in much the same way I do Barcelona.

One of the advantages of my current modes of work is that I can take time off whenever I want, so on Thursday afternoon I left on a bus (a Ouibus. No kidding) for France!

During the eight hour drive I made friends with our driver, Paco, who ended up sharing both his lunch and his dinner with me, telling me about his father’s experiences in America as an illegal immigrant in the 1950′s. I also had the pleasure of interacting with the French police not one, but two times on Thursday. First they boarded the bus at the French border and relieved us of three of our fellow-passengers who apparently (I eavesdropped, I’ll admit) had come with fake passports in hopes of seeking political asylum in France. The second stop featured a drug-sniffing canine--they did not find any drugs, but about seven of our number were made to stand in the cold outside of the bus for almost a half an hour. When I asked Paco about it on our next break, he chuckled and gave a classic Spanish shrug. “Bienvenida a Francia”. Welcome to France.

Carrie’s flatmate was out of town, so I got to sleep on a mattress in her comfy warm room--which meant a lot to me because no matter how warm it is in Barcelona, my apartment doesn’t have any heat.

Carrie and I spent the next two days touring around Lyon together, and man, little blog, it was wonderful to have a friend there who speaks French. I usually prefer travelling alone (other people are too slow and don’t like taking frequent bathroom breaks. Those are my reasons), but Carrie’s knowledge of the French metro system, good local restaurants, and of course her help with French cuisine, proved invaluable. Carrie speaks French about as well as I speak Spanish, so I guess I felt how other people feel when they visit me.

We also got to talk about what it’s like to realize that no matter how hard you try you’ll never speak perfectly, and we compared French and Spanish culture.

In that comparison, France came out very well. What surprised me the most about France was how kind the people are. In Barcelona I’m occasionally made fun of for being an American (probably once every two weeks or so) and I am used to people criticizing America to me for no apparent reason. It used to make me angry, but now it isn’t difficult for me to be patient with it: most people don’t know much about me and they don’t know about my country. If all they know how to do is criticize, that’s not my problem. But in France, everyone from waitstaff to French people on the street were all patient with my terrible French accent and happy to learn that I was an American.

The history and culture of Lyon are fascinating. Lyon used to be a center for silk production in Europe, and when the city was occupied by the Germans during World War II, the Resistance effort used the silk-production tunnels to move spies through the city. These tunnels--which the occupying forces didn’t know about--allowed the Resistance to move throughout the city escaping notice and even sometimes capture.

But the highlight of the entire trip was the Fete des Lumieres, Lyon’s annual festival of lights. People come to Lyon from all over the world to see this festival, and so for the two evenings I was there Carrie and I spent hours walking all over the city (sometimes in drizzle and in one glorious moment--snow!) to see the amazing light displays all over the city. 

The city was so busy that the first time we went back to Carrie’s flat from the Fete, we were packed with hundreds of other people onto a metro car by metro security guards pushing us from behind. When the doors closed and no one had to hold onto the metro car railings because we were all packed in so tightly, the French people on the metro car laughed and chattered until we made it to our stop. Unlike Barcelona, where I would feel in huge danger of being pickpocketed in the crowd, in Lyon I looked with amazement at the families with small children and the elderly French people out to enjoy the festival.

On the night I was to go home (I had a night bus back to Barcelona), Carrie and I had planned almost two hours for the quick metro ride back to her apartment for my things and then to the bus station. When we finished watching the last show, I voted that we go to the nearest metro station. We didn’t know that there was a James-Bond-in-Carnival sized crowd between us and the metro station. So many thousands of people were crowded on the street that at one point we couldn’t proceed any further at all because of the immense crush of people.

By the time we made it around that huge crowd--and through all the others--we had lost a half an hour of time. We ran through the crowds of French people at night, Carrie holding my hand so I wouldn’t get lost, ducking around lines and through crowds, and an hour and a half later we made it to the bus station with ten minutes to spare.

After I went to my assigned seat in the back, I heard, “Anna!” It was Paco. He had arranged with this bus driver for me to have the whole front row to myself.

I’m sitting on my bed right now, about to start packing for my trip to Madrid this weekend. I get to see a former high school student, an old friend, a new friend, and Valerie. 

[livethatdream-blog1]

Directing my Steps

If you want all the boring details of the difficulty leading up to the selection of my final return date, look no further. I’ve got them right here:

La oficina

Nine am last Monday morning found me shivering outside another government building. I was number 142 on the sign-up sheet, but when the policeman came to me he looked at my American passport and said, “te vas a la fila de informacion” and pointed to another line up by the door, this one with five people in it.

I thanked him and moved to the other line. When I had moved up enough to get inside, my line bent around (around...) the walk-through metal detector in front of the door. Another policeman, this one more gruff than the last, pointed me to stand against the wall while I waited my turn.

When I finally made it to the front of the line twenty minutes later, I was called up to a desk where the bookish DMV-esque official asked, “estadounidense?”. When I nodded, he took out a piece of paper and explained to me that I was at the wrong office. The office I needed to be at was near Avinguda de Parallel in the city center.

I walked out buoyed up with hope: I live a block from this office.

So the next morning I picked up my official job offer and my student visa and I decided to do a preliminary check at this government office to see how long the line was.

To my surprise, this Oficina de Extranjeria (foreigner’s office) had no line at all. I walked in, got a number, took a seat, and fifteen minutes later was called up to speak to an official.

It was the first time I had spoken with someone who wasn’t in a hurry, with someone who answered my questions, with someone who didn’t shrug a single time during our conversation. When I asked her how to get an NIE she said simply, “You can’t. We don’t give those to Americans.”

I asked her how to formalize my employment under my student visa and she helpfully pulled out a six-page packet outlining the requirements of working on a student visa: organizations would have to provide me an hourly schedule of my time and after amassing all the official paperwork my employer was required to personally accompany to me to the appointment to certify the truthfulness of the application and to express the necessity of having me work for their company.

I remembered a story my boss had told me where he asked a social security official in Barcelona (during a routine shake-down of the bar), “What is this, Nazi Germany?” and the official had responded, “Yes. It is.”

I swallowed, underlined, asked questions, and wrote notes in the margin of the packet. When she had satisfied all my inquiries, I thanked the woman and left to start on the process of achieving an extension for my student visa.

Back at my apartment, I immediately found two problems with my visa extension application: I had to provide proof of my health insurance (no deductible, one million euros coverage--didn’t have this) and proof of funds (a bank statement showing five thousand or so dollars in an account under my name--didn’t have this).

Both of these things could be done, but I could work on them tomorrow. For now, I decided to start the process of changing my flight home from January 24th to later in the year.

It turns out that you have to call the airline company directly to inquire as to the cost of a booking change, but as soon as I heard the words, “Welcome to Norwegian Airlines--” the recording was cut off by my cell phone company telling me I was out of minutes.

I began to feel the weight of discouragement pressing down on me, and while I sat on my couch it occurred to me to pray and ask God what to do. Why hadn’t I thought of that yet?

I prayed, got up, and went to the kitchen to make myself some tea, and while I was making tea I suddenly thought, why am I even staying here?

And little blog, for the first time, I didn’t have a good answer to the question.

New Plan

Some of my friends were hoping to visit me here in Barcelona in the Spring--only one of them had already bought a ticket, my friend Karissa, so I ran to my phone to find the dates of her trip.

Thankfully it turned out that her trip coincides almost exactly with the last six days before I go home--now instead of working and visiting with her, I can plan to finish my job(s) a week before I leave the country and she and I can just vacation! Praise GOD!

By the end of Tuesday, what had started out as tentative certainty became absolute. It took me about a week to tell my friends all around the world that I’m going home on January 24th (I set it up on a sliding scale of easiest to hardest so that I would be more encouraged as I went along). Almost every conversation went better than I thought it would and I found that instead of feeling like I had failed, I really just feel relieved. Now I won’t have to stand in line at government offices in the mornings anymore. Now I won’t have to take showers with five minutes of hot water at a time during February. Now I can use my deposit to pay my final month’s rent. 

I still haven’t told my client Ana, though. I teach English to her two little boys on Tuesday nights and she’s going to be heartbroken. Her family are the most wonderful Catalan people I’ve met.

On Wednesday I spent the morning planning weekend trips to the places I wanted to visit while I was here: France, Madrid, and Jerusalem. My flight schedule home was changed so now I’m spending 22 hours in London on my way home, too! 

Since all of my private English lessons are Tues-Wed every week, I’ll be able to travel on weekends and still teach private lessons. I received my boss and supervisor’s blessing at TravelBar to spend three days a week doing all my work (and to go home: “you gotta do what’s right for you, kid”), and I’m free to spend my last seven weeks adventuring! Wow! It was easy!

New Blog

My current project at Tour Barcelona (TravelBar’s parent company) is to write a blog for their hen do (that’s British for “bachelorette party”) company, so right now I’m spending about six hours a week writing blog posts about wedding venues and photographers and dresses in Barcelona. 

Here are the blog posts I’ve done so far:

https://travelbar.com/beautiful-wedding-gowns-barcelona/

https://travelbar.com/barcelonas-11-best-wedding-venues/

https://travelbar.com/barcelonas-top-wedding-photographers/

https://travelbar.com/top-9-hen-party-activities-barcelona/

It’s fun! The web developer hired by Tour Barcelona says he likes my writing style and we think I’ll be able to be completely done with blog posts by mid-January.

Perfect.

I know I decided I was going home in two months, but I’m not there yet, for now: France, Madrid, John, Jerusalem.

And thankfulness.

A man’s heart devises his way: but the Lord directs his steps. 

(Proverbs 16:9)

[livethatdream-blog1]

Tour Guiding

What a wonderful recent couple of weeks this has been!

I’m becoming successful when it comes to being a tour guide. I love meeting all the people who come on free walking tours in Spain--British people, Americans, people from northern Europe, Australians, I love hearing their stories and how they ended up here!

The Gothic quarter is truly full of mysteries. In the books at the local library I’ve discovered how many places in Barcelona’s gothic used to be a cemetery or burial ground: it’s a bunch. Something that really interests me though is how much symbolism there is in every detail in the gothic.

For example: the patron saint of Barcelona is Saint George (Sant Jordy, in Catalan). Once you know that, the gothic quarter comes alive with little references to dragons all through it. 

But how did St George become the patron saint of Barcelona? I don’t know. I do know, however, that St George’s cross is the flag of Genoa, Italy, which is the birthplace of Christopher Columbus, another hugely important figure in the history of Barcelona. 

Somehow, those are connected. St. George...Cristobal Colon.....

That’s just one thing.

Last week on my tour I met a group of Australians who were on their way back from working for the Federal Reserve bank in Washington, DC, for the last three years. They were fascinated by the history of Barcelona and we talked about their work in economics.

Last week I celebrated Thanksgiving with my friends from Colorado Springs, Pam and Eric. Our table spread was amazing--traditionally American--and we brought over a few of Eric’s workmates (1 Spanish, 1 Belgian, 1 Danish) to show them what Thanksgiving is like! 

I’m again waiting for John to come to Barcelona. He‘s going to be here until January 1st, and we already have plans to see the beach and tour the towers of the Sagrada Familia!

[livethatdream-blog1]

Peace

...It’s been a quiet time here for the last few days. 

Before I left for Spain I would occasionally confide to a friend that I was envisioning my time here as just maybe a kind of sabbatical, where I could be away from working as much as I did at my last job, away from my responsibilities and social life, and away from many of the demands on my time that I had in my life in Colorado Springs.

Every time I said that, the friend I was talking to would chuckle, shake their head, and say the same thing: oh that’s not going to happen.

But right now it is happening, and I’m surprised by how nice it is.

You see, being a tour guide (in charge of designing my own tour, no less!) challenges me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Everything in the gothic quarter, from the names of the streets to the names of the plazas to the cathedrals and palaces, has its own unique significance and story. It isn’t on the internet; if there is a Master Catalogue of Barcelona on the world wide web, I haven’t found it. It can be found only by buying an old tour guide a beer and bringing your notebook. Or by buying an old Catalan a beer and bringing your notebook. Or by going to the library.

I find that since I speak two of the three languages in the local biblioteca el gotic, I have access to most of the books there. Furthermore, all the libraries in Barcelona are fascinated with the gothic quarter: each library has its own section just on the history and the mysteries of that area. 

It’s strengthening my skills: in many cases, I can now tell my tours all the stories that aren’t true and where they came from as well as the truth about etymology, legend, and history.

All of this to say that my life in Barcelona has settled into a quiet, peaceful rhythm: I give tours, I give English lessons, and I read.

My private English lessons, by the way, are going fabulously: after some thought and prayer about each unique individual, I’ve decided to even remove the teenage girl surcharge. Everyone is doing just fine. :)

With all the calm, peaceful success I’ve been having, I‘m even thinking of branching out by taking a little inexpensive trip! I‘ll keep you in the loop, little blog.

In the meantime, let me tell you an anecdote of something perfectly Barcelonan that happened to me the other day:

Sometimes I quietly bolster my own confidence by thinking to myself that the things in this country exist just to inconvenience me. A few days ago I was in the library and a message came over the intercom that the library was about to close for a two hour siesta. I packed up the books I had been reading, put them away, and went to the bathroom.

The ladies room was full and the door to the men’s room was propped open. While I waited, a man went into the bathroom, and a moment later, another man entered. With his back to me, and without closing the door, the man went to the urinal next to the door and started to open his pants. 

I was humiliated, dear little blog. While this man stood with his back to me, seven feet away through the open door, actively peeing, I looked anywhere but him, shuffled, put my hands in my pockets, until I was interrupted.

“Come here much?“

This man had just come out of the bathroom.

“No, I.......“

“Do you live around here?“

I was shocked. Was he actually chatting me up in line for the bathroom, while a man was peeing with the door open less than ten feet away?

Apparently oblivious to my discomfort, this man introduced himself and continued to try to ascertain my location, nationality, and living situation, until the ladies room opened and I dashed into the bathroom.

Thinking that I had escaped, I quietly congratulated myself while I washed my hands. What a crazy ten minutes! I thought.

When I exited the bathroom, a matron was waiting outside waving a library card from a lanyard. She had waited, apparently, just to tell me that I’m supposed to have a library card to use the bathroom.

*sigh*

Patience, Anna. Patience,

[livethatdream-blog1]

Viva!

He came to Barcelona!

John and I had an incredible week together. I never understand why, but a lot of people don’t seem to want to hear about other people’s romantic relationships, so I’ll just say this: I love him a lot more (and differently) than when I left, and our relationship is more and more like home.

*phew*. We made it through it, guys.

I always say that I could be entertained if John and I were chained to an oar, so us being together in this gem of Europe was glorious good fun. John ordered all his own food in Spanish and whenever I could, I prodded him to be the first to speak to waiters, bartenders, and locals. He picked up an impressive amount of Spanish, and afterward each conversation I would translate to him exactly what he had said, (”and then you said....’nice to meet you’! Ha!”) so that we could have a good laugh and he could learn more. 

And so that I could laugh.

(Seriously, little blog, there’s a danger here. A year ago I taught him to drive a stick shift, but when I did it, I spent so little time helping him and so much time laughing at him that I spoiled manual driving for him forever. He won’t do it anymore.)

At the end of this post are some pictures from our week. :)

The apartment saga continues! Please pray for me that everything in my apartment keeps working!

The day before John came, you see, my internet went out. Today is the first day I’ve had internet again in my apartment.

On Monday, I wandered sleepy-eyed into the kitchen and nearly slipped in an enormous pool of water. This time it was the pipe under the sink: it was dripping slowly and steadily.

The plumber still hasn’t come for that one and tomorrow is (yet another) Spanish festival day, so there’s little hope of his arrival until Thursday. 

But I will prevail! We will keep bowls under the sink for as long as it takes! We have internet! We have food!

I’m still really enjoying being a tour guide. It’s amazing to me how much interesting information can exist within a ten minute walk. I went on a colleague’s tour yesterday, and he had just three of the stops that I go to on my tour. All the rest of his tour was just as accurate, just as interesting, and probably far more skilled than mine. How excellent!

As you almost certainly have heard, little blog, Catalonia declared independence on Friday. The results were, to me, just as wild as this entire ride has been: the weekend immediately filled with marches for Spanish unity as the central government in Madrid disbanded the Catalan government and authorities around the world refused to recognize a Catalan state. Regardless of the other implications of those points, by Monday the wind had all but left the sails of the Catalan independentista movement. The president, Puigdemont, fled to Brussels and much of his government appears to have gone into hiding. Catalan officials who work for the Spanish government showed up for work on Monday. Catalan independentista flags all over the city disappeared, some to be replaced by Spanish flags. The only thing that hasn’t changed is the crowd of news reporters twiddling their thumbs in Plaza Jaume, between the government buildings. I don’t know what they’re waiting for, but....something.

At any rate, we’re safe here! 

There were some good pictures, though. When John and I were returning to our AirBnb on Friday night, we saw a crowd of hundreds of pro-Spanish unity demonstrators surrounded by police vans. We went around the demonstration and safely back, but on the way we saw a man with a Spanish flag tied around his neck. I love listening to them, so I gave a throaty, Viva Espanya! as we passed him. He punched his fist in the air and bellowed Viva!!! in return. 

I’m thankful to be in love with a man who would put his arm around me just then and tell me to stop it. You’re a good one, John.

Next week: I don’t know! We’ll see what’s thrown at me then!

Wow! John’s watching the magic fountain!

Hey, what’s that fuzzy thing by his right shoulder?.....

Anna! Stop yawning!

CAUGHT

No filter or anything. This is actually what the inside of La Sagrada Familia looks like. It’s beautiful. 

A thousand thanks to Valerie Copan, who got such excellent photographic proof of how much John and I enjoy hanging out even when (we think) no one is watching.

[livethatdream-blog1]

Getting Comfy

Yesterday I was climbing up the stairs to my apartment thinking, “You know, I think I’m finally getting truly settled. Barcelona and I are really starting to get along. Hey, this place is kinda even starting to feel like home!”

I reached the top of the stairs and opened the door, where my musings were interrupted by my soaked, panicked housemate waving a mop in my face and yelling, “WE DON’T HAVE ANY WATER!”

The gist went like this:

The water heater “F^$KING BROKE”.

Water was “UP TO HERE” (vague waist-level hand motion).

One thing though was for certain: my flatmate had successfully turned off the main valve and we didn’t have any water.

In a stunning turn of events, a nice plumber by the name of Mohammad came and fixed the broken pipe, made a recommendation to get a completely new water heater, brought it and installed it all within 36 hours.

Really, guys. My one job today was to stay at home and wait to let in the repairman, but I was so sure that he wasn’t going to come (because, guys, we’re in Spain) that I left to get coffee with a friend and he showed up while I was away.

Humiliated.

Anna. You had one job.

Speaking of jobs, my new employment is shaping up to be just great! I’ve only been at it for about a week, so I feel like I still don’t quite know what’s going on, but I seem to have lucked out in becoming the newest member of a big family. Already I really like the people I work with and what I get to do. It’s excellent!

On Tuesday I decided to get a bank account. I lucked out. Praise God, I managed to get the bank employee who was (as he told me), “passionate about helping people feel comfortable with each of their banking decisions”. That dear man took over an hour to help me select the correct account and set it up, dubious legality and all (*cough*), to my liking. As of now I am the proud owner of a Spanish bank account!

I emailed Javier the next day to tell him how wonderful he is, and he promptly returned the note:

“Muchísimas gracias Anna por tus palabras.”

 *(That means thanks for your words)*

English teaching is pretty swell, too. My lessons are price-leveled according to planning difficulty, which means that about two evenings a week I teach conversational English to women my age, two evenings a week I teach English to young boys, and one afternoon a week I work with two teenage girls.

My favorites are the conversation classes. I do topical planning to lend a professional air to my “class” and then I basically serve as a friend, confidant, encourager, and advisor for an hour. My small boy lessons are significantly more difficult to plan and run, but I decided about a week ago to take the pressure off myself to do a formal “lesson” because these kids will definitely learn as much or more from songs, games, and videos. That strategy helped me feel less stressed and more successful this week by far.

Frankly, however, I’m strongly considering adding a Teenage Girl Surcharge to my rates for future clients.

I’m learning a lot about myself. For instance, I found out today that when I live in an apartment with other people, cleaning is less of a chore. Instead of cleaning to, “be a good person” or something that I can never seem to get clear in my head, I get to clean because I want my flatmates to be able to live in a clean home and I want them to be surprised and happy when they get home and see I cleaned.  I sure hope I can keep that positive attitude in future!

Oh! And this Sunday night is going to be my first night interpreting the Hillsong Sunday evening service into English in real time! Wish me luck! Pray for me! Send me money! Or help! Send help!

That’s all from Barcelona!

(My first tour!)

My lovely new friend Celeste on the most famous street in Barcelona’s Jewish quarter, El Call!

Because of the house of the LORD our God, I will seek thy good. Psalm 122:9

When I awake, I am still with Thee. Psalm 139:18

...for you are with me. Psalm 23:4B

[livethatdream-blog1]

Catastrophe. Oh! And a Job!

One by one, things that make me comfortable fall away. My steady job; familiar food; air conditioning; the hot water in my apartment; my stove; my oven; my heater; seeing my friends; grocery stores that are open on Sundays.

This week: political rights.

As you guys probably are aware, this week swept the Catalan political system: the Catalan Indepentista party has been planning to vote in a referendum so that it can declare independence from Spain. But when the vote was scheduled to happen on Sunday, catastrophe.

To really understand the situation we have to know a little bit about the political history of Spain. After World War II, Spain was quietly left under a fascist dictatorship until 1975, when Franco died. Many middle-aged Spaniards can still remember what it is like to live in a place where people just disappear. To be left in an unmarked grave somewhere.

Catalonia suffered terribly under Franco’s regime, and even after Franco’s son began the transition to democracy immediately following Franco’s death, there’s still a lot of bad blood between Spaniards from Madrid and Barcelonans.

If you think racism is a problem in America, you need to see how Barcelonans treat Madrilenos and hear how Madrilenos talk about Barcelonans. That is racism. They hate each other.

Anyway, on Sunday I had already been receiving messages and instructions from friends in America and locals around the city. It was common knowledge that boats of military police from Madrid were waiting off the coast, and that if (when) they came into the city their point of entry would be about two blocks from my apartment building. So on Sunday I stayed home.

Little blog of mine, when the Catalans tried to have their unconstitutional, illegal vote, the Madrid police came in and beat the sh%t out of them. My opinion on the vote was suddenly irrelevant: I realized that the rights I take for granted, peaceful assembly, free speech, due process of law, a speedy and public trial, are not enshrined here like they are in America.

I studied economics at Hillsdale College, but even though I’ve walked around for the last five years or so holding the mental banners of, “taxation is theft” and “the law is force” and “restrain the coercive power of the state”, as of today I have a perspective on those ideas that’s real in a way I never before understood.

What I’ve always been told, that I can’t make my government my god and expect it to care for me, is totally true. What Bastiat said is right: government is force. It’s just coercion, and when it’s unbridled, it is an ugly and dangerous thing.

Thank God the Word says that Jesus is coming back! And then it will all be set right. I’m so thankful for that. In the meantime, I trust God to protect me. And I am safe, little blog. I praise God for it.

And I got a job yesterday!

The details of my job are still being worked out a little bit, but basically I’m starting as a tour guide for a local company next week. My new boss seems excellent and I am already spending pleasurable hours in the library planning my tour of the Barri Gotic.

Also, this guy comes in two and a half weeks:

[livethatdream-blog1]

Fun things Spanish People Say to Me

(A collection of one-liners, by Anna Shoffner)

This country is helping me learn to be more patient.

At the grocery store. “You can’t come in. We’re closed.” (3pm)

At the other grocery store: “Closed.” (3:15pm)

At the notary: *opens door* “We’re closed.” *shuts door*

At the coffee shop: “You can’t sit there. I’m cleaning the floor.”

At the other coffee shop: “Can you move? I’m cleaning the floor.”

At another coffee shop: “If you’re not in a group you have to sit over there.”

At another coffee shop: “The coffee maker is broken.”

At a restaurant (at 4pm): “Closed! Open again on Tuesday.”

My personal favorite:

At another coffee shop, “We don’t serve coffee on the second floor.”

Package delivery service: “The pick up site hasn’t been open for a week, and this is your fourth trip there? Maybe they’re on vacation. You could try back in September.”

[livethatdream-blog1]

Untitled.

My dear little blog,

I don’t care if I think you’ll be bored, you’re getting all of it.

(I realized this week that I didn’t want to write again until everything was settled the way I wanted it to be and I could write a delightful missive: “everything’s perfect in Barcelona, guys!” (Just that. That would be the whole post.). But I as the week waned and that goal continued to recede into the distance, I realized that I should just write something as soon as I felt like I was up to it.)

Nope

My first project after finding my flat was obtaining gainful employment. My ad for private English lessons was snapped up. Within three days, I was paying my rent (and a little more, praise God).

The online teaching gig I put lots of time and effort into starting for the last couple of weeks is alright. I have a nice spot set up in my room to teach with a white background, natural light, and a nice map behind me. My headset works. My internet is dependable (and I have backup if it fails), scheduling is easy, and my first student gave me a five-star rating!

But. Classes are paid well only when they’re booked and the student shows up. It will take at least one to two months to have a dependable schedule, and even then I probably won’t be able to do much more than pay the bills and have a little extra. In the meantime,

Oh. I don’t have enough savings to wait that long.

On Monday morning I sat myself down and we had a talk:

Me: “So can you make enough money with this job?”

Also me: “Yeah, eventually.”

Me: “how fast is eventually?”

Also me: “uhhhhhh, I don’t know.”

Me: “Do you like it?”

Also me: “I mean, if it pays the bills...”

And there you have it, folks. Is this what I want to do with my year of adventure? No. 

(You would think that admission would be freeing, but since right behind it came, “.....and I don’t have money to do anything fun”.......you get the point)

So I set off finding other employment.

Hm. Online translator?  Lots of work, low pay.

Hotel receptionist? See above.

Secretary? No one has emailed me back.

.....dog walker?

I won’t tell you who embarrassed me by laughing at me when I told them this plan, but I made flyers (a last-second edit amended the Spanish, “dog-girl” from its original “b#ch-girl”--whoops), took them to the printers, and am carrying them around in my bag to lend me courage as a last resort.

My friend Jose Maria told me to go to the American Chamber of Commerce to Barcelona (the Camara de comercio de los EEUU en Barcelona) and present myself with my resume, tell them about my degree in economics and my experience in Washington, DC, and ask them for help.

This sounded audacious enough to be right up my alley. So this morning I put on my most professional outfit, did my hair, made another trip to the printers with what-feels-like my sixth bilingual resume revision, and set off across the city to find the chamber of commerce building.

It was huge, and in one of the nicest parts of the city. When I straightened my shirt, walked in, and told the doorman where I wanted to be directed, he responded in Spanish without skipping a beat (that means my Spanish was on point). I rehearsed what I was going to say in the elevator, clutching my folder of Spanish and English resumes to my chest, and when I made it to the door, pushed the button with my heart in my throat.

I addressed what looked like a video camera next to the door:

“What?”

“Excuse me, I’m here to make an inquiry....if you have a moment, Ma’am.”

The clear voice said, “No one is admitted without an appointment.”

After I picked up the pieces and bought myself a comfort donut, I decided to set off with my heretofore-unused packet of resumes and drop them at all the tour-guide agencies that I could find. (Credit to my father for texting me this morning to remind me of the obvious: I wanted to be a tour guide).

1st “tour company” turned out to be a metro stop,

2nd “tour company” turned out to be a pharmacy,

and then I ran out of time.

On my way home I walked into a local bar well known for its tours and asked to see the owner. I explained that I was looking for employment as a tour guide. The camarero said, “you need to talk to Simon. He’s here a lot but never on a set schedule. If you give me your phone number, next time I see him I can text you.”

Was this guy hitting on me?

Did I care?

I asked him if I could give him my resume (you’ll remember that this whole time I had been carrying around a whole packet of different versions of my resume). He looked at it and exclaimed, “that’s a great resume! Wow! You could get any job with that resume!”

I said, “Maybe, but I want to be a tour guide.”

Life

Guys, this city is gorgeous. Getting to know it in its massive, beautiful, foreign glory is a joy.

The coffee here has met my approval. My favorite coffee shop plays American rock music from the 60′s and charges 1.40 for some of the best coffee I’ve had. The walls are covered in maps. I highly recommend it.

Sometimes I take a walk to the cruise ship docks to remind myself what people do to be here for just a few days, and how thankful I am to be here for as long as I have.

Two weeks ago I found a church! Hillsong Barcelona has a very genuine group of Christian believers and a rock concert before and after every service. I’m in.

“For God is not unrighteous to forget your work and labour of love, which ye have shewed toward his name, in that ye have ministered to the saints, and do minister.“ Hebrews 6:10

“ Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse...and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”  Malachi 3:10b

“Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?...But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” Matthew 6:31, 33

Don’t worry about me, please. I’m okay--and I do have money, I swear. I’m just a very careful and strict budget-follower.

Mom, thanks for encouraging me so much over the phone.

Dad, thanks for reminding me of the obvious this morning.

Thanks for praying for me and encouraging me, friends.

[livethatdream-blog1]

Acquired: room. Seeking: employment.

Since I didn’t have an apartment yet, I went to live with Courtney and Heindri. Those two South Africans are the best! They taught me cool words in Afrikaans (lacquer, mah broo) and generously shared everything-except-a-bedroom with me for a whole week. Love them.

(Pictured above winning at beer pong)

I took advantage of my homeless-unemployed status last week to hire a BlaBlaCar (like Uber for roadtrips) for the six-hour drive from Barcelona to Madrid so that I could visit Valerie.

Not-being-a-tourist is interesting in that I have no desire to go hike through museums all day like I usually do when I’m in Spain. Val and I spent the majority of our time moving from coffee shop to bar to coffee shop, sharing meals and enjoying the vibe of Madrid.

On Sunday I came back on a bullet train, mopey because all my stuff was still packed in a big suitcase. But within one hour of deciding to rally my spirits to keep looking for a home, I walked into an excellent apartment and paid the down-payment on an awesome room!

Let me tell you about my room:

My apartment is on the sixth floor of an apartment building that’s about three blocks from the Mediterranean Sea. From my bedroom window I can see the palace of Montjuic, Tibidabo, and the Sagrada Familia all off in the distance.

From the balcony I can see the cruise ships coming in and out of the port and watch kids play in a park across the street under me.

There are plenty of other, less romantic things about the apartment, like how it doesn’t have heating or air conditioning (very common for Spain), needs to be cleaned from top to bottom (um), and currently lacks a shower head (a problem). 

My new roommate is a wonderful Portuguese woman named Teresa, who has already proved her worth by buying lots of cleaning supplies and fixing that smell that was coming from the toilet. My job is to cheerfully remove the sticky from all the dishes.

As lovely as it is to finally have an apartment, paying for my room and a deposit dipped into my emergency fund, folks. Instead of boring you with the details, I’ll just say that my job search has, erm, increased in intensity. If you’re praying for me, please pray for that.

Two times today a man stopped to help me instead of just letting me struggle to tape a flyer to a stone wall. One time today I was in a grocery store during the muslim call to prayer (totally unprepared for that). Yesterday I moved a wardrobe that’s significantly larger than I am across a room all by myself.

Today, I made rice.

LOOK OUT WORLD, SHE CAN MAKE RICE!

[livethatdream-blog1]

Terrorists and Less-Dangerous-Slightly-Boring-Things

Gosh, this life in Spain sure is glamorous.

I graduated from my four-week TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) course last night! The course was surprisingly difficult, dear little blog. As a rule, when people tell me things are difficult (especially in academics), I do a mental shrug. But had I known how tough this course would have been, I might have mentally girded a loin.

Our class of 11 each taught between five and seven classes through the duration of the course, spending multiple afternoons a week teaching each of four levels of English at least once. The school gives discounted English lessons to English learners who are willing to undergo classes with well-supervised neophytes, so TEFL students would teach a 45-minute class of between one and ten English students. 

Even though I taught Spanish to high-school students for three years, I’ve never taught a language immersion course (that’s a course where the only language spoken is the one students are learning), and I had to learn an entirely new teaching methodology, which posed a unique challenge. To further salt my skillet, mornings featured classes (these taught by an EFL specialist) on teaching methodology and grammar.

I worry of boring you, dear little blog, so I’ll say no more except that my classmates are exceptionally kind and funny and that I will keep in touch with them and miss them and they all have an invitation to come to America as soon as I return.

One of the coolest things about Spain, I-thought-when-I-came-here, is that it hasn’t had a terrorist attack in 13 years.

But ten days ago, the end of my class was interrupted by an announcement that there had been a terrorist attack. That’s all we knew, but we all pulled out our cell phones to tell our mothers right then that we were okay.

Anyone at school who had commuted into the city spent the night in Barcelona that night: all public transportation had closed.

The details unfolded as the night went on: 14 dead, 100 injured, a van driven into a crowd on the most famous street in the city. I spent that whole night fielding calls and emails from America and Spain, telling everyone that I was okay, being comforted and encouraged. Maria, my friend from Madrid, gave me the best advice: “these things happen. Just keep around your house for a couple of days while the police do their job and wait for it to die down. And pray.”

There’s a little more violence in the rest of the story: another attack, the death of the last uncaptured terrorist as he fled police. But our purpose here is to talk about the highlights of my time in Spain, not to dwell on the violence of those few days.

Let it be said though that the people of Barcelona came together in the wake of the tragedy. So many blood donors volunteered that within 12 hours, the hospital was turning people away. By the time I had volunteered to be a translator the next day, no more were needed. And I’ve already heard at least one thankful “why I wasn’t there that day” story. Praise God.

But 114 people were there. It breaks my heart.

The apartment hunt continues. I’m to leave my lovely little abode tomorrow and it looks right now as though I will move in with a married couple who are friends of mine instead of a new apartment. Prices for a room in Barcelona are relatively inexpensive compared to an American big city (they seem to average around 400 dollars), and having studied economics I do not understand why the price doesn’t adjust upward, because the demand here right now is huge. 

One of the first times I went to see an apartment, I was on my way out when I ran into one of the housemates showing the same room to another girl. I was a little surprised, but I felt less disappointed when the housemates told me a week later that they had decided to let other people live in both of the rooms I liked.

The next time I saw an apartment I really liked, I was ready. I started by charming the owner by telling him his accent sounded all wrong for a Scotsman (whoops....) and then just shamelessly begged him to let me live there.

Needless to say, he picked someone else.

But the funniest apartment visit was two nights ago. I went to one of the most coveted places in Barcelona to visit what looked from the photos like a beautiful room. Having looked for an apartment for almost three weeks now, I knew it was some kind of a vague, rule-less contest, and I was torn between looking as cool as I could (everyone likes to live with ‘the cool girl’ right??) and trying to look ambiguous and homely (every girl wants to have a friend who isn’t as pretty as she is, right??) but I gave up and settled with ‘rely on my personality’.

I was trying to find the street number on a likely-looking door when I heard, “are you here to see a room?” from behind me. It was another girl who was there to see the same room. Apparently our appointments were ten minutes apart. 

We introduced ourselves to each other, and while Stefani and I were talking about this development, an impeccably-dressed Spanish girl walked confidently to the door and hit the doorbell.

“Are you here to see a room?” Stefani asked. 

“Yes,” the girl replied in Spanish. “I was told to come sometime around 7:00.”

A quick huddle between Stefani and me settled the matter: we would all go in at once.

Inside, both Stefani and I were embarrassed to find that there were five girls there to see the room, and that almost all of us wanted it. None of the housemates were there to meet us, the only person there was the landlady and five would-be roommates, all wondering how we were going to win the room.

The landlady, a beautiful eastern European woman, bent over a sheet of paper and sighed, murmuring, “I wonder how we’ll decide......”

I chose this moment to test the waters: “We could have a big group date, and then eliminate us, like on The Bachelor.”

I don’t know if they didn’t understand or just saw me as competition, but no one even chuckled. At least one girl gave me a dirty look, and I decided not to continue with my next suggestion of trial by combat.

Let’s say, dear little blog, that when I get a wonderful little room that I can afford, it will be an act of God. I can’t wait.

Well, now that I’ve graduated my course.....finding a job!

Stay tuned! Love from BCN!

OH! And there’s a new person in the world!!!

His name is Jaxson Johnston, my sister Jessie is credited with carrying him around in her stomach cavity for the last three-quarters of a year, and I’ve been taken by surprise by my own love for him:

[livethatdream-blog1]

"Persistence. That’s the Key.”

^This is what the lovely Australian couple I met at coffee this morning told me. 

How’s Barcelona, Anna?

It’s incredible. My little room with the inward-opening windows on to the quiet little street in Gracia is beautiful, my TEFL program is challenging, the people I live with are sweet. Usually my gauge for “do I feel at home here” is whether or not a barista will recognize me at my favorite coffee shop, and at this point, when I walk in to H.O.L.E. on Carrer de Baillen every morning, Konstantin (the Russian owner) says, “Hi, Anna! Taking it to go this morning?”

So I do feel at home.

And now come the fun parts! Getting a job! Making sure I have legal papers! Getting a permanent place to live! 

The only part of this whole process that has been “easy” was getting phone service: I just walked down to a local Vodafone, explained what I wanted (in Spanish), and walked out with a new Spanish phone number. The whole process took 10 minutes.

Legal Papers

Making sure that I’m legally here to work.....was less simple. Let me explain without boring you (it’ll be tough): upon my arrival, the school told me I will need paper #1. But paper #1 is “impossible to get”. Never mind that, I decided, and set about trying to obtain paper #1 ASAP. I tried to get an appointment with the government office (”All our appointments are full. Please try back at a later date”), tried to hire a private consultant (”We only work for EU Citizens”), tried to bribe an official (”All our offices are closed for the month of August”), and it was only when I tried to hire a lawyer that I was told for the first time: “You don’t need paper #1″.

So I called another lawyer, and they said I should instead get paper #2. I went to a bank to experimentally try to open an account and was told I should get paper #3. Got on the internet to see what it will take to renew my visa in six months:  “Your type of visa cannot be renewed”.

So finally I went directly to a government office to personally beg them for the answers, but it was only on the second day of trying, when I had been standing outside the government office in line for 30 minutes, that I saw a sign that read, “THIS IS NOT AN INFORMATION OFFICE”.

...and then below it, in smaller print, “all inquiries can be directed to [email protected]”. I emailed the address, and (miracle of miracles) the government office responded within six hours with a full list of everything that I need, including the information IN WRITING that I do not need paper #1, paper #2, or paper #3 to legally live in Barcelona.

So far so good. I had a 24-hour reprieve of delicious peace, knowing I have what I need, until I met a lovely couple this morning at coffee:

“Oh. Make sure that you do get paper #4, though....”

Sightseeing

....has barely happened. The only opportunity I’ve yet taken to tour the city was when my friends Jonathan and Emily were in town last Saturday and we spent the day walking around the city (which was great).

Classes

TEFL International Barcelona is school. Is school fun?

Before you think of how you would answer that question, remember: Anna is writing this.

School is fun.

I’ve been thrown in with a group of 10 other international English-speakers, only 2 of whom are from the states, and we’ve formed a fast group of friends.

The classes taught to the TEFL students range from moderately challenging to get-me-some-coffee-and-a-hot-pack-I-can’t-remember-my-name-anymore challenging. After two days of TEFL classes, our group all started teaching English to Barcelonans who are offered discounted English classes so that they can be our practice “students”. Every day we have intensive grammar and instruction classes in the morning, and in the afternoon 4-6 of us are scheduled to teach a 45-minute English class, while the rest are free to go.

Teaching English as a foreign language is challenging in different ways than I had expected. For instance, did you know that if you are teaching adults and they disobey your class instructions, there’s nothing you can do to them?? Also, if you ask a class to do something and you use too many words, they may not understand you at all?? And if you use too few words, you may not be “challenging them enough”??

Needless to say, teaching English is possible. Being the-best-English-teacher-that-ever-happened-on-day-one (which you know is what I, in my heart of hearts, desire) is extremely difficult. I’m spending a lot of time telling myself to lower my standards and relax.

Job

Next week. I can only spin so many plates at once.

Apartment

Since my current apartment is awesome, I decided to put off apartment hunting until I was two weeks into my stay. So I started apartment-hunting yesterday!

No news yet. I’ll let you know.

At the very Least....

Guys, I’m doing really well. As you can see above, the technicalities of making money and getting legal papers and passing my classes and having a place to live and blahblahblahblahblah are seeds that, if watered, are enough to make me catatonic with fear.

But every day I open my Bible and I get to read that, 

“The Lord gives strength to His people, and the Lord blesses His people with peace”

and,

“The Lord preserves the faithful”

and,

“steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the Lord”,

and I’m encouraged by the spiritual food that is the Word.

I can just remember that, “God has cattle on a thousand hills,” and for me, He’ll sell one.

[livethatdream-blog1]

I’m Here!

I packed up the rest of my things, calmed down, and got on my plane. It was not without some major stressors: I spent three days on the phone and going back and forth from the DMV when I wanted to be packing; stayed up until 10:30 at night cleaning my old apartment so I could leave it at night in the rain (my exit could not have been more dramatic, little blog); spent three days with my best friends the Martinez family, gave away my first car, and got on my plane.

The flight to Europe is less than glorious, people. No matter how big the plane is, it’s still too small. The only fun part about it is waking up to sunlight four hours after the sun set and looking down to see what you know is a different country. My breath catches a little bit every time.

Welcome to Europe, Anna. We don’t know where your luggage is. But God is so good: for the first time, not only did I pack all my most precious belongings on my person for the flight, I also packed my basic toiletries and four days worth of clothes. I’ll be fine until they find it.

My hostess from whom I am renting a room is really wonderful. Her name is Maria; she prepared a beautiful room for me and she treats me like a family member. Anything I need to borrow is mine, be it shampoo and conditioner, a towel, plates, coffee, blankets... My room has a little balcony that looks out on a decidedly unromantic (but blessedly quiet) street, and good thing, too, because it is HOT here in Barcelona and I need those windows open all. the. time.

The school program I’m attending is really exceptional. How cool! TEFL Barcelona was the first school I found in a preliminary internet search in December. Its trainers really are exceptional; three British people who I can’t help but parrot all day long. Lovely things I’ve heard them say so far include: “a wee snooze”, “I’m off to the loo”, and fifty more. These people are great. Without any effort, I already stopped using the word “elevator” and started saying, “lift”. How cool. I spent probably two hours figuring out where I would go in Barcelona, and this course is perfect.

I just got over major jet-lag by taking an herbal remedy that my mother would approve of. I can’t wait for today’s café con leche and the beautiful walk down to school! 

But first, some pictures:

^I went for a walk the first night I got here.

Near my school.

Near my school! *squeals*

Also near my school. *faints*

You know what that is, folks. It’s Sagrada!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks God!!

“For your steadfast love is great above the heavens; your faithfulness reaches to the clouds!”

Psalms 108:4

[livethatdream-blog1]

Packing..Paking..Pakin..Pain.

My beautiful apartment is a mess, covered in all the things I’ve bought, been given, or received over the last three years, being packed into boxes to be given away, stored, or put in the single suitcase that I’m bringing on my adventure.

I’m doggedly packing everything away, listening to a great music playlist (The Good Christian Music Blog on Spotify. Check it out), getting teary-eyed occasionally. It’s difficult, but more difficult will be saying goodbye to John this weekend.

Meet John.

I did, anyway, when I first moved to Colorado three years ago. We became friends, did a bunch of things together, and then I called him a year and a half ago and told him I had romantic feelings for him. John swallowed his surprise and said something like, “Of course. I love you too” (bad misquote, that), and the rest is history.

When we became an item, John’s first question was, “but it’s your dream to live in Spain. What will we do?” It became immediately apparent to both of us that either we had to decide that it was okay for me to go to Spain and stick with that decision, or John had to try to convince me to give up on something I’d wanted to do since long before we met.

Of course, he chose, and John has been the single most unwaveringly supportive friend I have when it comes to my Adventure. While a bunch of my friends have told me some variation of I Don’t Think You Can Do It / I Don’t Think You Should Do It, John has quietly supported me, encouraged me, and built me up.

And then he bought two round-trip plane tickets to Barcelona. That helps, too. :) Nevertheless, saying goodbye to him will be far more difficult than summoning the courage to pack away my stereo system.

And then, this:

[sure-foundation-blog]

“Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this,” says the Lord Almighty, “and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that there will not be room enough to store it.” Malachi‬ ‭3:10‬ ‭NIV‬‬

[livethatdream-blog1]

#thevictoryisreal

[livethatdream-blog1]

Ode to a Valerie

My favorite part of this picture is the little palm tree just above her head on the right, but I’ll have to add another picture so you can see what she looks like when she’s not surprised with a camera in the light of the-most-glorious-southern-Spanish-sunset-of-all-ever:

So here is Valerie with one of her favorite things: a plate of food.

Valerie and I met at our alma mater, Hillsdale College (cue chorus of angels). I have no idea how we met, but we got along like peas and carrots. She was a part of the Cool Hillsdale Kids Club, so I got to be her roommate and enjoy all the social benefits of technically-sleeping-in-the-same-room-as The Valerie Copan.

The greatest thing about Valerie (next to her fun, sass, and genuine love for people) is her easygoing nature. Everyone who meets her knows that they are her friend. In college I wasn’t very good at getting along with my own gender (it was probably that my huge personality was as yet relatively un-tempered by maturity, so I needed a lot of grace in my friendships--read: I was super loud), but Valerie adopted me and loved me. We lived together in Whitley (Whitley, right?) where we conceived of a pact outlining our approach to life in college (what was it called again, Val? “The Whitley Manifesto”?). Our pact soon became The Waterman Manifesto when we moved to an exclusive ladies’ house at The ‘Dale. You know, one of the perfect ones that had brick walls and a garden and rooms where you could smell the history. Waterman hosted a “Waterman Tea” every week. I think I made it to two.

We have barely seen each other since college for one significant reason: Valerie moved to Spain. And in Valerie’s exciting, glamorous life in Madrid (--everything there must be better, I tell myself, with or without air conditioning) I’ve only gotten to visit her one time.

BUT NOW WE’LL BE LIVING IN THE SAME COUNTRY. And I can’t wait to see my sweet friend again.

In the meantime, Valerie! Remember that time we.....

...put 20 dollars on a wall and said that if I spoke to that boy again it was yours?

...made a jar of all the awesome things that happened our sophomore year and read it at the end of the year?

...met a bunch of drunk Spanish men on their way back home in Granada and let them buy us breakfast?

...went up to that glorious mirador to watch the sun set over the Alhambra and drink wine with those boys?

...said “pue vamono” instead of, “pues, vamonos” for two weeks in our imitation of a Spanish southern accent?

I can’t wait. to. see. you. again. girl.