Melbourne

We arrived on a Friday night in the pouring rain after a four hour flight from NZ. Andres, Lupe's friend we were to stay with, had forgotten that we were coming, so he got a nice surprise when he opened the door at 8 on a Friday night and saw four girls standing on the other side, complete with suitcases and a bottle of gin as a gift for our hosts. We piled all our stuff on the living room floor, were introduced to the rest of the roommates, and it wasn't long before wine was opened and more friend of theirs showed up. It was like a Mexican embassy in Melbourne except for a Brit, a Honduran and a Spaniard. Their group of friends welcomed us with open arms and instantly made us feel right at home. After finishing a second teapot-full of mango vodka shots, I was pulled out the door by three of Lupe's friends and off we went to a house party.

There were all nationalities milling about and I quickly became entrenched in a conversation about femenism in developing countries. I kept thinking Katherine should have been wearing my shoes for that one. Everyone else appeared not too long afterwards and we spent the night dancing and finishing off the rest of the boxed wine out of the bag that had been extricated from the box and put in a purse. The walk home took us through a food market that was being set up for the day and one of the vendors gave Lupe a banana for the walk home. Back at the apartment, they turned on the Honduran World Cup match, causing both Lupe and myself to pass out almost instantaneously.

After a night of quite troubled dreams, I awoke to find everyone from the night before sitting around the living room, still there. It too us a while to get moving, but around three we went for a coffee at a cafe where Donaldo, the Honduran roommate, works. It was a sidewalk cafe nestled in an alleyway, lined with cafes and shops, tables all down the middle and a sidewalk runway on both sides wehre I could anonymously study Melbourners.

When Javi, the Spaniard, and Manolo, another Mexican, finally caught up with us, we took the tram out to a bit of a dumpy neighborhood to eat at a Vietnamese restaurant. The tram tickets work for two hours after you swipe them, so we didn't swipe our cards so we could try and use them for the whole time we were there while keeping our eyes peeled for officers that do ticket checks.

The Vietnamese place had been made famous to us all morning because of a giant bowl of soup for $8 that's so big it's like the never-ending story. It's a noddle and beef soup in beef broth with white onion, cilantro, bean sprouts and lemon that seems to reproduce itself with every bite you take so you can never see the bottom of the bowl.

It was dark by the time we left and got back on the tram. Javi and Manolo decided to go home and Lupe, Nea, Aleja and I decided to go have a drink at a couple of bars that Lupe said we couldn't leave without seeing. The first bar was down an alleyway, the walls were just chainlink fences and the roof was corrugated metal with sections cut out so the branches from the trees inside could grow out. There was a graffiti mural covering the one brick wall and the tables were like painted metal oil drums, the stools wooden crates, and the floor was almost like multi-layered wooden blocks stacked on top of each other so the table could also be the bench and the bench the floor. The bar was called Section 8. We discussed the happenings of the previous night and how much we liked Melbourne already, you just get this laid-back vibe with all sorts of sculptures and galleries everywhere and little streems jam-packed with cafes and shops that spill out onto the sidewalks. It started raining and half the bar got soaked because of the missing sections of roof, so we went to a rooftop bar and sat next to space heaters under big umbrellas for another while, reminiscing about summers past in Merida.

The following day, Sunday, we went to a neighborhood called Brunswick, full of shops and cafes, vintage stores and graffiti. We took the train a few stops too far and had to walk a kilometer backwards, but we found an outlet selling tons of clothing accessories from Indonesia which were all heavily discounted. We stopped to have lunch at a Japanese place and took advantage of the $2 sushi rolls that you can buy all over the city. You get a little plastic fish full of soy sauce and eat the roll kind of like a taco because they don't slice it up. They wound up being our snack food everyday we were in Melbourne. So we had sushi and noodles for lunch and then continued to window-shop and people watch. The neighborhood was full of eccentric characters and uber hipsters, providing ample entertainment.

That night we went to the house of some Mexican girls for a BBQ and to watch the Mexico vs. Argentina match. They live in a neighborhood called Chapel, about a half-hour from downtown, although getting there seemed like an eternal saga. The match wasn't until 4:30 a.m. so it was a long night. Long enough even for me to take a 2 hour nap and be woken up for the game. There were around 20 of us crammed into the living room watching the game. We'd wait until a few people had dozed off to count to 3 and then all shout, "GOL!!!!" to wake them with a start. It was a disappointing but supposedly expected defeat and we took a taxi back to the city at 6:30 in the morning, accompanied by the chirping birds. Breakfast meant quesadillas when we got home and bed around 7:30.

Monday was obviously lost to slumber. We didn't leave the apartment until dusk because we had to check some reservations, otherwise we probably wouldn't have gone anywhere. We walked all along the river that runs through Melbourne, salivating over expensive restaurant menus and finally settling on splitting a few different things at a food court. We stopped at the restaurant where Donaldo works on the way home for a cheese cake and then fell asleep almost immediately.

Almost run out of internet time, so I'll post more in a few days!

NZ Cont. (Part 2)

Now, as I was saying...

Once in Milford Sound, we boarded a small boat which took us to all the nooks and crannies of the sound and out to the Tasman Sea, from where we could see the rugged coastline extend into the horizon. The boat was small enough that the captain got right up under a few of the waterfalls so everyone on the bow of the boat got sprayed. The scenery was just breathtaking, there's no way to describe it that would do it justice, so we took a few hundred photos instead but it'll be a few more weeks before I can post those. We got to see some seals hanging out on the rocks and swimming, twisting around in the water, from just about ten feet away. We also spotted some dolphins that came and swam right up under the bow of the boat, criss-crossing back and forth and so close that our faces were splashed with droplets of water coming right out of their blowholes. It looked like a giant belly button opening and closing. By the end most everyone had gone back inside because of the cold but I stayed out on the bow drinking it all in, my body giong numb from head to toe. I was standing right there, on a boat in the Southern Fiordlands of New Zealand with arctic winds and saltwater spray hitting my face.

We all dozed most of the way back to Queenstown, I had forgotten my book and ipod and my phone's battery was dead so I had nothing to do but think or sleep, and I definitely don't need to do any more thinking!

We hadn't planned on going out that night but Nea kept insisting that she wanted to to and she finally got her way. Good night to go out, too, as we stumbled on a Chilean World Cup match at a bar where the entire Latino population of Queenstown was watching the game. We went to another bar first where we were given free drinks by some guy who had won a $500 bar tab and then we were nearly assaulted by a group of English guys. We fled to the other bar. We got back to the campervan around 4:30 in the morning, put on all our sleeping layers, and called it a night.

We were supposed to check out of the campgrounds by 10 a.m. but at noon we were still putzing about gathering our belongings. There was a sharp rap at the door and on the other side stood a one-armed man with a grimace on his face and a clipboard tucked tightly under his wing. He told us quite coldly that we should have been out of there by 10 and basically to scram, so while the other two girls were showering, Lupe and I got to enjoy the lovely experience of emptying the gray water from the camper as well as the toilet box. We had all agreed that only liquied shall enter the toilet box, all other matter was to be deposited in public restrooms. Since we were laughing so hard, it was difficult not to breathe and inhale some of it, so we half-laughed and half-choked our way through it.

Once on the road, we headed in the direction of Lake Wanaka. There were some amazing views of Queenstown from the curvy, mountain highway that slithered its way up through a very windy mountain pass. Lake Wanaka was freezing and windy so we only spent long enough outside to take a few pictures before running back to the camper to get some warm food in our bellies. The rain drops sounded like metal pellets on the camper and the wind was blowing so hard that it made the camper rock ack and forth. Once we though the weather was clearing up a bit, we got on our way again, but no sooner had we gotten on the highway than it started raining and then snowing. Lupe was driving and not only was it her first time being in a snow storm, but she'd also never driven in snowy or icy conditions. The snow started to stick and we pulled over to decide what to do with the worsening conditions. The car that had been behind us pulled up alongside and asked if we were okay and if we were planning on going much further that night. We had been planning on going a few hundred more kilometres but they recommended we stay the night because of the snow. They agreed to show us where a capsite was, so they pulled ahead of us but a few minutes down the road they stopped again, the driver got out and came to ask if we wanted to park the camper in front of their house for the night so we wouldn't have to pay for campgrounds. Our budget-minded selves were much-obliged to accept their kind offer and once parked in their front yard, snow coming down heavily, we were invited in for a cup of tea and come crabapples stolen from their neighbor's tree. Hannah and James were very sweet and down-to-earth and we spent an hour or two talking around their kitchen table, drinking hot tea and laughing. After taking a picture and writing down their address with the promise of a postcard from Mexico, we went back out to the camper to sleep. Three of the four of us were now going on our second night and neary third day with no shower and bundled up with basically the exact same clothing day and night. I spent the entire next day with a hat pulled tightly over my greasy hair, thankfully it was chilly enough to be coherent.

The following day we drove up the rugged west coast of NZ, pulling off the highway every so often to take in the cliffs plunging hundreds of feet into the Tasman Sea, the desolate beaches scattered with torturously twisted driftwood, and temporate rainforests with ferns as big as golf umbrellas. It felt so strange to drive through a mountain pass in the Southern Alps feeling like we could be in the Antarctic and just a few minutes later to feel like we could be in a rainforest in the middle of the Yucatan.

We got into the town of Franz Josef just before dark and went to book our glacier excursion for the next day before treating ourselves to a surprisingly delicious steak dinner for about 20 USD. Although complete grease monkeys by any standards, we went to bed once again without showering as we figured we'd want to shower in the morning anyway. Three days, three nights. At least it's not hot and humid!

Indulged in a long, hot shower the next morning, scarfed down some cereal, pulled on my hiking boots and snow pants and off we went. Our guide was a native of Franz Josef called Brooke. Her father was a glacier guide for 15 years and her first time up there was when she was three. As Maori legend has it, the glacier was formed when a Maori couple decided to climb the valley walls. The girlfriend loved th mountains and climbing, but her boyfriend was a total beach bum. Sometimes though, to make her happy, he'd accompan her to the mountains. One day, as they climbed the walls of the valley, the girlfriend was way up high in her own little world of bliss, when the boyfriend got stuck. He couldn't go up and he couldn't go down and finally, exhausted, he fell to his death. The girlfriend was so upset she cried until her tears began to fill the valley and form a river. The Maori gods decided to freeze the girl and her river of tears as a monument to their love for each other and that's how the Franz Josef glacier formed. The Europeans in the group all groaned and the Mexicans swooned.

It was an exhausting full day on the ice. To walk with the cramp-ons (metal spikes that you clamp to the bottom of your boots), you have to keep your feet straight, shoulder-length apart, and stomp your feet into the ice with every step you take. Our guide les us halfway up the glacier, carving steps in and out of the crevaces with her ice pick. We got to squeeze through a few holes and tight crevaces, literally sapphire blue, with the feeling that surely you'll get stuck or the glacier will decide to move and you'll be trapped in that tiny crawl space, getting squeezed more and more tightly with each breath you exhale. Thanksfully there was always light at the end of the tunnel and the glacier didn't budge an inch. We descended off the glacier right before dusk, exhausted, freezing, wet and aching, swearing never to step foot on another glacier again. It was really amazing to be up there, literally slithering between two walls of blue ice no more than 6 inches apart, but I think a "once in a lifetime experience" is definitely applicable.

As it was our last night in NZ and we still had a bunch of food left to finish, we had a double-feast for dinner. Pasta with four-cheese sauce to start, then salad, and for dessert a treat for ourselves - brie and camembert with crackers and apple slices, topped off with a few glasses of white wine from a box, another shower to wash off the glacier grime, and off to bed.

Friday was our last day in NZ before flying to Melbourne. We got the camper back just in time and I spent my last few NZ dollars on chocolates and a few postcards, and on to Melbourne!

New Zealand Part One

When we landed in Christcurch, New Zealand, the camper van we had reserved wasn't available until the following day, so we took a shuttle into town and found a hostel. It was a short walk "downtown," if you can call it that, where there were a few blocks of bars, restaurants, cafes and shops, a little old train car-turned-restaurant going around, a small cathedral, and some barely-past-puberty skateboarders showing off their tricks in the town plaza. We found a cozy restaurant with heated outdoor serating for the smokers in the group and ordered a few coffees to warm our chilly bones while we planned our itinerary for the week ahead. It was an early night, I think we went to bed around 8 in the evening, just after two stinky Frenchman joined us in the room at the hostel. One of them snored loudly and unevenly, providing the only obstacle to a night of sound slumber.

We rose before dawn as Mexico's second match of the World Cup was being played at 6:30 a.m. New Zealand time and we had found a bar the night before where we could watch it. So as unbelievable as it may sounds coming from me, we watched Mexico beat France over a good coffee, a glass of milk, and a big English breakfast at a bar in Christchurch, NZ at 6:30 in the morning with a small bunch of Mexican and French nationals. We left right after Mexico's victory and convinced a shuttle driver to take us back to our hostel, wait for us to pack up our bags and then drive us back to the airport where we could pick up our camper. Turns out the shuttle driver had an ex-girlfriend from Mexico City and he'd been all over Mexico. He even spoke pretty passable, Kiwi-accented Spanish!

Lupe was the bravest of the bunch and was the first to get behind the wheel of the camper. We had a slight mishap due to the inexperience of driving on the left side of the road and one of the rearview mirrors was nicked, causing a bit of a shake-up. It took about five hours to get to our first stop, Lake Tekapo. It's a glacier lake near Mt. Cook in Mackenzie. We arrived shortly before dusk with enough of a chilly breeze that the lake was covered in whitecaps. Posed for numerous pictures and wandered over to investigate a little old church on a point jutting out into the lake. A tiny, stone church built in the 1930s which in my opinion could qualify as being the church with the most stunning views on the planet. We left at dusk and decided to sleep near Mt. Cook so we wouldn't have to drive much in the morning, so the dark scenery zoomed by in a black blur, hiding itself from us in order to be discovered the next morning.

I put on my boots the next morning to go outsie and turn on the gas so we could use the stove for breakfast and immediately had to return for the camera. We were surrounded by jagged mountains, covered in snow and a mossy, green carpet of trees. Nestled between the mountains was another glacier lake, grey in the light of a cloudy dawn. It had rained all night which made for a restless sleep as you can hear all the droplets falling on the metal roof of the camper. After breakfast and showers, we headed to Mt. Cook.

We had been informed the night before that due to heavy snow and freezing conditions, some roads and most of the tracks were closed, but because of the rain overnight and a mild morning, about a foot of snow had melted and things had opened back up.

We hiked through Hooker Valley with the intention of getting all the way into the valley to see Hooker Glacier, but everywhere we looked and every corner we turned gave us such midnblowing scenery that we were a bit slow on the trail. We passed a little, stone monument with dozens of copper plaques left in memory of adventurers and mountaineers who had died on the mountain due to accidents, falls and avalanches. There was a hanging suspension bridge (another one further down the trail that we didn't get to), an almost entirely frozen-over lake with jagged pieces of ice covering the entire surface like a jigsaw puzzle, and rolling hills covered with a spongy, soft green moss and freckled with dark boulders. We debated whether to finish the track or to head back to the camper for lunch and get to Queenstown by nightfall. Lunch it was, which we prepared on the side of the highway overlooking another glacier lake. We had a late lunch of pasta with bottled tomato sauce while the sun went down over the lake.

It was a long drive to Queenstown. Lupe and I watched Fatal Attraction in the back while Aleja drove and Nea co-piloted. We got to Queenstown around 9:30 p.m. and went to sleep shortly after setting up camp. I slept in my pajames, jodded sweatshirt, fleece jacket, nestled inside my sleeping bag and under the duvet that came with the camper. Warm and toasty like a hot down in a warm bun.

Queenstown, named as such because the first European settlers decided that, being nestled on the edge of a lake with a majestic backdrop of New Zealand's Southern Alps, the place was fit for a queen. The founders were two families of goldminers, still amongst the wealthiest families in NZ. The city gave us a gray and rainy welcome, well-deserved I suppose after the luck we've had so far - sunny every single day. We spent the day walking around the town, exchanging money, booking our outing for Milford Sound the next day, had a bento box at a Japanese restaurant for lunch, and then went down to an ice cream placed called Patagonia for dessert. I had a delicious lavender hot chocolate, warmed me up right to the core.

We sat at a table where there were two other people on their laptops, talking about how we should be careful what we talk about because people could understand Spanish and going on and on. After an hour, I said something about wishing I had hair like the girl at our table and she glanced up at me and I knew instantly that she had understood every word we had said. My face was burning and I'm sure I turned purple with embarrasment. At least I was caught paying her a compliment...she was from Argentina.

We came back to the camper to watch a movie, a laughably bad one, and then started cocktail hour with boxed wine called Goon. After a few litres of Goon and a dinner of sliced-in-half hot dogs, sprinkled with cheese and heated up in the microwave, we went into town to try and find a decent bar. What we neglected to realize is that it was a Sunday night and it was a bit of a ghost town.

Monday morning we got up at 5:30 to go to Milford Sound in Fiordland. We had debated about whether we should go with a guide on a bus or just do it ourselves, but we were warned repeatedly about the drive being NZ's most treacherous highway and cars constantly going off the road. The highway didn't actually end up being as bad as it was made out to be, but it was a good six hours there which would have meant twelve hours of driving in one day. The driver also spoke the better part of the drive there, providing us with a wealth of information that we would have otherwise never known.

Milford Sound is considered by some to be the 8th natural wonder of the world. The Fiordlands are a World Heritage Site, which means it's virtually a locked safe, nothing can be taken in or out, so our children's children can visit and it should be entirely and completely unchanged. Most of the drive is through a lush, temperate rainforest and beech tree forest. The ground is covered with giant ferns and a pale green moss called "gorilla snot" by the locals hangs from the tree branches. The area gets 200 days of rain a year, meaning it gets ten times more rain than London, and we were lucky enough to be there on one of the rare days of sunshine.

Duty calls and it's my turn to shower, so I'll continue the next time I get a chance to use the internet. Hasta pronto!

Sydney cont.

I'm up a bit earlier than the rest of the girls this morning and I thought it a good opportunity to update this, only I'm having a hard time separating the days! I feel like we've done so much walking and seen so many things that they've all sort of blurred into each other...in a good way though.

After my very early morning on Sunday, I had to wait a good while before the girls got up. In the meantime I enjoyed myself a few cups of English breakfast tea and a few trashy magazines, then went ahead and made our lunch to take with us. Since the girls were running low on energy, we decided to take it easy and headed to the Chinese Gardens. We've had amazing weather everyday since we got here, in the mid-sixties, so walking around the gardens was really nice. Lots of bonsai trees, weeping willows, meandering streams, ponds, waterfalls, etc etc. From there we walked to the firsh market where we were nearly attacked, once again, by the fiendish seagulls whilst trying to enjoy our red tuna sashimi and seaweed salad. Since we were planning on attending free salsa classes (I know, I know...), we came back to the apartment to get pretty.

Salsa dancing was a blast. It was quite awkward at first, as the women had to start in a circle while the men switched partners every few minutes. I was told by a Frenchman, "this song is really hot...you make me really hot" at which point I quickly scurried back to where Lupe and Nea were. There were some amazing dancers there, an Australian-born Portuguese guy and a Chinese guy that had a dance-off, and we had a blast being twirled in circles, but only after downing the water bottles full of liquor that we'd smuggled in, of course.

On Monday we took a bus out of town, or to a suburb of Sydney rather, called Coogee. There's a 5km walk from Coogee Beach to Bondi Beach (pronounced Bon-day, it's Sydney's most famous beach apparently). The scenery was absolutely spectacular, little coves carved out of the craggy cliffs that jut dramatically out into the sea. Naturally-formed pools where older people and little kids can swim, completely sheltered from the crashing waves. The water was dotted with surfers all waiting to catch the perfect wave. A surf camp for little kids who "bunny-hopped" and paddled out again and again. Dripping surfers half-clad in their wetsuits around their waist that got quite a few giggles when we were caught staring. Skateboarders dipping and twirling in and out of what looked like empty pools in Bondi Beach. Once the sun went down, we went to have a coffee in one of the many outdoor cafes with space heaters and spent a long while laughing and telling stories. One of Lupe's friends called her to tell us about something called "Fire on Rocks" so we jumped on a bus and came back into the city. Turns out Fire on the Rocks is a show the city puts on every year with dancing and music, fire and boats, costumes and floating dragons, all on a floating stage in Sydney Harbour illuminated by the light of flaming barrels floating in the water. As luck would have it, we got to be here for the one day a year they put the show on.

Bodies are starting to emerge from the rooms now, so I must bid adieu and get a bite to eat.

Arriving in Sydney

A 4 and a half hour flight from Cincinnati to L.A., a four hour layover, and a fifteen hour flight across the Pacific put me smack-dab in the middle of Sydney, Australia. The long flight actually wasn't as bad as expected other than the announcement half an hour before landing that it would be a "very rocky descent" and images of Lost flashing through my head. Other than that it was just the usual, lots of sleeping, a couple of movies and two not-so-great but also not-so-bad meals. First stop off the plane was the Duty Free to fulfill the order for a flip-top of Marlboro Reds and two bottles of gin (Australia, apparently, is very expensive and tobacco and alcohol are heavily taxed). Then on through customs and out to meet Nea and Aleja, the two other girls who had just arrived from Mexico City, out in the chilly 7 a.m. dawn.

We took a taxi to my cousin Lupe's apartment on George Street, had breakfast, showered, and took care of first-day administrative stuff. Grocery store (eating in all week to save money), paying for the rest of the Fraser Island trip, ATM, etc etc. We finally left to do some sightseeing around 5 but being winter in the southern hemisphere, it was already getting dark. Our first stop was the cathedral where they illuminate the front facade at night. They illuminate 6 other buildings around Sydney and most of them look pretty tacky, but the cathedral is really gorgeous. It's like a slide-show, with a bunch of different images fading in and out of each other on the projection. We sat for about an hour and a half and watched the whole cycle a bunch of times, sitting on the cold, stone ground of the plaza and taking it in.

From the cathedral we went to the 42nd floor of a circular building where there's a rotating restaurant/bar. We got our first look at the famous Sydney Opera House from up there, as well as an amazing view of the entire Sydney skyline all lit-up at night. I was surprised by how modern the city is, lots of steel and glass skyscrapers jutting up into the sky contrast with the beautiful geography of the winding coastline. After one gin and tonic I was pretty much falling asleep in my chair (it's a 10 hour time difference with Cincinnati) and we called it a night.

We got a much slower start than expected on Friday, not leaving the apartment until around 1 in the afternoon. We spent the entire afternoon walking, covering most of central Sydney. All the way down George St. to a neighborhood called The Rocks, full of winding streets and cool, old buildings. We walked half-way across the Sydney Harbor Bridge from where we got great views of the harbor and the city. From there we went down to the Opera House. It was smaller than I expected it to be but amazing nonetheless. The bathrooms were the coolest bathrooms I've ever been in, with curvy wooden doors on the stalls and lighting impressive enough for a modern art gallery. Next came the Botanical Gardens where we unpacked our picnic lunch and were soon close to being attacked by the seagulls and birds. We kept shooing them away and pretending to throw things at them, but they were fearless and after Lupe warned us that they've been known to attack people, we grabbed our stuff and ran for a bird-free zone to enjoy the rest of our lunch. We didn't wander around the gardens too long because dusk was upon us and the giant bats hangin like pods from the trees were starting to wake. We made a quick escape and walked over the Art Gallery of New South Whales. There was some really cool Aboriginal art work that we weren't allowed to photograph for "tribal reasons" and some other cool stuff, but the museum was closing so we didn't stay too long. From there, we walked down to a neighborhood called Woolloomooloo where there was a pretty little marina, great views of the skyline, and loads of those giant bats swooping and soaring overhead. We decided to rest our haunches and treat ourselves to a beer before walking back to the apartment.

We didn't get to rest long because being the first game of the world cup pitting Mexico against South Africa, we had to join the festivities. I know, I know, I don't like sports, but we didn't really actually watch the game. We went to an apartment where there was a mixture of Mexicans, Irish and Australians to pre-game, have a bit to eat, and watch the opening ceremony before heading down to a park where there were huge screens set up to watch the game. Lots of boxed wine means the night is sort of a blur, but we had great fun.

Our hangovers meant that we got another slow start on Saturday. We took a ferry from Circular Quay to Manly Beach, getting some great views of Sydney Harbor on the way. Manly Beach is like a little seaside town a half-hour ferry ride from Circular Quay in central Sydney. It was pretty chilly and we were hungry, so we found a little restaurant where we shared some calamari and pasta and then took a quick walk down to the beach. The chilly breeze meant we didn't wait too long before getting back on the ferry and coming back to the apartment for a nap. The nap turned into sleeping through the night for me, surprise surprise, which is why I've now been up since 5 this morning. The other girls went out and though Lupe is sound asleep in the next room, the other two girls have yet to make an appearance. So it looks like it's going to be another slow start...more time for me to enjoy my morning coffee and a good book while watching Sydney awake from the window.

I don't think I'll get a chance to put any photos up until I get back to the States, so you'll have to wait for those. Probably won't get a chance to post much after we leave Sydney either, but I'll try my best! Good morning, good afternoon, good night, hello, how are you?

Update

Just so this blog doesn't fall entirely out of date, I'll post a brief update. First-off, the Ophiusa Regatta never happened. Well it did happen, just nor I nor the Blue Alachar participated. I had to take a last-minute trip back to the States, it was expected but I hoped it would be a few weeks later. So I was out of the running and very sad to be missing out on participating in my first real regatta! But low and behold, the boat had engine trouble and didn't get to participate either. There was lots of disappointment I think but the rest of the crew members aren't people to dwell and they had a grand ole' time going out and sailing for a few hours a couple of days later while enjoying all the food that had already been prepared for the voyage.

Now, a few months later, I am again back State-side. After a wonderful but rocky year in Barcelona, I'm plotting my next move while currently re-collecting myself and relaxing in Cincinnati. Although always a comfort to be home, I find myself more resistant to those comforts now. I want to make my own meals, do my own laundry, and make my own decisions. While I used to seek as much validating input as possible, I'm starting to find some of that input more stifling. I suppose it's just part of the process.

As I'm unwilling to immediately resign myself to getting a real job, I'm leaving on June 8 for Australia and New Zealand. My cousin from Mexico City is finishing a semester of study abroad in Sydney and I'll be joining her and two other girls from Mexico City to putz around for a bit more than a month, exploring the south island of NZ and the east coast of Australia. So I'm looking forward to blowing half my savings and once again strapping on my backpack. After that I'll try my luck in Mexico City. I've been wanting to move back since I was 16, but college and romances got in the way and now that neither of those are present, it's high time. So the time line in my head looks like early September will about hit the mark, hopefully I'll get there before Mexican Independence Day!

Anyway, I'll try to keep posting, although Cincinnati probably won't offer much that's worthy. Otherwise my next post will be from Sydney :D

Ophiusa Regatta

Spring break is officially upon us (or me, rather) and after a multitude of plans come and gone (driving to the south of Spain, crossing Gibraltar on a fairy and road tripping for a week in Morocco; sailing to Mallorca and Cabrera with some friends on two boats; sailing to a few towns along the Catalán coast) we've finally cemented our plans.

On Wednesday, 7 of us will set sail for Sitges, a town about 6 hours sailing south of Barcelona. The crew is made up by moi, Toni, Susana and Juan (a couple that lives aboard their 60-foot steel sailing boat) and three other Mallorquines. All of us will be going on Susana and Juan's sailboat, the Blue Alachar, because Toni's boat can't legally sail more than 12 miles from the coast yet. On Thursday after the captain's meeting, we'll set sail about noon for Formentera, a small island just past Ibiza. One of the crew members is apparently a "cooking while sailing" aficionado and has volunteered to cook all the meals. It'll take about a day and a half or two days to get there, depending on the wind, so we'll get to lose sight of land, an eerie but wonderful feeling. Here's the route we'll follow.


Our goal is to win the prize of slowest participant, the trophy is the nicest one! I'm feeling like my English is rather clumsy today, so I'm going to sign off for now. Time to go out and enjoy the sunshine!

The Dutch Folk

I've spent the better part of the last week putzing around Barcelona and surroundings with one of Toni's best friends from Mallorca who has been living in Holland for some years now and his Dutch girlfriend. Mateo and Marit. It was a good chance for me to go on some of the exploratory adventures deemed necessary when you're in a new place, but when you settle in and are living there, you forget to go. So they were a good excuse to enjoy some of Barcelona's sights as well as to go to two nearby towns.
We were in Sitges for a day last Saturday, and although it was a little chilly and overcast, we had lunch at a little seaside chiringuito and walked around the city center for a few hours. Sitges is a small town about a half hour south of Barcelona by train. A fair number of wealthy Barceloneses have weekend/summer houses in Sitges. I put up pictures on Flickr, so you can see those here.

On Wednesday, another one of Toni's friends joined us and the five of us went to a small town about two hours northwest of Barcelona, nestled in the mountains, called Rupit. Rupit is another medieval town perched above a small river. Most everything was closed since we were there in the middle of the week, but we found an open restaurant where we stuffed ourselves to the brim. When we couldn't possibly eat anymore, we sat outside on the terrace having a coffee and listening to the river gurgle below us while the sun slowly warmed our pale pale skin. After sufficient digestion, we followed an old goat path in search of some waterfalls but when the going got a little muddy, the troops voted to start heading back to the city. Here are a few pictures that have been borrowed from Toni's friend so you all can see Rupit.

Calçotada

Spring in Catalonia not only means good weather and longer days, but it also means calçots. For those of us who have (or had) no idea what that means, they're like long, tubular onions. They're pulled from the ground and grilled as-is over an open flame until they're charred black. Then they're wrapped in newspaper until ready to serve and they're eaten with a thick red sauce involving garlic, almonds, red peppers, tomatoes and lots of olive oil. One of Toni's friends invited us to his parent's house outside of Barcelona to partake in said Catalán tradition. Here a couple of pictures, there are more on my Flickr if anyone wants to see!

Xavi's Mom preparing the calçots to be fired.

Xavi diligently lining them up on the grill.

Just off the flames.

Did you really think we ate JUST onions?

Freshly-squeeze carrots.

Mondays Schmundays

I'm in Viladecavalls today at CEIP Rosella (the school I was assigned to for the year). I went with the third graders to a presentation about their civil duties, recycling, learning to cross the street properly and traffic signals this morning. They all howled and I can't remember ever having a similar presentation having been made so fun in elementary school. It was just Chief Bacon very seriously explaining to us why not wearing a bike helmet was dangerous and that drugs are bad. All I recall is the moving mustache. Here they got to crack eggs, act like pirates with hooks and imaginary peg legs and walk imaginary dogs with a leash made from a balloon. Way cooler than Chief Bacon. I didn't have to practice singing "There She Goes" with the last group of third graders because of the presentation (some change in the routine is always welcome), but this afternoon I have to go with the sixth graders which is never really enjoyable. Trying to control half a dozen twelve year-olds who are almost as tall as I am and ignore me with the excuse that they don't understand English is draining to say the least, but I suppose for two hours a week I can hardly complain. I'll be going to the house of one of the teachers after school to hang out with her three and five year-old daughters and speak to them in English. The older girl just giggles and never speaks to me and the younger one is like an earthquake but they're both fun and their Mom always makes good company. (If anyone is interested in seeing the kids I spend 12 hours a week with, you can check out the school's English blog. There are videos and photos of some of the activities we've done.)

Now that spring is just around the corner, it's no longer pitch black outside when I take the train back to Barcelona which is really nice. The days are getting noticeably longer and before we know it, we'll be back to the dog days of summer with 9:30 sunsets and gloriously long days spent floating in the glistening Mediterranean. Can't wait.

The Eight Irresistible Principles

It's finally starting to warm up here, the sun is shining and it looks like spring is just around the corner. Despite the improvement in the weather, the last few days for whatever reason I felt like I was taking a big step backwards in my progression towards relaxing and just enjoying today and I've been trying not to let it throw me for a loop. So I'm leaving in just a few minutes to have lunch with two Mexican girls I met here (one is the cousin of my Aunt Tere in Mexico City). Before leaving though, I re-visited a video of sorts that I remember stumbling upon almost a year ago when I arrived in Barcelona that I had really like when I saw it. I think different parts apply to different people, but we're all guilty of falling into certain traps. So I wanted to share this video with everyone, it's not about dwelling on what we don't do or don't have. I found it inspiring and hope you will too (Katherine's probably making gagging sounds, I know, I know, but just watch it...)

http://www.eightprinciples.com/

Photitos

Some photos I've been meaning to put up and forgot about...

Hiking around the refugi de montanya that Toni and
I went to a few weeks ago, pre-food poisoning.

Luisa and Lupita.

Smile Toni!

"Prune" kissing my face.

Snowing in Barcelona! This was when it had just started to stick,
the view from my bedroom window.

Whodathunk?

Who would have thought that with 60 degrees and sunshine just last week, we would have snow in Barcelona? Not just flurries, but real, stick-to-your-eyelashes, snow. I thought this was supposed to be a Mediterranean climate! But of course, being Spain and all, things move slowly. This is why I wasn't informed it was a snow day (this morning it was snowing up in the mountains but not in Barcelona) until I was already almost at the school. Meaning I got up at 6:45, showered, walked to the train, took the hour-long train ride to the city near the town, and was headed out of the station to be picked up by one of the teachers from the school by the time someone got around to calling me and letting me know there was no school today. Back to the train, back to Barcelona. So three hours spent on the train this morning, BUT I'm now toastily back in my apartment with a free day to watch the snow fall on the other side of the windows. Hopefully it will warm up again quickly, spring break is just around the corner and sailing with snow would be no fun.

Why Barcelona?

Because in Barcelona, in early spring, I can wait out on the street in the sunshine while I wait for Toni to pick me up on his motorcycle.

Because in Barcelona, we can go have lunch at a tiny Japanese restaurant owned by a Japanese woman and her son and eat food described by a Japanese friend of Toni's as "as close to his grandmother's cooking as he can get anywhere outside of Japan". We squeeze in on the stools at the bar, barely enough room for 10 people to eat at once.

Because in Barcelona we can go to the movies for free at 4 o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon and even though the movie is terrible (this time), it's 4 o'clock on a Tuesday and I'm at the movies...

Because in Barcelona I can go to a yoga class for 4 euro and at least take a stab at not taking life so seriously.

Because in Barcelona, Toni can take me to go eat a burger with a fried egg on it, a beer, and patatas bravas with "volcano sauce," made black with squid ink.

Because in Barcelona, I can sleep on my own, personal floating Mexican embassy and have a toasty night's sleep while hearing the wind whistling outside and the sound of ropes clanging against metal masts.


Learning to focus on the positives...

KRFR

I just found this sort of association here in Barcelona called KRFR. I'm meeting up with one of the members on Friday to get more information, but it sounds sort of like a multi-national (but mostly Mexican), multi-disciplinary (designers/architects/scientists/philosophers etc.) that are like a mini think-tank and they try and propose sustainable design projects and them do them. They also try to do sustainable projects to help the developing world as well as work on stuff with lots of different design agencies here and around the world. I know it sounds too good to be true and I don't have an entirely solid grasp of what they do yet, but if anything, maybe it'll at least be a way to meet some Mexicans. Seriously, I have no Mexicaness in my life here and I think it's causing me to have a big gaping hole in my heart and stomach.

Correction

I just realized that my last post was mis-informed. The author of "Instantes" is not Jorge Luis Borges. It's attributed to a woman called Nadine Stair, but it's not quite clear if she really wrote it or not. The confusion is due to a similar text that Borges did write, I hadn't read it before but I just did and liked it, so I'll share that one as well. It's a bit harsh, but valid.

I've committed the worst of sins
that a man can commit.
I haven't been happy.
I wish for the glaciers of oblivion
to ruthlessly drag me away and lose me.
My parents raised me
for the risky and beautiful game of life,
for the earth, the water, the air and the fire.
I defruaded them. I was not happy.
I didn't fulfill their young wish.
My mind applied itself
to the symmetrical insistence of the arts
that weaves nothingness.
Their legacy to me was courage.
I was not courageous.
It doesn't abandon me, it's always by my side,
the shadow of having been unhappy.

He cometido el peor de los pecados
que un hombre puede cometer. No he sido
feliz. Que los glaciares del olvido
me arrastren y me pierdan, despiadados.
Mis padres me engendraron para el juego
arriesgado y hermoso de la vida,
para la tierra, el agua, el aire, el fuego.
Los defraude. No fui feliz. Cumplida
no fue su joven voluntad. Mi mente
se aplicó a las simétricas porfías
del arte, que entreteje naderías.
Me legaron valor. No fui valiente.
No me abandona. Siempre esta a mi lado
la sombra de haber sido un desdichado.

Instantes

With a 40-minute train ride a few days a week and a schedule that is quite the opposite of rigorous, I find myself with plenty of time to think. Thinking usually turns into evaluating and re-evaluating different aspects of life and people, and I find myself questioning most everything. The last year has been a frustrating one for me in many ways, a challening one, and I've been pushing myself to work through all these doubts that run through my mind. This might not make any sense, but a kind of un-education, giving myself permission to deconstruct certain ideas (more on that another day). Anyway, this is something I'm trying to flesh out right now and and it's a process that will take time and I thought I'd share some of the pieces of input I've been reading and listening to and hopefully get some feedback. So today I'm putting up a short text by the now-deceased Chilean writer, Jorge Luis Borges. I translated it but I'll put the original version in Spanish below because I think originals tend to be better than translations.

In other news, there's no school on Monday so Toni and I are going to Mallorca for a long long-weekend. I'll be taking my camera and making a real effort to take pictures this time! Hopefully we'll have good weather so we can do some sailing and go explore some mountains.

Instantes_Jorge Luis Borges

If I could life my life again, in the next I would try to make more mistakes. I wouldn’t try to be so perfect, I would relax more. I would be dumber than I’ve been, in fact I’d take few things seriously. I would be less hygenic. I would take more risks, take more trips, contemplate more sunsets, climb more mountains, and swim more rivers. I would go more places I’ve never been, eat more icecream and fewer beans, I’d have more real problems and fewer imaginary ones.

I was one of those people who lived every minute of my life sensibly and prolifically. Of course I had moments of joy, but if I could turn back time, I would try and have only good moments. In case you aren’t aware, that is all life is, just moments. Don’t miss out now.

I was one of those people who never went anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bag, an umbrella and a parachute. If I could live again, I would travel more lightly. If I could live again I would walk barefoot from the beginning of spring until the end of fall. I would explore more coves, contemplate more sunrises and play with more children, if I once again had life ahead of me.

But I’m already 85 and I know I’m dying.

Si pudiera vivir nuevamente mi vida, en la próxima trataría de cometer más errores.No intentaría ser tan perfecto, me relajaría más.Sería más tonto de lo que he sido, de hecho tomaría muy pocas cosas con seriedad. Sería menos higiénico. Correría más riesgos, haría más viajes, contemplaría más atardeceres, subiría más montañas, nadaría más ríos. Iría a más lugares adonde nunca he ido, comería más helados y menos habas, tendría más problemas reales y menos imaginarios.

Yo fui una de esas personas que vivió sensata y prolíficamente cada minuto de su vida; claro que tuve momentos de alegría. Pero si pudiera volver atrás trataría de tener solamente buenos momentos. Por si no lo saben, de eso está hecha la vida, sólo de momentos; no te pierdas el ahora.

Yo era uno de esos que nunca iban a ninguna parte sin termómetro, una bolsa de agua caliente, un paraguas y un paracaídas. Si pudiera volver a vivir, viajaría más liviano. Si pudiera volver a vivir comenzaría a andar descalzo a principios de la primavera y seguiría así hasta concluir el otoño. Daría más vueltas en calesita, contemplaría más amaneceres y jugaría con más niños, si tuviera otra vez la vida por delante. Pero ya tengo 85 años y sé que me estoy muriendo.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

I just saw this satellite photo of the east coast of the States and although we've had a lot of London-like weather in Barcelona this winter, I have to say, I have no complaints. Those willing to abandon ship, I promise to put you up if you come visit!

Mura

A failed attempt at spending the weekend in the mountains (my fault apparently, for going out for a few beers the night before) led us to Mura, a tiny little town about an hour outside of Barcelona.

The first buildings in the town of Mura were built in the year 1088. Historically, the townspeople toiled in the fields, known for the cultivation of vineyards. Fast-forward a few centuries, and they got a textile factory in the early 1900s. A textile factory in a medieval town in the middle of the mountains of Catalonia. Go figure. The factory closed in the early 60s and the town's population nearly disappeared. It now subsists almost entirely on tourism and most of the population lives elsewhere, spending only the odd holiday in Mura. There are only 230 permanent residents.

We got there around lunchtime and had lunch at Can Carter (Carter's house) where we were left at the bar for almost an hour and a half waiting for a table while more and more people who had arrived after us were seated. It was a most exemplary model of Catalán customer service, a concept that simply doesn't exist here. No apologies were made, barely even a recognition, the woman simply wrote down our names on the list again and said she had forgotten to write us down the first time we asked for a table. Oh well. You can click on the pictures to see them a bit larger I think.

Always south of somewhere

I've decided to breathe new life into this now nearly forgotten blog of mine. Time to dust it off, pull out the cobwebs, and start again! I decided to continue this one, which I originally started when I was traveling in Brazil and studying in Argentina as a way of keeping in touch with everyone back home. Instead of starting a new one, I figure it's easier to just go with what's already in existence. And though I'm no longer in the southern hemisphere, the blog's title may still be fulfilled. Barcelona is, afterall, in southern Europe.

Moving on! This has been a seemingly short week since Monday and Tuesday were entirely taken over to recover from food poisoning. Toni and I went up to the mountains on Saturday morning and spent the night at a refugi de muntanya (a mountain refuge) run by a Flemish man by the name of Kun and his dog, Prune. We did some hiking and mostly just hung out and soaked up the fresh mountain air and the amazing views of the snow-covered Pyrenees. Before heading back down to Barcelona on Sunday, we heated up a canned bean stew with clams. It seems some of the clams may have been a bit off, because Toni and I spent all night taking turns running to the bathroom throwing up. To make matters worse, we were at the port on the boat and boat bathrooms, or the "head" as some may correct me, are tiny. So by Tuesday we were able to keep water down and we had our first meal since Sunday. A plate of boiled white rice with a little salt. After lots of water and lots of sleep, we were again ready to face the world on Wednesday.

We celebrated Toni's 29th birthday yesterday. I emailed a few of his close friends last week to organize a mini surprise and it ended up turning out really well. They all surprised him at a little bar and then we all went to dinner at a Chilean restaurant called Andú and had a great time.

I'll post pictures from the mountains once Toni emails them to me, but in the meantime, let me share with you two pictures I just took of my desk-make Jeremy Fisher. He just got his first haircut and he lives next door to Toni's tiny dead tree which I'm trying to revive.