Poppin' & Interlaken

Note: This is the first post in a series of posts that will be coming in the next week or two related to my ten-day whirlwind backpacking adventure through central Europe. During those ten days I more than doubled the amount of countries I’d visited in my life, travelled about 3,276 miles, and spent an inordinate amount of Euros, francs, and crowns. It was a truly unforgettable experience and unlike anything I’d ever done before. I’ll let this video I made with a program suggested to me by Chris Cooley serve as an intro or preview of the posts to come, and try to make me and the trip look as cool as possible. And for the time being, try to ignore such questions as “Why is he pointing so much?” “Why is he wearing the same thing in every picture?” and “Does he seriously think I click all these links?” Enjoy.

If you had asked me before how I felt about Switzerland, I probably would have said, “Neutral.” However, after visiting it during the first leg of our trip I am now definitely biased. We flew into Geneva by way of Barcelona and headed to the information desk to see whether or not we needed to change our currency. The lady at the desk told us that we did not, gave us a map, told us the places we should see in Geneva, and gave us all passes that said we were there for the World Telecom conference and entitled us to free public transportation for the whole time we were in Geneva. Awesome, right? So what did we do? We jumped on the first train we saw and proceeded to miss the stop for Geneva, therefore rendering our free passes useless. However to be fair, the train was so nice and it was so much fun sitting on the red velvet couches that it would’ve taken me about an hour to figure out that the train had started moving. Whatever, no big deal, we heard Geneva was lame anyway so we just got off in Lausanne, hometown of the talented Swiss douche, wait for it…Swouche, Roger Federer. That meant that in two weeks time I had visited the hometowns of the top two tennis players in the world. Andy Murray, I’m coming for you. We spent the next four hours or so seeing basically everything the city had to offer. We paid homage to Rudy at their Notre Dame Cathedral, saw the first Olympic Museum (Lausanne in the headquarters of the IOC and considered the Olympic Capital), and enjoyed a magnificent panorama of Lake Geneva. After we exhausted all of options in Lausanne we hopped on the train to our main Swiss destination, Interlaken.

We arrived at our hostel just in time for happy hour at the bar in the basement of our hostel, the biggest bar in Interlaken. Now, everyone we had met up to this point in Interlaken had been American, and we figured we were in for more of the same as we headed down into the basement. We walked into the bar and were smacked in the eyeballs with the image of nothing but dudes, and of course they were all hoodie-wearing flat-brimmers. I spent the first hour or so in awe of the fact that, one, there are so many HWFBs in the world, and two, that so many of them and found their way to Switzerland. At this point I decided to open up my ears and I realized that no one in the bar was speaking English. They were all locals, just dressed like scrubby Americans. This made me warm up to the place a little, and girls eventually showed up, but it turned out that the “biggest bar in Interlaken” was really just the place to be for local high schoolers with flat brims and braces.

The next morning we woke up at 6:45 to head to the front desk to sign up for all types of fun activities. However, I can’t get through two days in Europe without rain so of course it was pouring rain. I was crushed. I planned on going skydiving over the Swiss Alps. Really, I was so excited. I was even more crushed when the woman at the front desk slapped us with a “When It’s Raining” flyer and told us to check back after breakfast to see if there were some things that weren’t cancelled. The “When It’s Raining” flyer included hardcore activities such as going to a spa, a chocolate show, and indoor pool, and renting a movie. Extreme.

We lucked out though because it turned out that they would still be taking a group out canyoning. Canyoning is basically when you get dropped off at the top of a mountain, repel down into a canyon, and then continue down the canyon by jumping off rocks into water, sliding down rocks into water, zip-lining over rocks into water, and gingerly walking down rocks into water. It was sooooo much fun. First we repelled down a 150-foot cliff that went straight down in the pouring rain. I have to admit, I was pretty nervous about leaning back over that ledge with nothing but a rope keeping me from plunging to my death. I know a lot of you are saying to yourselves right now, “But Jim, you’re a really tough guy. You can grow a pretty awesome beard except for those spots where your mustache connects to the rest of the beard. Surely you weren’t scared.” Well believe it, and if you don’t believe me, just check out how awkward I look in this picture.

From there we jumped and slid off rocks and just had a general hardcore, super-fun time. I eventually got comfortable enough to take a picture where I look kind of cool.

After we got out of the freezing cold, Swiss Alp water, we all took a quick nap and then went to the chocolate show from the flyer. I know I was complaining before, but I have to admit that the idea of a chocolate show sounds awesome. No I didn’t shower, this is Europe. The show was definitely worth it. We learned the Swisstem of making chocolate and then ate enough free chocolate to make me sick of chocolate for about four whole hours. After the chocolate show (ok I was a little disappointed, I hoped they would do tricks with the chocolate) we went to dinner at the greatest restaurant in the entire world. It is called Bebbi’s and is located on the main drag in Interlaken, amidst gorgeous view of the Alps. The food, whatever, who cares, its fondue, anybody can do that. What makes the place is Bebbi and the atmosphere. I knew we had made the right choice when Bebbi led the five of us plus the two NYU kids we picked up canyoning into a “party room” type table, sat us down, grabbed the row of giant cowbells hanging above the table, rang the hell out of them and started screaming “FREE SALAD!” at the top of his lungs. He would go on to do this about five more times, even after we had already eaten the aforementioned salad. Bebbi is quite the character. He is jacked (said it was because he ate “cheese fondie” everyday) and is obviously on something because he did not stop the entire time we were there. He waited on tables, deejayed, ran around the restaurant waving giant Japanese (half the restaurant was Japanese), Swiss, and American flags, blew on his giant horn, and yelled “free salad” to anyone that would listen.

After our great meal we decided against going back to the swiddle school dance (last one I promise) and just played card games with our new friends. Interlaken turned out to be a phenomenal start to our trip, despite the essy weather. When we went to the train station the next morning the weather had cleared up and we could see how truly beautiful the scenery was. There were snow-capped mountains surrounding gorgeous turquoise lakes. We barely even minded the 14 hour train ride to Prague because we had such spectacular views of all that and then later the tiny German towns.

Switzerland, I’m on your side.

And for those of you who didn't get the title of this post, you need to familiarize yourself with poppin' and lockin' dancing, Ozone, Turbo, and the movie Breakin'.

Besitos,

Jim

Mallorca, Your-orca, Our-orca

Alright look, we all know that Germans are weird. But being that I’ve never really traveled beyond our shining seas, I’ve never been properly exposed to the perpetual freakshow that is the German tourist. This past weekend in Mallorca I was thrown headfirst into this strange sea of short-shorts and sausage. Not knowing anything about the island, we booked a hostel close to the airport and five minutes from the beach. And since we were sneaking in two extra people, it was very cheap. How cheap? I slept on the floor and paid 14 euro for three nights. That cheap. We were all pumped about our hostel situation until we left to go out at 2:30 am. As we walked down the streets we realized that everyone was speaking German, all the signs were German, the food was German, and the women were German. Woof. Apparently the Germans have invaded Mallorca like it was Poland in 1939. Heyooo. Since we had only been on the island about three hours we didn’t really know where we were or where we wanted to be, so we just went to this German disco called Regine’s and decided to make the best of it. Regine’s actually worked out pretty well because they had a nice special going from 3-4 and we all ended up spending very little money, although it certainly did not feel like it the next morning. The one really strange thing about that night was that they had a lip-sync band. This wasn’t karaoke, this wasn’t “everybody get on the stage and lip-sync;” this was “let’s pay a group of people to pretend to sing, play guitar, bass, and drums while people dance to these CDs we bought.” Something about it just seemed so…German. By the way, Lola is watching AVP right now. That’s Alien vs. Predator. Anyway, don’t get me wrong: lip-syncing in front of a group of people is a lot of fun. The stellar Summer ’97 performance of “Men in Black” by Luke and I at Lakeview Pool is probably what immediately comes to most of your minds. But the weird thing was how serious they took their job. Well, the fact that it is their job is also pretty weird. At one point during the night, I made it pretty apparent that I knew the words to one song and was doing some pretty impressive fist pumping, so these German dudes thought it would be a good idea to put me on the stage. I can’t remember exactly what song it was but I’m willing to guess that it was “I Gotta Feeling,” because I’m pretty sure there's a Spanish law that says it has to be played at least one time for every other song that is played. Clearly I thought this was a great idea and proceeded to try and take my turn with the mic. Well, the “band” didn’t like it, so my proposal was rejected, and the “singer” gave me dirty looks the rest of the night. Despite all the German oddities, Thursday night was pretty awesome and we capped it off by skinny dipping in the Mediterranean and watching the sunrise from a lifeguard stand. Well, we couldn’t really see the sun because we were on the southwest side of the island, but we watched it slowly get light out. It was breathtaking.

I’m going to chalk Friday up as pretty much a waste because we still didn’t figure out how to get out of what a club promoter on the beach called “the German ghetto.” That is how spoiled I am right now; a beautiful day at the beach just isn’t enough for me. Luckily things picked up when we headed into civilization for what is starting to become a tradition in Spain: the perfect dinner. After the now traditional espresso we shot pool at a bar called “MacGowan’s.” Although it kind of dampened my sense of adventure knowing that I wasn’t the first of my clan to set foot on the island, I had fun there. I knew it was an establishment worthy of the McGowan name when they obliged my request for two road beers to bring along to our nighttime visit to the cathedral. The cathedral was beautifully lit and it was very cool just walking around while it wasn’t crowded.

What can you say about Saturday? Was it the best day ever? Period? I can’t be sure. What I am sure of is that it was the best day in Spain so far, and the two-plus hours I was in the kayak were well worth the price of admission into this gorgeous island with the slight German problem down south. We took a day trip to Porto Cristo and laid on a white beach with spectacular views and everybody spoke Spanish. Then seven of us decided to rent kayaks and snorkels to explore the cliffs and caves on the coastline. We paddled past Rafael Nadal’s house (he’s from Mallorca) and stopped at an inlet a little further up the coast where two naked couples were…swimming? We ditched the kayaks and snorkeled around a little, shaming them into getting out and putting their clothes on. There wasn’t that much to see (both snorkeling and on the old people) but it was fun to be diving in that beautiful blue-green water. After the snorkeling we climbed up on the cliffs and started debating on how deep it was and if we would suffer serious injuries if we jumped off them. Being the oldest, I did the honorable thing and decided to jump first. After all, I have to enter the work force in May don’t have as much to live for as those whippersnappers. I’m not going to lie, I was pretty nervous, but I remembered that the present is a gift, so I jumped anyway. It turned out to be really deep and everybody eventually graduated to jumping off while posing for stupid pictures. (See below). After we got back we had some food and drinks by the dive shop and marina before we had to catch the bus back to Germany. It was exactly what we were looking for in Mallorca.

Saturday night we wanted to rage so we headed back into the city in search of the disco. I followed my finger and we found one. It was fun, there were some interesting international exchanges, and we danced to some hits, most notably a Grease medley, for which I was apparently dressed perfectly. The night went well enough for me that the boys decided to push two of the beds together and let me sleep in the middle. It harkened me back to that wonderful week first year after Vic was banned and before Charley ruined everything. But really I probably slept better on the floor because one of the beds was about six inches higher than the other and I was sleeping on the crack.

We didn’t fly back until late Sunday so I just laid on the beach all day, sleeping, listening to music, and reading an excellent biography of Ben Franklin. Our favorite forefather got me thinking: in America we take pride in sharing our freedoms, classrooms, needles, purple mountains majesties, etc. with all types of people. The Spanish have welcomed me into their country and even allowed me weekend-use of their islands. As I looked around at all the giant German bellies spilling out of their tiny trunks, I realized I was more than happy to share it all with those crazy creatures. Besides, I’ve had enough good times for all of us.

Barcelona: Party Like it's 1992

Before I begin, I think now is a good time to throw a shout out in the direction of my blogfather, Mark Titus, who introduced me to this link-blogging, even though he pretty much learned everything he knows from Bill Simmons. Anyway, I really enjoyed his most recent post and I feel like it serves as a decent disclaimer for this blog and pretty much every story I’ve ever told. Also, I’ve told a lot of you about his blog and I know you’ve ignored me but I also know that people can’t resist clicking links. Here it really is. This time I’m serious. Boom goes the dynamite.

For the record, I was totally going to link to the video for Garth Brooks’ “That Summer” because earlier this week I said that my relationship with Lola was headed in that direction but then I saw it on Club Trillion and I experienced simultaneous shock and confusion. So obviously I can’t use it now, but I had planned on saying something like how she is a lonely widowed woman hell bent to make it on her own, or about how I watched her hands of leather turn to velvet in a touch.

But I can’t do that now, so I will just mouth “I'm so sorry.”

On to Barcelona. This was a dudes-only trip, just me and the four other guys I’ve been hanging out with here in Spain. I should mention that there are only 11 guys total in the program, but the other guys like chicks or something, so it’s been the five us who went to Barcelona plus one other guy. Moving on. A train to Barcelona usually takes a little over three hours, but Friday we decided to take the six-hour version. Our train actually went backwards, like, reversed direction on the track, at one point during our journey, but whatever it was cheaper so it was all good. La crisis. We played hearts on the way and I dominated those punk third year kids. I must send some thanks out to the Gogoel’s for allowing me to sharpen my skills at Hatteras this summer. So we get to the station at about 11 pm and split up to find our respective hostels, attempting to navigate the tiny streets of the Gothic section of the city. We got there after asking around a little, and as far as I could tell my first hostel seemed like a normal one. We shared a room with 14-18 other beds and met a bunch of people from around the world.

We spent probably 15 minutes in the hostel before heading out to explore. I really loved the area where we were staying because it was like a maze of ancient streets that weren’t big enough for cars, lined up and down with cool bars and restaurants. I don’t know if it was just me but it had a real Harry Potter feel to it. We stopped in a couple places and we were all feeling pretty good when we ran into this Irish broad named Leigh Ann. She comes up to us all wearing purple and stuff and starts talking in a fake Southern accent. You all know that these colors don't run so I immediately start ripping into her in my best Irish brogue, which if you’ve ever heard it, it’s actually pretty good. So here we are, in the middle of a crowded square, our faces inches apart, screaming at each other in fake accents, when she just stops and tells me my eyes are beautiful. I obviously take this to mean that America and I won, and since I didn’t have the heart to tell her that they don’t work, we left her standing there calling me a “cheeky f***.”

From there we walked to the beach, hung out, and then three of our members decided it was time to head back and get some sleep. But it was only 3 am and those of you who remember One Night Only know the zone I’m in, so my daywalker partner and I decided to pay a cover charge I don’t want to talk about and head to the disco. We spent the hours from 3-6 dancing and overpaying for drinks. From my recollection they only played one song, the three-hour version of I Gotta Feeling. After that we made our way home, having numerous adventures along the way. We ran into a prostitute who my friend was convinced was Serena Williams and apparently we hugged her and he spent a good amount of time talking to her about her foot fault. We “found” a bike that didn’t have a chain and for some reason took turns “riding” it home, before giving it to a homeless person. By some miracle we found our hostel and went to bed sometime after seven.

Four hours later it was time to get up and head to La Sagrada Familia, a giant unfinished church designed by the famous Spanish architect, Antoni Gaudí. They started building this church in 1882 and have yet to start on its main tower. The church is a testament to the Spanish work ethic, their carefree culture, and their 20% unemployment. We spent probably three hours touring the church (what’s been finished within the past 130 years), enjoying the views of the city, and taking dumb pictures.

I had a pretty good time; it really was amazing to see and is quite an ambitious project, set to be completed in 2030.

After that we were in a pretty Guidí mood so we continued on to the Casa Milá, a weird house he designed that apparently has no straight walls. From there we went to the Four Cats, a bar/restaurant where Picasso had his first exhibition and hung around a lot. We wanted to do tapas there but left because things just didn’t seem right, the service was slow, we felt underdressed, and the staff looked weird. So we went to some normal place and had a great time tapassing.

After a quick nap we went out for a nice dinner at one of the really cool places down the street on one of the tiny old streets. The meal was practically perfect in every way. A couple from L.A. gave us the tapas they couldn’t eat, the food was great (I had the rabbit), the cava (champagne from Spain, mainly in the plains) was flowing, the Barca game was on T.V., and they even gave us a after-dinner shot on the house. It was a great time. We then went to watch the rest of the match at a bar where everyone was into it and stayed there for a while watching music videos. After that we went to this place called Chupitos (Spanish for shots) where I ordered three shots, told the bartender “something with fire for two euros,” and almost had my eyebrows burnt off. The place was kinda cool but we decided it was too touristy with too much English going on so we went to find somewhere else. We went to this place that wasn’t really a bar, but they had beer (like Extreme Pizza) and there was some French dude playing guitar. We sang songs with some guys in there and I played and we sang a nice version of Save Tonight.

In there I made an old Catalan friend who explained to me the difference between Spain and Cataluña. You see, many people in the region of Cataluña (Barcelona is the capital) consider themselves a separate country. Personally I think it’s kind of annoying that they speak a different language when everyone already knows Castellano (Spanish). But the whole separate country thing really doesn’t make sense to me. That type of thing would never happen in the U.S.

We woke up early the next morning see some more cool stuff. First we went to the Park Guell, a cool park on top of a mountain with more Gaudí stuff. From there we went to the Art Museum, and then the Olympic Stadium and the Montjuic area. For those of you who may have missed out on past Summer Olympics, the 1992 Games took place in Barcelona. I really enjoyed seeing the stadium, the area around it, and where the original Dream Team laid the smackdown on the rest of the world. Lastly we went to the statue of Christopher Columbus pointing to the Americas and my tummy turned and I felt kinda homesick, but then I got some gelato and I felt ok.

At 7:30 pm Sunday we got on the train back to Valencia. There were no seats left in tourist class so I paid cash for first class, but I did not sit next to Vanna White. I’d never been in first class before and I expected it to be just like the Seinfeld episode, “The Airport,” with warm chocolate chip cookies, champagne, and Veronica Vaughn. Of course I was let down and first class was the same exact train only with less people. I didn’t even bother taking out my sack full of pebbles to chuck at the peasants.

That’s all I have from Barcelona; basically the best weekend ever, period. Way better than your lame weekend. Seriously though, it was pretty exhausting but I felt pretty satisfied when I was looking at a postcard stand before getting on the train and I was able to point at most of them and say “saw that.” No, I didn’t buy any. I have a blog for that.

Besitos,

Jim

Spain in the Ass

As you can probably tell from the incredibly clever title (you can be sure to expect more clever wordplay combined with titles in the future), I’m feeling a little frustrated right now. Today was the first day that I’ve actually had to do school work so I spent the early part of my afternoon buckling down so I could head to the beach for the rest of the day. So I finished my work, ran home to change, got on the bus, and was in the middle of rocking out to my sweet Valencia playlist (more on that in a post scheduled for later this week) when it started to rain. So now I’m writing this not really knowing what to do since I already finished my work and I can’t really go outside. So I guess I learned that the time to go to the beach is when the sun is shining and to always put off for later whatever doesn’t have to be done today and all those other things people say that will be around forever. Oh well, I said I would blog today and was totally going to blow it off so this is what I get.

This gives me a chance to go into more detail on aspects of my day-to-day life here in Spain, now that I kinda know what that is. First of all, it’s just Lola and I here at the old hogar sweet hogar. She has three kids but they all live out of the house. I’ll admit it, at first I was a little disappointed that I wouldn’t get the brother I always wanted nor have a pseudo-sister who would've showed me around the city, introduced me to her friends, and forced me into a complex and confusing internal conflict when I inevitably developed a crush on her. Home life isn’t going to be exactly how I imagined, however, this one-on-one situation has its benefits. First of all, it gives Lola and I the opportunity to get very close. My first night here for example, we watched the movie Unfaithful on T.V. You know, the one where Diane Lane is married to Richard Gere, has a series of graphic extramarital affairs with a French guy, some consensual, others only semi-consensual, and then ends with Richard Gere killing the dude with a snow globe and everyone living happily ever after? That one. It was on channel 4. Unedited. That’s how they do things here in Europe. (More on that later.) One would think that we were headed for a level of awkwardness I hadn’t felt since probably the time my old mom put on Risky Business when I was 12. She thought of it as that silly movie where Tom Cruise dances in his underwear when really it’s that R-rated movie where Tom Cruise runs a prostitution ring and has sex on trains. That level of awkwardness. But it wasn’t. Instead we talked about the complexity of relationships and the different ways that directors are able to create tension and suspense in movies. As you may have heard me say before, the Spanish don’t even have a word for awkward. And they have a different word for everything! So yeah, a lot of nights she’ll make a great meal, we’ll talk, and then sit out on the balcony and talk some more. We’re practically biffles already. And I’ve already met her youngest son, who’s in his thirties, when he came over to take a nap on the couch and drop off his laundry. He’s an inspiration. So I’m really getting the best of both worlds.

Classes started last Tuesday so it was my first official day of checking my professors for wedding rings. I’m sorry to say at least two of my three professors are married, although Professor Valle said that I was welcome to his wife. He did. I’m taking four classes here, three on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9-1:50 and one on Mondays and Wednesdays from 10:40-12:10. I’m taking Spanish Literature, Spanish Culture and Civilization, Translation, and Advanced Literature and Cinema. It’s a little more challenging of a semester than I had originally wanted (that is in no way a joke) but I think it will be fine and I’ll learn a lot. There are three 400 level classes hidden in there, with Mabel Richart teaching two of them. Ugly name, attractive woman, intense personality. She told me that I’m going to see her in my nightmares. I thought to myself “Maybe, but at least they’ll be nightmares mojados.” Don’t look that up if you are family, over 40, or can’t handle adult situations (like a 12 year-old boy watching a prostitution movie with his mother). Mabel teaches Translation and Cinema and started out the first day encouraging everyone to speak with a Spanish acthent. But really it’s going to be interesting and my classes will definitely improve my Spanish, especially Translation.

My days so far basically have all been the same, because I want to take advantage of the weather while I can. I get up and Lola has my café con leche and breakfast all ready and my lunch packed up, then I get ready and go to school. After school I’ll head home, maybe go for a run around the City of Arts and Sciences, pick up a bottle of wine or a liter of Amstel and head to the beach. At the beach we’ll swim, relax, play with the paddleball set my brother Luís Miguel gave me, and when it gets a little later OH MY GOD THE SPANISH DEAL OR NO DEAL JUST CAME ON we’ll play volleyball and meet some Spaniards. I’m putting together a pretty solid crew (who will lead them?) for our beach times. After the beach I get home around nine and shower and when I get out dinner is on the table. That ain’t bad. After that it’s time to party.

I feel like this has been kind of long so I’ll sum up this past weekend fairly quickly. We’re still trying to figure out the pregame scenario since we’re all in homestays and can’t visit each other’s houses, they stop selling alcohol around 9:30, and we’re not allowed to keep alcohol in our houses. Very un-European. Anyway, what it looks like we’ll do is hit up a park or a sweet bridge from 11-12 to crush wine or cocktails, head to a cheap bar from 12-1:30 or 2, head to the disco dance from 2-beyond. This weekend I went to a bar at the suggestion of a friend who’s been here before and they were playing hardcore porn on the TVs in the bar. Thanks, neginf87. Made friends with the owner of a different bar, enjoyed a private party after close doing 1 euro sake bombs and listening to blink-182’s Take Off Your Pants and Jacket in its entirety. Taught dancing lessons which included telling a girl that she had no rhythm and her riding on my back as I glided around the dance floor so she could learn what rhythm felt like. Met this guy who is the lead singer of a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band in Italy, even though he doesn’t speak English.

The other interesting thing that happened this weekend was that I met my intercambio, Sandra Grau. Intercambio means blind date in Spanish, and it’s a program run by the school. I met her at a mall and we walked around and then sat down and had a Coke. She paid. I’m not going to say too much about her because we’re Facebook friends and she might read this. Let’s just say that she might be the most adorable girl in the world and I considered calling this post “Grau-ing Just Thinking About Her.” Also, her English is way better than my Spanish. That’s definitely enough for now, I’m gonna watch TV with Lola now. I’m planning on detailing my beautiful run later this week if I can get pictures.

Besitos,

Jim

Feeling a Little Gypsy

¿Qué tal? ¿Como estáis? Hello friends and family, I miss you all. I finally made it to Valencia on Thursday after over 24 hours of travel. As predicted I was very sweaty. Mi madre, Lola, picked me up at the bus stop and we made it back to her apartment. I have my own room in her place on the 13th floor and I have a very nice view of two other apartment buildings from my bedroom window. After I got settled Lola made me an awesome lunch, later to be topped by an even better dinner. Lola puts together some of the best food combinations I've ever seen.

On Friday we had a couple of orientation meetings where they explained things about the programs and activities and explained to us the usual things like how the classes work and the consequences of cheating. I’m súpermega close to the school; I can walk there in 5-10 minutes. I got pretty lucky because a lot of people have to take buses there. On my walk Friday morning, I noticed a bunch of people hanging out on the corner outside my apartment between the sports fields and the health clinic. There were about 25 people, from little babies to immobile grandmas sitting and standing on the sidewalk outside their vans. As I walked between them awkwardly I thought that they must have been having some family time at the sports fields. Well, I did a lot of walking on Friday because I had a lot to do and I squeezed through them maybe five more times during the day, and they were still there. By the time I walked by at 11 pm on my way out and the scraggly man with a mullet (which may actually be cool in Spain because I’ve seen a lot) walked out from behind a car mumbling at me and zipping up his pants, I realized that these people lived in these vans, nodded and said “recession” to myself (el crisis), and noted that I should probably take a different way home. After that I met up with some people and we went to a bar and got two pitchers of Agua de Valencia (Valencian Water), which is champagne, orange juice, and vodka. They’re like a mimosa screwdriver, so obviously I started calling them moodrivers. So we were drinking and talking and somebody said something about gypsies, and that’s when it hit me: gypsies live outside my house. Everything fit, they were homeless, didn’t work, tried to trick me, etc. Ted, you have to tell Will that gypsies live outside my door and try to trick me, he’ll love it. I now have a go-to conversation starter for Spanish people, because everybody hates gypsies. When I asked Lola about them she said they were probably there because one of them was sick and so they all lived outside the clinic while he/she/it was in there. Then she went on a rant about gypsies and immigrants. They sketched me out for a couple days and then left, so I guess she was right and whoever it was got better. Or died. Don’t worry though, on my walk to school this morning I saw a new batch of gypsies with their gypsy kids being loud and kicking around plastic gypsy bottles and gypsy grandmas holding gypsy babies by their gypsy ankles while sitting in their gypsy wheelchairs. Awesome.

The past three days I’ve gone to the beach, and Saturday was particularly awesome. We went on a group trip to Peñiscola, which is pronounced PEH-KNEE-SCOH-LA and is a city with a castle on the beach, and is definitely NOT a member-flavored beverage. Get your mind out of the gutter, Mom. It is about an hour and a half north of Valencia and we took a bus there at 11 am, which was a little bit of a chore because I had been out until 4 the night before. We played volleyball on the beach, and in true Northern Region Champion fashion my team won. We stayed there for about seven hours, swimming, playing, touring the castle, and cruising around the markets. It was really very cool. I’d show some pictures but I forgot my camera cord so I have to wait for my Mom to send it. Thanks, Mom. For now I’ll leave it up to Google images.

Saturday night we went to a disco and I had fun playing dumb with these Spanish girls who were out for a girl’s 24^th birthday. They taught me bad words, kept asking me to say tongue twisters in English, and I communicated with them in the language I am most fluent: dance. I planted some seeds and the only ugly girl in Spain gave me her phone number and told me to call her if I wanted to practice my Spanish. Thanks, Maria. Seriously though, the women are GORGEOUS. I’ve been here for four days and I’ve fallen in love six times.

Alright, that’s enough for now, I want to go to the beach and stare at topless women from behind my sunglasses.

Peace and love,

Jim