ESPAÑA! ! !
Valencia, Pedreguer, y Barcelona. Vermouth, tapas, montañas y amigos :)
I arrived in Spain on a plane full of Danish people and almost immediately felt a sense of regret. Regret for not having come sooner. I had a few conversations with other travelers about the energy of places, how some seem to feel better than others for reasons you can’t really describe more than “vibes” and when I got off the plane in Valencia, the ViBeS felt right. After Mexico, it was quite a transition to be in northern Europe, while it was still a great time, there was a significant lack of the colors and energy that I fell in love with back in January. I was so happy to hear people speaking Spanish again, to feel the warmth of the sun, and be in a place where doing anything doesn’t cost you an arm and a leg. My time in Valencia was such a special whirlwind that I was holding back tears as I sat waiting for the train to my next destination. Maybe it was the fact that the trip was nearing it’s end, or that I was overly-tired from multiple days of going to bed at 4am, but no other place has evoked a teary goodbye. So congratulations Valencia, you win, favorite city of the whole shebang.
The first day I arrived 4 hours before check-in started at The River Hostel (excellent, would recommend) so I left my brick of a backpack in their luggage room and strolled aimlessly. I zig zagged my way through the maze of streets in the old city and found el Mercado Central where I ate a personal sized portion of paella at the bar of a stand attached to the market. The market inside was a glorious collection of vendors selling fresh fruits, veggies, meats, cheese, fish, etc. etc. I found myself a pistachio-stuffed-date and was happy as a clam. With a few hours to kill still, I figured I’d see if I could find some clothes for the upcoming days of 80 degree weather. It didn’t take long to get to the shopping district and it took even shorter of a time for me to get overwhelmed and pessimistic about consumerism and fast fashion. So just as I was about to rage quit my mission for shorts, I popped into one last store called Clotsy and not all hope was lost. Clotsy is a local brand that is made in Spain, uses sustainable materials and business practices and only ships country-wide. The price point was a bit higher than what you’d pay in the big name stores, but the easing of my spiraling doom thoughts of drowning in a sea of quickly produced Zara and H&M, was WELL worth it in my book. If I may take a moment to be preachy, SEEK OUT AND SUPPORT PLACES LIKE THIS. In almost every city I visited there’s just a ridiculous surplus of fast fashion avenues and it’s hard to stomach that this is what we’ve turned these beautiful cities into, but there are alternatives! There’s hope!
Okay, back to it. I will admit, that my clothing mission was mostly motivated by the fact that I had a date that night. Before the trip, my friend Sadie had recommended that I set my hinge location to the cities I was going to ahead of time to meet people. When I had the extra downtime in Denmark, I figured I’d give it a try and at the very least be able to meet some locals. So, here I was, the fruits of my labors paying off (haha) and I was meeting Emre from Turkey that evening. But not before fully immersing myself in Spanish culture and enjoying a siesta in my VERY comfortable hostel bed, nice. Well rested and sustainably clothed (okay, lets be real, my jeans were Levi’s and I was wearing a long sleeve from H&M that I’ve had for years… we can only move forward) I made my way towards the Torres del Serrano to meet up with a total stranger and tried not to listen to those lovely typical female pre-date thoughts of, “Well, I really hope I don’t get murdered tonight.” Emre is a tour guide back in Ismir but was living in Valencia to learn Spanish, so he could give more tours. True to character, he gave me a tour to the best of his knowledge of the old city and then we found a spot for Agua de Valencia. Let me tell you about Agua de Valencia, basically a mimosa on crack with orange juice, cava, gin, AND vodka, it is the cities signature beverage and a one way street to a good time. There was a bit of a language barrier between Emre and I, but we bonded over Game of Thrones and I enjoyed learning more about life in Turkey from him. We ended the night with a walk through the Turia park, which is a very cool feature of the city worth describing. The Jardín del Turia is a park that runs 9km (5.5 miles for us Americans) through the center of the city. It used to be the Turia river, but in the 1950’s they diverted the river after a disastrous flood, so NOW the disastrous floods happen just outside of the city… oops. So Valencia gets a gorgeous park and the outlying smaller towns get decimated by flood waters… ahhh life is full of dichotomies, I’m not really sure what to say… It’s a beautiful park! Life is both beautiful AND tragic! Anyways… Emre and I walked through the park and talked about wormholes, then I went back to my hostel very satisfied with a full first day in Spain.
The next day I went on an official walking tour and learned about the fascinating history of Valencia. I would be doing a disservice to try to summarize it all, so here’s what stood out to me:
Valencia is the home of Paella, traditional paella Valenciana is with rabbit, chicken, and green beans, but back in the day when times were tough, they would put anything in that shit, including RATS.
Valencia used to be a walled city, founded by the Romans, then ruled by the Moors, and then captured by El Cid in the Medieval ages, after El Cid’s death, the Moors re-took the city (and kingdom) of Valencia until Spain was united under Ferdinand and Isabella. The walls were dismantled in the 19th century, but many portions of it still stand today, including the Torres del Serrano and Torres del Quart which signify the entrances to the old city.
Every year in mid-March, Valencia celebrates the Fallas Festival where they make gigantic (like building sized) sculptures that are placed around the city. From what I’ve heard, it’s two weeks of partying and absolute chaos. On the last night of the festival, they burn all of the fallas statues, which again, are as large as buildings, so I can only imagine what a spectacle it is.
The central cathedral of the city apparently houses the holy grail and has three different entrances, each in Romanesque, Gothic, and Baroque style. It’s a very beautiful building. Every Thursday they hold the Tribunal de Aguas there (water tribunal) where a group of farmers hear disputes on irrigation water and dispense justice on the spot. Hell yeah. More tribunals!
Free walking tours have proved to be such a great thing to do on my travels, I thoroughly recommend the app FreeTours.com! After the tour, I went with a couple people from our group to go try Spanish Orxata (Horchata) made from tiger nuts. I’ve gotta say, I really prefer the horchata in Mexico, made with rice instead. Anyways, I was hanging out with Marie and Basile from France, we got some more paella and ate it in the Turia, enjoying the sun, a rather perfect first half of the day. I had adapted to siesta culture QUICKLY, so after a nap, Marie and I met back up for drinks and dinner. First we had a glass of agua de Valencia and played some cards before we went to go get tapas at a place recommended by our tour guide. I didn’t know that I was in for the best meal of the trip, but god DAMN those tapas were incredible. We had alcachofas (artichokes) sauteed and salted, jamon iberico, atun (tuna) seared, anchoas (anchovies) with tomatoe, and multiple glasses of white wine. We were sitting at a tiny table on the street in the old city and the food was unreal. As we were nearing the end of our meal, an older man approached us and asked “Which one of you are from the United States?” I somewhat reluctantly raised my hand, and then he pulled up a chair and dove in to conversation. I don’t think I ever got this man’s name, but he was there with his wife and the two of them were from Florida. They live part time in Miami and part time in Valencia. At first it was sweet and they were giving us recommendations for food and things to do, but it quickly devolved into the man constantly talking over his wife and telling us about all the elite social clubs he belongs to. He was a part of the English Mens Bullfighting Club, a club for men who speak english and are obsessed with bullfighting… and he was eager to tell us about all of the influence he has gained amongst the Spanish government through being a part of this exclusive mens club. GAG. Marie seemed a little more intrigued by his wealth than I had a tolerance for and I felt my temperature rising each time he interjected his opinion when his wife tried to get a word in. Thankfully it got late and it was past their bedtime, they said goodbye to the owner of the restaurant in their American accented Spanish. If there’s one thing that I’ve solidified on this trip, it’s that I have no more patience for out of touch wealthy folk. Marie and I said goodnight and I never saw her again, that’s just the way it goes, but I’m glad to have had someone to share tapas with.
In the morning I had to attend to the matter of where I would be spending the rest of my time in Valencia. I had only booked my current hostel for 2 nights to allow for flexibility, but as I searched for a new place I realized that options had dwindled since first looking. At first I booked the cheapest option and told myself that I can handle anything for 8 nights, but then I read the reviews. Things like “the walls don’t go all the way up to the ceiling, no windows, and homeless man sleeping in lobby” were peppered through out and I ultimately stepped back on my stubborn frugality. I booked the next 8 nights at the Colo Colo “a smart hostel” where you get your own casita (which is a cozy little pine box, that could potentially feel like a coffin, depending on how you look at it). The kitchen was clean, it was in a great neighborhood, and I felt justified in spending the extra $20 more per night, my first nap in my casita coffin was heavenly.
That evening, I went out with Sam from Algeria, who had been living in Valencia for the last 2 years. He took me to the Centre del Carme Cultura Contemporània, which is a museum in a 13th century convent, where we saw a great exhibit juxtaposing Valencian painters from the Baroque and Neoclassical periods with pieces of modern art from Spanish artists. Afterwards we went to a restaurant which was actually not a restaurant but an anti-capitalist, anti-consumerism, private cultural association where volunteers cook food that you can enjoy on a pay what you can basis. There was a pretty prominent sign that said “Tourists not welcome” inside which made me question my place there, but Sam explained that as an organization they see tourism in it’s current form as a problematic symptom of capitalism itself, where people are coming and treating cities like amusement parks, having little regards for the culture, and driving up the cost of living for residents. It’s quite a double edged sword, with tourism propping up the economies of so many countries, like Spain, but also sucking the authenticity out of experiences and making culture a commodity. I’m glad Sam showed me this place, it has given me a lot to stew on.
I spent most of the days in Valencia wandering around aimlessly sightseeing, which one day led me to the best empanada of my life. It came from an unassuming street stand where I didn’t expect much, but after I ordered the woman working told me it would be ready in about 10 minutes. I watched her make it completely from scratch, dough and all, and she gave me a white salsa to try with it. I walked it to the steps of La Lonja (the old silk market) and proceeded to have a spiritual experience with this heavenly little pocket of meaty-crispy-doughy-perfection. I returned to that stand 3 times. Back at the hostel that evening, I met Eddy from England who invited me to dinner with his buddies he was traveling with. Eddy and Tom were taking a long weekend break from medical school, and their friend Sharif flew in to meet them just for a couple days. Looking back with rosey eyes, I would say we all became instant BFFs, I’m not sure what they would say, but I really enjoyed these lads. We got dinner at a place with a prix fixe menu that we couldn’t quite figure out, but we laughed through it all. Eddy and I bonded over a love of Aperol Spritzes, Tom and Sharif were outspoken in their distaste for them, but we dragged them to a bar touting 5€ spritzes anyways. My tomorrow-self would’ve told my drinking self in that moment that having more than 2 spritzes in an evening is an awful idea, but we had boatloads of fun and ended up going out dancing. A couple weeks out from the experience now, I have no regrets, Spritz it up Rosemary.
Needless to say, I slept in very late in my casita coffin and didn’t do much with the next day. That evening I met back up with the boys and met Autumn Rose Paramour, what a name. The 5 of us went out for tapas and met up with a friend of Tom’s who he met when attending Spanish school in Valencia a year or so ago. Tom’s friend was named Nick and he just happened to be from Wisconsin, we bonded almost instantly. Nick also brought his friend Noelia, a Valencia native. Nick had been living in Valencia for over a year now and was working through the process of getting papers to work in Spain, so while the wheels of bureaucracy turn, he has found him self with plenty of time for showing people around. After dinner, he took us to a bar that has apparently remained unchanged since the 80’s and is known for playing Spanish rock music. Our group of 7 crowded around a tiny table and drank vermouth as we attempted to make conversation. The music was great and I had to keep asking everyone to Shazam songs for me as I was still without data. It was great getting to know Nick and Noelia, they’re both easy people to like. We called it an early night at 2am as the Brits and I were still feeling a bit haggard from the previous night, so we walked back about 20 minutes to our hostel stopping for a döner kebab on the way. On the way back, we had a lengthy conversation about the proper use of the word “cheeky” and I think I’ve finally wrapped my head around it. We said our goodbyes that night as Tom, Eddy, and Sharif were all leaving early in the morning. I miss those lads.
After a long string of late nights in the city I was feeling the need to be a little reclusive and lay eyes on some nature. I took an hour long city bus ride to L’Albufera which is a nearby natural park and bird sanctuary, also the supposed pinpointed birthplace of paella. It was a Sunday, so the town was quite busy with families gathering to share large pans of the signature dish. I booked myself a little boat excursion for 5€ and got a little time on the water, which was ALMOST peaceful had it not been for the woman sitting next to me to was incessantly posing for selfies and showing them to her friends for approval. It seems more and more that every out of the ordinary experience now just serves as a backdrop for an instagram post for SO many people, and I sincerely hope that as a species we are retaining enough braincells to pull ourselves out of this zombie like state of constant content creation. SO, my search for tranquility wasn’t quite fulfilled… but I enjoyed the long bus rides both ways. Thankfully I brought my headphones and was able to get lost in the haunting beauty of Rosalias first album.
On my last day in Valencia, Autumn Rose Paramour and I met back up with Nick from Wisconsin for a proper paella lunch. We shared a pan of paella de mariscos and Nick informed us that the burnt crispy bits on the bottom of the pan were a very important part of the experience. It was an excellent lunch, but we decided we weren’t quite satiated so we kept the ball rolling and went in search of tapas and vermouth. These are the kind of people I need more of in my life, who on any random Tuesday are down for an all day eating adventure. At this point, we only had a couple hours to kill before we were going to see jazz at the bar where Nick is going to work once his papers get all sorted. Autumn needed to go back to the hostel to freshen up, but I was as fresh as I was ever going to be, so Nick and I grabbed a couple beers and took a long stroll through the Turia park all the way to the other side of the town. The bar Nick will work at is called La Vitti and every Monday it hosts a jazz concert followed by an open jam. There is a Berklee campus in Valencia, so the open jam was pretty freaking fantastic. We spent hours there, and Nick’s Argentinian friend Julia introduced Autumn and I to Fernet and coke. (Your probably thinking to yourself at this point, “Damn Rosemary, you drank a lot in Spain, no wonder you had such a good time.” and to that I say… yes.) Fernet and coke is apparently very popular in Argentina, it is certainly not for the faint of heart, but damn is it good. At the end of the night, the three of us went out in search of food and were joined by a Brit who was quick to inform us that he used to be Adele’s bass player. As soon as he discerned that we were all Americans he started repeating every other word we said in a nasaly California accent, which got old real fast. Nick took us to a spot with “french tacos” which I would say is basically a burrito panini, and a perfect late night meal. My french taco had potatoes, cheese, and chicken nuggets with a spicy mayo sauce, and so delicious that it made up for the insufferable British man who wasn’t getting the hint to go home.
Autumn and I Ubered back to the hostel and spent our last nights in our casita coffins. The next morning I schlepped my backpack to the train station and emotionally waited for my train to Gandía, where I would meet up with my host for a short WorkAway that popped up last minute. It felt so wrong to be leaving Valencia! I felt like I had just scratched the surface with my new friends and there was no part of me that was ready to leave all the fun behind, but free food and housing is just about impossible to turn down after you’ve been traveling for 3ish months. I took the commuter train an hour south to Gandía where I would be picked up by Jasmine. About halfway through the train ride, the landscape turned mountainous and I felt a bit more excitement for the next 5 days. Jasmine lives in the town of Pedreguer with her mom Mar and 3 dogs, Abril, Mija, and Idis. Initially, Mar was going to be out of town, so I was going to be helping Jasmine with taking care of the dogs, but 30 minutes after I arrived, plans changed and Mar was no longer going to Majorca. I wasn’t very sure of my purpose being there anymore, but they insisted it was alright that I stay. The house was a bit out of town, right across from the mountains, and from the backyard you could see the remains of a castle on top of a very high rock. The landscape was breathtaking with wildflowers blooming left and right and terraced groves of olive trees inhabiting the base of the mountains. Jasmine and I took the dogs on a walk to Font d’Aixa, an old spring from when the area was Moorish farmland. There were so many old crumbling stone houses along the trail and I found out that there was a whole system of hiking trails through the mountains that went from one historical landmark to the next. Over the next few days Jasmine took me on tours of the surrounding towns of Pedreguer, Altea, and Denia. Jasmine usually had an errand or two to run so I would go exploring on my own and we would set a point to meet up. She was a little stressed out by the fact that I didn’t have phone service, but we always managed to make it work. I was surprised by how much of a Brit magnet these towns were. Almost everywhere you went, you heard a British accent, and they were rampant on their bicycles, apparently a popular place to come and train for races. Admittedly, I was sort of coming off the high of my time in Valencia, and feeling the impending sadness of the trip coming to a close, so I had a bit of a somber time, but there were some stand out moments and really saved it for me. The day we went to Denia, I had 2 hours of solo time and no idea where I was going, so I went to search for a place to have coffee and draw. I walked for a while and much to my satisfaction, ended up sipping a café con leche in the ruins of a gigantic castle. For me, there’s not much that sitting outside a cafe overlooking the sea in the remains of a 10th century castle wont fix.
The other redeeming experience was my hike up to the castle across the street from Jasmine and Mar’s house. I could only find one of the dogs, as they frequently go out exploring on their own, so Mija and I set out for the top of the very, very tall rock. I had gotten vague instructions on how to find the trail, but it wasn’t well marked, so I walked probably 1/2 a mile before reaching a dead end. My second attempt was successful as I found a trail behind a somewhat creepy looking abandoned house. I felt more certain that I was on the right path as I started seeing yellow flashes frequently painted on rocks. The way up was a steep incline, sometimes requiring almost crawling straight up over rocks and I became accutely aware of the fact that I was hiking, alone, in Spain, with someone elses dog that I was responsible for. Luckily Mija was surefooted and stopped every now and then to make sure that I was still coming. After about 20 minutes of climbing I encountered the first set of wayfinding signs that indeed confirmed I was on the right trail. Relieved, I looked up to discover that I had made it to the base of the very very tall rock, which was also an area for rock climbing! The wildflowers were going absolutely wild up higher and I had to fight my way through some scrubby brush until I made it above the treeline where things thinned out a bit. It took about an hour to get up to the castle, and once I got up there I felt like letting out a scream of proud success, but I’m glad I walked through the castle first because I found an older German couple eating their lunch, so I’m glad I didn’t startle them. Mija and I drank some water, I ate an apple and a brownie and sat in awe of the fact that I had just scrambled up some rocks to a freaking castle. The castle was built in the 13th century and the town recently received a grant to restore it just enough so it could be safe for visitors, but I still fought off bouts of vertigo looking over the edge of the walls that plummeted down to the forest below. I didn’t feel too confident about my ability to hike back down the way I came without twisting an ankle, so I took my chances on an alternative route that thankfully ended up spitting me back out where I started. The weather was cloudy, slightly windy, and felt a bit dramatic. I felt elated to be walking through the Spanish hills by myself and I think I finally let myself feel a moment of pride for all that I had gotten myself through over the last 2 months. When Mija and I got back to the house we were both appropriately exhausted, and after a lovely 8pm dinner with Mar, I passed right out. On my last day, Mar made a pan of fideua, pretty much paella, but with very short pasta noodles instead of rice. In hindsight, I really enjoyed my 5 days in the Valencian countryside and appreciate the space it gave me to feel some feelings in a beautiful setting. A big thanks to Jasmine and Mar for letting me stay.
On Sunday, Jasmine dropped me back at the train station in Gandia, where I took the commuter train back to Valencia, to catch a high speed train to Barcelona where I would end my trip. I had strategically booked my tickets so I would have a few extra hours in Valencia where I met Nick and Noelia for a last minute picnic in the Turia. I was so freaking happy that I got to see them one last time. Nick had prepared a lovely picnic with jamon bocadillos, queso, uvas, y (of course) vermouth with oranges and green olives. Noelia brought chips, guacamole, and a giant pack of Kinder chocolate bars (one of which made its way back to the states with me and I just found yesterday melted in the bottom of my bag). The train to Barcelona was uneventful, besides being delighted by many more castle sightings. When I arrived I was beyond tired and not willing to figure out a new metro system, so I luxuriously turned on my data and ordered an Uber to my hostel. I was staying in the Gracia neighborhood, and that night I wandered around in search of food. I ended up with a trusty kebab, ate it on the steps of a church and people watched at the lively plaza it sat on. Someone in my hostel dorm was snoring so loudly that everyone else in the room was squirming through out the night, and I started to feel excited for the fact that I soon wouldn’t have to share a room with anybody.
After my only somewhat restful night of sleep, I had breakfast at the hostel where I didn’t meet anyone so I signed up for a free walking tour. Everyone had told me that Barcelona is extremely touristy, but I was not prepared for the reality of it. I took the metro to Plaça de Catalunya where our tour met in front of the Hard Rock Cafe (red flag, people really go to those things?) getting from the metro to the cafe, which was not very far at all felt like walking against the current in a flooded river. I honestly can hardly remember anything our tour guide told us because we were weaving in and out of crowds of people going down Las Ramblas. Once we got into the old Gothic Quarter the crowds thinned out a little bit, but only a little bit. After the tour, I tipped the guide and booked it back to Gracia, feeling a distaste for humanity AND so grateful that I had chosen a neighborhood a bit further from the center of the chaos. I had set up a lil date for myself that evening so I took a nap and hoped for a better time with someone local.
After attempting to reset, I met up with Ege at El Vivi in Gracia. Ege was in Barcelona for a masters program but was originally from none other than Turkey. I thought it was a rather funny coincidence that my only other Hinge date in Valencia had also been from Turkey. I asked him what city he was from… they were both from Izmir. He asked me the name of the other guy aaaaand it turns out that they are best friends from high school. I’m not sure if this was some sort of cosmic intervention, or my hinge algorithm had guessed that I now had a taste for Turkish men (I’d rather believe the first option) but WHAT ARE THE ODDS???? Once we got over the hilarious and somewhat awkward coincidence of our meeting, we continued to have a great evening. After tapas, we went and sat at one of the cafes in the plaza where I had ate my kebab the previous night. Ege had a degree in psychology and he helped me analyze a reoccurring dream I had been having where an orca whale had come up onto the shore of a beach and a distracted mother sets her baby on top of the orca. Meanwhile I stand by stupified and try to tell the mom that she had just put her baby on a carnivorous animal, but she doesn’t comprehend the danger. We concluded that I must be feeling frustration with happenings outside of my control… Anywho, I was happy to have a companion to explore a few bars in Gracia with and reclaim the day from the mornings total overwhelm.
On my last full day, I mustered up all the motivation I could to go back into the tourist zone and see La Sagrada Familia. Tickets to go inside had been sold out for weeks, but I will say, the exterior was mindblowing enough to JUST outweigh the low grade boiling anxiety that was building in me from navigating the crowds. The Gaudi masterpiece was really freaking impressive, but I do not have anything poetic to say about it. Unfortunately, being in Barcelona made me consider revisiting my undergrad thesis which was centered around the topic of over-tourism. That night, I met up with Ege again. He had a friend coming to visit from Texas and I assumed it would be someone near our age, but it ended up being a dude in his mid 40s who Ege used to work with. A bit thrown off, I decided to roll with it anyways. This guy, who’s name is not worth remembering, let’s call him Texas Joe, was your classic entrepeneur who moved to Europe to take advantage of different tax laws to start multiple businesses, one being an unaccredited university that seemed like the equivalent of a University of Phoenix situation to me. The more I got to know Texas Joe the less and less I liked him, but he paid for a rather nice dinner and drinks so I tried to remain polite. Texas Joe lives in the south of France, but his wife and children live in Lebanon, and as the night went on his voice changed from an annoying southern twang to a slightly slurred middle eastern accent. At this point I was fed up with the guy bragging about his wealth and all the frequent flyer miles he’s accumulated, and I had drank enough beers to say something. My method of picking a fight with him was to ask if he ever considered his impact on the environment or using his wealth for something good, to which he immediately went on the defensive saying that if I could present him with a profitable way to save the planet he would *love* to give a shit. I don’t remember the intricacies of the argument from that point, but Ege informed me the next day that we really got into it. I… did not give a fuck. So my last night Barcelona was kind of a bust, but at least it made it easier to leave! In the morning, I ate one last serving of patatas bravas and arrived at the airport entirely too early. I spend a lot of my time in Barcelona feeling like humans are a plague on this beautiful planet, which believe it or not, is not my favorite headspace to be in! So unfortunately unless you are somehow way less sensitive to throngs of tourists crowding around beautiful historical monuments experiencing it all with phones in front of there faces, I personally would not recommend Barcelona.
Sitting in the airport waiting for my flight I expected to feel the emotional weight of the last three months come crashing over me, but instead I mostly felt a numbness, probably due to a few too many beers the night before and residual anger at the existence of people like Texas fucking Joe. BUT let’s swing it back to a more positive note shall we?? Despite a few brushes with wealthy white American men and overwhelm from excessive exposure to humanity, I came away really loving Spain. There was endless amounts of history to explore, mind blowing food, cheap and delicious beverages, and most importantly, really freaking good people. I’m so glad I tagged on this last part of the trip, I can’t think of a better bookend to it all. I’m already plotting and scheming my way back.
I’ve been back in the states for 10 whole days now and slowly sorting out how I feel. It’s not awful, it’s not awesome, and I’m sure there’s many more emotions to be felt. Until I conjure up the bandwidth to summarize my general thoughts on the experience, I’ll just leave you with, I’m really glad I did it and I can’t believe it’s already done. I’m trying to remember the classic phrase “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” But I’m also smiling because it’s over, crying because it happened, and everything in between. If you’ve read this entire blog, you’re a trooper and true friend, and lets grab a drink now that I’m back on US soil. Gracias á todos. Ciao.
I don’t know why I got emotional that this was the end of the saga 😭. Great stories to end the whole trip!