Madrid

When I travel, it sometimes takes a few days to become adjusted to the rhythm, the new environment, the uncertainties.  For this reason, I thought Ireland would be a nice place to start, if only because they speak English.  I still think this was a good idea.  However, since arriving in Madrid, my happy points are up by at least eleven - and mainly because of the simple pleasure of using a new language to do even such normal, mundane tasks as ordering a meal, buying a train ticket, or asking for directions.  But it also might have something to do with the friendly people and the beautiful buildings, the sun and the heat (finally), all the dogs who follow their owners off leash, the uninhibited PDA, the really talented street performers.  Of the performers, most of all the juggler who started talking to me, but then ran away, "No! No! No!" when I tried to give him money.  And especially El Parque del Retiro.  Something about me: I love parks.  Especially big green parks full of fountains and sculptures and trails and little rows of booksellers, and massive congregations of rollerbladers (my people) and playgrounds full of tan, shirtless guys working out, (sorry Dileep ;), never mind all the museums, palaces, and gardens inside.  El Parque del Retiro happens to have all of this, plus some, and I would recommend the place to anyone visiting Madrid.  Sadly, I have to skip off to Portugal after only two days, so I will have to explore the city more another day.

Complaints

If I could just take a moment to complain, I think I'd feel better.  So…backpacking sucks.  My pack is even smallish, and not that heavy.  But my back, neck, and shoulders hurt.  My knees ache, my legs are sore, my ankles swollen, my feet battered.  The only reason you should need a backpack is if you are actually hiking on some inclined, or rough terrain.  Or if you're dealing with a lot of stairs.  But this is unnecessary.  Next time, I'm bringing a rolly suitcase.

The Island of Lost Socks

Socks are tricky fellers.  It's always only one from a pair that disappears to the Island of Lost Socks.  I don't know why it happens, but it always seems to, doesn't it?  Even as I'm traveling, and I only have five pairs to look after, one of them has managed to escape already.  I find this ridiculous.  But…since the other from the pair is now lonely, and not getting to enjoy a relaxing beach vacation from stinky feet, you may start to see pictures of this mate seeing the sites along with me.

If you think I've gone completely bonkers already, you may cast all blame toward my new friend, Isaac.  :)

We have sheep.

I once saw a video of a bunny herding sheep. While it is adorable and thoroughly entertaining (I did watch all five minutes…twice), I now realize how very unimpressive it is.  Sheep are pansies.  I've seen approximately 687 sheep this week, and while Kyle and I have each made it our personal goal to touch a sheep, Pat, my temporary Irish boss, is not amused by them.  We pass by them on the road, and all Pat can say, in an unmasked I've-been-dealing-with-these-annoying-animals-my-whole-life-and-there's-too-friggin-many-of-them-and-I'm-so-tired-of-staring-at-them kind of way, "We have sheep."   

But it will not be easy to touch a sheep.  There are farms all over the area, and the sheep seem to wander wherever they wish.  But come within twenty feet of them and they'll look at you with wary eyes and slowly move in the opposite direction.  Approach too quickly and they'll scamper off down the hill.  This is okay with me too because the babies look so dainty and cute when they run.  Add sheep to my list of animals to keep as pets when I settle down and buy a farm.  For now though, I just want to touch a sheep.

Meanwhile, I'm keeping busy with tasks around the hostel.  Thursday we stained picnic tables.  Friday, window washing.  Today, the walls upstairs need a new coat of paint.  And I've just been introduced to the hostel's reservation management program (yes!).  It has been absolutely and surprisingly sunny, warm, and dry, so after the work, there's been some trips to the beach (there are many here), some fishing, some running around near the seaside.  I do think I could skip the running from now on and get my exercise trying to catch a sheep.

The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick-maker

I haven't been in Ireland even three days, and already I'm almost certain that everything I've ever heard about the island is true.  I had this thought before the end of my first night here, but I gave it a couple days, just to be sure.  First of all, it IS green.  It's all green.  And it's very green.  The train I took the first day goes pretty straight West, from coast to coast through the middle of the country.  And the whole ride, to the north and south, all I could see was green.  The beauty here is entirely impossible to miss.
Secondly, I haven't yet met anyone here who wasn't friendly and endearing.  The first gentleman with whom I really had a conversation was Sean, who happened to be catching the same train from Heuston Station on Tuesday.  His introduction went something like this (and don't forget to add the fantastic Irish accent): "I'm Sean.  I'm a butcher.  I'm not butcherin' right now.  I'm also a gardener.  I am gardenin' right now."  Love it.  And then there were the taxi drivers who were happy to point me in the right direction once I got to Westport, despite me declining their services, and the woman I also stopped for directions when I inevitably got lost on the simple, ten-minute walk.  Then I had a couple hours to kill, waiting for the bus and watching all the passers-by.  I've really never seen so many cute, elderly couples walking and holding hands.  That should happen more often.  And then a man, who reminded me quite a bit of Mr. Thomas Andrews (Titanic), although he was not a ship-builder but in fact a baker, was kind enough to make sure I boarded the right bus when it arrived.  To continue the theme, the bus driver, I noticed, waved to everyone along the way, who then smiled and waved in return.  And when I finally did get to my hostel, Pat, the owner, gave me a very friendly welcome and tour of my home for the next few weeks.  I could get used to this.
By nightfall, I found myself, yes, in a pub, hanging around, singing along with the guitars.  And who would've guessed it?  Guinness all around.  I don't think I'll be too surprised if I run into a leprechaun soon enough.


Note: No, I have not met a candlestick-maker...yet.

The First 14 Hours

I had a lovely time in St. Louis and Chicago the past couple weeks, visiting with family and friends after leaving Denver, and thanks again to all those who opened their homes and/or spent time with me.  It was really great to see everyone!  But at last, it was my day of departure from the States, so let the traveling begin!
All packed up and ready to go, I took the short walk to the El station and hopped the Blue line to O'Hare to wait for my flight.  I already know I've brought too much luggage, but it'll have to do for now.  Thankfully, I am checking one bag, so I won't have to worry about that for a while.  A word of caution when flying Aer Lingus though: Don't try to bring an oversized carry-on.  Really.  There's a reason their rule is "strictly enforced."  It won't fit.  Oh, and also, dress warm.  I think they keep it really cold to prepare you for Ireland temperatures.  I'm pretty sure my core temperature dropped during the flight and isn't back up yet.  Apart from that, it was quite comfy.  I snuggled down with my blanket in the last row, and 7 hours later, I'm in Dublin!  Which I think I would love, if only I was spending more time here.  On the way back, perhaps.  But for now, I've got a little time before my train to check in with my people back home and catch a bus to the station!

The American Dream

My apartment was starting to look pretty empty the last few weeks.  No bed, no lamp, no furniture except my cute, little desk.  I've been trying to sell most of my things on Ebay or Craigslist, and did surprisingly well.  I'm down to a few boxes and a suitcase of clothes that I won't be taking with me, the rest having been donated to Goodwill.  And now the desk is gone too.
And so am I.

I moved out Friday, right after wrapping up my last day of work.  Officially homeless and jobless in one day.  I'm living The Dream.  :)  What I do have though is a backpack of essentials, a ticket to Ireland, and the most supportive friends a girl could ask for.  And honestly, what more could I really need?

It's About Time

I have a friend who says things.  I love it when she says things.  Sometimes I have no idea what's going on inside her head, but there are moments she can be unwittingly profound.  There is one in particular I remember.  It was a perfect, carefree October day - joking and laughing with childlike abandon.

"I wish I could be like this in my other life," she said.

While it might sound silly (and was probably meant to be), what I think she meant was that we wish that feeling of lightness, the lack of worry, the pure, untainted happiness could carry over into all areas of our lives, especially the ones where we spend much of our time weighed down, stressed out, or ticked off.  And like I do, I took this and ran with it.  It got me thinking about life, and happiness, and the concept of time and how we choose to use it.  I do spend an absurd amount of time thinking about how short life is and defining what's important.  And it was just when I was thinking about time, and fate, and "other lives," and following dreams, that it hit me: I do an awful lot of thinking.  Less thinking, more doing, my brain told me.  After all, life is short.  

I've been dreaming for a long time of going out to see the world, and to learn about other people and places through personal experience, as whimsical as that may be.  It's been this way for quite a while.  Anyone who's ever spent more than five minutes with me knows I have a travel bug, a bad one, for which there seems to be only one possible cure.  And thus far, I've confined treatment to these short, hurried trips, cramming every bit of adventure, exposure, education into even the last seconds, such that I've scheduled return flights which leave me just enough time to get back from the airport before my Monday morning shift.  I haven't yet done more to quell the symptoms out of fear, or responsibility, or expectation.  Mainly fear.  But you don't make dreams come true without facing some fears and taking some risks.  So here we go.  I'm taking my first baby steps down "a road less traveled by," which at best, will be a course in personal growth, with an emphasis on independence, flexibility, negotiation, planning, boldness, self-sufficiency, patience, improvisation.  Plus some crazy fun times.  :P  At worst...well, I did say I was thinking too much, didn't I?  It's worth noting, I have no problem with my life.  I have a great job, people who care about me, and I live in what I deem to be one of the best places on Earth.  And I'm well aware that this choice is one that may make my life more difficult, not less. 

But maybe that's what it's about.  About going after the challenges that will define you.  And about trusting your instincts.  It's about choosing to turn your "other life" into the life you want to live.  It's about living in such a way that you can look back and be proud of the choices you made, wherever they may have lead, and having no regrets because at least you know you tried.  It's about time, and knowing you spent it in pursuit of something worthwhile to you.

This is the story of what happens when I let go of the fear and jump.

The good.  The bad.  All of it.