The Impact of a Mitten

After a partially disastrous trip to Madrid this past weekend, I've resolved to catch up on all the travelling-in-Spain posts that I've meant to write and yet somehow...haven't. I am the worst when it comes to procrastinating on things without deadlines. I unfortunately got really good at getting essays done last minute when it came to school, and now without that slightly panicked, I-have-four-hours-left-to-finish adrenaline, I have so much trouble writing. So. Here's hoping this resolution is one I can actually keep.

It's going to take a while. But better late than never, right?

Anyways, Madrid. When my family was here at Christmas, we spent a day and a half in the city. But due to a couple of factors, namely it being the end of our whirlwind tour of Spain, we didn't do many of the "must see" tourist destinations so I've been meaning to go back ever since. 

Waiting in line for an hour.

[We actually only got to spend 3 hours at the Prado which, sad times. But I'm going to do the museums on my next visit and I can get in for free with my ID because I'm here on a student visa! Yay technicalities!]

Noticing a possibility for snow in the forecast for last Saturday [which didn't pan out, but now it's supposed to snow tomorrow...boo], I quickly booked one night at a Madrid hostel. I am also currently hosting a Flat Stanley from a friend's elementary school class and I figured pictures of the palace in Madrid would be pretty cool :)

Looking at bus schedules, I learned that there was a strike going on. About half of the normally planned buses between Madrid and Soria aren't running at the moment. No big deal, I thought, I can always try the ride-sharing thing if I need to. [Spoiler: this didn't work out so well.]

Because of the strike, I meant to buy my ticket ahead of time just in case, but since Fridays are super busy, it completely slipped my mind. When I got to the bus station Saturday morning, the first bus was already "completo."

Crap. I sat down in the waiting room and sent a message to a ride-share guy that was leaving in 45 minutes. And then, miraculously, someone returned their ticket and I got a seat.

My first stop in Madrid was the Apple Store. This has a ridiculously long backstory, but basically: parents bought me a new [used] iPhone for Christmas since my dad's old one is too old for most apps. Previous owner was a jerk and had neither unlocked nor erased/reset the phone before selling it. I can therefore do nothing but use the alarm, take pictures, and play Solitaire.

So my dad suggested I go to an Apple Store to see if they would delete his accounts for me. They wouldn't.

Which was really annoying to learn after an hour on the Metro and the 1.50 euro surcharge I had to pay because the store was in a mall waaaaay outside the city center. I was consoled by purchasing the most delicious pita sandwich I think I've ever eaten.

The rest of the afternoon was fantastic. I dropped my stuff off at the hostel and headed out for sightseeing. I first stopped at the Sabatini Gardens which my family and I had missed despite being about 500 feet away from them [right next to the palace]. These are a fairly new addition, having been built where the royal stables used to be.

After admiring the view and successfully giving someone directions to the Cathedral, I headed over to the Templo del Debod. Basically, the Spanish helped the Egyptians save some ancient temples, and to say thanks, the Egyptians gave them one.

So there's a legit Egyptian temple in the middle of Madrid.

The park around the temple is also beautiful, so I wandered a bit before getting in the line to go inside. It was pretty windy, so I was debating the value of waiting in the cold just to see this little temple. But I would say it was worth it, especially since it was free. The carvings that were still preserved on the walls were incredible! Plus now I can say I've seen a little piece of Egypt, even if I never make it there myself.

I stopped for dinner at a pizza place I had passed earlier because I have been craving pizza like crazy. I was good and went to a little Spanish restaurant and refrained from stopping at a Domino's by the mall for lunch. I got one slice of "canibal" pizza - basically meat lovers, none of them being human - and the "pizza of the day" which was cheese with a Spanish cucumber-like vegetable.

Also it was 3 euros. I am cheap, especially when it comes to food.

Sunday morning, I was woken bright and far too early by some crazy 6 a.m. partiers on the street. And then only half slept the next hour and a half because everyone in the hostel snored so loudly. I swear, all the snorers in the city were staying there.

But they offered free breakfast, which makes up for a lot.

Catedral de la Almudena

I walked back to the same part of town to visit the Cathedral and Palace. By this point, I've been inside so many Spanish churches that they all start to blend together. The distinguishing factor here was the modern stained glass windows and the decoration of the ceiling. It's a painted ceiling, but really just in patterns and bands of color, which is not very typical. 

Also, look at that organ.

[The Valencia Cathedral had some similar murals commissioned by Rodrigo Borgia, AKA the Pope with a bunch of kids who maybe had a fondness for poisoning people.]

I also visited the Crypt, which was beautiful but appropriately somber. Unfortunately, the Cathedral Museum and access to the cupola are not open on Sundays, so I'll have to go back another time.

Then the Royal Palace.

Oh, the Royal Palace.

I was so disappointed in December when we arrived 1 minute [literally, one minute] after they stopped letting people in. So this was my primary goal for the weekend. I timed it perfectly - I walked up and bought my ticket with no line whatsoever. There were a few people waiting when I walked past to go to the Cathedral, and even more when I was leaving, so I was really happy with how that turned out.

I skipped the 4 euro audioguides and just stalked a couple of tour groups for extra background information on all the rooms. I'm going to borrow a couple of pictures from Google to show y'all since photos aren't allowed inside.

The throne room. The lions were part of a table that burnt in a fire. So they added the tops of their heads and here they are.

The Gasparini Room. Embroidering the walls [yes, embroidering] took 55 years, about twice as long as constructing the whole palace.

The Banquet Hall, created so one of the King Alfonsos could throw a big wedding party for his daughter. Before, it had been 3 rooms: the Queen's breakfast, lunch, and dining rooms. [The King had his own three rooms for eating.]

The Royal Chapel. They've got Saint Felix's mummy on display here because Queen Isabel II liked him so much, the Pope gave him to her as a present.

Basically, it was fantastic.

I stopped for some mildly expensive churros y chocolate on my way back to my hostel, since I never could find a street vendor selling them. And then, disaster struck.

First, I realized that all but the very last bus to Soria were booked. This would have been okay, but I was really looking forward to Skyping with my family that evening and getting home at midnight was therefore not ideal.

Second, none of the ride-share drivers would return my messages/calls. I realize I should have arranged this more than 24 hours before, but really. There were four rides being offered, so I expected at least one of them to call back. Giving up on that, I bought a bus ticket online, thanking my lucky stars that the guy at the hostel desk let me use their printer.

Third, I lost a mitten.

And not just any mitten. My beautiful, orange, wool, handmade in Peru mitten. My super warm, combination glove/mitten. I love those mittens. I had been wearing them in the chilly morning and put them in my purse after going to the Cathedral, so it could have been lost anytime after that. I had to work to hold back tears.

I had a cup of tea to console myself, accidentally wandered through a new part of Madrid, headed back over to the tourist area to see if, by some miraculous chance someone had found my poor mitten at the palace or the churros restaurant [they hadn't] and then...waited. I bought a light dinner at the Corte Ingles, people watched in the Plaza del Sol, and stopped to listen to street musicians.

Eventually, it got to cold to sit around outside, so I hopped back on the Metro to wait in the bus station for about an hour and a half. [At least I finally finished Anna Karenina because of that wait.] I blessedly slept the whole bus ride, startling awake about two minutes before we pulled into the Soria bus station, and managed to Skype with my family after all.

Palace and Cathedral, seen from the Templo del Debod park.

So while as a whole, it was really a good experience, that poor lost mitten really tainted the weekend. [And the bus hassles. But those at least resolved themselves.]

RIP, dear little mitten. I hope you're enjoying yourself, wherever you ended up.

The Best Laid Plans

Ever since I first found out, late last August, that I was actually going to teach in Spain, I was thrilled. And not just about the living in Spain part. I was most excited because I [finally] had the next two years of my life planned out. That hasn't happened since I accepted my spot at Texas State.

Three weeks ago, I decided not to renew my position for another year, letting go of my dreams of living in Andalucia.

Which puts me back in my post-college what-am-I-doing-with-my-life mindset.

Which is quite the struggle for organized, planning me.

Somehow, this seems to keep happening to me. I grew up knowing that I was going to be a teacher. I have a very distinct memory of a guest speaker we had in a youth group meeting at the very beginning of my senior year of high school. She asked if any of us knew, 100% for sure, what we were going to do for a living. So I, supremely confident, raised my hand and said decisively, "I'm going to be a teacher."

Less than a month later, I had changed my mind.

So I started college getting my degree in Family and Child Development instead of Education. At the time, I was planning on being a Child Life Specialist [if I haven't already explained it to you, basically it's a job where you make kids in the hospital happier].

And then I changed my mind again. I did my internship at a Child Placing Agency and fully intended on working for CPS after I graduated.

Well, that plan clearly didn't work out for me. I spent the next few months getting over my I'm-terribly-burnt-out-from-school-and-job-hunting funk and then was offered a terrific part-time position at a preschool. I was reminded how much I lovelovelove toddlers. There are not many people who seem to like this stage best [hence the term terrible twos] but it is my absolute favorite.

Unfortunately, the Peace Corps doesn't need a lot of preschool teachers. So I applied for the Spain job and said I wouldn't be back in the fall because, as much as I love those babies, I also desperately needed to travel. Overseas.

And then I didn't hear from them, and didn't hear from them. So, change of plans again! I got a full-time nanny job for the sweetest baby boy, with a lovely family, that I was planning on staying at for a year, at which point I was going to try for Spain again.

Ha!

Here I am, teaching in Spain 5 years after I decided I could never be a teacher. [For some reason, teaching languages is a little better than teaching other subjects, although the variety in the education systems in Peru and Spain also makes a big difference.] And it's great, and I get to travel, and I'm earning money.

But.

But I'm sick of high schoolers.

Don't get me wrong, most of my classes are great. There are a lot of kids that are really invested in learning English, and their level is much higher than that of most American students. But the ones that aren't just...aren't. They talk over me, they don't pay attention, and they make me really, really miss my sweet toddlers.

These past 5 months have reinforced the knowledge that I am not cut out to be a grade school teacher. Preschool is my home. [It's also the most important age for attachment, and therefore foster/adopted kids, and therefore combines two of my loves.]

And as much as I enjoy living here, I realized, as I procrastinated on working on my reapplication, that there's not a lot left I want to do in Spain. I've done a ton of traveling, practiced some Spanish, and eaten a lot of delicious paella. When trying to picture next year, maybe in Granada, the only thing I was looking forward to was coming home during Christmas break and having a Presbyterian-ish church to go to.

Which are not good reasons to commit to living somewhere for nine months.

So now I'm working on a new plan. And I'm really excited about it and can't wait to share it with everyone. But this post is long and picture-less enough as it is, so that will have to wait for another day.

Adventures in Pancake Making

I consider myself a decent cook. And usually a good baker too. But no matter how hard I try to follow recipes or keep the kitchen clean while I work, it never seems to go quite so smoothly.

So of course, my first stab at solo pancake making was bound to be interesting. [Especially because there are no mixing bowls in my apartment. I don't understand how this happened. We have an overflowing cupboard full of them at home.]

BUT pancakes are a must for Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras. Since I can't be at my church eating pancakes and applesauce and sausage patties, I dug up a recipe I had saved - well, it ended up being a combination of two recipes - and got to work buying ingredients. And this is how it turned out.

Step One: Find a YouTube playlist of New Orleans jazz music

Step Two: Make the batter [and in this case, a cinnamon filling as well]

The ingredient-mixing itself wasn't that hard and I only made a tiny mess with the cinnamon sugar. Yay! I did have to make some substitutions due to Spain not having vegetable oil, and had to leave off a yummy sounding cream cheese glaze because I haven't seen any powdered sugar. I even realized how big of a recipe it was and halfed it [the batter still lasted two days, but what's wrong with two days of pancake dinners?].

Step Three: Grease pan with butter and plop down the pancake mixture

This is not as easy to do when you're guestimating how much butter to melt because there is no non-stick cooking spray in my apartment. Maybe in all of Spain. Who knows?

Step Four: Swirl in some cinnamon

Technically you could follow the instructions from the recipe and use an icing bag/ziploc to make a nice circle. But when you have neither of those things, a tea spoon will do just fine.

Step Five: Flip

This is where it got dicey. The cinnamon swirl, while a tasty addition, also makes the pancakes flimsier. Which I wasn't quite expecting when I made my first gigantic pancake, hence the broken pieces above. Poor pancake #1.

[Also, is it strange that I think of the Aral Sea every time I look at that picture?]

Step Six: Eat!

I'm obviously a lot biased, but these are some of the best pancakes I've ever eaten.

Here's the recipe. For the pancakes, just mix the dry ingredients together, add in the wet ones and mix them until all the flour is blended in. For the filling, I melted the butter in a glass dish then added the cinnamon and sugar. Then you basically make them like regular pancakes - although the recipe did say to be careful not to cook them too fast because the cinnamon could burn.

Pancakes

• 2 cups all-purpose flour
• 4 tsps baking powder
• 2 cups milk
• 1 mashed banana [my Google-approved substitute for 2 tbsps vegetable oil]
• 2 large eggs
• 1 tsp vanilla extract [because I didn't make the glaze]

Cinnamon Filling

• 1/2 cup butter, melted
• 3/4 cup brown sugar, packed
• 1 tbsp ground cinnamon

Cream Cheese Glaze

• 1/4 cup butter
• 2 oz. cream cheese
• 3/4 cups powdered sugar
• 1 tsp. vanilla

Thoughts on Sochi Figure Skating

And just like that, the first week of the Olympics is already done.

This was alternately an exhilarating and heartbreaking week, for figure skating at least. I made myself hold off on spamming my Facebook page with all my commentary; the ones that made it through were generally about the Russians or Javier Fernandez.

Poor Javi. I definitely curled up on my couch Friday night after the free skate for a 10 minute he-just-needed-two-more-points pity party.

In other couch related news, I decided to paint my nails while watching one of the events. And of course, the one time I don't grab a piece of scrap paper to put under the bottle, I spilt it on my couch. Luckily for me, the color of the nail polish matches the color of couch almost exactly.

Team Event

Brand new this year and just in time, the team event was wonderful wonderful wonderful. All I did last weekend was watch figure skating, which was gloriously broadcast live, commercial and interruption free. Hours upon hours of skating.

Firstly, I think it's nice to include more skaters in the competition. Even though they had no shot, the Brits got to bring an extra skater or two because they qualified. So a mid-level skater gets to be an Olympian, and maybe the teams with a weakness in an event will start seeing improvement [I'm talking about you, Japan]. We'll see.

Secondly, one of the Canadian skaters [I'm pretty sure an ice dancer] was super cute about participating - you could hear her say, "I was skating on Olympic ice!" on her way to the Kiss and Cry after the short program, and "I didn't want to get off the ice" after the free skate.

Lastly, and most importantly, it ensured that Evgeni Plushenko would get another well deserved Olympic gold medal. [Although I do wish Adelina Sotnikova could've skated her short program. It would've been nice for her to have a medal too.]

Pairs

I have to admit, the Olympics are the only time I really watch Pairs skating. [Same goes for ice dance.] I enjoy it, of course, and they do some incredible throws and lifts, but I only vaguely follow who's leading in the intervening years. There's just too many other skaters for me to keep track of. But here's what I thought:

Aliona Savchenko and Robin Szolkowy's free skate costumes are so nice, so why the pink panther monstrosity? I have always despised those costumes, especially hers. Which makes me sad because not enough lady skaters wear pants.

Tiny 16 year old Cheng Peng doing a quad twist is pretty darn incredible to witness.

There are so many Ukrainian skaters competing for other countries. A few Russians and Americans do this as well [all the Reed siblings], but still, it's astounding.

The short program really is Tatiana Volosozhar and Maxim Trankov's forte. I could watch them over and over again. The free skate? Maybe I just found the Jesus Christ Superstar music too jarring to hear during a competition compared to the gala, where it would be great.

I think the 3rd Russians were underscored in both segments. I saw some grumbling headlines about the team competition being fixed, but clearly there isn't a bias towards the Russians. They're just that good.

Men

I am utterly crushed that Plushenko was in too much pain to compete on home ice after he tried so hard to do it. [And also that his tour will probably be postponed until after I leave Europe.] How do you skate after the greatest skater alive has just withdrawn? Badly, it seems. So many falls from so many good skaters. Either that or the ice is cursed.

The worst crash and fall? Jeremy Abbott. Ouch. I apologized for every mean thing I've said about him after he picked himself up after that and had a great skate. [Not that I was surprised he fell...again.]

Skaters to watch: Michael Christian Martinez and Jason Brown. The first Filipino to qualify for the Olympics, this kid was fantastic. And I rolled my eyes every time I saw some headline about Jason being in medal contention. Yeah, he's got a shot...4 years from now. What a great spinner though. If he just gets his quads down...

Why does Kevin Reynold's hair/costume always look weird? Poor kid. He has a really cute nose though. Which I realize is a strange thing to say.

Crossing my fingers for the two Javiers didn't work at all. Hopefully the Spanish ice dancers will have a better time of it.

Escaping the Cold in Granada [Part 2]

For some reason, and I'm not really sure where this came from, I went into Granada with the idea that I would enjoy seeing La Alhambra but that there wasn't really anything else in the city to interest me.

I was certainly proven wrong on that count.

LA ALHAMBRA

Is amazing, of course. We spent 6 hours inside and still didn't manage to see everything.

The Alhambra palaces.

One of the best parts - our Welsh BFF that we met while waiting in the line to get into the palaces. My mom was reading something from her Rick Steves travel guide [by the end of the trip, we were teasing her about her attachment to "Rick"] about one of the Muslim rulers of the city who was driven out by Christians in the 1100s or something. He was lamenting its loss, and his mom told him, "If you had defended the city like a man, then you wouldn't be crying like a woman now."

The man in front of us turned around laughing at that, and we talked with him and his daughter-in-law until we got into the palace. This guy was the quintessential Welshman, with his ruddy cheeks and round belly and brilliant accent. [Really he would make a perfect Santa Claus.] Apparently, my sister's middle name, which is a Welsh family name, is spelled differently than it would be in Wales. Somewhere or another, someone stuck an extra "n" on it. Although, it could also have been abbreviated from something else when the family emigrated. Who knows?

Gardens everywhere.

Later, we caught up with them again in the baths section of the palace. I can't for the life of me remember what sparked this question, but our Welsh friend was trying to think of a name for some famous quote or something. So he asked, "Who's that famous American satirist? From the 19th Century?"

My thought: Johnathan Swift wrote satire, but he wasn't American, was he?

My dad's answer: Jon Stewart [he missed the 19th Century bit]

My sister's answer: Me!

Actual answer: Mark Twain

We lagged behind them after that, since we were listening to the audio guides, and didn't manage to run into them again. Really, it was surprising that we were in the same part of the complex at the same time twice. It's obviously super famous but no one ever told me it was so big. We started in the palaces, because you have to reserve the time slot to enter them [hence the line], then wandered through the palace gardens. After that, we took a hot chocolate break and said hello to some cats.

Camera shy. To be fair, there were several of us taking pictures.

Then there's a second palace built by the Holy Roman Emperor Charles with a lovely little art museum inside. And then we toured the original fortress part of the complex which was probably my favorite part. There were some great views of the city from the tops of the towers. [Which, according to the audio guide, were rounded to better defend against cannons.]

The new palace.

By the time we got back towards the entrance, passing the public baths, a church, the ruins of the medina and the monastery where Isabel I and husband were originally buried, we were too exhausted to walk through the rest of the gardens. Also it was 3:00 and we hadn't eaten lunch. So we went to an Italian place called Bacchus Romano and my baby sister had her first [non-alcoholic] shot.

LA CIUDAD

I find it difficult to put into words exactly why I enjoyed Granada so much. The architecture and the warmth and the food were delicious, but I could say that about the other places I visited too. We didn't really even spend a lot of time there; even leaving Soria early in the morning, we didn't arrive until around 5 in the afternoon. And then it probably took another 30 minutes of being led through tiny alleys by our GPS, narrowly avoiding hitting buildings, to make it to our hotel.

The next day was entirely devoted to the Alhambra. After seeing it, we went to an overlook to look at it again. And then the last morning - and only because I begged - we delayed leaving until we had gone to see the Cathedral, which had closed by the time we left the overlook the night before. It was incredible. I unfortunately didn't get any good pictures of the exterior because it was a bit rainy that morning.

I suppose it could have been the realization of all the history that happened in Granada that makes me remember it so fondly. For someone as obsessed with the subject as myself, there's really a lot of Spanish history that I'm lacking on. And of course, I'm going to be relying on TV to help me fix that. [I also plan on going to the library to find some Spanish historical fiction. Assuming that I ever make it over there.]

Source: http://trasladosgranada.semfyccongresos.com/monumentos

Like, for instance, Isabel and Ferdinand are now buried in the Royal Chapel next to the Granada Cathedral, after their grandson Emperor Charles moved them there. And their daughter Juana and her husband are buried there too. Isabel is extra popular in Spain at the moment thanks to a little TV show about her, which is why I said we had to go to the Cathedral before we left.

I find it truly amazing to visit the same places that she would have, to visit these places who have so many important "ghosts" who walked inside their walls hundreds of years ago.

Christmas in Spain [Part 1]

As luck would have it, Soria picked the worst day of the year to be rainy and gross: Christmas Eve, also known as the day my parents and sisters arrived in Spain.

I checked the weather report constantly in the days leading up to Christmas, hoping that the forecast would magically change and it would be beautiful and warm, but alas. I managed to give them a quick tour of downtown before lunch when it was only slightly drizzling [mostly because I failed to make it to the grocery store before they got in and dragged them along with me, but still].

That evening, however, I made the ultimately poor decision to take them on a walk along the river to see the monastery and hermitage. When we set out [after my dad and I woke everyone else up from their naps], it was still pretty light outside and just drizzling. We walked up to San Juan de Duero...and it was closed.

Ah, hindsight. It should have immediately been clear to me that if the monastery were closed, the hermitage would be also. But I suppose I was too excited by my family's arrival and the prospect of showing them around "my" city to consider such things. And so we started the trek to San Saturio.

This is normally a nice walk along the river. However, we weren't even halfway there when the rain intensified. A sign to turn back? If so, I ignored it. I had on the new boots I bought myself on Cyber Monday, so my feet were cozy and dry, and my coat kept me plenty warm. It took a little longer for me to notice how bedraggled my poor family looked, with the rain pelting their faces and the wind blowing back their umbrellas.

We ended up getting so soaked that we had to pull out the drying rack when we got back.

I guess I'm more accustomed to the cold than I thought.

We finally stopped when they could at least see the hermitage, which pretty obviously had no lights on, so that our long walk wouldn't have been completely in vain. And then we walked home, I made a big pot of soup and several hot chocolates, and introduced my little sister to my favorite telenovela.

The next day, in my opinion at least, made up for the poor weather on the first. We had a late breakfast and opened presents. We saw some snow flurries outside while eating our Christmas lunch, probably the first time I have actually seen snow on Christmas Day. And then we had a wonderful, clear afternoon to take a long walk in the park, visit a couple of churches, and buy a dozen churros [my sister's go-to dessert on the trip].

Goofing off in the park, because that's what family is for.

Oh, and the thing I'm most proud of? Besides finding Christmas gifts for everyone without the help of gift cards and wish lists, I was really proud that I managed to find places for us to park the rental car without getting it towed or ticketed.

Stayed tuned for the day I eventually write about the rest of our/my trip: Granada, Sevilla, Madrid, Valencia, and a hint of Zaragoza.

Home Sweet Home

Today concluded a whirlwind 11 days of traveling through Spain, the first half with my wonderful family and the second by myself. I've accumulated a lot of pictures [definitely ran out of memory on my camera] and stories and receipts, some of which I'll share with the Internet soon. [Not the receipts. That would be boring.]

But I'm a wee bit tired at the moment. Unfortunately for me, I rarely manage to sleep in buses or cars or trains so I missed out on several prime napping opportunities. So the actual this-is-what-I-did-on-vacation posts will be written...later.

As much as I lovelovelove traveling, it was verrrrry nice to walk down familiar streets and through the door of my apartment. I'm actually glad to be getting back into my routine of work and relaxation. Don't get me wrong - in two weeks I will be eagerly anticipating our next long weekend and the possibility of going somewhere new. But now I just want to be home.

And not just "home" in Spain. Walking through my apartment, I saw the shampoo bottle one of my sisters left in the bathroom. I saw the Christmas presents that my family brought me [they brought the most perfect gifts]. I saw the homemade paper Christmas tree that I had set on the table as a centerpiece for our family meals.

Feeling sentimental, I grabbed my computer and my hymnal - that my family brought for me from home because it didn't fit in my suitcase in September - and settled down on the couch to check email, upload pictures, etc.

I was doing all right with all my emotions until I decided to open my hymnal.

Number 280

[Gosh, even just writing about it an hour later makes me tear up...]

I have just a few hymn numbers memorized after years of hymn sings and church services. Amazing Grace is one of them, and one of maybe two songs that I have entirely memorized.

So naturally, when I saw which page I had randomly turned to, I started bawling.

[I'm glad that I came back a day early so my roommate isn't here to witness my crying because I would have a bit of trouble right now explaining it in Spanish.]

I have wanted to leave home for years. I cannot even pinpoint when exactly this urge to travel and live somewhere else began. I never, ever felt homesick at camps or church trips; I didn't really miss home during the six weeks that I was in Peru.

But now that I've been gone for over 3 months, and just had a fabulous visit from my family, I can't stop thinking about all the things I do love about home - all the things I'm missing.

• Christmas carols and hymns
• Spending time with my grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles
• Being at my church, where I know the structure and the people and the songs
• King Cake [I'm not even joking. I've been craving a legit New Orleans style King Cake for a whole month, since I hear/see stuff about the Three Kings everywhere.]
• Driving my car
• Petting my cat
• Seeing friends at our 5 year high school reunion [And oh my goodness I can't believe we graduated four and a half years ago.]

I will finally admit to it. I am homesick. I'm glad to be back in Soria - I absolutely love it here - but I desperately want to be home as well. I feel like I've been cut in half, and I can only keep one half satisfied at a time. No matter where I am, no matter what I do, I'm going to be missing out on something. I'm going to be wishing I were somewhere else.

And when I'm not boo-hooing about it, I'm really annoyed. Annoyed that I have to pick between two things I love, annoyed that I'm sad right after a fantastic trip, and mostly annoyed that teleportation hasn't been invented yet because that would solve all my problems.

So if someone wants to go ahead and make me a teleportation device, I would be super grateful. I might even share my Poptarts, because I have two whole boxes of them now :)

Feliz 2014! Happy New Year, everyone.