Category: Sometimes you just gotta

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The Best Week of the Year

About a year ago I was perusing my company’s staff volunteer webpage and saw a listing for an opportunity with the Experience Camps, described as one-week camps for boys and girls who have experienced the death of a parent, sibling or primary caregiver- a place where those kids can feel “normal,” because everyone there has been through something similar.

I immediately applied to be a volunteer counselor for the following summer, even though it was a year away (so pretty much FOREVER away in my myopic world) and I was placed as a boys camp counselor in the California location, CalEx. August of 2017 seemed so far away at the time but before I knew it I was packing my bags to head to the west coast…I couldn’t resist tossing in this hat, not realizing it was a premonition of things to come:

On the plane I watched a mandatory training webinar called “Bereavement 101,” focused on children’s grieving process. It was heavy stuff. I realized it could be a heavy and emotional week. And, for a moment I wondered why I’d signed up for this…

I think I was initially drawn to the camp because of my own death-stuff. A handful of people I was close with died when I was little, most notably my Aunt Katie who passed away at age 17 from Cystic Fibrosis. I was an inquisitive little kiddo and had a LOT of questions about what death was, where my Aunt Katie had gone, when she would be back, etc. I had also seen her fighting the disease and was terrified that myself and other loved ones had “caught” it. It got to the point that I was afraid to go to sleep at night and would lay awake for hours. My parents took me to a child psychologist (his name was Jeff) who diagnosed me with PTSD and I started regular therapy sessions. I remember those sessions and expressing my fears through lots of talking, writing stories, coloring pictures… and especially that time we walked to get ice cream. Gradually things improved and then I was back to being a kid, and sleeping like one too.

I vividly recall the day Jeff asked if I wanted to come back and see him again or “see how it goes,” and I felt a little bad when I chose the latter option. While I liked hanging out with Jeff, I was late for Brownies on those days and I remember asking my mom what to tell my friends as an explanation for my tardiness (I followed her advice, yet saying “I had a meeting” seemed to only evoke more questions from my 8-year-old peers). I hugged Jeff before leaving his office for the last time. Less than a month later my parents were saddened and horrified when they received a call from Jeff’s office telling them that Jeff had died from a massive heart attack. He was in his 40s. Yes, it is true. My death therapist died. This really happened. I’m sure my parents were freaking out that my death fears would re-emerge and intensify. Thankfully, that did not happen. While I was very sad to hear the news about Jeff, I felt pretty at peace with it. I suspect this is because I had spent so much time talking with Jeff about this very subject- I knew his thoughts on death and knew that he was genuinely at peace.

When I first heard about the Experience Camps, I reflected on my past and how fortunate I was that my parents had given me the tools (mostly Jeff) to process my fears and confusion around the d-word. I now know that many children go through much more and do not have this type of support. My obligation to pay it forward seemed obvious and has only been validated by the amazing kid-courage I observed this week.

All of the campers at the Experience Camps have experienced the death of sibling(s) or parent(s) and sometimes, unconscionably, both. The losses they have endured in their short lives and the grief they have struggled to process exceeds what most adults will have to deal with over the course of their lifetimes. Many campers come to camp every summer and say they look forward to it for 51 weeks a year (I can’t even tell you how many times I heard CalEx referred to as “The Best Week of the Year,” by campers and counselors alike). Many counselors are also veterans (some were even former campers!) who happily “give up” a week of their summer every year. Now I see why it’s not so much of a sacrifice.

I was responsible for bunk number three (the best bunk) that included seven amazing little guys who came to camp with open hearts and minds.

The campers arrived in buses and were greeted by a mass of cheering counselors with crazy costume props. It was easy to tell which campers had been before and which were newbies. The veterans bounded off the bus, smiling and waving, excitedly greeting the staff and friends they knew from previous summers. The new campers emerged from the buses slowly, clutching their pillows and looking like a combination of stunned, intrigued, and shell-shocked. Like they’d been dropped into an alternate universe. Now I’m certain they will be the ones bounding off the bus next year.

The week was one of the most physically and emotionally exhausting ones I’ve had in my lifetime. And it was hands-down the most rewarding. I sit here now, having been home for over 24 hours, and I still struggle with how to put it into words. The thing is, the Experience Camps are mostly just a camp. A place where kids can be kids. A place where they run (lots of running), jump, laugh, yell, sing at the top of their lungs, dance like no one is watching (but loving it if they are), climb trees, throw balls, throw sticks, throw rocks (not allowed but we’re talking about little boys here), and wreak havoc in the mess hall. Sometimes just wreak havoc in general. Like normal kids, right? That’s the thing  I learned this week- while this is what most kids their age would be doing during the summer months, many of these kids are not. They don’t feel like “normal kids” in their daily lives. They feel different than their peers, and like nobody understands. At CalEx, they say, it’s different. At camp they can let themselves be themselves, their whole selves, with no fear of being judged or pitied (their worst fear is to be pitied).  At CalEx, how they feel and what they’ve been through is the norm. It’s a safe place where they can openly talk about their loss when they want to, or not when they don’t want to. Most importantly, at camp they can just be a kid. Some for the first time in their lives.

My week included 6 am hikes up a nearby mountain with a reward of stunning Malibu ocean views during sunrise. At first it was just a crew of counselors but gradually campers got wind and the last day we had a crew of 30+ campers making the early morning trek (mostly leaving the counselors in the dust). These kids need capes as there’s really nothing they can’t do.

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I was especially impressed with the support the campers gave each other- it seemed to be part of an unspoken contract that goes along with understanding each others unique and tragic circumstances. Strong bonds were formed almost instantly- the kind of bonds “normal kids” probably won’t experience for years. Yes, there were also some tears. As well as sadness, anger, frustration…and some emotions that are kind of indescribable, and they were letting themselves feel for the first time. There were also a lot of hugs, high fives, fist bumps, chest bumps, and numerous other ways little guys exhibit camaraderie.

Each bunk has a series of “circle discussions” focused on the deaths the campers’ have experienced, as well as grief activities, led by a social worker assigned to our bunk. During these sessions, I was SO impressed with the boys’ abilities to open up and tell their stories. Most of them had never talked openly about their losses and one camper hadn’t even told his friends at school that his father had died the year before. Despite this, they bravely followed the lead of the veteran campers and opened themselves up to a group of people who had been strangers just a day before. These little boys might be the bravest people I know.

Of course, every camp needs a healthy dose of competition and ours was through the “College League” (Experience Camps’ version of Color Wars) and our college teams were Clemson and the University of Pittsburgh, each led by a “Dean.” The events tested the brawn and brains of the campers (okay, the counselors got a little into it too) and included tug-o-war, a scavenger hunt, a talent show, etc.  I was a part of Team Clemson and having attended a rival ACC school, cheering for the Tigers took some getting used to. The neck-in-neck competition culminated in a dodgeball tourney to decide the winner. Things looked bleak for the purple and orange at first and soon one of my campers and his 9-year old brother were the only ones left, two of the smallest campers. I wasn’t that surprised when CalEx “magic” kicked in and the two scrappy brothers singlehandedly took down 13 members of the Pitt team to lead us to victory! I’m told it was “THE GREATEST DODGEBALL COMEBACK OF ALL-TIME,” and both teams seemed equally excited to witness it.

Now I’m experiencing what I’m told is an unavoidable reentry process, back into the real world, following a surprisingly emotional “see you later” to my new camper and counselor friends alike. I can’t believe CalEx is over!  Only 51 weeks to go….

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A trip to Memory Lane…

After my family Cape Escape, I embarked on a four-day trip down Memory Lane. So, after 37 years my parents had the nerve to sell my childhood home in Massachusetts so they can  ‘live free or die’ in New Hampshire. This is mildly traumatic for me, as (despite going wherever I want) I prefer that the people around me stay put. Especially my parents! However, there are grandkids in NH (which makes it totally a losing battle) so I finally had to acknowledge that it actually didn’t make all that much sense for them to stay in MA so I have a place to crash when visiting my high school friends for five days a year. My Dad unsympathetically suggested that in the future I stay at the one motel downtown, The Clipper. Thanks Dad.

This past week my parents (mostly my Mom) guilted me into going “home” to help go through things in prep for their move. It turns out that the “things” they speak of are actually treasures. My treasures!!! I was pleasantly surprised to learn that when I went to college (and it took my parents about 48 hours to transform my bedroom into a den) they had preserved my bedroom!!! Albeit, in boxes. Many boxes. I quickly understood that my parent’s (aka my Mom’s) goal for my visit to my soon-to-be-former home was to get rid of my stuff (that I didn’t even know they still had). So, I embarked on the journey…

It seems that I chronicled my entire childhood, in detail. This was in the form of many diaries/journals (starting at age 8) and scrapbooks to preserve everything. Literally EVERYTHING. I have every award certificate (including one especially embarrassing year when I got the Perfect Attendance Award AND Gym Student of the Year. I would not have wanted to be friends with me), many letters from my many pen-pals  (including post cards…so many post cards), and clippings from anytime my name or picture was in the local newspapers (this seemed to have required some scissor-skills to cut out the honor roll listing, cropping to my name only). One would think as I got older and more mature I’d lay off the scrapbooks a bit. NOPE. It got worse. Apparently in about 10th grade I discovered the art of a travel journal, and proceeded to document every trip I went on. In GREAT detail. For example, when I was in my early teens I went to Seattle with my Dad and brother to visit my super-cool-mountaineer-geomorphalogist Uncle Paul and climb Mt. Baker (originally it was supposed to be Mt. Rainier but he smartly assessed that was a lofty goal for his 13 year-old nephew and 14 year-old niece who had zero combined experience with an ice ax. Rainier would come years later).  The pictures and accounts of the Baker climb are amazing and definitely work keeping. However, also included in the huge album I compiled is the coaster from the Red Robin restaurant where we got burgers after landing in Seattle (as well as MANY other relics). Let’s just say it was a long four days going through those boxes…

My biggest take-away from the Memory Lane excursion is the transformative change that has taken place in the way we communicate. It’s huuuge! In college I wrote letters. And mailed them. In the mail. I wrote full accounts of my goings-on and received commensurate scrolls from my friends and family. There was no shooting off a quick text about a date (or a class I found interesting? probably more like it).

In that spirit, I came across this relic from my freshman year of college. It was mailed to me, to my college mailbox (I’m pretty sure I had no idea who he was and didn’t seek him out in the food hall that evening to find out):

All in all (minus this date-request) with the old-fashioned communication method it seemed there were real stories conveyed. And, while definitely time-delayed, it somehow seemed to be more a meaningful way to communicate. It took time and thought. We went into details (at least I did..no lack of details on my end). Just so it’s clear I’m not coming from the Dark Ages, I also did chronicle the first time I learned of this new-fangled thing that I later learned was called email. I was 12 and visiting my tech-savvy IBM-engineer-grandfather in New York and journaled that “Tonight Pop-pop showed Seth and I a new disk where you can write to people in other states. It’s so cool!” Clearly I did not inherit the tech gene from Popster (a disk??) and I credit him with making me an early adopter, via a prodigy.net account. He was successful as I emailed him every week for approximately 20 years, and he printed out the emails (with the kind of printer paper where you have to rip off the sides) and saved them in huge binders. Hmmm…I guess I know which gene I did inherit.

Here’s a sampling of my favorite relics from my most recent trip…

My amazing grandmother rocking it in her 70’s. She also has a pink tankini (not pictured, sadly):

 

My best pic of my beautiful baby sis, Tobi (the product of a high school photography class… I might be part of the last generation to know what a dark room is):

 

A sampling of my childhood (dance recital, dolled up for a Camp Sloane square-dance, and college…cutting edge with a cordless phone)

Phew…that last trip was a huge emotional toll but was well worth it to recall some of the best times that had somehow slipped out of my memory bank. The last night I was ‘home’ my very best friends from growing up came over- Nichole, Maegan, and Amy. They have collectively spent months in my childhood home and it seemed full circle for them to be there as I said good-bye.

Next stop…headed to the west coast for some volunteering at the Experience Camp in California.

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The Original Cape Codder

Cape Cod is hands-down my Happy Place. I was born on the Cape and maybe that’s why I feel so connected to it (funny, I can’t think of another place one could be born “on,” minus a boat or rocket-ship). My grandmother always says I’m an “Original Cape Codder.” I don’t know what that means exactly but I’m guessing I’m either part of an exclusive club or an endangered species. Or it could be in reference to the cocktail? Regardless-  I’ll take it!

This week I was vacationing with the fam in Eastham, MA, located at the elbow of Cape Cod (the island is shaped like a flexed arm, yet is the polar opposite of the “gym, tan, laundry” scene). My family’s squad consists of 7 adults and 5.5 kiddos (my sister’s third is currently in-progress). It was a lot of kids and a lot of laughs. And, also a LOT of negotiations involving snacks, drinks, sand toys, turns to shower, turns to eat, turns to breath, etc. (btw, I learned that gum and marshmallows are hot commodities in the little kid/toddler world and will come better prepared for the next family getaway). As a teaser, here’s Charlotte organizing her snack on her beach chair- a huge victory:

My top three family vacation highlights are as follows (in no particular order):

1- The OCEAN! This requires some background explanation. So, in my family’s Cape world there are three bodies of water:

  • The Pond– specifically “Great Pond,” which is located just down the street and has been the site of much swimming, floating, Marco Polo-ing, and, more recently, paddle-boarding and kayaking. Great spot. Love it.
  • The Bay– First Encounter Beach, which, as lore would have it, is the first place Native Americans were invaded by/had an encounter with the Pilgrims prior to Plymouth. Currently this is where I zen-out during morning beach yoga.
  • The Ocean- Coast Guard Beach, named one of the ten most beautiful beaches in the world (according to my dad…and maybe it was just in the country now that I think about it). Anyways, it’s an expansive beach at the base of a lighthouse and consists of huge waves, beautiful dunes, and freezing cold water. It was also the only ocean beach I’d seen growing up and I was surprised to find beaches with boardwalks and stores where you could buy things. It just seemed wrong!

So, historically my nieces and nephews spent most of their time at The Pond and The Bay (and most of that time avoiding the water due to the threat of seaweed and hermit crabs), but this trip we managed to get our entire crew to The Ocean! I’d tried and failed to motivate this trip every year as it had seemed too daunting with all the children and ALL their gear (tons o’ gear!).

This year, though….it was phenomenal! I woke up at 8am on Tuesday and thought I was still dreaming.  Sandwich-making and sunscreen application was already underway, with discussion of who would ride which bike to The Ocean! And, the best part is that all the kids LOVED it! Somehow their fear of seaweed and hermit crabs did not carry-over to concern over jelly fish and sharks- they went in the water and there was even boogie boarding! It’s now our new primary body of water- a huge victory in my book. Here’s the ocean crew (Jack nailed it with the bunny ears on Ella):

2- Birthday Parties. We had TWO birthday parties this trip, and a lot of cake and cards. The first night it was Abigail’s 5th birthday, and her “father” Jack was very eager to throw her a party (after being informed that day that your doll could have a birthday- thanks to Xavier Roberts for starting that trend). Then, of course, Ella had to have a party for her daughter, Amanda (turning 2), and we celebrated on Thursday. Like I said, there were a lot of cards (card-making for both birthday girls was mandatory), and a LOT of cake.  I’m positive the adults were duped and used as cake-dealers and I give the kids mad props for that. It was impressive. Proud Auntie here! Here are the proud parents:

3- Hog Island Brewery. Every year the first generation Kids like to give the Grandparents the precious “opportunity” to bond with all of their grandchildren at once, so we find a place to occupy ourselves off-site. I mean, look at how happy they are:

This year we’d heard wind of a new brewery and spent a lovely evening enjoying their craft brews in a super-cool venue (great courtyard with adirondack chairs and live music, and an industrial-esque inside with ping pong tables and foosball). The best part of the night, though, was when we first ordered beers. Everyone else had theirs and was outside claiming chairs when I placed my order and was asked for my ID (this in itself was exciting and I definitely did not play it cool). THEN, I was given a special wrist-band so when the other bartenders thought I was only 19, they would know I’d already been carded and was in fact 21 (at least that’s what I think it was for). It was AMAZING. The other members of my party were NOT happy about my neon wristband (that I may or may not still be wearing). Although Tobi was clear that since she’s preggers and did not actually order a drink, there was no opportunity for her to be carded and given an awesome wristband. I give her that. But who knows what would have happened, really.

All in all, it was a wonderful family vaca with my favorite cast of characters and while I’ve had some amazing travels in July, there was nowhere else I would have wanted to be this week. This domestic thing ain’t so bad sometimes.

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From Granada to the Granite State

I left you in Granada…originally I'd planned to return to Madrid via train and spend the night there before flying out (by "planned" I mean thinking about doing that maybe). My lack of planning in the traditional sense was fortunate when I decided to extend my love affair with Mallorca by a day and return to Madrid via the overnight bus instead. I did not have high hopes for the overnight bus (the sacrifices I make for Mallorca) but it ended up working out well and the airport was an easy subway ride from the bus station. Seriously, the buses in Spain are pretty incredible. Our chariot was a huge double-decker with big comfy seats, AND you had your own TV. I was recently on a flight to California without my own TV so this was a pleasant perk. And all of this for only 19 euro, plus tax!

My bus seatmate (who I later learned was a bit "eccentric") was holding a pack of cigarettes in his lap when I first sat down. I had a moment of panic (thinking that European buses are the equivalent to an airport smoking lounge on wheels) and I dug deep for my words… "Fumar en el autobus?" He didn't say anything but handed me a cigarette (which I awkwardly held for a little while before stashing in an empty water bottle).  Thankfully there was no smoking on the bus but he held the pack the entire time like a security blanket. He then tried to start a few bizarre conversations (that I will spare you the details of), so I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I woke up from a deep slumber five hours later… with my head on cigarette guy's shoulder and him smiling at me, creepily. I was less than thrilled but at least pretty well-rested. Can't win 'em all I guess!

I arrived at the Madrid airport and had some time in the lounge (Yay for the "Priority Pass" credit card perk!) where I showered, loaded up on snacks and charged my phone. I will say these international lounges are niiiice and I was kind of bummed when it was time for my flight. Sadly, my flight was taking me back to los Estados Unidos (you can take the girl out of Spain…), therefore ending my Euro-junket preview trip. As background, while "planning" my travels, I had to work around some previously planned domestic obligations (don't feel bad for me- obligations is a strong word). So, I maximized free-time in July with my tour de Spain and now have an international travel August recess (so DC of me) before taking my show over the pond again. If you don't care about what I'm doing in 'Merica (I wouldn't blame you at all) tune back into my blog around Labor Day.

First stop on the stateside tour: New Hampshire (no, I'm not planning on running in 2020…but don't they all say that?).  In the granite state I met up with my sister, sister-in-law, aunt and two cousins to celebrate my grandmother's 92nd birthday with a day at the Wentworth Spa. As background, Nan had never had a massage, and having taken to regular manicures after her first one earlier this year, we decided it was time (these Depression Era grandparents don't seem to understand the importance of splurging on life necessities like this!). Nan clearly had a hard time getting comfortable in the spa environment (timestamp is approx 5 minutes post-arrival):

The spa services and staff at the Wentworth could not have been better (thanks to cousin Megan for organizing!) and we culminated the celebration with a delicious lunch at their waterfront restaurant, Latitude.

The timing all worked out perfectly, even the full-circle rainbow we arranged to dazzle the sky upon her arrival  (yes, this is real and it stuck around for a good 30 min for photo opps):

All in all, WOO-HOO for 92!!! Nan is an incredible woman, as demonstrated by the fact she declared skydiving as her next birthday first (cousin Megan has recused herself from the planning of this non-spa-related activity but we'll figure it out among the cousins).

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Granada Finale!

Following an emotional it’s-a-see-you-later-not-goodbye to Mallorca, I boarded my flight to Granada (btw, I have several Spain travel tips/things I wish I’d known that I’ll share in a separate post). As I sat on the plane I realized I really didn’t know what to expect in Granada (you may be noticing a theme with my pre-trip research. I guess I just like being surprised…like going on a mystery tour!)

I checked into my hotel, the Room Mate Leo, which (for a whopping $62 a night) provided large and modern rooms, a quality breakfast (trust me, I know a good breakfast), and a perfect location. I explored the eclectic city streets that afternoon, taking in the unique qualities of the city. It’s a blend of winding medieval streets with pockets of elaborate graffiti, cobblestone walkways lined with high-end shops, the white-washed houses of the Arab district, and what seemed like an astounding number of churches (even by Spain standards).

I then stumbled upon the Granada Cathedral (you’d think it would be hard to miss but is kinda tucked away in the curvy streets). I’d been to several breathtaking cathedrals at this point in the trip was considering myself a bit of a cathedral snob. Well, the Granada Cathedral wasted no time putting me in my place! There really are no words to describe the richness and grandeur of this beautiful church. Hopefully this helps:

Following the cathedral, I took a respite at an outdoor cafe where I ordered a cold beverage. My drink of choice was Verdejo (my now fave Spanish wine that tastes like a cross between Vino Verde and Sauvignon blanc) and I was VERY pleasantly surprised when they also brought a little snack! So, apparently it’s a tradition in Granda to provide a complimentary mystery-tapa when you order a drink (soda and water included). You know me and my love of both snacks and mysteries…does it get any better than this?!? I was SO fascinated by this Granada perk, in both the price-per-calorie (PPC) value of the deal (around 2- 3 euros for the drink AND mystery snack) and in how the the tapas varied between establishments. All over the culinary map, really:

The next day I embarked on a tour of the Alhambra, the site Granada is most known for. Once again, I didn’t know exactly what Granada was known for when I booked the trip but this Alhambra thing seemed like the thing to do. I’m told you should book tickets in advance and the ticket purchasing system can be complex. But I got distracted Vespa-ing, etc. and then learned that my idea of “in-advance” is different from that of other peoples. (Doesn’t “in-advance” mean “before the day of??”)  Thankfully I found a tour group with great reviews that had space available in their afternoon tour. (btw, I would definitely recommend this over touring on your own and if you use this company ask for Gustovo- he’s a riot and knows the joint like the back of his hand). Teaser pics:

In summary (I’ll try to make Gustovo proud) the Alhambra is a huuuuge complex of  Moorish palaces and gardens that first broke ground on construction in the 10th century and was continually expanded. When the Christian re-conquest thing happened in 1492 (yup, same year Columbus sailed the ocean blue) it was repurposed for Ferdinand and Isabella and was actually where C. Columbus collected the coin to fund his voyage. Later another enormous palace was built for King Charles V,  the Holy Roman Emperor. Eventually the whole thing fell into disarray and was neglected until the 19th Century when restorations began. First we toured Generalife Gardens which were used as a summer palace waaay back in the 1300s and consists of stunning gardens, courtyards and fountains, etc. I’d totally vacation there. Three hours flew by as we continued the tour through a series of palaces, each with unique and equally majestic styles and enhanced by the spectacular views and warm late afternoon lighting. And, of course Gustavo had many fun facts and historical nuggets to share throughout the tour.

Alhambra is unbelievably beautiful and fascinating at the same time- a truly incredible place! If you do the bucket list thing, add it. (I admit I later looked up “wonders of the world” and I still can’t believe Alhambra isn’t on the list. Wtf.)

I basked in the glow of my Alhambra tour with my final meal in Granada. I returned to  El Pescaito de Carmela, where I’d enjoyed gazpacho and a mystery-snack the day before and had vowed to return. This time I feasted on grilled scallops (just as tasty as they are beautiful) and the best mussels I’ve ever had:

It was really a cherry on top of my quick trip to another magical Spanish city! Wait for my next post to hear what’s next…

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Más Mallorca por favor!

Apologies that I lapsed a bit with the blog, but I was distracted soaking in the magical city of Mallorca! I really did try, though. Last night, with the best of blogger intentions, I sat in the beautiful open-air Courtyard in my hotel (apparently a 16th century former palace) and then, Mallorca-style, this happened…

Scene: Girl sits alone in the palace-hotel Courtyard, typing on her laptop. Enter Boy (a dashing British currency trader). Boy strikes up a conversation with Girl and asks if he may sit at her table. Girl smiles and nods. Boy sits. Boy and Girl converse. Enter Hotel Butler. Hotel Butler informs Boy and Girl that it is not permissible to speak in the palace-hotel Courtyard after 10pm. Hotel Butler assures Boy and Girl that they may remain in the Courtyard, with the requirement that they must not speak. Exit Hotel Butler. Pause… Boy inquires if Girl would be interested in putting her laptop away and joining him for a drink. Girl slams laptop shut. End Scene.

THIS REALLY HAPPENED! And I wasn’t even surprised it happened. It’s is just the kind of stuff that happens in this magical place called Mallorca!

Mallorca is the only stop in my tour de Spain that I chose without any recommendations from friends. While planning the trip I came across a USA Today article naming Mallorca as one of nine places that should be on your bucket list to visit. Even though I don’t have a bucket list, it caught my attention as I hadn’t been to any of the nine places, minus a layover in Houston (um, in hindsight, interesting that Houston made this illustrious list?) Anyways, I took the article to heart….how could I be in the same country, and just a hop, skip, and a jump away, and not visit a BUCKET LIST PLACE? So, without knowing much more than the short paragraph in the article, I added Mallorca to my itinerary. Done and done. Here’s another glimpse of that Mallorca magic:

I arrived thinking I’d have a relaxing few days at the beach. I did NOT arrive thinking I would become absolutely enamored with the city and would later change my travel plans to stay an extra day! I spent most of my time in Palma, the capital and largest city (no skyscrapers but plenty of castles, cathedrals, coastline, and mountains).

The most obvious feature of Palma is the awe-inspiring Gothic Cathedral, with a stunning blue back-drop of the Mediterranean coastline that includes stunning beaches and ports packed with sailboats and yachts, as well as green mountain ranges to complete the panoramic view. While walking around I felt like I was in an open-air castle…it truly feels magical.

The first full day I took a free walking tour of Palma and then toured myself through the gorgeous beaches. I enjoyed a delicious dinner at Restaurante Pesquero (overlooking the port) and tried a white fish that was new to me. How have I not heard of the John Dory fish before?! I think I’m now president of the John Dory fan club.

Yesterday I took an old-fashioned wooden train to a coastal village, the Port of Soller. I enjoyed an out-of-this-world lunch at Kingfisher (one of the benefits of being a party of one) and spent the afternoon beaching-it and exploring the streets before the scenic trip back to Palma.

All in all, I think of Mallorca as Barcelona’s younger, smaller, and more laid-back cousin. M looks up to bigger city cousin B but doesn’t feel at all inferior, and while I love them both equally (and it wouldn’t be fair to pick favorites) I will always have a special place in my heart for lil’ Mallorca!

Next up….Granada!

 

 

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B-b-b-bar-celona (to the tune of My Sharona, obvs)

Everyone I know who’d been to Barcelona said they just KNEW I would love it. And they were not wrong! This could mean one of two things- my friends really know me and my travel tastes OR everyone who goes to Barcelona loves it. No offense my friends, but in this case I’m leaning towards the latter. What a special city and I'm so thankful you all encouraged me to go!

First of all, I can't wait to go back. You know when you leave a place and you're perfectly satisfied? You know… those times you did what you wanted and while maybe it would have been nice to stay a little longer, you're fulfilled. Let me be clear that I did NOT feel that way when leaving Barcelona this morning. I guess I didn't know what I didn't know I wanted to see and do! In short, it left me wanting more… I hear the city is stealth like that. Barcelona has the upper hand in our relationship, for sure.

So, upon arrival in Barcelona I checked into my accommodations at the Yeah hostel. I never did the whole backpacking through Europe thing (I guess it's happening now, except with a humongous, bright teal roller-board) and I haven’t stayed in many hostels, so wasn’t sure what to expect. The Yeah hostel far surpassed my expectations. It was modern, trendy, clean, and full of friendly staff and fellow adventurers.  I would highly recommend it if you’re looking for a cost efficient and fun place to stay, and it's in a fantastic location (if you don’t mind sharing a room with strangers, that is. I realize that’s not everyone’s cuppa tea).

I started my first full day with a walking tour of the Gothic district of Barcelona. The tour began at the Cathedral, which blew me away, and our guide explained the different Roman, Gothic and Neo-Gothic influences to the Cathedral and surrounding basilicas (I clearly hadn't paid attention in some class in high school as this was mostly new to me). We ended the tour in the Born district, which is extremely quaint and is known for consisting of family-owned shops and restaurants. It was one of my favorite neighborhoods. That afternoon I walked a TON around the city-it felt like 600 miles (yes, that's more than the Proclaimers). In my wandering I came across the Arc De Triomphe and many other generally awe-inspiring sites.

Then my awesome friend from the Vespa tour, Kristina, arrived in Barcelona on a post-tour trip with her Dad, John Edwards (not that one). Lucky me that we were there at the same time!! We had a great meal at Cervecería Catalana, that had been recommended by a few people and definitely did not disappoint. (Btw, I've taken my snacking to a new level here in Espana…it's hard to wait until 9-10pm for dinner! Thank goodness for those wasabi peas).

The next day our traveling trio (me, Kristina and not that John Edwards) had a fabulous Day O' Gaudi! We began with a free Gaudi walking tour run by a company called Runnerbeans. Their tours are great and I'm thankful another Vespa tour friend recommended them. I admittedly did not know much about this Gaudi dude before the tour but he's really fascinating, as are his architectural influences throughout the city. Then we jumped right into  a self-guided tour of the Basilica of the Sangara Family, which was designed by Gaudi and has been "under construction" for almost 135 years  (word on the street is that completion is in the foreseen future). Even incomplete it's almost impossible to describe the grandness of the structure (nevermind the intricate details and symbolism behind the design elements). We then took the elevator to the top of one of the monstrous bell towers (beautiful views!) and he had to walk 400 (tiiiiny, spiral) steps down. I kid you not! We all had vertigo for a lil' bit after that descent.

To top off the day we visited Park Guell, that Gaudi had designed for his biggest/richest client and good friend (named Something Guell). It's a spectacular place with three houses, gardens, and amazing and colorful Gaudi designs throughout (btw, apparently the word "gaudy" may be derived from Gaudi's name). Regardless of the Gaudi/Gaudy-ness, we all loved it! Here's Kristina and not that John Edwards:


I coordinated my outfit with the tourist attraction:

Lastly we had dinner at at a muy bien restaurante called Xativa L'Arrosseria, which was recommended by 'Francis from the Front Desk' at the Yeah hostel. It was located in the Garcia district,which is a non-touristy and authentic part of Barcelona. While the restaurant was comfortably crowded, there wasn't a wait (even at 9pm- the start of prime-time dining!) and it was clear we were among many locals. We shared two types of ridiculously delicious seafood paella (one made with black rice from squid ink) and we pretty much licked the skillets clean. My wish for delicious paella during my last night in Barcelona was more than fulfilled. Muchas gracias Barcelona! I will most definitely be back.

Next blog preview…Mallorca…I'm here!

 

 

 

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Different strokes from different yolks!

Prepare yourselves…this video is a real thing.  I finally landed in Madrid today and swung by the gift shop.  This display next to the register caught my attention. At first I thought it was for candy eggs for kids. Not so much. People weren't lying about Spain being a progressive country!

P.S. I'm too tired to write more about the first day of my first 'Sometimes You Just Gotta' (SYJG) international trip (Yes, I'm in the early stages of recovery from speaking in acronyms for the past ten years). Bottom line is that I learned to ride a vespa and am looking forward to (albeit slightly nervous) about our 100km "slalom ride" over the mountains tomorrow.

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Tiny shopping cart

 

My sister, Tobi, gave me this birthday card last year. The inside says “No one travels through life quite like you.” I smiled every time I looked at it so I hung it in my office, directly behind my computer monitor.  I looked at it for almost a year before I gave the little kid a knowing nod and decided it was time to take my show on the road (my show just being me, not doing anything particularly exciting, and not even having a tiny shopping cart prop).

 

I’d been at my job for ten years when I quit last month. My colleagues, friends and family were almost overly understanding and everyone seems to want to “live vicariously” through a seemingly irresponsible person. This blog seems like the easiest and most efficient way to do this (and for my parents to know where I am) but if you’d rather just keep up through pictures, my Instagram handle is @Teha7

I realize that I’m extremely fortunate to be at a place in my life where I can do this. After 17 years of working, and it felt like a lot of working, I can just stop doing it for a period of time… and it can be okay (or at least so far it is- fingers crossed!). There are so many places I haven’t seen and I want to make a dent in that before re-entering the real world (btw, I was told I’m too young to be having a mid-life crisis so I’m going with that).

I’m writing this from the Charles de Gaulle airport- my first time in France! I’m only here for a few hours but I plan to come back at some point and see more than the Air France lounge (thanks to the Points Guy for telling me about credit cards that give access to lounges!) The free snacks are an amazing perk and I feel like an old lady on a cruise ship stashing away wasabi peas in a baggie for later). Also, I don’t know much French but I always thought it interesting that “Ca va” meant both “how are you” and “I’m fine” so I’m trying to drop that as much as I can, just for kicks.

So…welcome to my blog! I’ll try to be responsible enough to keep it up, but no guarantees. I guess the road less travelled doesn’t have many guarantees, but I’m hoping I stumble across at least one tiny shopping cart! It would come in handy to transport the wasabi peas.