Goodbye, Spain, Goodbye!
There's this old gospel song that talks about "leaving this world behind" and the end of the chorus goes "goodbye, world, goodbye!" That's how I would like the title of this last blog entry to be sung. Anyway, this weekend, I said all my final goodbyes to my church friends. It's been rainy and cold, lately. The sunny days were mysteriously cut short. But thankfully, Coldplay hasn't been rolling melancholically through my head like it sometimes does on those kind of days. I wasn't all sad and sappy saying goodbye to people either, because I know in my heart that I'm coming back. I feel like Julia Ormond in "Sabrina" when Harrison Ford asks her "Would you like me to drive you home?" and she replies, "I'm flying home," as she holds up her one-way ticket to Paris. But instead of Paris, or France, it's Spain. It will always be my little second home, I think. Now I'm here, in the computer room at Trinitarios, sending little goodbye emails to friends that I won't get a chance to see and "I'm coming back soon" emails to folks that I'll see stateside. What else is there to say? LOL. My mayor friend called and said how bad he feels that I'm already leaving and that we didn't get to spend much time together. I was like, "Hombre, you're a mayor, you're a busy guy, don't feel bad at all," and stuff like that all in Spanish, of course, and he was like "Chantell, you speak better Spanish than I do!" That was so flattering. I mean, Mikel told me that my Spanish has really improved the other day when I was at his house too, and Blanca always tells me that I speak good Spanish, but it was the first time Pedro had told me that, and for some reason, him saying that to me, on the day before I leave, made me feel that I've accomplished my mission. I came to Spain stuttering, and having bad Spanish days, and now I'm leaving, not perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but greatly improved. I'm to the point where I can translate back and forth pretty easily--that's what I was doing between Blanca and Julie's mom when Julie wasn't around. It was sort of fun. I can have a normal conversation with anyone, and even though I may have to ask them to repeat a word or two, and even though the other person might ask me the same (I'm the one with an accent here), I can understand and be understood with relative ease. Even though sometimes I obsess over trying to get rid of my accent, it's almost impossible, and I realize that the understanding part is the most important. And the last time I checked, accents (well, some of them) are kind of charming. lol. Well, the only other thing I have to do today is pack my bags. And that is going to be a bit of a task. The stuff I brought to last me for 4 months along with 4 months worth of accumulation. Ay, de mi! And maybe later I'll say goodbye to Pedro if he has time. But, this is it. The end of this leg of Chantelliver's Travels. Hope you enjoyed the ride. Spain: I'll be back. (Insert your own Arnold accent.)

Your essay was "delicious"
That's what my inkling-laden Lit professor wrote on the comments of my final essay. We went in this morning to get our grades back. He handed back our tests and our essays (I one I did Pepita Jimenez on) and I was very pleased. I told him after everyone left that I really liked his class and all of that, and he was like, "Well, it's my job, but thank you, eh?" lol. Oh, well. After that, Blanca insisted on treating Julie, her mom and me to churros and chocolate. It was nice. Blanca's renting out this apartment to this really nice guy, and he came by to pay his rent. He ended up staying over for lunch, and the guy really is cute. He has that Spaniard look that I love. Dark hair, and brown, really olive skin with brilliant greenish blue eyes that make a startling and gorgeous contrast. Yeah, so anyway, my massage was fantastic. It was a full body massage and they rubbed on this cream that had like a eucalyptussy smell and tingle. I left feeling rejuvenated. I got one for Blanca too, she just has to call the place and show them this little card and she can get one whenever she wants. I hope she likes it. I went to Mikel's house last night. It was really weird, because the last time I was at his house was when I first got here. Now I'm about to leave. His dad was like, "It seems like just 2 days ago that you were here last!" And it really does. Tonight we're having dinner at Indalo with Blanca dear. Julie and her mom take off for a tour of Italy tomorrow. I got these cute little fuzzy cards from the Chinese store, you know so I can write little sentimental sappy things to people that I'm saying goodbye to. I bought the umbrella for the friend. Who would think that something as random as an umbrella could transform into an object of sentimentality. lol. Oh, well. Time's sliding by. The next weblog entry will probably be the last. Spain, I'm sho' gonna miss ya!

Good to the last drop
That's how Spain has got to be for me. I only have a few drops left in my coffee cup of Spain, and I've got to lick up every smattering of liquid left before the proverbial cup is taken away. It's getting to that point where you pull the stopper on a sinkful of water and you watch it drain and drain until it finally gets down to the last bit of water and it swirls rapidly, escaping down the drain. Okay, enough lame metaphors. I've made an appointment to have a full body massage at Cuerpo Libre. All my finals, exams, any work whatsoever were officially over Tuesday. Oh, how glorious it is not to have to go to bed late and wake up early. How wonderful just to sit and soak up a little more Spanishness. My 30 minute massage is going to wash the rest of the tension away, ahh, I can't wait. I just hate that I'm leaving so soon. I mean, I miss my family back home, but I'm going to miss my Spanish life. Yesterday, I hung out with a friend from church. Even though he's semi . . . committed, I can still feel this connection. "Don't forget about me when you leave, Chantell," he keeps saying. He gave me a couple of pictures of him "so that I can remember him." When we were on the bus heading back, he playfully sprayed a little of his cologne on me. Now my jacket smells like him. I think I'm going to get him an umbrella because it seems like whenever I'm with him and it's rainy, he never has one and we have to share mine. Then, whenever it rains, he'll have an umbrella, and he'll think of me. Anyway. Enough sappiness. If my massage is super-duper and if you can buy gift certificates or whatever, I think I'm going to get one for Blanca. Homegirl (as Julie and I refer to Blanca amongst ourselves) always seems stressed out and has "tantas cosas en su cabeza." So many things in her head. lol. Maybe a massage will be a nice stress reliever. Well, what else? I'm going to Mikel's house this afternoon. He still hasn't seen my Paris videos and everything. Ah, the memories. This weekend I'm going to spend in Madrid again, to say goodbye to all my church buds. Plus Saturday the church is having some kind of picnic or whatever. I hope the weather clears up some. Julie's mom is here, and Saturday they're leaving for Italy. Ooh! But it's going to be so sad, because tomorrow is the last day I'll see Julie. The weird thing is that we're so different. We didn't even know each other at all before this sememster. But we've gotten along super well. I mean, unbelievably well. When we went to Paris we were sitting together on the plane laughing and joking around and I suppose we were very amusing to the lady sitting next to us. She asked how long we'd known each other, and at that point, it had only been like a month since we'd met. She was really surprised. She was like,"It seems like you've known each other for years!" I mean, I don't know. We'll stay in touch. It'll be all good. Even though it's going to be kind of uncool leaving, I don't think I'm going to be like tormented. Because I know in my heart that this goodbye will only be temporary. Okay, massage time!

Sunny Days
Warm weather has FINALLY arrived to the Iberian Peninsula. I'm lovin it. Got my flip-flops on, brownin my little legs in the sun, it's great. I also have one day left of ever setting foot inside the Colegio de Trinitarios (the building where most of my classes are held) for the last time--tomorrow. I took two finals today, Cervantes and Guerra Civil, and tomorrow I've got my Lit class and have to turn in my 12 page, humongous final essay for Diversity. I'm not too worried about it either. It's so wonderful not to feel worried about school related stuff for a change. As I said, today was my Guerra final, the last day that I would ever be in the professorial presence of Miguel Angel. What did I do? What every silly little professor-crush addict would do--wrote a little special note to him at the end of my exam. I mean, I didn't write anything ludicrous, like "I wish that our relationship would transcend the level of that of teacher-student into something more," rather, I wrote stuff like that he was my favorite professor, and that I wish him luck with his doctoral studies and that I really enjoyed his class, etc. I don't think he'll think I was trying to suck up to him . . . my grades aren't bad or anything. I think he'll realize I was being sincere. Ah, anyway, one more night of working and studying away, and then, smooth and easy sailing until I leave my Spanish life behind. This past weekend I spent in Madrid with my beautiful friend Aide. She's super nice and I really had a nice time with her. Had to handle a tad bit of church-folk-guy-related drama, but it's all good. You really know you're a part of a church (or anything, for that matter, a group of friends, a school, any organization or something that anyone can "belong" to) when you get caught up in a little slice of drama. It's no biggie, a little learning experience for me. Everything here has been a learning experience for me. And though maybe not everything has been exactly gravy, I can say that I don't have any true regrets. I mean, I've had an overall good time here. Before I got here, I was having some doubts, having some concerns about certain things, but all of that seems so infintesimally (forgive me, spelling wizards, if I messed that one up) small when I look at the grand picture of my whole Spain experience. I think one thing that I'm really going to miss about being here is that when I get back to the US, I become normal and commonplace again. Here, I'm a foreigner. I look different. I have an accent. I'm from a different country. I'm interesting. I'm exotic. Back in old syrupy sweet Alabama, I'm just one of the homefolks that go to "the University" (as the University of Alabama is referred to in Tuscaloosa). Well, I sort of take that back. I sort of am a little bit different even there, because I wasn't born and raised there. And though I say "y'all" and drink sweet tea like everybody else, I don't have that homegrown accent, and people that meet me for the first time look at me dubiously and ask, "where are you from??" The fact is, I'm from nowhere. I'm a former military brat and up and coming citizen of the world. It's kind of cool when people can't exactly place you. Even here, though people know I'm not Spanish, they think I'm Dominican or Cuban or from some other Spanish speaking country before they realize I'm American. People in the States kind of wonder about my "origins" too because of my appearance and my non-accent. Have you ever seen a United Colors of Benetton ad? It's an Italian clothing brand. Everytime I see one, it makes me think of this fictional international, multicultural country where everyone can speak one another's languages. And the funny thing is, slowly but surely, we're getting there. And that's cool to me.

Out of Control Busy
That's how I feel right now. Time is super winding down, I've had a couple of essays due this week, a presentation, a take home exam, I have another essay due tomorrow, and yet one super duper thesis-like paper due Tuesday. I mean, I'm managing. This scholarly stress is not foreign to me. I have a minute to breathe so I'm writing this now because tonight I've got to work like a madwoman on my Pepita Jimenez essay. And for some unexplainable reason, I want it to be really good because I want to impress my inkling-laden professor. Even though I was a bit crestfallen about the whole not liking the poem that I showed him thing, I still have this need to impress him. Tuesday I had a few questions to ask him about Pepita Jimenez just to get a focus about what to write. After he explained to me what I had asked, he's like "That's all? Come on, those are very few questions. You don't have anything else you want to ask?" Awww . . . he wanted to explain more stuff to me. But I didn't want to keep him because there was another guy that had some questions too. This other classmate has this unapproachable, David Beckham-esque look. He looks like a Polo or Tommy Hilfiger model. I don't know why it surprises me when he talks to me, and he's kind of deep and philosophical sounding when he's just trying to make conversation. But he's just a guy, like anyone else. Anyway. I'm super sad that leaving Spain time is rapidly approaching. I don't want to think about it, but, I mean, it's going to happen, so I might as well face it now. It seems like I'm just now starting to get to know the friends that I have here, and now I have to leave. I don't like thinking of goodbyes in Spain because it reminds me of when I left the last time, which was the most sappy thing you've ever seen. It was like the end of a formulaic movie, melodramatic violin music playing in the background and all. Ha. I can laugh at myself now. This leaving Spain is going to be different, maybe sadder. I'm not going to be leaving with a bunch of friends on a bus, I'll probably be throwing my stuff into the trunk of a taxi and hopping in to then be deposited at the Barajas airport to face the huge international travel world by myself. Oh, you poor thing. Ha. Anyway. Not much else to tell right now. I think I'm going to go down to the place down the street called Cuerpo Libre and get a massage after I turn in my last paper. Yeah, that sounds nice.

Pepita Jimenez
It's the book I finally finished reading that I'm going to do my final paper on for my 19th and 20th century Lit class. Don Luis, about to become a priest, falls in love with young widow Pepita Jimenez, and has to choose between her and his future vocation. In the end, he chooses her. I was happy, because I knew that this book was representative of the Realism period and I was afraid he's stick to his guns and leave poor Pepita to pine over him for the rest of her life. But their love for each other was so strong, it transcended all other social responsibilities and obligations. I liked that. But then, a minute later, I wondered if I would have been more satisfied if indeed don Luis did decide to become a priest instead. Then Pepita would have transformed into this tragic, melancholy figure, a young, beautiful widow who would never love again. Why does that prospect seem a just a shade more attractive to me than "happily ever after"? I guess for the same reason I would choose "Julius Caesar" over "Much Ado About Nothing." There's something deeply beautiful about the tragic (in the literary sense), the melancholy. There was this poem that I really, really liked, written by this Spanish grad-student 2 days after the bombings in Madrid. He passed out copies and then read it aloud at this little forum thing we went to for my Cervantes class. I immediately wanted to share it with my inkling-laden professor. I wanted him to like it too. He said he would read it over the break with "gusto." Today after class, he gave it back to me and said that the poem, though beautiful, was not poetry. It's been done before, he said. He pointed out its faults. But it's well done, he added, trying to be reassuring. I smiled and said I understood, and it hit me as I left out of the room that I was crushed. Why it mattered so much that my professor was not as impressed by the poem as I was, I don't know. I wanted to talk to him about Pepita Jimenez too, but decided that maybe I'd ask him about it later. I think thinking about having to leave Spain soon is getting to me a little bit. I saw Carlos de la Hoz (aka--Superguy) yesterday. I see him a lot because he teaches the class before mine in the same classroom, so I run into him as he's leaving. I always say "Hola" to him, but this time I talked to him a little more. I asked if he remembered me from when I was here the last time. He did, he said (in Spanish, of course), "Yes, you were here once during the summer," and I told him that I really liked his class, and that he was my favorite professor and that I told my friend (Krystal, who was my roommate that summer and had him too) that I see him sometimes. He turned extremely red, and was all like "Muchas gracias," in his nervous, Superguy way. Awwww . . . I had another "when I was here the last time" flashbacks. LOL! I also saw another one of those "last time" people. I'll simply refer to him as T-George. The "T" stands for "tour guide." George because his name is really Jorge. He was our tour guide when we went to Toledo. He talked extremely fast, and no one could understand him, but his gorgeousness made that and everything else obsolete. There he was, giving a tour to a group of Americans in front of the Cervantes House. I wanted to scream "It's T-George!", I wanted to go over ask him if he could give me a personal tour of Alcala. But none of that. I just stood there speechless and he caught me each time I looked. I tried to explain his fineness and significance to Julie, but she didn't see it. "Yeah, he's okay," she said. But how can someone be just "okay" when they're T-George?! Ah, well. I'm getting my pictures of Semana Santa back this afternoon. That'll be fun. Well, onward with work, papers, research and the like.

Sunny Southern Spain
Ah, what a week! I must say that I had a nice and relaxing Semana Santa in Puerto de Santa Maria. A city between Rota (where the Naval Base is) and Cadiz. My former 6th grade teachers, Mr. Payne and Ms. Rambo were absolutely fantastic. They treated me like their own daughter. I had a really, really nice time. What did I do? Went to the beach several times (they live about a 10 minute walk from the beach), went to some processions (typical of Semana Santa throughout Spain), went super shopping, including a very cheap, colorful, and fun flea market (more commonly known as the "gypsy market") I bought so much stuff for sooo cheap. 2 and 5 euro shirts, 8 euro sandals . . . bunches of stuff. I didn't get over to the African continent, however. I had Morocco in my sights, but in light of the recent . . . Moroccan involvement in a lot of stuff going on lately, we decided not to make the trip (much to my mother's relief, I'm sure) and went to Portugal instead. It was fantastic. We also did little day trips to cities around Cadiz: Jerez, Rota, Arcos de la Frontera . . . we did Sevilla too! (the second time around for me), and we took a carriage ride around the city, just like I did last time! It was like, all the memories rushing back to me. We even went by the Plaza de Espa?a where that seemingly harmless gypsy lady bamboozled 5 euros out of my little naive self 2 years ago. Our carriage driver was young and handsome, had eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea, and talked with that unintelligible Andalucian accent adding "eh?" at the end of some statements, i.e. "Over there is the Torre de Oro, eh?" I decided that I had to have a picutre with him when it was all over with. I asked if he could take a picture with me, and he said, "Si," in the drawn out way that Spaniards do that makes the "yes" mean more like "of course!" He was smiling so big, it was so cute. I wonder what his name was. The weather there was absolutely ideal. I mean, it was like summer time there, which was a very very nice change from the depressing, non-stop rain that we'd been having in the Madrid area for a while. I got a nice farmer's tan, ate a bunch of American stuff, and spoke a lot of English. Going on base to eat Taco Bell with Lydia (my teachers' daughter) and her friend made me yearn for those military brat days in Italy. Living overseas on an American base is living in a state of cool in-between. You're not completely immersed in the host country's culture, but definitely influenced by it, yet not quite totally Americanized. And it's awesome because you get the best of both worlds, so to speak, and you are constantly swimming in a sea of diversity, which is the norm, and which I really valued. After eating that Burrito Supreme, I told Lydia, "Oh, how I miss fake Mexican food!" I hoped that I wouldn't return to Blanca babbling and stuttering in broken Spanish. Cause that tends to happen when you get out of practice, even for a week. Thankfully, that didn't happen. When we were in Portugal, we did a lot of ceramics store hopping. I bought a little olive dish for Blanca--its a little dish with olives painted in one compartment, and little olive pits painted in the other--so . . . one could easily guess what each little compartment is for. I bought a little surprise for my mom too. I'm not going to say what it is since it's quite likely she's reading this. lol. Ah, what else? I learned a smattering of Portuguese. The only thing I remember is "obrigado," meaning "thank you." Now in Portuguese, I'm like Blanca in English! There's not too much else to tell, I guess. Well, there is one more thing, but it doesn't have to do with Semana Santa. It has to do with Easter. To my dismay, Easter is not really celebrated like it is in the US. I mean, understandably so, since I'm not quite on the right side of the Atlantic Ocean, but still I was a little disappointed. At church, I was expecting there to be songs to the effect of "Rejoice, the Savior has arisen!" or some such thing, but there were none. I was expecting the sermon to be like a recap of the Resurrection story, but it wasn't. I thought there'd be a big deal about little kids getting candy and Easter eggs and stuff, so I brought a few bags of candy to give out after church . . . it wasn't quite that big of a deal. I gave out the candy anyway. The kids were happy, at least. Oh, well, different strokes for diferent cultures. No biggie. Oh . . . after a week of do-nothing, I'm being thrown once again into a cyclone of papers, tests and due-dates. And all at the same time. It's going to be out of control. Oh, well, it's not like this whole process is foreign to me. I just gotta suck it up, push up my sleeves and plunge myself into it now before all of the due-dates of the week after next come blindly assaulting me, tumbling down and attacking one right after the other. Okay. Before I know it, I'll be watching the Spanish landsape below out of a thick double-sided window become smaller and smaller until it finally disappears behind the clouds. But until then, I gotta get my work done, and enjoy the little time I have left. Spain: you're a handful of sand slipping through my fingers!

Holy Week
That's the literal translation of the Spanish spring break called Semana Santa. Tomorrow, as I've said earlier, I'm going to Cadiz with another friend and going to visit my former 6th grade teachers. If I had a repeat a year in school, 6th grade would definitely be the one. It was fantastic. I mean, I was in Italy, my life was ideal, my teachers were great . . . I looked forward to going to school. And then when we moved back to the states, 7th grade hit, which was ugly. Years of moving, switching schools, getting readjusted to American life, having to deal with adolescent angst and awkwardness. Sometimes I shudder to think of those days. But anyway. I can finally breathe (well, for now) because some papers and such that have been hanging over my head have been turned in. The 6 pager ended up being an 8 pager, which is good, because afterward I have to extend it, into an at least 12 pager. Yikes. But I'm glad the bulk of the work is over, so I can stop complaining about it. There are others coming up soon, though, that are going to slap me in the face after Semana Santa. But we'll cross that bridge when we get there. My professors have given fake homework to do over the break. The reason why I say fake homework is because it's homework that will probably not get done. It's part of the whole college deal. Well, I have fulfilled 22 years here in Spain ("fulfill" is the literal translation of the verb they use for birthday. Cumplea?os. Cumple=fulfill, a?os=years.) Anyway, I still can't get over it. I'm well into my 20s. I got a nice cake, a nice gift of a placemat and matching napkin from Blanca, and a picture of Casillas, the goalie for Real Madrid (the most popular soccer team in all of Spain) from Julie. Casillas is quite a looker. So anyway, my birthday was nice, but it was kind of rainy, gray, and I felt a little bit sad. The thing is that it seems that the older I get, the less exciting birthdays are to me. They're starting to become just another day. Nevertheless, I am very thankful for having lived another year, I must acknowledge that. It's already April. After Semana Santa we have like 4 weeks left of class. And then I'll wake up from this 4-month-long dream, and have to get used to real life again. No, I can't say that. This has been real life too. It's just been real life in Spain. But anyway, I'm off to the centro comercial Al Campo so I can buy a few essentials before heading off tomorrow morning. So, if I neglect my bloggy for a bit, you'll understand. Super-details upon my return!

Finding the Frog
Yesterday, my Guerra Civil class went to Salamanca, about a 3 hour drive from Alcala, to see some Spanish Civil War archives. Now, I've gone on class excursions before, and they were pretty interesting, for the most part, but unfortunately, this one was as boring as all get out. Our little tour guide lady was out of control and kept going on and on about stuff that nobody cared about. That sounds so mean, but it's true. On the other hand, forunately, our visit was a little shorter than Miguel Angel anticipated, so we had the rest of the time to just walk around and explore the city, which was cool. We saw this spectacular cathedral, got to go up and get a view of the city. We walked around a bit, got some Chinese food (yes, Chinese food does exist in Spain, contrary to popular belief) and finally got to this famous facade of the University of Salamanca. It's in the really intricate Baroque style, and hidden in the design is a little frog. The saying is that if you can find it, then you'll have good luck. I didn't find it on my own, but with the help of this trilingual Italian guy, and I got it on tape . . . so I guess I don't have true good luck. Oh, well. But the guy spoke fluent English, Spanish, and of course, Italian. Why are we Americans so monolingual? I think learning Spanish has literally changed my life and has opened doors for me that I never would have imagined had I not known Spanish. Being able to integrate into another culutre is one of the coolest things you could ever do, and you can't do it unless you at least know the language of that culture. Anyway, I bought a Universidad de Salamanca t-shirt for 5 euros, which I am extremely proud of. LOL. I really need to cut this one short because I'm actually here at my dear little cybercafe to get some more info on this 6 pager I keep complaining about. Our professor extended the deadline, which is nice, since I have more time to work on it, but it could also be negative because it just prolongs the whole process, and throws me back into the procrastinating-stressing cycle. Speaking of academic related work, I think I'm becoming convinced to pursue doctoral studies. I was talking to Blanca's son, Agustin (who has a doctorate in some crazily complicated area of physics and is doing stuff at Cambridge University) and he suggested that I get my doctorate here in Spain. And if I can get grants and fellowships and the like, I could get paid to do it. I mean, other professors have told me that I should, this McNair thing that I'm doing is really designed to encourage students to get PhD.s, and from what I've heard, all of the McNair scholars in the past have gotten full funding to pursue doctoral studies. I mean, I have Spanish friends and Spain-related contacts that could help . . . I almost feel like, why not? The only downside is that it takes time . . . but what doesn't? Chantell Smith, PhD. How does that sound? And would it be Chantell something else by that time? Well, not if I marry a Spanish guy. In Spain and Latin America, the ladies don't change their names. But let's say if I married a guy with the last name Hernandez. And let's say that I named one of my kids Belen Cristina. Then my child's full name would be Belen Cristina Hernandez Smith. Pretty cool. Anyway, I'm wasting time pondering things of the far future, when pressing things of the present are demanding my attention, i.e. 6 page paper. !Ay, de mi! Well, back to work!

Time keeps tickin' away . . .
Here we are. I've been here for almost 3 months now! My birthday is coming up next week . . . before I know it, I'll be kissing the Iberian Peninsula goodbye. This past weekend I went to Valencia with some friends, and had a fantastic time. We only stayed for one day (Friday) and I would have liked to have stayed a little longer, but you know, I'm one of those money-strapped college students scraping by in Spain. lol. The main attracion during this festival in Valencia called las Fallas are these huge papier-mache dolls (called fallas) that these special groups in Valencia spend all year building, they have competitions and such, the best ones get awards, and then at the end of the week, they burn them. It's impressive. There's something sublime (you know, like not beautiful since it's something "negative," but sublime, because it inspires awe) about seeing something that took so much time, energy, creativity and money to build just become completely consumed by fire and in a matter of minutes, is reduced to nothing but ashes. I felt like a pyromaniac this weekend, I just couldn't wait to see those things burn! And the burnings were preceded by fantastic fireworks displays. Just spectacular. Of course I caught it all on tape. And I did get a chance to see Stephane, which was nice. The next adventure coming up will be a trip to sunny southern Spain, to a city called Cadiz which is at the very tip of Spain before you get to Africa. I'm visiting some old friends (former 6th grade teachers) during the week we have off coming up, Semana Santa. Like a Spanish spring break. Hopefully I'll also get to visit Gibraltar and hop a ferry and go to Morocco! We'll see. I've been conservative money wise since Paris, so I could have a little more freedom later on. Oh, but that's later on. What I have staring me in the face right now is an ugly 6 pager about immigration in Spain, a thick book of Don Quijote de la Mancha that laughs at me every time I realize that I have to read more of it, and a crazily long chapter or Soldados de Salamina that I have to read in order to write an essay about it. Why I always procrastinate is beyond me, it's a terribly bad habit that only stresses me out in the long run. But it's my own fault. Another bad habit I must eradicate is popping every joint of my fingers and thumbs and wrists. It's terrible, and everyone keeps telling me I'm going to get arthritis. Blanca's oldest son, Agustin, is here and after warning me about how bad is it, suggested that I grab my ears instead. Better than having arthritis, I guess. Ah, well. I gotta keep the main thing the main thing, and be happy just to wake up every morning. Spain: you're one in a million!