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The view from my window was more beautiful than ever when I woke up this last Sunday morning, the sky a wonderful blue and only the smallest wisp of cloud in the distance. I haven’t yet felt the real impact of the fact that I’m leaving yet, but nonetheless the day seemed a bit subdued as I gathered my things from around the now-bare room and grabbed a backpack on the way to the castle for a final walk in the quiet morning.

I circled the fortress alongside a red kayaker that was paddling in the same direction, both of us taking our time in enjoying the warmth and the waves on the rocks. I didn’t need my iPod this time, instead just listening to my footsteps and the surf.

I had to hurry back towards the house once I skirted a group of tourists and exited: Abuelo was taking me to a “curro” this morning in the mountain. Every year the wild horses that roam around the mountains are rounded up by the different owners to have their hair cut and their sides marked. Diego, one of the cousins, and I rode along with Abuelo to the top of the mountain where hordes of guys (and a few women) on horseback moved through the trees and small clusters of watchers to gather the herd together and keep the biggest males from fighting too much. All the bystanders were grouped in the fenced area with the wild horses – you could move throughout the animals freely if you were careful about where you walked.

I had wanted to ride a horse at some point before leaving Galicia since it’s such a large part of the culture in this part of Spain, but I hadn’t found the time or the opportunity beforehand. Not wanting to leave without trying, I approached one of the guys on horseback and explained to him my situation. He was happy to let me climb up behind him on “Dueno,” a beautiful although temperamental white horse, and take me for a short ride through the masses of wild creatures. That was the absolute last thing on my to-do list before departing – checked off without a moment to spare!

The three of us later encountered Pablo, one of Roman’s brothers, with his kids Rosaura and Roman (pequenito) and we all sat down in the shade for a spell to share some spicy octopus. I also had a bite of “churrasgo” that I didn’t enjoy too much… Even less when I was told it was the meat of a baby horse. At least I tried it. Before leaving we met a friendly Portuguese photographer that Abuelo had sworn was American like me, and the two older guys talked cameras for awhile before we said our farewells and headed for home again.

I ate lunch at Abuelo’s house with the rest of the “curro”-goers and another of Roman’s brothers: spaghetti wasn’t the most Spanish final lunch in the country but I’ve promised to never buy another homemade tomato sauce since everyone makes their own delicious simple version here. As I said my final goodbyes I was given by Roman’s parents an absolutely amazing bracelet that is fashioned after the antique money pieces and shows one of the gates from the castle by the sea. It’s from a company in Spain called Uno de 50, meaning there are only 50 of the same type of piece in existence. It’s gorgeous and I can’t wait to show it off when I get home.

I returned to the house to finish packing once and for all while waiting for Ricky to come by to pick up the guitar that I’ve have for so long. While hanging around the house for awhile with the family I received a going-away gift from them as well: an unbelievable necklace of a simple silver sea star, made in Baiona and a perfect reminder of my second home. It goes well with the bracelet and is just my style… I didn’t know how to express my gratitude.

As the sun got lower I zipped up the guitar case for the last time and carried it outside to Ricky’s car, where he promptly took out the Spanish guitar book and told me to take that with me and keep practicing back in the United States. We went for a short drive around just to chat once more before I left. We passed along the same coast Miguel and I had traveled by, and I showed him how to get up to the military base that I’d found so cool since Ricky has never been there before.

He dropped me back off at the house too quickly. He’s never been the most reliable when it comes to making plans but he said he’d come visit me next summer if he had the money. If the US trip doesn’t work, we’ll both go to England and see a bit of the 2012 Olympics together. It’s a far-off dream, but who knows, with luck it will happen. I’ll miss him and our way off-track guitar lessons.

Before showering and heading to an early bed – well, early for Spain… I doubt 11:30PM seems early to anyone on the East coast of the Atlantic – I joined Carmen in the garden as the sun went down for one last bit of yoga together. She told me we could continue it together over Skype when we talk, but she has to keep practicing on her own in return. One day she’ll get “King of the Dance” right, she just needs to work on it.

I didn’t have much to give to the family in return, but I tried to write a small poem in Spanish as a modest thank-you and I’ll-miss-you. The Spanish is as follows:

Me marcho ahora de este lugar

Un pueblo tan mágico, al lado del mar

La gente tan Buena que ahora me despiden

Y me dicen: Volverás” a Baiona, Galicia

Jamás olvidaré el cariño que me disteis

O el encanto del país en que vivía este año

Gracias por todo: ayudarme, apoyarme

Darme otra perspective de España y el mundo

Agradezco mucho, mucho y espero que nos vemos

En cualquier lado del Atlántico

Y en cualquier buen momento

Os echaré de menos más que podeis saber

Pero volveré, seguro, a vosotros y Baiona

The translation is roughly: “I’m leaving now from this place, a town so magical, at the side of the ocean. The good people that now wave me off and say: “You’ll come back” to Baiona, Galicia. I’ll never forget the caring you’ve given me or the charm of the country in which I’ve lived this year. Thank you for everything: for helping me, supporting me, giving me another perspective of Spain and the world. I appreciate it so much and hope that we see each other on whichever side of the Atlantic and in whichever good moment. I’ll miss you all more than you can know but I’ll return, surely, to you and Baiona.”

It wasn’t much, but I think they got the message well enough. I’ll be back in the United States of America by the time this is posted publicly, but I still don’t think I really comprehend the fact that my 5AM wake-up tomorrow is the end of something, more than an adventure, and the return full-circle of a long time away from Pennsylvania. I’d write a long time away from home, but it’s quite true now that my roots are in Galicia too. It’s my other home, even if I’m leaving now. There are legends of witches and ancient Celtic magic deep-seated in Galicia: I’ve heard enough to believe that there might be a bewitchment requiring visitors to always return, once they’ve walked the castle, bathed in the sea, felt the sand in their toes and counted the stars on a clear night. It’s the end of something, but in my opinion nothing like this can ever really end. Relationships continue, feelings translate to another language wordlessly, and memories are always there.

Word of the Day: DESPEDIR – to say goodbye (despedida – the farewell, the goodbye)

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The sun shone beautifully over the water on my last Saturday in Baiona, making it an excellent morning to get up slowly and eventually catch the AM bus to Patos for my last surf class.

I arrived with a large crowd of other surfers, aging from maybe 7 to 40 and varying just as much in talent. I wedged myself into a wetsuit for the last time and grabbed a longboard to join a group of mostly younger kids

The old military base

out on the sand (although I was joined by the 40-year-old man so I wasn’t the oldest). A monitor I hadn’t met before was presiding over our class, but like all the other instructors he turned out to be a great guy and a really cool human being in general.

We did a lot of paddling Saturday morning due to a lack of really surfable waves: the group instead took a ride over the water to the far end of the beach for a quick explanation of how the texture of the seafloor changes the waves. I was disappointed with the absence of good waves but the short paddle-trek was amazing since I got to chat in depth with the instructor and marvel at the seaweed-covered rocks under the beautifully clear water offshore.

Later in the class we migrated to the other side of Patos to catch some of the small waves breaking over the enormous crowd that had already arrived to cool off in the hot Saturday air. I caught my final waves and headed in to dry off and say my goodbyes to the people in the surf school – we’ll be facebook friends soon enough!

I headed towards Playa America and found Sonia and Juan (the couple that went with us to visit Helena in Salamanca) eating lunch in one of the outdoor restaurants across from the water. I sat and talked with them and their two younger sons for awhile, trying to persuade Nico, the 15 or 16-year-old, to try a month or two in a different country if he didn’t feel like taking a year-long trip.

After hugging and saying goodbye I walked over to Alicia’s house to share some cherries and have one final friendly conversation, this time in Spanish and including her husband Manolo. She presented me with a typical Spanish ‘recuerdo,’ a beautiful little fan that people still use in areas without air-conditioning here in Europe. I’d been wanting to buy one before leaving too, so the gift was perfect and we exchanged fond “Hasta luego’s,” another comment about the house always being open to me when I return coming from my friends in Panxon.

I took my time returning to Baiona, revelling in the magic place that I’m about to leave. Everyone had been telling me that I just have to return when I can, and I’m already ready to plan my trip back to Galicia. As I walked back I took in the home that I’ve come to adore as much as any Gallego, even if I still can’t speak the local dialect apart from “Bos dias home.”

In the late afternoon Miguel picked me up in Baiona on his moto – one of the last things on my to-do list was to ride on the back of one of the everpresent motos that many people ride here in Europe (reminder: kids can’t drive cars until 18 years old but the scooter and moto licenses can be gotten at 15). He was ready with an extra helmet this time and my

Miguel, out on the ledge

adrenaline levels got a good kick as we raced along the coast: riding in the open air in the summertime with an unbeatable view of the rocky ocean side was a perfect way to close out my final Saturday night.

He took me to climb up into an old stone military outpost along the coast past Baiona, the cannons and watch tower still standing on the hillside and looking over the horizon. We climbed up into the watch tower and sat out on the ledge for a little while, watching the birds and the sun below us. If we’d had a lantern we could have entered some of the secret tunnels that lead to the cannons and tower from the base of the outpost, but without light we decided to brave the crumbling stairs instead of getting lost underground.

After picking our way down the somewhat concerning stairs and through the prickly underbrush we drove up to the view of the valley on top of the mountain behind Baiona to see the last of the sunset over the entire region. The vista was just as stunning as always, yet another reminder of the paradise I’ve been living in.

He returned me to Baiona afterwards, leaving me to do more packing before going to bed at 2:30AM. I’ve painted my toenails red, white, and blue – since I arrived to Spain with the flag’s colors bright on my toes in August, I figured a return-trip coat was needed. One more day, one more adventure, and the Atlantic: all that’s separating me from Pennsylvania now.

Word of the Day: ATARDECER – to turn to night, (the sunset)

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Siri and I rose early on our last morning in the Islas Cies in order to get a glimpse of the sunrise shining firey-orange over the Atlantic from the

How will I leave the palm trees?

opening in our tent. We get credit for rising early even if the sleeping bags were occupied for a bit longer after we’d captured the feelings and the photos of such a marvellous moment.

After taking a quiet morning walk along the coastline we rolled up towels and sleeping bags and congratulated ourselves after only taking about 10 minutes to figure out how to dismantle and recollect the tent – since it had sprung into place on its own upon opening we had been very apprehensive about the putting-away aspect.

We soaked up a bit of the sun and sand on the main beach area while waiting for our scheduled boat to return: We were two of maybe five people heading back to the mainland at 1PM, the vast majority of the beach already occupied by groups of teenagers with soccer balls or by clusters of tourists with impressive age ranges.

I said my goodbyes to Siri as I shouldered the camping equipment and turned in the direction of my bus stop to Baiona. It was deceptively unemotional, since she’s been one of my closest friends in Spain for a long time and I will miss her company dearly – we’ll definitely keep in contact and I want to visit her in Switzerland whenever possible!

Upon arrival at the house again I had to begin recollecting things to put in another bag – it was time to pack for my return to the United States of America. One enormous red suitcase for Spain once again occupied the majority of the floor space in my room, this time empty and accompanied by a black duffel bag since I’ve obviously bought a few more things while here in Europe for the year.

I took a break from rolling up clothing and searching for books that evening to pay a last visit to the club by the Roman cross: I wasn’t going to leave without saying goodbye to Juan Alberto, Charo, and Olivia. Hugs were exchanged before the two ladies headed off for a concert in Ramallosa, telling me that the house was mine whenever I wanted.

Juan Alberto and I remained talking for another hour or so. He’s been such a great person to know, and gave me some last-night advice about men, travel, writing, and how to roll with the punches in life. Someday I’m going to bring back to him a book of travels throughout the world, and he and I will go through it and he’ll illustrate. As we said before leaving, it’s an “Hasta luego” instead of an “Adios.”

Word of the Day: DURAR – to last, to go on

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The wind that shook the tent all night disappeared as the sun rose and gave birth to another breathtaking day in the Islas Cies. The feeling of an empty stretch of beach in the morning light can’t be compared to anything, and the color of the world as the day begins is indescribable.

Siri and I took advantage of the fresh morning air to tromp down the beach past the tiny old cemetery and find the “Faro de Cies” trail, the path leading up to the highest accessable point on the islands up where one of the lighthouses sits and turns.

We spotted foot-long lizards sunning themselves or scampering out of the way as we progressed, worried several nesting seagulls as we passed through flocks in the higher rocks, and eventually reached the top of the point where we could enjoy a thorough view of everything around and comment on how similar the landscape seemed to New Zealand.

I sang random songs to pass the time as we headed back down towards the beach, trying without much success to distract both of us from thoughts about reaching a bathroom. I finally bailed out and ducked into the bushes, but Siri managed to hold out until we passed through the campsite again on our way to the nudist beach on the other side of the island.

The daytime tourists were beginning to arrive as we grabbed our towels and our sunscreen en route to the smaller hidden sand stretch around the point. Most of the faces to be seen had already passed 70 years, so Siri and I didn’t have too much of an issue seeking out a rocky corner with some more privacy and deciding to reduce our tanlines all over for awhile! There’s something very liberating about sunning yourself completely before running to the water in search of relief from the sun and yelping at the bitter cold that you encounter. Even if we hadn’t been skinny dipping the water would have been a slap in the face, but with everything uncovered it’s enough to make you feel like bits are about to freeze and fall off!

We visited the tent again at lunchtime before slathering on our sun cream again and setting off for one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen, the small “Areal de Nosa Señora” that lies across the water from the opposite island (a nature reserve that the boats don’t carry tourists to). This is what paradise looks like: a small bit of sandy coast studded with boulders and surrounded by maritime forest, a sailboat anchored and bobbing tranquily offshore and another gorgeous island in view across from your towel.

We went sunbathing and chatted about girly things, feeling completely comfortable roasting on the rocks for awhile and occasionally dipping into the water to keep from being consumed by the heat. I decided to actually take a swim after about an hour, despite the ocean’s ridiculous temperature: it was a definite one-with-the-universe experience as I took in the movements of the tide  and the clear, clear turqoise of the water over the sandy spots between rock clusters. I felt enlightened, even if I swore parts of me were about to turn blue.

We eventually roused ourselves enough to leave the beach and start walking back again, but on the way we took a detour to see one of the other mini-lighthouses that rested on a different crest near the old and crumbling port dock.  We got yet another incredible view in the late afternoon sun of the marvellous place we were camping in, and we laughed at “purple haze afro flowers” that grew around the lighthouse and reminded us of Jimi Hendrix.

Back at the campsite Siri and I sipped juice and watched “Lilo & Stitch” on my iPod while waiting for the sun to go down – it’s a Disney movie that both of us adore and the surfing aspect just added to the entertainment. Once all the aliens were reconstructing the Hawaii house to a soundtrack of “Burnin’ Love” we took off the earphones and used the last rays of remaining sun to practice yoga on the now-vacant beach, another divine moment for me until a gust of wind blew sand into my ear and halfway to my brain.

After dinner we visited the campsite “bar/salon” to chat with the reception guy and play some foozball and billiards – Siri won all 3 games even though the second pool match was quite close, down to the eight ball. The old-time blues music playing quietly in the background made the experience just about perfect, even if I did lose three times in a row.

We felt our way out past the tent and through the trees down to the sand in the dark so we could stargaze now that the sky had darkened completely… The galaxy spread out like a blanket over us when we laid down among the shells to marvel at the night sky. The constellations shone brilliantly without any moon or artificial light to obscure them and I even saw the quickest flash of a shooting star before we headed back to our sleeping bags at the end of a perfect day in a stupendous place.

Word of the Day: ABANICO – fan

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My hair is a salty uncombable afro, my back has grains of sand embedded into the skin, my hips are a bit bruisey from sleeping on my side over rocky ground, and my sandal tan is, simply put, atrocious. I’ve spent the last few days in paradise.

On Wednesday morning I threw a few basics into a backpack and hoisted that along with two sleeping bags and a small tent over my shoulder to carry it to Patos, where I would meet Siri and Carmen for a morning surf lesson and later depart for Vigo with the equipment needed to camp. A very cheerful Jose was our monitor that morning, and our 12 to 2PM class was just us four out in the wind and the waves of midmorning. The class was fantastic for me: I caught way more waves and had a bunch of successful stand-ups without any assistance from Jose throughout the lesson.  Even if they were short and far from perfect it’s definitely a lot of progress – the hardest part of the morning was getting the long wetsuit off at the end of the class.

We grabbed a ride back to the city with Jose after our practice, all of us feeling very salty and me feeling absolutely drunk with seawater, one with the ocean. Jose commented on our drive that it was easy to tell I was quite spiritual, that I had a mental connection with the ocean and the waves. All that I needed was the equilibrium with the physical side of it and the surfing would be perfect.

Siri and I grabbed her bag from the Vigo appartment and caught an intercity bus to the maritime station, where I promptly freaked out because I’d left my wallet on the bus. I paced around the in-station tourism office nervously while they localized the bus, hitting myself for being so stupid. Luckily, I ran out to the stop 10 minutes later and grabbed it from the passing bus – karma was on my side this time after giving me a huge scare. Thank God for unselfish city-dwellers and noticing within 5 minutes of getting off that I’d left it!

Once I was back in good spirits we grabbed out camping permit from the small booth at the maritime station and hung around in the shade while waiting for our boat to arrive in the harbor. Everyone had told us we would get burned out on the islands, so we kept vigilance when applying sunscreen even before reaching the Islas Cies… I’ve learned my lesson about remembering the tops of my feet when slathering the sun cream on – they’re still a bit redder than the rest of me.

The 6:15PM ferry to the islands was almost empty, but the other two couples also had camping gear and grocery bags, so we were assured a bit of company overnight even though it was the first day of camping season in the islas. We finally arrived on the absolutely gorgeous natrure reserve, both Siri and I feeling giddy as we carried our stuff to the campsite area. We checked in and caught the eye of a very good-looking reception guy, later clapping at how the tent basically set itself up once we unfolded it on the patch of camp space we picked out in front of the coastline. After rolling out sleeping bags and eating a quick dinner we went for a short walk along the beach and turned in the direction of the rock passage conjoining the two parts of the island so we could see the sunset.

While waiting for the big orange ball to get closer to the horizon I taught some of my yoga to Siri, gaining odd looks from the English couple on the other side of the rock bridge and some dents in my knees since yoga isn’t the easiest on uneven pacement pebbled with stones. Even without a comfortable base we had fun passing the time, later hanging our legs over and watching the sun sloooowly set across the water. Soon the reception guy came over to chat with us while watching the sky – turned out he’s also about to turn 18 and he’s been on the islands since March getting ready for the camping season!

After a breathtaking scene at sunset we grabbed toothbrushes and headed to the bathrooms, only to discover the only con weighing against all of the pros of camping on the island so far: enormous beetles inhabiting the water closet and buzzing past your ears as you hurry to rinse and spit. Not fun, but expected since we ARE in the wilderness after all. We slipped into our tent as the wind picked up and said our goodnights, sleeping in bikini bottoms and long-sleeve tees and just the thinnest layer of sand over everything.

Word of the Day: ESCARABAJO – beetle

PS: I wrongly believed I had forgotton my camera at the house, so pictures taken from Siri’s camera will be up and ready for you to marvel at soon!

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I’m cooking squid for all of you when I get back, you’ll see! It’s delicious and simple and soon enough you get past the oddness of eating tentacles.

This morning Conchi, the home assistant (cooks occasionally, cleans everyday), taught me the basics of making the calamari

Carmen, the best of the group today

recipe that I’ve loved so much throughout the whole year. It’s been probably my favorite Spanish dish so far, and since the seafood recipes are so typical in Galicia it is the perfect one to take back as kitchen knowledge. I also got to have it for lunch once she finished explaining since the recipe came with a demonstration – win/win.

This afternoon I waited around the surf school for a half hour alone, wondering where everyone was since the day was super windy but otherwise fine. At around 5:45PM (classes usually start at 5:30-ish) two of the monitors showed up to switch up some equipment, and they told me that class was being held at Madorra beach again instead and everyone else was already there. I grabbed a long wetsuit, having learned well from last time in those waters, and hitched a ride over to the correct coastline ust in time to enter the water with everyone else.

Siri had told me she was coming but had to cancel at the last minute due to time issues, but I recognized Carmen, the German exchange student from earlier classes, and the redhead boy from last week in the group of about 5 kids on boards today. Alejo and Jose were instructing today,

Nice backdrop, eh?

and although I’m not too good just yet I do take in all of the advice the instructors give me and I notice improvement. Jose says my form is pretty much perfect, it’s just the positioning when I get up to my feet on the wave that’s throwing me off. I did catch a few, and we ended the day with a wave ridden into the sand.

Getting out of long wetsuits is both funny and extremely frustrating at the same time, especially is one has large feet like mine. Alejo, two of the younger boys from the class, and I had to stay behind for 10 minutes as Jose carried most of the equipment back to the school, but we found a bouncy ball in one of the backpacks and had some fun while waiting around. I taught them a bit of yoga and we looked up the English word for the fruit one of them had in their bag as well since I didn’t know the translation.

I hung out with Carmen for awhile back at the surf school until she hitched a ride back to Vigo with Jose, when I hung out with Alejo and

After-surf stretching

Jesus, a relative (I think he’s one of the cousins) that was passing by on his bike, in Patos for awhile before getting stuck waiting around forever at the bus stop until the thing drove by. It went through Camos – the LONG route – so I didn’t end up getting home until 10:45PM, but it was a good day from start to end.

Tomorrow I’ll be heading for two nights to the Islas Cies to go camping with Siri, so obviously we won’t be connected to anything with internet access. I will update on Friday, after getting my fill of rolling around on in the sand on an island and living in a tent: Nos hablamos!

Word of the Day: CIRUELA - plum

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Back in ancient times when supermarkets didn’t exist, towns had morning markets composed of stalls and stalls selling produce, meats, cheeses, bread, clothing, shoes, etc. In Europe this is still done often, and every Monday morning one of the main streets in Sabaris is blocked off for a weekly feria that lasts the entire morning.

I’d always seen the fruit stands on the very edge of the market setting up during Monday morning bus rides to school, but I’d never had the chance to actually wander through the fera before today. Yolanda suggested taking a look since it was a very traditional thing to do here and in Europe altogether, so I set out in the morning on foot to explore the stalls.

I did find a 10 Euro pair of parachute pants that I really liked – they are a dominant style here, actually – and I believed the shopkeeper when she told me they would fit my long legs, but unfortunately after trying them at home it seems that they fall a bit short. I can leave them for Yolanda when she gets back from Missouri, though: she is shorter than I am and she LOVES that type of pants.

The rest of the day was spent finishing once and for all my online AP English course: it’s finally done, dead, checked off the list, yay! I do still have the second school-mandated course to end, but at least the most difficult online class is over. It’s been an evil reminder of will-you-won’t-you-graduate for a long time now, so I’m relieved to move on to the next things I need to do and cross that off the list forever!

Word of the Day: ENCOGER – to shrink

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Whoever uses Sunday as an excuse to sit inside and rest all day wastes a completely good day to check things off of the bucket list -

Yay, boat!!

or, in my case, the “do-before-leaving-Spain” list. So what if it’s cloudy? The day is still usable!

Laura, the great girl I had met yesterday at the communion party, is on a sailing team out of the Vigo Nautical Club port. Her whole family sails and together they have four small boats of varying lengths. I had mentioned wanting to get out on a sailboat again before leaving the country, so she offered to have me along during practice Sunday morning in her three-person craft.

At 10AM we met at the Nautical Club to tie ropes and get into some more waterproof (not really) outerwear as other kids of varying ages readied their boats of varying sizes. Valentin, Laura’s trainer, lent me his sailing jacket and was waiting with a small dinghy when we

Well the bottom looks good too

wheeled out the sailboat so he could tow it out of the harbor and into the open water. For the time we spent out on the boat Valentin was always around to occasional give suggestions and provide general conversation since…

There was no wind. Whispers of an occasional small breeze came infrequently, so much of the morning was spent floating instead of sailing.

Chillin' on the nose

Nonetheless, any amount of time out in the bobbing waves makes me happy and I was so glad to be on a sailboat again. Laura and I took turns navigating while the other lounged about on the dinghy with Valentin or balanced on the nose of the sailboat. At one point Laura was trying to get water out of the bottom and accidentally tipped the craft all the way over, but the righting of the ship was the most exciting thing that happened that morning.

Like I said, any bit of time under a sail on the sea makes me a happy camper, so even if we almost fell asleep in the tranquil movements of the waves at some points, it was fantastic to check another thing that I didn’t think I’d have to chance to do off of my special Spain activity list.

That afternoon I grabbed my beach bag and headed to Patos to see if surfing lessons were still on despite the darkening sky. I arrived to see that no one except a few monitors were lounging around the surf school since there were no waves (maybe due to the morning’s no

Alejo, one of my surf instructors

wind issue) to be caught across the long beach. Having come all the way to Patos, I decided to stay for awhile on the beach and hang out with Alejo, the youngest surf monitor that’s about my age and speaks English quite well.

We walked along the beach for awhile and searched for crabs and schools of small fish in the tide pools among the rocks at the far end of the beach. We had the point of the beach to ourselves as we explored while chatting about surfing, snowboarding, travel and school. Eventually we got caught in the rain, a warm shower finally arriving after a day of gray sky, and returned running to the surf school.

Word of the Day: HAMACA – hammock (that one’s not too hard to figure out)

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I think 0ne of the biggest differences I can cite between Spanish and American culture can be perfectly demonstrated by last night’s

Smile, but with eyes open guys!

events. Let’s compare the American end-of-high-school celebration to that of Spain, shall we?

Graduation: a huge presentation with caps and gowns and diplomas and speeches and words of wisdom about the future. Prom: princess-outfits and tuxedos, breathylizer tests, dancing, chaperone teachers  and a few after-parties for students at various houses. I LOVED the prom that I had the privilege (and the senior boyfriend) to go to, so in no way am I putting down the way we do it in the United States, but the Spanish version is definitely… different.

The Segundo Bacherillato end-of-course presentation and dinner was Friday night, and I was advised to come looking fancy. At 8PM we all gathered with the majority’s parents in the school to sit through a ridiculously boring hour lecture on Muslims, Jewish people and “us” by a philosophy expert from the area before names were called and each kid woke up and trotted down the aisle of desks to receive a certificate for finishing the course. It reminded me a little bit of an elementary school graduation, but it was nice to get a ‘diploma’ from this school as a memory.

At 10PM I grabbed a ride with Sergio and a few friends as we all migrated to Hotel Bayona for the dinner. Here’s where you really start to notice the differences in culture, since the teachers’ table couldn’t be distinguished in any way from those for the students -

The smokers stole my camera briefly

they all had wine and beer and Pepsi selections on them.

I remember getting breathylized at prom and hearing advice from teachers warning against drinking. Last night professors shared wines and beer with the students throughout dinner, bummed cigarettes from them outside, and headed afterwards to the same discoteca as everyone else, Villarosa. It left me so bemused that the heads of the school and the important professors were acting the same as the teenagers they had been teaching for so long (although I don’t think they threw any of the bread at others’ heads, but then again I wasn’t at their table).

I had a great time at the dinner, where it felt like everyone was friends with everyone and people could enjoy themselves freely without worrying about exams or anything like that. It was definitely different though, since half were quite tipsy by the time we went to Villarosa and all of us had gotten two free drink tickets to use there from the headmaster as well. I gave one away and have the other as a souvenir stashed in my notebook!

Today I wasn’t alone for once at one of the family fiestas – there was another girl my age around since the first communion party was for

Nice face, Ivan!

about 14 little ones from the same Caatholic school, not just for those of our circle. Laura is very similar to me: she loves sharks and snakes and bats and all the weird animals we chicas aren’t supposed to, she also writes, has a blog (more for everyday thoughts), surfs and sails and plays soccer, and is a tomboy like me! We found a lot to talk about.

We also were the only two girls watching for the majority of the Baracelona Vs. Manchester United game this evening, although cheering for opposite sides! Fireworks announcing a Spanish win sounded as we arrived home,  so I’ll have something to needle ricky about when I give back his guitar soon.

Word of the Day: RASCAR – to scratch (PICAR – to itch or bite, etc. It can also mean something has a spicy bite, foodwise)

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You can find tan blond surfer boys here, too, they don’t just live in California! The best part of class today was the new young instructor that came to help with the larger group, since there were about 20 of us in the water all together this afternoon. He even speaks good English.

Yesterday I woke up around the same time as usual but had to race for a breakfast on the go as I ran to the bus stop with toast in hand. The grades were being given out in school at 10:30AM and there would be a short talk about the selectividad exam before all the students of Segundo Bachillerato were free to go again. I managed to get there o time by taking the normal bus to Nigran and walking 5 minutes to the school, but I doubt it really would have mattered since even school events run on “Spanish time” here.

I passed everything! That may not sound like much coming from a National Honor Society member, but in this country’s ‘senior’ year usually half of the students (or more) can’t manage to pass the course. Granted, it’s not like I got amazing grades, but for a year of school in a different language where I did other work instead of the exams, things didn’t turn out too badly!

That afternoon I headed to Alicia’s house for our last English class. We went down to the boardwalk in Panxon to have lunch and a bit of ice cream in a small place called Lalo’s while we talked in English and the other eaters cast odd looks in our direction.

I headed to Vigo for the afternoon because I wanted to see what I thought was an environmental documentary playing in one of the social centers, so I walked down Calle del Principe for awhile and listened to the speeches / concert done by DemocraciaRealYa, the group of protesters that’s literally been camped out at the entrance to the street for about a week now. I thought that they would pack up after the elections but no, tai chi is still scheduled for 10AM tomorrow and the posters are still plastered everywhere.

It turned out that “Adictos al Plastico” was not a documentary (although the poster said “Festival de Cine” on it for Pedro’s sake!) but a book talk filled with old people that were definitely not sandy and shorts-clad. I quietly made my exit before things got started in detail.

Today I joined a larger group of surf students, aging from Carmen’s age to a woman looking to be about 45, that squished into the small school headqurters to pick out wetsuits and grab boards. We had about 6 monitors around to help out today: Jorge and Jose who we’d had class with before, two other really nice guys, a short and stern looking girl, and a boy about our age with nice eyes… Anyway.

Siri and I both grabbed the short neoprene suits we’d been using the previous two classes, those that cut off about the elbow and knee, while many others were grabbing the full-on wetsuits to wear under the pick lycra shirts. I’d already jumped in the water quickly at Patos beach before heading to the surf school so I thought it would be fine no matter what we wore, the water wasn’t that cold!

Turns out we were going to another beach nearby, a smalled one protected from the wind with some smaller waves since many of our group were beginners today. The water was cold, filled with floating seaweed, and too murky to see the big rocks that sometimes attacked your toes when you fell from the board. Let’s just say that nobody had too much luck today.

I still had a good time in spite of the less-comfortable conditions: I learned which time of board I liked better, had a seaweed fight and swapped numbers with Alejo, the younger instructor, filled myself with seawater again (and probably more seaweed than I wanted to), and had nie chats with a few of the other surfers, instructors and students, while avoiding rocks in the waves. I’m always happy after time getting pushed around by the ocean, it reminds me of a song by Kimya Dawson that talks about how the sea makes you realize how small you are in the world.

Word of the Day: PELIGRO DE CHOCAR LA CABEZA CONTRA PIEDRA – Danger of cracking your head against a rock (there should have been a sign)