My Arrival Fiesta? Only a Day Late.

I’ve decided to do a bit of summary teaser for those of you who are too busy to read my whole blog (but really, what have you de-prioritized me for instead??)

Hi: Meeting the fun Canadians who are traveling Europe
Low: Getting lost in Corte Ingles for an hour and then having the persimmons I was going to buy not have a code that scanned...and I couldn’t buy them
“No me digas!” moment (akin to a wtf moment, but more kosher): The Police take a holiday and won't give me my residence card so I don't get kicked out in 30 days. Oh and my cell phone company thinks I’m ‘Chris’ and won’t activate my account :)

Jet lag. It makes me think that whoever established the idea of differing time zones around the world was most certainly NOT a traveler because there is no justification for the horrors of jet lag.

Today was a day of “fiesta” here in Spain. Can’t say I know why and I wonder if anyone on the street could have answered the question if I had put it forth. But this is Spain and its reason enough to have a fiesta. I decided to follow suit with the idea of fiesta and sleep till 11am. (Or it could be because I woke up at 1am and couldn’t fall back asleep till 3am.) Either way, I wasn’t out on the streets till the clock struck 12. High time to greet Malaga after surviving my first night. (Side note…I was ridiculously glad that I snagged the plane blanket because oh me oh my did it get cold after dark…the whole, open terrace and open courtyard in the center of the hostel is divine during the day, but a perfect vent for a bone chilling draft at night. Mom, I know I said I’d stop being a rat pack, but if it continues to serve me well…..:)

In honor of David and my best bud Selin, I hit up a Turkish spot and hammered falafel. The owner and I tried to speak some broken Spanish, but as he tried to explain to me in some language that he is Turkish, but from Germany I wondered if that is what I must sound like to hostel owners, bus drivers, and waitresses. Desperately trying to relate my story, but being flustered, failing completely.

Not having been to the school to secure my job nor having found an apartment to live in for the rest of the year I thought it wise to head to the police station to get my temporary residence card that would let me stay till at least September 2011. (Jet lag I tell you, it does things to the whole capacity to be reasonable). I’m greeted at the front desk by a typical Andalucía police officer, speaking unbearably fast, pronouncing none of the last syllables of words. As I squeak out that I want to obtain my NIE and TIE he shakes his head and says no no no. I must go to the other station. He repeats with lightning speed the name of the street where I should go at least twice. I understand neither of the attempts. But at this point blood sugar levels haven’t settled out from breakfast/lunch and I’m still pretty on edge from just up and moving to Spain, so I vigorously nod “sí sí” faking my best “I got everything you just said to me” face and hauled it outside before I started crying over being lost and also knowing that since it was fiesta it was closed. I sat on the smallest of little poles outside and spread my map out on the ground trying to repeat the sounds of the police man to see if my eyes could pick up the name of the sound in reading it….no luck….I was clueless. Then I hear this annoying cat call, I turn around when I hear, “’ello” drenched in Spanish pronunciation, the officer I had just talked to was waving me to come back. He took my map and circled the street for me and said to go tomorrow at 9 and I would have no problems, they deal with Americans a lot, they are used to our questions. (Ha!) In other circumstances I would have been offended, but I almost cried for joy.

Having much of the day to kill, I strolled back to Plaza Merced (almost cute, but just a bit too dirty) to use the internet at a café. Back to the grind: apartment search, send emails (more like sob stories back home), stalk other people I really miss on fb who are having happier times than I (like ms. Mayo, the just married star) and apartment hunt some more. Oh and try and apply to grad school. Ha. So when I started to get café butt, I said, time to explore (or really get lost). I wandered and wandered, looking at all the things I couldn’t pay the entrance fee for, saying, wow, the wall of the Castle, looks great! Check that box. And to really prove I was getting culture I decided to snap some photos, but my camera knew what a cheapskate I was and decided to have ‘lens malfunction’ and just give up on me. So no proof of my productive afternoon, getting lost and walking lots of back allies till I found the ocean and just zoned out staring into its waves. Oh the clean air that rolled off the water, so refreshing. Hungrier than a bear after hibernation I trekked on to find a grocery store, trying to save funds. Alas, it’s fiesta, even those are closed. Off to good ole corté ingles. The supermarket of Spain. It’s really more like Harrods of London. I got wicked lost just trying to find the stairs to go down to the supermarket, only to find out I had to go to the other side, down stairs, across the under ground pedi access path to the OTHER corte ingles building across the street. There in the basement I would find the supermarket. The tragedy of Europe (or perhaps why they are famous for their food and not fat at all) is that they have not embraced PEANUT BUTTER! Only 3,50 euro for 1 eeeny weeny non-organic jar. Not happening. But on the other hand, they have mastered the cookie. They had a whole isle just for cookies… let’s just say I’m not going hungry here. But I may incur type 2 diabetes if I don’t cut myself off. That’s for another day when I don’t still have jet lag.

It’s impending rain and I thought, how wonderful would that be, to get soaking wet walking home, only to take a shower with cold water, snuggle up in the sweat pants I didn’t bring and eat the warm soup I didn’t buy?? Sadly, it didn’t rain and I made it back dry enough to enjoy some scrumptious cereal and incidentally meet the hostel’s newest residences- Amy and Cole, the coolest (albeit only) Canadians I have ever met. For anyone that has traveled before in a country where they speak another language that they’re not quite fluent in, you know how exhausting it can be to live in that foreign language. It is just like putting on a sweatshirt on a cold day when you speak English with other natives. Oooooh it just feels sooooooooooooooo good. And man did I relish our conversation. They had been on the road for 1.5 months already, touring Iceland, London, France and Spain. They still had at least 4 months of adventure to go. I pestered them about everything, vicariously touring Europe in their stories. For all the sketchy people you encounter on the road it is so wonderful to meet people like them who are good hearted and full of hope. A nice reminder that life can be such a blessing.