Hey, teach.

a little peek into life with the ninos and what i do everyday...

as seen here.

and here.

:)

Away.

"The hardest thing to convey is how lovely it all is and how that loveliness seems all you need. The ghosts that haunted you in New York or Pittsburgh will haunt you anywhere you go, because they’re your ghosts and the house they haunt is you. But they become disconcerted, shaken, confused for half a minute, and in that moment on a December at four o’clock when you’re walking from the bus stop to the rue Saint-Dominique and the lights are twinkling across the river – only twinkling in the bateaux-mouches, luring the tourists, but still… you feel as if you’ve escaped your ghosts if only because, being you, they’re transfixed looking at the lights in the trees on the other bank, too, which they haven’t seen before, either.

It’s true that you can’t run away from yourself. But we were right: You can run away."

- Adam Gopnik, "From Paris to the Moon"

{photo taken over the weekend on an excursion to Basque Country with teachers.}

Sunday

is magical here.

Not because of anything extraordinary... but because of the way people choose to live. Just normal, everyday life is lived slowly. Thoughtfully. With a focus on relationships and people.

{the streets I walk}

I wake up and peruse the Sunday market. I haggle prices in Spanish, and purchase a few gifts for friends. It is Nov 15 and autumn is in its prime. I inhale the 74 degree weather, and smile as spots of red, green, and yellow leaves fall around me. Warm wind coasts off the sea. I take my book and my ipod and sit in the park for a few hours - mostly reading, but also watching families stroll through and elderly couples hold hands. I listen as babies are cooed in Spanish nursery rhymes. Deciding to walk the streets, I notice a gentle calm over the city. A stillness lies within quiet, whispery conversations. I read every sign I pass, attempting to pick up new vocabulary from window shopping. Everything is closed - but people are out, enjoying the fresh air and good company. I mentally note new restaurants I want to try, and favorite places to take friends when they visit. Kids run past me with a soccer ball, laughing and playing. I pass cafes buried within stone walls, while the aroma of coffee and tapas fills my senses. The streets I walk are lined with brick, and if you look through the spaces, you see a background of mountains and sea.

I never could have imagined life could be like this. This is becoming my most favorite place on earth. I love it more and more each day. The only thing missing are all my loves in the world whom I wish were here to share it with me.... so, come visit!

{patches of mountains and ocean appear when you least expect it.}

Thought.

Home.

What is it?

A common phrase: "See you at home."

Is home one place...? Many places...? Anywhere?

Hmmmm.

Tut, tut.

Last night I went to bed at 11PM and woke up ten hours later to the gentle dripping of rain.

My exact thought: “That was the best night’s sleep I’ve had since being here.”

Until I realized that “drip of rain” was dropping from a giant bubble in the ceiling about .3 seconds away from drenching me in a Spanish rainstorm. Through hazy morning eyes, I began to notice that the exact “sleep machine-like” sounds that had coaxed me into deep stages of REM sleep were just false forms of comfort wooing me into a scheme to float me into another piso. The rain now created small pools of water along the perimeter of my room, slowly transforming into puddles that would be difficult to navigate without raingear.

Thinking quick - I grabbed my umbrella, located my movil, and phoned the Dueno, lacing my words with urgency as if I believed the Spanish cared about hurrying.

“Manana, manana, manana…” was the best I could do.

So tonight… I have a Spanish waterbed. It could be worse, I suppose.

Today, I was 'clever.'

Why?

Because I suggested that we assign each student an ID number on their library card.

If you consider this obvious, stop being so American.

Any advice that offers a hint of organization will be treated as though you hung the moon.

Echoes of “brilliant… smart… clever” resonated down the hall. Teachers scribbled notes as I expounded upon this foreign system. Hugs were exchanged.

I’m going to opt on the side of ignoring the limited English vocabulary these teachers know, and consider myself a genius. Just for today.

Sic 'ems Abroad.

I got lucky 2 weekends in a row.

First in Madrid, then in Nice.

I met up with two dearhearts (and their traveling Team America) while they are taking a month to travel Europe on Baylor’s Maastricht program. In Madrid, we hung with locals in a cave of sangria and tapas, exchanging stories from abroad and barely making it to the Spanish version of “early” (3AM). This past weekend, we discussed the art of travel and laughed at French Halloween costumes over wine and crepes in Nice. We tossed terracotta into the Mediterranean Sea, hiked to a waterfall overlooking the city, and got lost amidst markets of flowers and books.

These girls have given themselves to the life of a vagabond in Europe, and I loved every minute of it. While they travel in a group, they are both individually on a unique journey of brave discoveries and reflections about the world around them, and the home they will soon return to in Texas. This experience has bred a new piece of each girl, which I see so clearly, as I have walked with both of them since the beginning of Baylor life. It was refreshing to hug familiar faces after a month of feeling foreign, and I return to my apartment in Santander so full. Love you girls. Here’s to night trains, bracelet buddies, perma-sic ‘ems, trundle beds, and scoots! ;)

{I am an adopted member of the team}

{Nice... you are beauty.}

{books... books... books}

{our honeymoon}

{heather. lauren. loves.}