Un mes para sonreír,
Saturday, October 21st
Walking home before 2pm on a Thursday, finished for another whole glorious weekend ahead, sinking my long nails into the juiciest orange as the afternoon sun is just finally peeking through after two days of grey & rain, scarves & sweaters.
My skin bare & cool, still damp from a 5th consecutive visit next door to my school, the region's largest sports centre, falling so easily and willingly and wonderfully back into a daily routine of sweating and lifting and smiling back at other after-work gym-goers.
A slower wander to the train station, Ed has me smiley and reminiscent of short lived international love affairs come and gone, equal parts quick & sweet. I think about then, I think about now, and I smile even deeper acknowledging all of the magic that has happened to keep moving me forward in this world. I have seen so many new cities and met so many new people since those final days in my Thai life, and none of those experiences have been anything short of incredible. How have I gotten so lucky?
A cheeky stop into the neighbourhood bakery, as enticing as it always is, for my first miguelito, made from umpteen layers of thin pastry, flakey but marvellously moist, disintegrating into a million wonderful pieces with each bite. The sugar only plays a small contributing factor to my already buzzing mood; it is a beautiful afternoon, I am done with another awesome work week, I have a mat pre-booked for me as an exclusive invite-only new studio opening 90 minute flow class will kick off a perfect evening of TAKOs and beers and gossip with the girls.
My skin bare & cool, still damp from a 5th consecutive visit next door to my school, the region's largest sports centre, falling so easily and willingly and wonderfully back into a daily routine of sweating and lifting and smiling back at other after-work gym-goers.
A slower wander to the train station, Ed has me smiley and reminiscent of short lived international love affairs come and gone, equal parts quick & sweet. I think about then, I think about now, and I smile even deeper acknowledging all of the magic that has happened to keep moving me forward in this world. I have seen so many new cities and met so many new people since those final days in my Thai life, and none of those experiences have been anything short of incredible. How have I gotten so lucky?
A cheeky stop into the neighbourhood bakery, as enticing as it always is, for my first miguelito, made from umpteen layers of thin pastry, flakey but marvellously moist, disintegrating into a million wonderful pieces with each bite. The sugar only plays a small contributing factor to my already buzzing mood; it is a beautiful afternoon, I am done with another awesome work week, I have a mat pre-booked for me as an exclusive invite-only new studio opening 90 minute flow class will kick off a perfect evening of TAKOs and beers and gossip with the girls.
Also, if this special event invite as a yogi-regular doesn't make me feel like a local, I don't know what would.
A local! I am 1 month in! Imagine that!
A local! I am 1 month in! Imagine that!
And my gosh does it feel good. I have a weekly routine! I have 4 keys on my key ring and they all have a daily purpose! I got mail!! Granted, it was from my Spanish bank but... I have a Spanish bank! I know my way around my little suburban town; I can navigate without googlemaps to my grocery store, my gym, my post office, my bank, my yoga studio (some of these things are whole metro rides away, people!). I leave my little hand-drawn train line map at home. I know how to be polite in Spanish, and I am honest to goodness already communicating with my lowest level students pretty effortlessly as they only spew Spanish at my English efforts. All day long I am passed by in the hallway with students calling my name and waving English greetings, giving me the happiest little butterflies.
I recognize some regulars on the morning train, depending on which day of the week it is. I've found my raw ginger and turmeric dealer. I successfully helped an older man find the lemons at my local market when he spotted them in my basket and asked me in Spanish (all I did was smile & point, but I understood enough to do so!). The old, senile lady who sits in her wheelchair yelling at pigeons all morning outside of my building has finally stopped harassing me to buy something out of her ratty old grocery bag..
I’ve ridden a motorbike, I’ve cooked paella (or at least drank really good Spanish wine while having it cooked for me…), I’ve stood on my head in Retiro Park. I've crossed boarders, I've made friends I've made love I've made amends with everything that took me so long to get myself to where I am here and now. To these little swirls of joy that I can feel physically emanating from my cheeks. My goodness, it has been a good first month.
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The sun followed us the whole way north through Basque Country last weekend, saturating our ever-changing scenery, the wide panoramic greens and burnt yellows, in warm golds with anticipation. I am taken back to my absolute favourite memories from Italy, zooming through the mountains sea side with those 3 dreamy Italian men, or packed tightly in that old Volkswagen heading south to Bega, New South Wales, Australia with that boy who rang every chord inside of me.
We were singing to John Lennon's encore of Hey Jude, just two voices in an audio crowd of thousands. And then suddenly the highway signs read 'Bordeaux' and 'Bayonne' and an invisible boarder was crossed. And I laughed at how strange it is that you can suddenly be in a whole other country. I smiled harder at that notion than I have at anything in a while.
Thursday October 12th
... An afternoon spent sprawled on the sand with Spanish beers and French wine out of plastic cups, warmed by the late afternoon sun, playing pink on our lips with the squint in our eyes. He snoozes, his palm resting upwards on the small of my back, I leaf through Cheryl Strayed, both of us frying half-knowingly under this southern Basque Country sun.
I am in Hossegor, France. Have I stopped to realize that? France. Yesterday, I was a whole country over. I am crossing spontaneous boarders as I always only dreamed I might.
... An afternoon spent sprawled on the sand with Spanish beers and French wine out of plastic cups, warmed by the late afternoon sun, playing pink on our lips with the squint in our eyes. He snoozes, his palm resting upwards on the small of my back, I leaf through Cheryl Strayed, both of us frying half-knowingly under this southern Basque Country sun.
I am in Hossegor, France. Have I stopped to realize that? France. Yesterday, I was a whole country over. I am crossing spontaneous boarders as I always only dreamed I might.
There is a buzz inside of me being surrounded by surfers and spectators alike, watching the top riders in the world catch the most impressive waves in their qualifying rounds (take me to a beach, I'm a happy girl. Take me to a beach with surf I am the happiest girl). I never fully qualified as a 'surfer' but all of the feels that routine Aussie life gave me still flood all the way back. It was something I wanted so badly, something I still crave so often...
And we can hear the roll and the roar of the ocean from our small treehouse bungalow.
And we can hear the roll and the roar of the ocean from our small treehouse bungalow.
vvvvv
Saturday, October 21st
I’m leaning out far over my windowsill so high up here above all surrounding rooftops, trying to take in the widest possible scope of this brand new day. The horizon is on fire directly to my left, fading out into peaches and dandelion yellows all around my little 13th floor haven. I let the 7am 11 degree breeze flow swiftly through my wools and knits, bundled and smiling. Spanish vanilla swirls in loose coils and I’m nibbling on breakfast dates, sweet and tender. My tea is steeping, my clothes are hanging on the line, this city slowly wakes.
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