Laura Suggested I Title This Post "Punks in Portugal"

This is going to be a monster of a post because Semana Santa was a monster of a week, so bear with me as I use stupid phrases like “monster of a”.

 In the interest of saving money and also getting a tan while still doing some really neat stuff, we three musketeers headed off to Portugal for Semana Santa (Spanish for “spring break,” but not literally).

The trip began rather memorably, as we left Mari’s (Mari’s specialty of tinfoil-wrapped sandwiches in tow) with what we thought was plenty of time, only to be sprinting through the train station an hour later, massive duffels bouncing, Laura’s stupid rolly bag making stupid rolly bag noises. Anyway, the point is, we made it onto the night train to Lisbon, which would be more aptly named “hell”. Apparently when you pay only 45 euros to roll across the border for some nine hours, you are not granted the luxury of actually sleeping. If for some reason you think that you, a mere peasant, deserve a little shut-eye, a policeman or border control chump will literally shake you by the shoulders and demand you show him your ticket for the fourth time. Don’t even get me started on the lights-on-at-all-times situation.

Somehow we survived and managed to be in good spirits when we arrived at 8 in the morning, despite our collective sum of negative three hours of sleep (and also unwashed hair, but I’m still a little scarred from that), which was good considering that we weren’t able to check into our hostel until 1 PM. No pasa nada. We threw back some coffee and set off to explore Lisbon for the second time this semester. Two important things to note are that Laura stopped and took a picture of virtually every tile in the city (while announcing that I would thank her for this some day, though I’m still not sure what use I would ever have for three hundred pictures of tiles) and that we managed to find a particular shop we wanted to visit without asking directions AND without getting lost and that alone made up for the hellish night train trip. (I’m just kidding. Nothing would make up for that hellish night train trip.) 

The only reason Mal is smiling because this is one of the first times Laura stopped to take a picture of a tile.

Later in the day, all clean and rested, we had one of our worst lunches this semester and then we had one of our best dinners this semester and we took it all in stride, if I do say so myself. That night, we revisited Lisbon’s lively Bairro Alto (I butcher both the pronunciation and spelling of this name incessantly) and took like, hundreds of pictures in front of the same wall with a bunch of strangers…... probably one of those “you had to be there” moments that ultimately make everyone feel sufficiently awkward after the story is told. But hey, it was funny.

You had to be there?

On Sunday, we once more impressed ourselves with our savvy travel skills (I’m allowed to brag about the few moments that actually work out in our favor) and got on a walking-speed train to the little town of CasCais, once again for the second time. It was a beautiful day and our hearts were set on some free biking. Naturally, there were only two free bikes available, but the woman working the rentals took pity on three clueless American girls and, even though it was against policy, promised to save the two for us until a third came along (which was a relief because when I was younger my sister would always beg me ride to my bike next to her while she ran and I was hoping to avoid such a situation for the rest of my life). Inevitably, three different groups of people also wanted the bikes and were understandably furious that these tourists with their white socks and tennis shoes (okay that was just me) would get preferential treatment but hey, you guys, we WERE there first. So after suffering some verbal abuse of the Portuguese variety, we finally got to ride our neat free bikes on some extremely busy cobblestone sidewalks. As we basically walked our bike behind massive clumps of people, we reminded ourselves to always be careful what you wish for. (En realidad, the views were gorgeous, biking is fun, and we had some good laughs, so all’s well that ends well.) (How many more clichés should I try to throw into that paragraph?)

After our bike ride, we allowed ourselves to get ice cream (though it took a lot of convincing, trust me) from the famous Santini and then sat on the beach and watched a teenage couple engage in some serious PDA while a stray cat watched. (Excuse me for the PG-rated content but the whole situation needs to be addressed.)

The following day, we embarked on our second We Hate Tourism tour (are you sensing a pattern here?), this time with the dreamy Tiago and this time to the coast of Portugal instead of around Lisbon. After a long drive during which Mal napped and I interrogated Tiago about his love life, and a pit stop for coffee (so unlike us, I know), we stopped for lunch with a gorgeous view of Praia de Amoreira (that’s Portuguese for “amazing beach”… haha, no it’s not). Also, there was a dog there and we shamelessly fed him some scraps and Mal and I shamelessly tried to kidnap said dog, so lunch was a nice affair.

Every single time we saw cliffs like this I exclaimed, "Cliffs of Moher!" and every single time nobody laughed.

We then headed to the teeny town of Aljezur where we would be staying for the night. We went to another beach, this time to lay out while we watched some dogs run around and Tiago surf, so overall it was a pretty perfect experience. Afterward, Tiago took us to the grocery store to get ingredients for the meal we were supposed to collectively make for dinner (read: we followed Tiago around the grocery store while he shopped and then we played cards in the lobby while he made us dinner). Dinner was delicious and that’s all I’ll say about it because I think I talk about food a little more often than the average person.

The next day, we were headed out for our final destination of Lagos, but not without a few pitstops on the way. We took in some more beautiful sights of cliffs, beaches, and boys surfing. We also visited the southernmost point of Europe (Sagres… pronunciation guide not available) where we took some extremely lame pictures, as we are wont to do. (Pictured below.)

Alas, we finally reached the beach town of Lagos, Portugal and said an emotional goodbye to Tiago (though whether those were tears of happiness or sadness in his eyes is hard to say). At twelve euro a night, our rented apartment was pretty luxurious (though notably a little muggy, but personally I love it when my towels are consistently damp) and it was nice to be able to showcase our dance skillz to American pop songs without being judged. To celebrate our adult-like vacation, we decided to cook for ourselves that night. Mostly Mal played sous-chef to Laura while I moaned and groaned about forgetting to buy raisins and then threw some fruit and sugar into our boxed wine to cover up the horrendous taste. The rice dish was delicious except that we forgot salt (and raisins!!!!) and also had enough leftovers to feed the entire apartment complex. Being a grown-up is fun!

On Wednesday morning, I went on an innocent run to check out the city center and ended up getting terrifically lost and asking for directions on three separate occasions, only to find out I was a street away from our apartment. Remember when I said I was travel savvy? Me neither. Anyway, the weather was looking a little gloomy, which in turn made us feel a little gloomy, plus we had to somehow navigate our way back to the elusive city center in order to buy our bus tickets back to Lisbon at the end of the trip… blah blah blah, the clouds cleared by lunch time and so did our attitudes. (How about these weather analogies, huh guys?!) We threw on our suits and sprint-walked to the beach where we accidentally discovered the nudie area a few seconds after we had already set up camp. Chalk it up to cultural experience, I guess.

Life is soooooooooo hard sometimes.

For dinner, we returned to the city center to a TripAdvisor-recommended restaurant where we caught the attention (not hard, considering we optimistic Midwesterners were all wearing shorts despite the 50 degree temps) of an older British couple. Although they had initially asked us which states we are respectively from, at one point the older man asked us if we were sisters and then remarked, “Oh, no, you all live in different states! Unless maybe your dad has a really good car!” Needless to say, we asked them to adopt us. (Jokes jokes jokes. Maybe.)

On Thursday we were #blessed with perfect weather so we marched our already sunburnt selves to Praia Dona Ana, AKA Conde Nast’s #1 Most Beautiful Beach in the World. Dude knows what he’s talking about, because it was breathtaking. Plus there were free public restrooms. Also, did you guys know that Laura had never laid out on a real live beach before this vacation? Neither did Mal and me. Anyway, some American (read: loud) boys were playing on some of the massive rocks surrounding the beach, so we followed suit and played on some little pebbles. (Pictured below.)

Risk-takers.

That afternoon, Mal demonstrated her good SLU character and worked on some homework while Laura and I looked for a beach that actually didn’t exist. After dropping my water bottle down a rocky mountain and having Laura belay me down in order to retrieve it, we returned to the first beach and impressed all the other beach-goers with our mad paddle-ball skills. (Whether or not you think I’m being sarcastic is up to you, but keep in mind that underneath all that clumsiness and gracelessness is some serious athleticism.) For dinner, we ate at a groovy little restaurant called The Garden, complete with hammocks and free blankets and one cat. We enjoyed our dinner with a little free entertainment via the VERY rowdy group of Irish men who seemed to multiply as the night went on. Things would have gone a little more smoothly for them if they hadn’t decided to start wrestling on the patio, if one of them hadn’t tried to use the women’s restroom, and if they hadn’t ALL decided to individually apologize to us. Other notable mentions of that night were some broken darts and a broken camera (only one of which was our fault, because who knew Mal’s aim was so bad) (RIP Laura’s camera).

On Friday we gave Laura’s Irish skin a break from the beach and went back to the city center in search of a kayak tour, only to discover that kayak tours are reserved for people who have their lives together and schedule things ahead of time. Instead we took a boat tour of some grottos, which undoubtedly look a lot better from a boat than from a kayak. Plus Mal had the pleasure of sitting next to a German guy who (correctly) thought that she was German and (incorrectly) thought that she spoke fluent German. Fortunately, she’s mastered pretending to know what people are saying. After the trip, we ate some ice cream for only the second time of the trip (a new record for me, surely) and all was right in the world again. Before dinner that night, Laura insisted that we watch the sunset at a famous viewpoint (for reference, you should check out her San Sebastian blog post). Even though it was cloudy and cold and windy, Mal and I didn’t get mad at her because we met some friendly guys including the Portuguese version of Alexander Supertramp and his dog along the road to the viewpoint. The sunset eluded us, but I bet it was beautiful behind all that wind and all those clouds.

(I’m trying to wrap it up guys, I promise.)

Great idea, Laur.

Bright and early on Saturday morning, we wrung out our towels some more and packed up and headed out to take the bus back to Lisbon. As luck would have it, our bus was host to an entire fraternity from an American university that will remain nameless and let me tell you guys, they were COOL. Something we really enjoy doing is being trapped seated near some twenty-year-old guys make derogatory comments about women for four hours so we sure had the time of our lives.

Eventually, we were back home in Lisbon where we were homeless until our next hellish trip on the night train. Although we had to sit with our luggage for a good seven hours, we had no problem entertaining ourselves. The only bummer of that span of time was that, despite our sign, no one would let us watch their dog in exchange for ice cream. It’s alright though, because we got ice cream anyway. Special occasion, ya know?

Would've taken up our offer if he had a dog, I bet.

Ultimately, the night train ride back was not nearly as bad as the way there so I’ll stop railing on night trains now.

Ahhh… the end of this monster of a post. Truly thought it would never come. I hope I didn’t make the trip sound all that negative because it was actually close to perfection (in that non-perfect sort of way). We shared stories, sunshine, sangria, love, laughter, lip balm… I could go on. Also I ate an entire mini jar of peanut butter in three days, but I digress. As I can already see your cringing face, I’ll just say that I couldn’t have asked for two better travel companions. Saudo!

Sand, Sun and Summits in Stunning San Sebastian, Spain

The following post details events that took place long, long ago, in a land far, far away. (Actually, just 3 weeks ago, a bus’s ride away from Madrid).

With Mal and Renatta MIA for the weekend in Alicante, Katie and I decided we better make a trip to the coast ourselves. After much research, we settled on San Sebastian, a town on Spain’s northern coast. It was an active weekend, full of biking and hiking.

Thursday night, we made our way towards San Sebastian. Thankfully our host moms had packed us lunches (Mari, you’re the best), and Katie had a good laugh at my olive loaf sandwich. When we arrived in the town, a little worn out from the 6-hour bus ride, we trudged to our hostel, Urban House. We arrived just in time, apparently, since right as we walked up to the door a girl was posting a sign on the door that said “Reception Closed. Call this number…” She saw us, asked if one of our names was “Cahtehreen,” and when we said yes, remarked that we were just in time and we wouldn’t be homeless for the night. Who knows if that was meant to be a joke or not, but thankfully, we didn’t have to find out. She showed us to our room, which was in an apartment-turned-hostel a few streets down from the main building. Mistaking the light switch for the doorbell, we announced our arrival with a bang (well, more like a ding), and made our way to our private (woohoo!) room. No shoving our backpacks in lockers or squeaking crates 2 feet from strangers’ heads on this trip. We dropped off our stuff and made our way out to find some dinner. We managed to catch one of the pintxos restaurants just before they closed, and had small pieces of fish and croquetas for dinner. We finished up rather quickly, since the workers began to clean up while we were still eating, and made our way back to the hostel.

Friday morning we woke up relatively early, excited by the free “breakfast” that the hostel had advertised in their hostelworld.com posting. Don't get me wrong; we weren’t expecting a continental buffet, but what we got severely paled in comparison. Much to our dismay, the breakfast consisted of some stale half-eaten cereal, and spoiled milk in the fridge. Needless to say, we chose to opt out of the “meal” (sorry for the excessive use of quotation marks… but would anyone else enjoy such “food”? There I go again). Refusing to let the lack of breakfast get as down, we headed to the beach, where a friend had told us of a café she had eaten at when she visited San Sebastian. We enjoyed a nice, warm, real breakfast at El Café de la Concha, and were then ready to take on the day. We walked along the beach for a while, explored the city, including a beautiful cathedral, and stopped into some little shops. 

Katie and her pals

Before we knew it, it had turned into a beautiful day, and we dropped a few things off back at the hostel before renting bikes for the afternoon. San Sebastian was full of bike paths that ran along the beach, and we stopped for a while to walk in the sand. Next stop: Monte Ulia, which we mistakenly believed to be the hill we could ride our bikes up. After being met with an abrupt halt in the bike path, we turned around to see an ambulance and two men in a cherry picker saving a dog that had fallen down the hill. No worries, animal lovers, he made it out okay. We rode to the other side of the cove, and up what we thought was a small hill, Monte Igeldo. Maybe an eighth of the way up the hill/Mount Everest, we had to take a break. We were both huffing and puffing, and I could have sworn Katie was going to have an asthma attack. Just in time for our struggle, a biker, complete with his biking outfit, helmet AND sunglasses, smiled at us as he breezed passed us, making the 89-degree incline seem like a piece of cake. Okay fine, it probably wasn’t that steep (mostly likely an 88-degree incline) but let’s just say that I considered myself at least moderately in shape prior to attempting to ride up this mountain, and afterwards demoted myself to plain old couch potato. We trudged on, stopping more often than I care to admit to catch our breaths. When it seemed as though we had neared the zenith, we had to stop riding our bikes and walk them up the rest of the way. Cue the biker (perfect timing for peak embarrassment) who was on his way down, chuckling at us as we struggled to make it to the top. Thanks, dude. After another 20 minutes, we had made it to the top. Success! The view was well worth it; we had a panoramic view of the city, ocean, and mountains on the other side of the cove. Just gorgeous. 

The view from Monte Igeldo, post exhausting trek

As we unlocked our bikes and made our way to the bike path again, I knew that quite an adrenaline rush was in store for us. The moment I mounted my bike and let go of the breaks, I was completely surprised by how quickly I picked up speed going down that mountain. The wind in my hair, the sunshine on my face… just kidding, that’s enough of that. In all honesty, I was going so fast that I couldn’t help myself but laugh. I promptly envisioned myself wiping out and sliding the rest of the way down the hill on my stomach, and opting to forgo that path, soon began to make use of my breaks. We made it down the mountain in a record 3 minutes, and was honestly tempted to suffer all the way back up the hill again just so I could ride back down it again.

We returned our bikes and decided that the best way to recover from a long day of struggling up a hill was ice cream. We found a pretty large ice cream shop, and I got Ferrero Rocher with salted caramel – some of the best ice cream I’ve had. After enjoying our ice cream, we decided that our legs were sufficiently stiff to merit a little nap at the hostel. We didn’t end up staying for long, since for some reason I was suddenly convinced that we were going to miss sunset. By the time we made it to the lookout point, which was supposedly the best place to see the sunset, we still had hours to spare. We entertained ourselves with Katie’s music, which consisted of her eighth grade self, singing the hits of the early 2000’s. (So that makes Katie seem rather narcissistic, but don’t worry, I made her do it). After 2 hours, when the sky was covered in clouds and the sun had disappeared behind Monte Igeldo, we asked ourselves why this was considered the best place to watch the sunset, and why we had spent so much time shivering to see it. 

Waiting for the sunset that never came 

Oh well, we were starving and decided it was time for dinner. We made out way to the old city center and had a nice dinner at a restaurant called BideBide. Unexpectedly, we got a dinner and a show, as just outside the window we were sitting by was your typical drunken scene. Some poor guy had peaked a little on the early side (actually way on the early side – it was only 8 o’clock) and was struggling to keep his head up as he sat on the street corner. We watched as his friend tried to get him to perk up, and several groups of people walking by stopped to inquire about him. Eventually the police showed up and hopefully helped the poor guy out. After the curtain closed, it was time to call it a night, and we passed out back at Urban House.

Saturday morning I woke up early and went for a run along the beach, revisiting Los Peines del Viento, sculptures that we built into the rocky coastline on the Western side of the cove. When I arrived back at the hostel, we got ready for the day, packed up, checked out, and left our bags at reception to climb the mountain on the Eastern side of San Sebastian’s cove, Monte Urgull. Still a little worn out from our (attempted) bike ride the previous day, we slowly made our way up the mountain. When we arrived at the top, we were awarded with another panoramic view of the beach and the surrounding city. 

On top of Monte Urgull

After taking a few moments to take it all in, we made our way back down and decided to have ice cream for lunch. We’re such healthy eaters. Before we knew it, it was time to make our way to the bus station, and Katie dragged her rolling bag across the cobblestone roads the mile down to the station. Nothing like the sound of small plastic wheels hitting every crevice between tiny stones to end the day. Trust me, I know all about it (I put Mal and Renatta through the same thing the following weekend all throughout Portugal). When we made it onto the bus and began our ride, we discovered that the bus would take a whopping 9 hours to get back to Madrid. Thankfully, all was not lost; we had Star Trek, complete with Spanish voice dubbing, to keep us entertained. Hearing the mispronunciation of “Señor Espock” repeatedly (and watching Chris Pine) was enough to do the trick and pass the time before arriving home.

That Time My Family Was in Europe and Didn't Lose Their Luggage

This post is particularly special, since the reason for it is that the very people that have made the best semester of my life possible came all the way to the other side of the Atlantic (…the Atlantic, right?) to visit little old me… that’s right, you guys, Dennis and Jane were in Spain this past week. I’m not sure if I was able to adequately express how very grateful I am for them, not only for partially funding this semester (new shoes and countless ice cream trips not included), but also for equipping me with the necessary skills to survive out here in the wilderness, such as independence, excessively fast walking, and not being afraid to make a fool of myself on a regular basis.

Yet another reason I owe them gratitude is for, in addition to bringing horrible Chicago-like weather with them, they also sacrificed some luggage space to carry two massive jars of peanut butter (!!!!!), homemade goodies, and a few novels for their chubby/nerdy daughter. So after the initial joy of seeing the ‘rents and then the secondary joy of eating a homemade chocolate cookie, the three of us had our first dinner together in months at a cute restaurant near their hotel called Casa Mono.  It did not take me long to realize how (no offense) awful my parents’ Spanish is, and that I finally have someone to blame other than myself for not being able to roll my stupid R’s. Anyway, the food was so good that my parents are insisting I return to steal a menu for their prized collection like I’m some kind of bandit. (Sidenote: I used the word bandit here as opposed to thief because we had a pet raccoon named Bandit growing up and although that has no real relevance to this post whatsoever, it’s a good example of the kind of family that we are.) The following day, I left the two Americans to explore Madrid on their own while I attended class, which surprisingly is actually the real reason I’m here in Europe. They toured the Royal Palace, which is something I incidentally have not yet done soooo… moving on.

Note the sought-after menu.

I eventually showed them the high school university that I attend in Madrid and then introduced them to the infamous Mari, who later remarked to me how muy, muy, muy tall my parents are. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she is just muy, muy, muy short. Later in the day, Den and Jane took me, Laura, and Mal to dinner at a funky little tapas bar, which notably had “sushi” with hot dog buns in place of rice. Not as bad as you are picturing, though admittedly it just made Mal and me want to eat like, four hot dogs. We then got ice cream, which is a Gorski staple (another thing I have to thank them for?) and allegedly walked the long way home, though I would like to point out that we didn’t get lost and that walking is good for you, so get over it, Dad. On Friday, we finally had a full day together in Mad-city. I showed my parents El Parque del Retiro, where we were lucky enough to have somewhat decent weather so they could fully appreciate the beauty of the park I spend countless hours in (half of which are spent searching for a bathroom). We also toured Sol, the center of the city (and an area I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with), and I managed to get us lost on our way to lunch, just in case they were worried I was growing up. After lunch, we relaxed in Plaza Mayor and were entertained by a street performer dressed as an extremely fat Spiderman, who marched over to our outdoor café table and announced that he did NOT like my dad but was quite taken with my mom, insisting that she take off her sunglasses to show him her eyes….. I won’t go into any more details. That night, we went to Ernest Hemingway’s favorite bar located inside the Palace Hotel. I was pretty excited about this trip because, as an English major, it’s essentially a requirement that I am a Hemingway fan, and also because at 19 euros per cocktail, this was somewhere my broke self would never be on my own. The bar was pretty awesome and also now I feel like I’ve made up for my obscene run-on sentences.

Maybe if I spend more time here my sentences will shorten over time?

On early morning Saturday, the three of us planned to go to Barcelona. (I sadly left my two partners in crime in Madrid, where they ate pizza for dinner and made fun of me together with Mari the whole time). Anyway, we Gorskis didn’t realize our flight was for 8 PM and not AM until, of course, we were already standing sleep-deprived and groggy-eyed in the Madrid airport. A bit of an expensive mistake to make, but I have absolute no right to make a snarky comment about this, as I’m not sure if I’ve ever booked a flight flawlessly in my life. Anyway, the point is, we eventually got to Barcelona with our handy Rick Steves guide in tow. Rick led us on a walking tour of Las Ramblas and the crazy market Mal mentioned in her post and then of some cool old stuff (looks like I’m really making the most of my stay in Europe!) and also the Cathedral of Barcelona. I think Dennis mentioned his favorite part was some Roman columns dating from like, 15 B.C., but he probably said that to impress my mom. After lunch, we (they) took a little siesta in the hotel room, so I guess it’s pretty clear that my parents didn’t take very long to acclimate themselves to Spanish culture. Before dinner, we went to a little dive bar called Dow Jones that’s modeled off of the New York Stock Exchange. I don’t honestly understand how the stock market works, so I’m not going to even pretend to explain this, except that sometimes the market “crashes” and drinks are super cheap. Also, the bartender was really cute.

Siestaaaa (rhymes with fiestaaaa)!

Sunday was rainy because my mom claims bad weather follows her, and I’m starting to think she’s on to something (so also thanks for that. Just kidding). Regardless, after a hearty breakfast hotel that—gasp, had more than just carbs—we made our way to the spectacular, wonderful, exquisite (am I just reading the thesaurus right now?) La Sagrada Familia. You can check out Mal’s blog post about her visit to the church and then just imagine me and my parents saying, “Same.” because same. Gaudí’s creation is unlike anything I have ever seen, even in the rain. We all agreed that we would love to revisit Barcelona with the family after it’s finished, if only to see it again. Hopefully by that time, I am still unmarried (and maybe even still living at home?!) so that, for me, this trip will be once more funded by the Bank of Dennis and Jane. (My siblings will not think this joke is funny.) Unfortunately by the time we finished our tour, the rain was a little on the torrential downpour side so after changing our soaking clothes at the hotel, we took Rick’s advice and went to the Chocolate Museum. I think I just blushed as I typed that sentence. Basically, we paid 4.50 euros each to look at some chocolate statues, but we also got to eat some “free” chocolate, so all was not lost. Most of what I remember about the museum was trying to show some restraint and not reach over the glass and take a bite out of the chocolate scene of Gladiator. After this excursion, the rain had finally cleared up so we walk-toured a little bit more of Barcelona and then ate lunch and some more ice cream. (One time my brother and I got into a real and serious fight about who likes ice cream more. For the record, it’s me.)

The fam also had the opportunity to tour the Picasso Museum for free, though we did have to wait in a three-blocks-long line. Luckily, we were entertained by some old ladies and a Scottish woman standing in front of us. The museum was educational (even though the audio guides were more than a little dry) and Picasso’s early, formative paintings are fascinating (because he actually did have real talent, you guys, not just abstract shapes). Unfortunately for Pablo, the only thing that Dennis took out of experience was that Picasso was a fraud. I’m not sure if we were listening to the same audio guide. We then sat in the Church of Santa Maria to rest our aching feet and ended up staying for a fully Spanish mass. Though understanding the service was a little on the difficult side, it was good to be in church as a (partial… haven’t forgotten about you, married, grown-up siblings) family again.

On our last short day together, the ‘rents and I made yet another trek to the hectic market so that they could buy some wine and I could gorge myself on some fresh fruit juice. Ultimately, our too-short time together came to a close. Since virtually anyone who has ever had the pleasure of parting with me knows that goodbyes aren’t really my strong suit, our adios was pretty quick and I hurried into the cab, where I embarrassed myself the driver by sniffling in the backseat. Props to him, though, since he pointed out a rabbit on the side of the street to try to cheer me up, but then I remembered our pet bunnies growing up that all met terrible fates so his efforts were fruitless. (One of the bunnies was named Donut George.)

A really long story not very short, I had an amazing time showing my parents the life that they helped me create here. It’s hard to describe how nice it was to be able to talk to them without having to calculate the time difference, to roll my eyes at their terrible jokes, and to have all my ice cream paid for. Their visit was also a good reminder that going back home certainly won’t be as bad as I sometimes fear it will. So thanks, Mom and Dad, for being you guys, for being unbelievably generous, for bringing me peanut butter, and for letting me brag about Spain a whole bunch. You guys are seriously the bomb.com.

Sentimental posts are the worst.