Getting lost

Watching kids bike off window ledges. Seeing the creative process of extravagant graffiti art. Wiping mud off your back, laughing inexplicably while a strong, warm hand lifts you off the ground. Just another day of getting lost in an unknown city.

Dirt and twigs caked to my hair, I get up and try to keep going on my bike, trailing my friend and host, Adrián. As I struggle to pedal down the channel that runs through Toulouse, I try to look at the gorgeous natural surroundings (something that I hadn't seen much of in the urban atmosphere of Madrid). However, it's tough balancing sight-seeing and balancing on a bike in a giant mud pile, a body of water on one side and a bushel of thorns on the other. Tired, sweating, muddy, but still smiling.

I smile because I know that I'll remember the crazy, adventurous moment more clearly than any other. More than any monument or blurb from history, I'll recall falling over into a giant pile of mud next to the channel that runs through Toulouse, belly-laughing as I landed. I'll chuckle remembering the time I rolled down the tallest sand dune in Europe like a child. I'll think of the kindness and warmth I received from Adri and his family, complete with a personal Easter egg hunt.

I've been getting lost a lot lately. Lost in Madrid, lost in foreign cities, lost in thought... Being a student in a foreign country has given me the courage that I've never had before. If Adri and I hadn't gone down that muddy trail next to the channel, we would've never had to cross the bridge to turn around to the other bank. If we hadn't done that, we wouldn't have been able to see the sunset along the countryside horizon. It was like we were caught in a series of postcard pictures; the saying "Wish you were here" made a lot of sense to me in that moment.

In the south of France, my life became a sort of stock photo: a picture-perfect world where nothing exists but what is shown within the four corners. It was a stock photograph that I would have never found if I had never wandered through Europe, jumping into the abyss of an unknown place.

In life, if you don't get lost, you won't get to the other side of the channel. You won't land that perfect career that motivates you to sprint from home to work, grinning the whole way. You won't meet that person that makes you feel like you're a diamond in a barren coal mine. Because of my experiences here, I plan on getting lost in the future. Often.

Back from hiatus

I just came back from Geneva and Annecy, two very different cities in two different countries. In other words, I just arrived back to the "real" world of Madrid after a vacation in a perfect, picturesque snow globe.

The winter wonderland was aesthetically beautiful, and it really couldn't have gotten more idealistic. I traveled with my friend Brittany who is from the same study abroad program as I am. As we waddled off the plane with our 5-7 layers of sweaters and tights, we were greeted by snowflakes bigger than any we've ever seen. They resembled those that I cut out in my first grade art classes.

Wandering the streets of Geneva, Brittany and I noticed that there was little warmth (both literal and figurative) in the city. Most people kept to themselves. Christmas decorations were few and far-between. The stores were nearly empty. I never really felt comfortable touring the area; I always had the feeling that I was intruding on someone's bleak, lonely holiday. Where were the fake reindeer?  The strands-upon-strands of little lights? The Santa cookies?

However, the lack of cheerfulness in Geneva was counteracted by the adorableness that is Annecy, France. I knew instantly that I liked it better than Geneva because as we stumbled off the bus, we landed straight in a scene from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I thought I'd get to see all the misfit toys wandering around (to my dismay, I never did). There were strings of colorful lights strewn about the square that surrounded the train station. Usually, I'm not a person that feels giddy upon seeing a giant fake snowflake stuck to a window while "Jingle Bells" plays on constant repeat in every shop. But there was something about Annecy that made me want to sing carols in exchange for hot chocolate. Maybe it was the friendly nature of the people in the coffee shops. Maybe it was the perfect placement of the snowfall, adorning each rooftop in a perfect, blindingly white blanket. Maybe it was just the hot-mulled wine... Yeah, probably the wine.

The day we arrived, Brittany and I took the bus to our quaint hostel, which greeted us with quirky posters and cartoon drawings on the wall. Our room, which we shared with a sweet Korean girl that was traveling alone, had a poster on the wall: "What NOT to say to your boyfriend." Most of their tips were kind of a given, to be honest ("Don't say, 'I'm pregnant...just kidding.'")

It was difficult to leave an adorable town to head back to Geneva, but we managed. After a lovely night at the freezing Geneva airport, we made it back to Madrid Sunday morning. Never have I ever been more excited to hear people speak Spanish.

As cheesy as it seems, I felt like I was back home.

P.S. You can't imagine the power of that nap I had after I got back to my apartment...