He llegado en España, parte uno

My flight to Spain left San Francisco early on Tuesday morning and arrived in Barcelona at approximately 10:30 am on Wednesday.  The trip included two very short layovers, one in Boston and one in Dublin.*  This would prove to be problematic, as my duffel bag didn't make one of the connections.**  Thus, my first chance to speak Spanish involved figuring out how to get my bag delivered to my apartment.

After hopping the bus to La Plaça Catalunya, I had to cross the plaza to get on the train to Bellaterra.  Unfortunately, it was raining cats and dogs (perros y gatos, as they may or may not say here).  I made a dash across the plaza but ended up getting soaked anyway.  The train eventually delivered me, wet and shivering, to Bellaterra.  There I met Rosa, the HR manager at the institute where I work.  The first thing she did was give me an umbrella, and then she helped me open a bank account, check into my apartment, and register my address with the local municipality.

After the uncertainty and the rain and the insanity, I was able to return to my apartment and take a breather.

To be continued...




* About a year ago, my brother gave me a bunch of T-shirts that he had accumulated during his world travels.  Whenever I wear one, someone invariably asks me if I have been to the location depicted on the shirt.  It always hurts to see the look of disappointment in their eyes when I have to say, "No, it was my cooler and much more adventurous brother.  Thanks for asking, though."  However, after spending 1.5 hours in the Dublin airport, I can now wear my Dublin T-shirt proudly.

** My bag ended up spending way more time in Dublin than I did.

Moving

I'm going to start this thing off with a highly controversial opinion: moving is a pain in the ass.  I know I may have offended some of you, but I swear it's true.  The primary reason for this fact is that, as humans, we have a tendency to collect things.  And by things, I mean stuff.  Clothes and books and games and useless knick-knacks.  In general, the longer we stay in one place, the worse it gets.

Therefore, the past week or so has consisted of eliminating as many of my possessions as possible.  Sometimes the choices are easy -- nostalgic photos from my childhood, gone.  Other choices are more difficult -- signed poster of Stacee Jaxx, you're staying!  Fortunately, after a great  deal of agonizing, I managed to wittle all of my worldly possessions down to a backpack, a duffle bag, and a few small U-Haul boxes.  Tomorrow, it's off to Spain.

Back in the game

Howdy folks!  As some of you may know, I moved to Barcelona on the 12th of March.  As some of you may also know, in that time I have made approximately zero blog entries about my adventures.  Today that changes, so let the updates begin once again...

P.S. You probably figured this out already, but the first few of these posts are going to be pre-dated until I catch up with the backlog of heart-wrenching adventures I've been on so far.  Think of it this way, it's like I'm talking to you...from the future.

Back to the grind, CA

On September 20, I made the drive from the redwoods back to Livermore.  It was nice to get home, but I also wish the trip could have gone on a little longer.  I managed to hang out with a lot of family members and chill with some old friends, but each visit seemed to be over just a little too soon.  In addition, the trip reinforced my realization that there are many incredible places to go and things to do in this world, but we have only a limited amount of time available to us.

These thoughts led me to a rhetorical question: when you're 70 years old and annoying your grandchildren with stories of the good old days, do you want to regale them with tales of that wicked episode of Lost that you watched?   Or do you want to brag about the time you jumped out of an airplane from 30,000 feet, landed on a surfboard and shredded your way back into shore?  The choice is yours, but I recommend the following: turn off your TV, meet new people, reconnect with old friends, and always be on the lookout for new experiences.  Peace!

Humboldt Redwoods State Park, CA

On September 19, I drove from Roseburg to Humboldt Redwoods State Park, which is located in scenic Northern California.  I must say, the drive from Grant's Pass into the redwoods is one of the prettiest drives I have ever taken.  I highly recommend it, both for the view and for the excitement of tearing around tight mountain curves at unsafe speeds.

The park itself was absolutely beautiful:

I ended up camping at Albee Creek Campground, which is 5 miles off the 101, down a windy and narrow road.  I thought the campground would be fairly secluded but I forgot that I was back in California, home of the masses, and discovered that the campground was nearly full.  However, I found a fairly quiet spot next to a nice stream.

Behind my campsite was a trail that went straight up the hill, so I decided to go for a short hike and see if I could get a look around.  After about 20 minutes the trail opened onto a meadow, and I came upon a stunningly majestic view of the mountains covered in an ancient blanket of trees as far as the eye could see.  It was a view with the power to cause the most hardened of men to weep bitter tears of joy.  However, I forgot my camera so you'll just have to take my word for it.

A little further up the trail, I came around a bend and found myself face to face with a six-point buck.  I looked at it, and it looked straight back at me.  I didn't move, and it didn't either.  I realized that due to its relative size and its unnervingly challenging gaze, not to mention its possession of sharp horns and hooves, that I should probably back away.  Therefore, I made a hasty, but manly, retreat back to my campsite.

After getting back down the hill, I decided to take a shower.  Unfortunately, the shower was a pay shower and I was a little short on coinage.

Look at that sign for a moment...up to 15 quarters?  Other than Mistress Vagabond, who needs 37.5 minutes to take a shower?  Not I!  Being a mountain man, I only chucked in two quarters and finished my shower with plenty of time to spare.  Huzzah!

Roseburg, OR

On September 18, I left sunny* Seattle and drove south into the lush and green state of Oregon.  I was planning to camp at a park near Salem, which has a nice waterfall, but it was raining.  Being the wuss that I am, I chose not to camp in the rain.  Instead, I drove further south to Roseburg, and camped out in the comfort of the Motel 6.  Here's a lovely shot of Roseburg from the parking lot:

I have to admit, the Motel 6 was actually pretty nice.  There weren't any bloodstains on the carpet, and the clientele seemed fairly non-degenerate.  However, I chose not to do the black light test.


* sarcasm

Seattle, WA

On Friday September 16 I drove from Walla Walla to Seattle to take part in the wedding of my buddy Pete, aka Twiggums, aka Father McNasty, aka The Chosen One.  The wedding was down on the waterfront, and offered a beautiful view of the water and of downtown.

The rehearsal was on Friday, and the wedding was on Saturday.  Both were a great deal of fun; I saw some people I hadn't seen in years, I met some new folks, I watched my buddy get married, and I got drunk and danced around like an idiot.

Ladies, take note of the picture above.  That was the first (and quite possibly the last) time I have ever worn a tux, so get your fill while you can.

While I was in Seattle I stayed with Heather and Phil, who are my brother's wife's sister and my brother's wife's sister's husband, respectively.  Ashley and Ryan were also visiting, and are also my brother's wife's sister and my brother's wife's sister's husband, respectively.  On Saturday morning, I helped Phil and Ryan tear down an old shed, then stood around and watched them build another one.  A good time was had by all.