Big Sur & Paperman

Is it really February already? Damn - the year just started and we're down a month. How crazy is that?

Regardless - it's been a long week. I'm not sure how it was for all of you on the other side of this blog, but here, in LA, specifically in Hollywood at the office, the week had crawled by. Actually, more like dragged by, unwillingly.  So I'm thankful it is the weekend to say the least. I have no plans. No asperations. No goals. I plan on wearing soft pants most of the time and probably not getting off the couch. Not to mention eating way too much food on Sunday. Sure, it's the Super Bowl - but I'm in no way invested. The Packers aren't in it and I don't care about Baltimore or San Fran - but for the stake of being a local, I'll root for the Cali team.

Where does my rambling leave us then? Ah yes, videos. How else would you want to start or end your Friday?

Video one is sentimental to me. Very near to my heart. I've only had the pleasure of being there once - actually only passing through it really, but boy did it leave a lasting impression. As many of you know, I was lucky enough to drive down the PCH this summer, specifically passing through the lovely area of  Big Sur. There really is no other way or need to describe it other than magical. I'll just let the video do the talking. But what is so fun for me, other than churning those memories back to the surface, is recognizing almost all of the spots showcased. I remember driving over the bridge. Zigzagging down the highway. The field where I stopped and took pictures of cows grazing in a meadow along the sea (at 3:21 which you can find in an earlier post). Trying to time a photo right in order to catch the lighthouse at the perfect moment (at 2:40 or in earlier posts). The lushness of the hills. Or the growls and beastly snorting of the elephant seals. God this video is beautiful isn't it? The colors. The clarity. The smooth movement of the camera.

Will you meet me in Big Sur?

Meet Me in Big Sur from Andrew Julian on Vimeo.


Video two is a short film by Disney that was released/shown in theaters before Toy Story 3. Aptly named "Paperman," it uses a unique technique of combining 2D hand drawn animation over computer generated backgrounds. Now, I'm not one to have a history in animated pieces, other than growing up watching them - so I've never been much of a critic. But we all can admit how gorgeous this piece is. Not only that, but at least for me, and I assume, many of you, it is extremely relatable. That feeling of love. Just seeing someone and knowing. How they can make you weak in the knees. Trying so hard, chasing something, only to feel like you're getting nowhere - just simply running in place. Or the surprise of success when you least expect it. Sure, there are moments that I can't agree with (like the paper actually pushing him) - but I'll let it slide since this is a Disney film after all. Hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as I do. It's pretty darn cute.

Midnight Meeting

It wasn't every night. Although he wished it was. That moment, when he was lying there, tucked tightly into his bed and he'd just begin to float. His head almost covered, comforter pulled up just beyond his nose, but still billowing up past his ears. He wasn't completely off the pillows, but just enough that he felt below everything else, engulfed in the fluff. When it happened, it was always the same. A gentle breeze would waft by. Just light enough for him to notice. Tickle his cheeks - move his bangs just the slightest bit. Then the smell would come. It was light but ever so intoxicating. Of amber and creme. Lotus and a tinge of mahogany. The moment it hit his nose, he lost control. Began to drift away, deeper and deeper into his bed, lost among the feathers of the comforter. At first he always knew he was dreaming. Somewhere deep down in the dark, lying on his back, just waiting. It was never long, but the anticipation bore into his soul. Picked at him. Until they finally arrived. The first few strands. Usually landing somewhere around his face. Sometimes on his arms or hands. His first reaction was always to reach out into the abyss before him, but he knew better. As he waited, more and more strands cascaded down upon him. Enveloping him. Soft and supple. Curling gently across his skin, playing with the goosebumps that always formed. He loved how plush it was. Its fruity smell. The espresso hue. He'd breath it in. Bathe in it. Lost in the coils. Shrouded by them. He could only last so long before he whispered out to them, to which she'd giggle. Somewhere out in the inkiness. Not more than a few inches from his face. He could hear her breathing. Soft and delicate. Feel it spanning the distance and falling softly against his skin. Once he heard her, it was all different. He'd slowly reach out searching for her shoulders. Even though he couldn't see her in the dark, he could picture her porcelain skin as his fingers grazed against it. Satin. Silky. He could let his fingers play against it forever. Tracing the curves of her arms. Knowing the outlines all to well. In his mind he could even imagine where each freckle was - the many constellations that were scattered across her body. As he pulled her closer, he'd anticipate the nape of her neck. Waited for the aroma to become more intense. Flowing into his nostrils, making him dizzy. He would gladly trade it for air. But it just passed by. The closer she got, the further she drifted down. Until the top of her head was just slightly below his chin. Her curls acting as a pillow as her head rested agains his chest. He was always astonished at how well she fit. There was no effort. No need to contort. To bend. Somehow meet in the middle. It was a perfect match. Just felt right. Two pieces that connected. Not long after he'd feel the pressure of her knees wrapping around his legs. Hips cradling his own waist, pulling him close. By then his arms would be down around the top of her shoulders. Hands meeting at the small of her back. Embracing her. Warming her. Squeezing just enough so she'd know he wouldn't let go unless she wanted him to. Protecting her. And then his favorite moment arrived. When she'd move her head back and forth ever so slightly, nuzzling even deeper between his arms, forcing herself further into him. As close as they could be. Then she'd let out a sigh and her breathing could deepen and relax. He could feel her heartbeat slow against his own. When she was asleep, tangled up within him, he was at peace. Nothing else mattered. Then he was awake. Alone. In an empty bed. She might not actually be there, but he could still feel her pushing against him. Sharing her warmth. Those following mornings were always the most bittersweet.  But it was alright - it made their next evening rendezvous even more special.

Over Medium

His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He tried to pass it off that it was just the coffee that he was drinking, but he knew it wasn't. The tighter he held the cup, the worse the tremors got - causing the dark brown liquid inside to slosh around, occasionally jumping out onto the lacquered surface of the table. He had always had bad nerves. And he had always turned to coffee to calm himself down. Others warned him that it'd only make it worse, but somehow it always soothed him, bringing him back to reality. But these jitters were different.

No. It most definitely wasn't the caffeine.

It had all started as a normal day. He woke up. Hopped into the shower and listened to 95.5 'The River,' singing along with the classics. Quickly dressed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen where the freshly brewed cup of coffee was waiting for him. Steaming proudly in the cool morning air. He had a cup to accompany his bowl of cereal and made his way back upstairs to throw on a tie - just in time to meet his wife as she was ducking into the bathroom. A quick kiss and the door closed behind her.

Work was like any other day. Fast paced. Full of tedious phone calls, meetings that dragged on too long, and interns who just moped around near the copiers, trying not to make eye contact with anyone important. It wasn't exciting, but it paid well and he had been with the company for years. It was just part of the routine.

When he got home, he found it strange that his wife's car was in the garage. Usually he made it home before her and prepared dinner. It was even more peculiar when he walked inside and called out to her to hear no response. Only some of the lights were on and he could faintly hear the shower. As he made his way upstairs, thats when he heard the giggling. Of course he recognized it as hers. He had loved her for twelve years. He knew every pitch, every nuance. But then he heard another with hers. Deeper. From a man.

He just stood there for a moment, outside of the bathroom door. Forehead resting against the wood. Not sure what to do. Just listening to the water as it splashed against the tile, swirled down the drain, mixing in with the giggling.

Then he kicked the door in. And saw them.

Standing there, embracing each other. Naked and wet.

In his shower.

For a brief second he saw the look of realization in his wife's eye, for what she had done, before it quickly turned to fear. His control was gone. His hands were on the man. Throwing him out of the tub. Pummeling his face. His body. Anywhere he could land a fist or occasional foot. The blood started to flow. Mixing with the water - looking much worse than it actually was. But he didn't stop. He just kept landing blow after blow. Breaking the man. His wife tried to stop him but the moment he turned and stared at her, she backed away into the corner of the shower. She knew what she had unleashed couldn't be stopped.

By the time he had made it back to the bottom of the stairs, his knuckles were throbbing. Cracked open. Swollen. He shirt was no longer a pleasant salmon, but a dark maroon. If he hadn't had a level of self control, he surely would have wrapped the curtain around the man's face and held tight until he stopped squirming, but he took pleasure in knowing he was still moaning as he walked out of the bathroom. It was simply time to go.

He had driven for what seemed like hours. Straight into the night. And all the way through it. Staring ahead. Going nowhere in particular. He just kept driving. Out of the city. Over the mountains and into the desert.

And here he sat. Bloated hands trembling away. Trying to get a hold of just a sliver of reality. The diner was empty. It was just him and Rubith the waitress, enjoying the early morning hours and smell of bacon frying on the griddle. He was sure the police were looking for him. Trolling his neighborhood. Waiting in his house. Ready to take him down to the station. Read him his rights and throw him into a cell. There was nothing to go back to. She had betrayed him.

As he looked down into the cup and dark shaking liquid his mind was empty except for one thing.

How did he want his eggs?

Must. Dance. More. Aggressively.

At first it seemed like nothing much. Just a slight tingling in the back of his mind, somewhere deep behind his eyes, rooted in amongst the folds of his brain. When he walked around, his legs felt slightly lighter than normal and there was an extra spring to his step, but that was all.

As he continued his way through the rain, he realized it didn't bother him. It had been quite some time, trekking through the precipitation towards their next destination. But it didn't matter. His coat was soaked through, weighing him down, pressing against his back and shoulders. The water had made its way through his hair, running down his face, cascading off his nose in a constant drip. At one point, before the rain had begun, it was chilly. The air kept trying to steal his breath - pushed through the seams of his clothing by the breeze. Now though, it all felt managable. To his surprise, somewhere deep down in his core, he felt a hint of warmth beginning to resonant. Working its way through his chest and into his limbs. It was beginning to take affect.

Once they were in, coats checked, and oriented, its grip was noticeably stronger. The world around him seemed so alive. Buzzing. The people that walked by spoke in tongues he didn't understand, but he could hardly pay attention - they all just looked so beautiful. Unlike anyone else he had ever seen before. Once he noticed the colors his mind kicked into overdrive. The walls around him were glowing, pulsating from brilliant reds to neon greens and vibrant blues.

But there was something else more important.

Somewhere deeper within the club, he could hear the bass. Feel the beat. Pumping away, echoing out towards him. Making its ways around the corners of the hallway in front of him, right into his mind. It pulled him forward. The darkness of the hallway seemed to envelope him - stretch on forever. He had never been there. Didn't know where he was going. But it didn't matter - he welcomed it, curious what was on the other side of the abyss. As he continued forward, he held out his hand, only wanting to embrace it. Feel it against his skin. But before he could ever reach it, it disappeared into a mass of people. One giant crowd, bouncing up and down amongst the beams of light that played off the ceiling.

They had made it.

He didn't know how long he had been standing there. It felt like it had been years, but someone from his group grabbed him and pulled him into the masses. Then the dancing begun. It was music he had never heard before, but somehow his body recognized it. Finding all the right spots. Moving to the beat.  At times he swore his eyes were closed for hours, lost in the music and the swaying of his head. Every now and then someone would tap his shoulder and bring him back to reality - the little baggy right before his eyes. It was his turn. One large crystal remained and it was all his. When his finger brushed his tongue, he grimaced. It was bitter. But he knew what it would bring. Pure bliss.

It wasn't long before the last dose kicked in. There was no warning. It didn't ease in. It just grabbed hold and refused to let go. Down the rabbit hole he fell.

What had just been dancing before turned into his existence. Nothing else mattered. He no longer had control of his body. The music was in charge - holding the strings. He was just its marionette, dangling among everyone else. It took residence in his brain, trapped between his ears, driving his legs to keep moving. As he continued to groove, the world around him was having as much fun. The flashing lights played in his pupils, brighter than anything he had ever seen - the haze lingering in the air added a wonderful glow, as if he wasn't on Earth anymore. Everything was just do damn beautiful.

His cheeks hurt. There literally was nothing else in his brain except for the beat of the music, yet he couldn't stop smiling. His skin tingled whenever he brushed up against someone else, eagerly wanting him to make contact again. The sweat was pouring. Clinging his clothing against his body. He was so warm. But so comfortable. Around him everyone else was having just as much fun. Dancing, laughing, smiling. All he wanted to do was run out and introduce himself to everyone. Become their friends. Share the moment with them. Hug them. Hear them. Touch them. He was just so happy. He could feel it welling up in his chest - beyond capacity. He was going to burst. Explode like a giant firework in the middle of the dance floor - shooting brilliant light and confetti everywhere. He needed to release it somehow. But he couldn't break free from the music.

He was possessed.

And he didn't want it any other way.

Find Your Line

This blog encompasses a lot. Covers a lot of bases. Full of my ideas, stories, and adventures.

But when they aren't my own, more than anything, I try to share with you pieces that I think you need to see.

The ones that speak to me. Move me. Teach me.

I haven't really found one in a while that has, so tonight is a bit treat. The following piece, as short as it is, really connects with me. It's not just the movement of the camera, the soft focus, desaturated hues, or shallow depth of field. Sure, all of those things are beautiful. But the message behind it really grabs hold and roots itself.

"I lied to myself. I toed the line. It wasn't my line."

Don't be safe. Don't conform. Don't just be content drifting by. Get out there and get after what you want. All of us have a drive that must be addressed and not ignored. If we don't follow our own line, why even bother? Life isn't about letting others determine things for you. Combine this with the theme of nature and you've got me hooked.

Now we can talk about the aesthetics of the piece. How the images just flow by, capturing the forests, the lakes, the mountains. You're not just observing her as she runs along the rivers, hikes peaks, or walks across slack lines. No, it feels like you are actually there with her. You could almost reach out and feel the splash of the water, the powder against your face, or the rush of hanging thousands of feet about the ground. This really just makes me want to get back into the woods, drive back to Yosemite and set up my tent and stay for a while. Put the rest of the world on pause for a moment.

So whats this piece say to me?  Or more specifically, to you? To get out and explore. See the world, or at least more of it. Do what I want. Go to the places I haven't. Surround myself with the people who matter. Don't be content with the standards of others or ever settle for less. Be true to yourself. Fight for what you want. Don't give up.

And you better believe I'm fighting.

Window Seat Education

It had been a while since she last reeled her mind in. Reached out between the bars of the window, stretching into the sunlight and passing forest to pull it back in.

For the first few miles, she had noticed every bump. Felt every seam in the tracks. Heard every "clack" as the wheels passed between fresh pieces of steel. But as time went on and the outlines of the city began to fade into the distance and trees began littering the countryside, before finally elongating into massive mountains covered in thick forest, she forgot to take notice. There wasn't anything left for her to pay attention to except the world as it passed by, right before her, on the other side of the wall. Everything else way behind her, left on the other side of the world.

It all was so green. More vibrant than she had ever seen in her lifetime. Lush and thick. Large paddle-like leaves just seemed to erupt from everywhere. The sun barely broke through the canopy of trees that stretched out towards the sky - their lower limbs fanning out to absorb anything that managed to sneak by. Flowers of all shapes and sizes hung lazily amongst all the other vegetation, like organic fireworks that had been frozen in time. - their bright blues and hues of pink and white contrasting against all the other undergrowth.

It all seemed so fresh. Alive. Free.

Thats why she was on board. She wanted - needed to feel the same.

Only a few things had been packed, stowed away above her head, rattling around every sharp turn, threatening to spill out onto the floor. The piece of luggage everything was crammed into had seen better days. It was worn. Its thread absent of the color it one bore. Sometimes the latches held, other times they'd spring open unannounced. But in the end, it didn't matter. It had more charm than anything else she owned and for the most part, it did its job and carried her things.

When she walked into the train station, all she asked for was one ticket. The man behind the desk, clearly confused, tried asking for a destination, but she kept repeating her answer. One ticket. Eventually he gave in, punched a piece of paper and handed it to her. All that mattered was she was leaving from platform six in twenty minutes.

She barely spoke the language and surely didn't look like a local. But she wasn't there to fit in. Or, for that matter, be noticed at all. She was there to exsist. Find a spot to call her own and just begin. There were no goals, no checklists, no mental notes she had made. The first few steps on the train were exhilarating, but quickly turned south. Thoughts of who she left back home, the distance she had already traveled, and where she came from all drifted through her mind, churning her stomach. The apprehension didn't leave her system until the whistle blew and the train began pulling out of the station. The wind against her cheeks helped - made her feel like she was getting away from everything, with no direct path to follow.

Her life here on out was as open as the window in front of her. Where it took her, she would go. What it taught her, she would learn.

And lesson number one had already begun.

Playing For Youth

Everyday it was the same thing.

Everyday it was the same routine.

The alarm clock would go off, well before the sun had even begun to consider cresting over the horizon. Before the newspapers had be delivered. But not before the coffee machine had started, wafting the lovely rich aroma throughout the apartment. He never wanted to leave the comfort of his bed until the waves of coffee hit his nose. It was a quick little pick up - all he needed to begin the day. Next came a quick shower, just enough to shock his system so he'd make it to the pot of caffeine that was waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Once he was dressed, he'd pour himself a cup with a sprinkle of sugar, a splash of milk, and slurp it down. Serving number two always came with him out of the house, in his thermos of choice.

It never took him too long to get to work, although it could change day to day. One morning, he could be riding the train down to lower Manhattan to work on one of the new buildings that was going up, while the next he could be riding in a company truck out to JFK to wire some of the new terminals. At least it kept things fresh. He never really knew where he needed to go until he checked his phone as he walked out the front door.

Today called for a school being renovated near central park. Perfect.

Regardless of where he was summoned, he knew it was going to be a long, hard day. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he could consider a day on the job as easy. By the time he clocked out, his lower back was always on fire, knees sore from being on them all day, hands rough and dry - usually cut up from all the wires. It was inevitable that dirt and plaster would be caked under his fingernails and matted to his eye lashes - nearly impossible to dig out without soaking them first. Even with the respirators they wore, he lungs hurt, only able to take shallow breaths. It was union work. But he didn't mind it.

When the day was finally over and the night shift begun, the routine, as always, would continue.

He'd gather his things, punch out, and head towards the park. Sometimes it'd take him a little while to get there depending on traffic or a problem with the rail lines, but he knew they wouldn't start without him. Regardless of how late he was, they'd always be there, talking and laughing amongst themselves, waiting for him to show so they could begin.

There was no greater feeling than the dirt beneath his cleats as he walked out onto the diamond. It was soft and cushioned his soles - unlike the pavement or linoleum he had spent the previous day on. By the time he reached the plate, his muscles no longer ached, his back wasn't stiff, his lungs didn't burn. There was something special about their nightly routine. It allowed them to be young again. Rounding the bases, charging in from the outfield, diving for a ground ball - all filled with a youth they had assumed was long forgotten. Their laughter always carried into the night, bouncing off the trees and echoing throughout the park.

It was the part of his routine he looked forward to every day.

Storm of Life

It had been a tough season thus far.

The schools had not yet begun to run, the water was constantly rough, tossing the boat side to side, his back was sore, his hands throbbed, covered in blisters as he rowed against the swells. It was hard work and it was yielding him nothing. Every day he went back to shore with an empty net, the more and more concerned he became. It didn't matter to him that his reputation was diminishing - that there were grumbling amongst the locals, especially the young men that the once great fisherman had lost his touch with the sea. No, it was concern for his family.

Their well being.

It wasn't just his boat that wasn't pulling in fresh seafood everyday. Others had felt the strain of an empty ocean. As a result, prices on the market skyrocketed. Soon the inflation bled into other parts of the city. Utilities went up. Living costs increased. Taxes soon followed. It wasn't just his family feeling the pinch of the economy anymore, but the entire island.

Everything in life was cyclical. He had prepared for a moment like this. It had happened before when he was younger and he knew it would happen again. Luckily, over the years he was able to save some money - hidden away amongst the floorboards of their house. Only he knew it was there and slowly but surely, it was running out. It could only keep them afloat for so much longer. As the price for food kept climbing, the funding hidden beneath their feet diminished. They needed the fish to come back.

As he propelled the boat forward with each drive of the paddle, his shoulders burned. He was getting old and his muscles were never too shy to remind him. But this morning was different. He had high hopes for what he was going to find out beyond the reefs. As he continued out, deeper into the bay, he soaked in how calm it all was. There were no other boats out, just his, gliding across the glossy, early morning water. No one, not even the younger men dared to go out today. He could see it off in the distance - the storm just beginning to break free from its prison in the clouds. Even from where he was, he could tell it was angry - cascading down in thick sheets, pounding the ocean with hundreds of gallons of water - thousands of tiny fists pelting the waves below. And it was still young. There were hours for it to mature, build in ferocity, absorb the swirling winds and spit them back out, expanding its reach.

And he knew he needed to head straight toward it.

When he was younger, the last time the fish hadn't arrived yet, his father taught him to go towards the first big storm on the horizon. It churned the ocean, bringing to the surface the colder waters of the deep and with that, the fish. It drew them towards the sunlight, where his nets would be waiting. But even as a kid, with his father by his side, riding into the storm had been one of the scariest moments of his life. He wasn't sure if they were going to make it back, but they did, unscathed and with a boat filled with fish.

He knew what he had to do. Swallow his fear and continue straight into the eye of the storm. Not for pride or his reputation in the town.

But for his family.

Epilogue: Dejé mi corazón en España

I really can't even begin to go into how amazing my trip was. Spain will forever have a special place in my heart. The sights, the sounds, the smells. I met so many amazing people along the way that hopefully I'll run into later in life, tried so many new foods, did so many things I never thought I'd have the chance do. I laughed until my stomach hurt, danced for so long my legs shook the next day, drove 1509km, manual no less, and became completely engulfed in a new culture. In the span of two weeks I traveled to four new countries, two new continents, and saw ten different cities.

But most importantly, a friendship grew.

Last time I said goodbye I didn't know that it'd only be six months until I got to see her again. And this time, although it was harder, because I felt closer than I ever have to her, in a strange way it was easier. I couldn't promise the next time we'd cross paths or where it'd be, but if this trip proved anything, it'd be sooner than I thought.

I'm not going to get all preachy like I did last time I wrote the end to my travel journal. No - this time is different. I have nothing to be scared of. Two years didn't mess anything up and another six months didn't touch us. I'll be damned if I let it stretch any longer.

Let's just leave it at I'll see you soon...

https://vimeo.com/57178920

**Please feel free to click the "download" option underneath the video. I recommend grabbing the original HD file and opening it with Quicktime - that way, if you so feel the need, you can scan through and 1200 photos**

Chapter Seven: What A Way To Go Out

Much like every other leg of the trip, we pulled back into Seville later in the day, probably around 8:30pm. The first thing we needed to do was drive back to the train station and return Ruby. Sure, she was a good car. Sporty, hip, equipped with a bunch of fun technological features, but most of all, she was symbolic. This was when it hit me full on. I had one day left before I had to pack up and not only leave Spain, but the person I had literally spent every waking moment with for the past two weeks. But I didn't let it linger for too long. It made no sense to dwell on something that was only going to bring me down.

The rest of the night was pretty mellow. We met some of Paige's friends out for a couple drinks at a few bars, had a minor health scare, and ate some shawarma before calling it a night. Tomorrow was going to be busy. I still had so much to see in Seville and Paige's Christmas gift was to be put to use.

When we awoke, we immediately went out into the city to one of Paige's favorite breakfast spots. I won't lie - for it being my last real breakfast in Spain, it couldn't have been any better. Tostada with humus, pureed tomatoes and the trifecta of peach, pear, and orange jam. Not only that, we both had cafe con leche and fresh squeezed jugo de naranja. Sitting there in the sun, with a wonderful spread of food, across from a great friend - it was the perfect breakfast. I could not have asked for more.

From there we walked across the city, taking in the sites, strolling along, just enjoying each other's company. The main goal of the expedition though was to make it to Plaza de España, this massive plaza that was built for a World's Fair event held in 1929. The space was absolutely breathtaking. Wide open, with hundreds of pillars, a moat, and numerous bridges that crossed the water. In the middle of all this was a fountain surrounded by the most complex stonework I've ever seen. I can't really put into words how amazing it all was. Outlining the plaza were fourteen murals depicting the different autonomous communities in Spain (essentially Spain's fourteen states), each hand painted with a phenomenal level of detail.

Did I also mention it was an absolutely stunning day? The sun was high in the clear blue sky, bathing the plaza in a perfect amount of light. Again, I'm not really sure how, but the day was just getting better and better when I didn't think it could.

After walking around and marveling the space, Paige let me know that we needed to continue onto her Christmas present, a few hours at Baños árabes, a decadent Moorish spa. Hidden amongst the older portion of the city, we eventually found it between the twisting and turning streets and made our way inside. Immediately we were transported back in time. The place was absolutely gorgeous - glowing from hundreds of candles and filled with the sweet smells of burning incense. I walked in not knowing what to expect and I was blown away. I was in for something special, if not just my first professional massage.

The place was beyond amazing. There were three types of thermals baths, hot, warm, and cold, along with an aroma therapy sauna and "pool of a thousand jets."

This hands down, was the most thoughtful thing someone has done for me in recent memory. I'm not one to be pampered, to just relax. Others always come first, but on that day, Paige made sure it was switched. And for that, I'm extremely thankful. I've never felt stress melt off like it did that day and I wouldn't want to spend those wonderful hours with anyone other than her.

But, to be honest, this is my memory. I'm going to be selfish and keep it to myself, nuzzled right up against my heart. The time I got to spend there, with the company I did, was nothing short of special and I'm not going to tarnish it by sharing it with the world.

It truly was the perfect activity for the last day.

From there, we went out and hoped from bar to bar, munching on numerous tapas, drinking some cañas, laughing, and just having a good time. We eventually met up with some of Paige's friends, one of which, Taylor, had just returned from spending the holidays in the states, so it was a nice little reunion. The group meandered around for a bit before eventually fizzling out, at which point we made our way back to the piso.

The rest of the night was exactly how you'd expect it. Just us, hanging out with each other. Eventually we fell asleep and woke up in the morning to begin the process of leaving. Of course I left the packing portion for last, so I was scrambling around, trying to make everything fit in my bag while also checking into my flight, which of course, wasn't working. Paige got a kick out of this and laughed at my appropriately titled "hissy fit." To which I'll defend because I was just miserable with having to leave. When I was ready, we caught the bus and off to the aeropuerto we went.

I thought last time we said goodbye was tough - my heart hurt and I may had shed some tears, but this time literally felt like someone punched me in the stomach. I wanted to ask if I could stay. Just ditch what I had in America. Make some new roots in Spain. Find my own place, learn the language. There had to be some film jobs in Seville. But I couldn't.

Standing there on the curb, looking at her, knowing it was going to be a long time before I saw her again just bore into me. I had no promises for the next time I'd see her. No "see you soon's." I just felt hollow and turning and walking away only made it worse. I felt like I was stuck in some horrible movie, looking over my shoulder as she made her way to the bus, smiling and waving, trying to hold back the emotion that was a split second from cascading down my face.

Fuck.

Goodbyes suck.

Chapter Six: Seein' More of Andalusia

After a day to ourselves (strictly for recooping purposes), we packed our bags, climbed back into Ruby and headed off once again. This time it wasn't so bad. We were rested, the gas tank was full, there was a peanut and banana sandwich waiting for us (you should have known by now) and the day was still young. Off we went - first stop Córdoba.

Driving there was a piece of cake. Just a straight shot down the highway for a couple hours. When we pulled in and found a spot, I was amazed at how quaint the city was compared to Seville. It wasn't tiny, but it just had this older feeling to it - like it was full of history. And let me tell you, it certainly is.

Once we were out of the car, Paige began leading through the streets, along a large wall that clearly separated the newer portion of the city from the old. Eventually we got to where we needed to be and turned a corner, crossing over into the old section. Oh. My. God. I was instantly transported. Before us stood an enormous mosque, The Mezquita. As we made our way inside, Paige began explaining how it was first constructed by the Christians in the 600s, but was quickly invaded and taken over by the Moors. They converted what had already been constructed into a mosque and continued to control it until 1236, when the Christians reclaimed what was once theirs. The ridiculous aspect of all of this? The inside of the mosque is absolutely breathtaking - hundreds of yellow and red arches, mihrabs as far as the eyes can see, lit in a beautiful glow - but in the middle of the structure is a massive, garish chapel. Literally smack dab in the middle of the Moorish architecture. It was a direct blow to their culture and rather startling aesthetically when you stumble upon it. The dome is easily over a hundred feet high and the choir chamber and accompanying organ are a sight to behold. The building overall has to be one of the most beautiful I've ever had the pleasure of seeing. The architecture is absolutely breathtaking. It was hard to believe stone and other materials could have been carved with such accuracy without the tools that we have today. All aspects of the structure were amazing - the marble floors - each tile cut to be the perfect size for prayer, the stained glass that adorned every wall, even the lanterns that hung from the cieling.

Everyone should really see this place in their lifetime.

Once we were done inside, Paige brought me to this small bar that served all the most traditional foods of southern Spain. And boy - did we feast. First came salmorejo - a cold tomato soup made with bread. Don't even try to get it confused with gizpatcho. This is thicker, richer, heartier. Then there was the tortilla. No - not what you'd find wrapped around a burrito. This is the real deal. A real tortilla. Imagine an apple pie, New England style, so kind of like a crumble. But instead of apple, picture layers and layers of sliced potatoes stacked on one another. Then fill in all the empty space with light, fluffy egg. Not exactly scrambled - but pretty darn close. So basically you should be picturing a potato quiche. If you are - you have the right idea. This tortilla was honestly one of the best things I've ever eaten. And I was blown away when Paige told me it is literally just egg and potato - maybe a sprinkling of salt and paper, but thats it. The flavor was outrageous. Just absolutely perfect. It struck such a unique balance, so heavy in the stomach, but so light and creamy in the mouth. If that wasn't a perfect meal, I'm not sure what else would be.

Once we were done stuffing our faces, we strolled back to Ruby, avoiding the occasional gypsy (kind of like Spain's homeless population), refusing the rosemary they were trying to hand out. Thankfully we made it back to the car with neither of us placed under a gypsy curse - yes, they really curse you if you offend them or refuse their gifts, and we headed out to Granada.

Now, unlike Córdoba, Granada was a little more confusing to navigate. At least to get to our hostel. We  first needed to drive through the old city, which our GPS just couldn't navigate. So we ended up driving down a couple one way streets backwards. Not only that - these streets were narrow. Literally as narrow as the car. Oh right, and they bent in directions a car isn't meant to drive. I will admit though, we made it and boy was my blood pumping. Paige was the perfect copilot and a quite the saint - handling when I got tense and snippy (as all men do in the car) due to the GPS constantly leading us in the wrong direction and telling us to do illegal things (thank you so much for your patience). When we finally parked and checked in, we immediately went out to explore.

Granada is known for a few things - but one of them being their tapas. Every time you order a beer, you receive a small plate of food on the house. Incentive to drink more? Sure, why not. So as we hopped around between a few places, we ate everything from octopus in vinaigrette to jamón and cheese. Not any jamón of course, but the world famous jamón de pata negra. Oh my god is that stuff amazing. Cure meat - a way only the Spaniards know how to do. Sliced super thin, it just melts in your mouth. Smooth and buttery. Salty and earthy. It really is the best ham I've ever eaten in my life. A tad expensive as you'd assume, but thats ok since we're ballers. We continued the night at a few more bars before finally settling into a nice Moroccan cafe for a hoohak and a few more drinks. It wasn't long until our eyelids were heavy and me meandered back to the hostel to rest. Tomorrow was going to be a long day - the tour of the Alhambra.

For those of you who don't know what the Alhambra is - it is another work of Moorish architecture - starting as a fortress, originally constructed in 889 and converted to a royal palace in 1333. Moorish poets of the time referred to it as a "pearl set in emeralds" and I can understand why. This place was absolutely stunning. Everything about it was decident. The pathways between buildings, the carved doors, the masonry that lined the walls, the hundreds of fountains that littered the property. Hell, it even had a water stairway. What the hell is that? Imagine a multi-terraced stairwell set into a hill, with hollow handrails. Within those handrails flows water, from the top, all the way to the bottom, watering the plants that line the hillside. It's literally the perfect irrigation system and absolutely mind blowing. Couple that with the other aspects of the Alhambra; the actual palace, the meticulously trimmed gardens, the massive fortified walls, rows of reflecting pools and you have a compound that is nothing short of stunning. How did they build all these so long ago? Again, I'm just left speechless.

Remember that time I said everyone should see the Mezquita? Well everyone needs to see the Alhambra as well (super convenient too both are close to one another).

We finished the day off with another great traditional Spanish meal - cured meats, cheeses, and bread, accompanied by stuffed peppers and a couple beers before climbing back into Ruby and making our way back to Seville.

On the ride home, it struck me that I was just at the tail end of the trip, but I was determined not to let it get me down. I had seen so much in such a little amount of time. Experienced more in the last fourteen days than I had the rest of the year. Eaten more amazing food than anywhere in America had to offer and I had the best company I could ever ask for. It had all flown by but there was still so much left to see and do. And best of all, unbeknownst to me, I still had the highlight of my trip left.


So make sure to pay attention to Friday. The will be two postings instead of the usual one!

Chapter Five: Año Nuevo

**Please note: due to events from the evening, there is no photographic evidence**

By the time we had left Morocco, our bodies had been run ragged. Two ferry rides, three buses, too many taxies to count, and the car rides to and from Tarifa really took their toll on us. We were burnt out.

It also didn't help that we left Fez on a midnight bus and arrived back in Tangier at 6am just in time to catch the 8 o'clock ferry back to Spain. Not only that, but we still hand to drag ourselves over to Ruby, climb in, and make it back to Seville. Ouf.

When we finally pulled back into the city, all I wanted to do was get home to the piso and flop down on the bed. Even though we had parked only a few blocks away - they seemed to stretch on forever. Yes, my mind was full of memories of how amazing Morocco was and my heart was yearning to go back, but there was no way they were going to outweigh the need for my muscles to relax. Once I was through the door of the piso, I navigated the hallway, turned right at the second door and just fell over. Yes, I had forgotten how tiny the bed was - so my head banged off the wall slightly, but it didn't matter. The salvation of the cushions below my body dulled any throbbing that was about to begin.

I'll be honest - it wasn't an exciting day. We slept most of it. Lounged around. Watched a movie. I'm pretty sure at one point I fell asleep on Paige and drooled on her. I was that tired. Straight up, dead, mouth wide open, passed out. I can't remember the last time I had slept so deeply. But in reality, it just shows how hard we went after Morocco and how successful we had been.

We both eventually arose in the late afternoon, around four or five and decided we needed to get in gear if we wanted to accomplish anything. So out we went - to get some liquid refreshments to bring to a friend's piso and some ingredients for dinner. When we got back, we started getting ready; showering, ironing, primping - looking the best we could for the new year. I threw together some more peanut butter and banana sandwiches for the walk (like I said - life savers) and we were off to meet up with Cynthia, Kenny, and Caitlin (who we had spent Christmas with). When we arrived, we were greeted by everyone, including another one of Paige's close friends, Dana - who was a complete ball. Full of energy, a bright smile, and an infectious laugh (a great addition to any group). Caitlin ended up treating us to amazing homemade pizza while Dana provided desert with no-bake lemon cake. What an absolutely divine meal and the perfect base for what was about to transpire.

Once we were done eating, we started our trek down to Plaza Nueva, in the heart of the city. Let me tell you - it was quite the site. Thousands of people standing around, watching a giant clock count down to midnight. Everyone was laughing, cheering, hootin' and hollerin'. The atmosphere was absolutely electric. When the clock struck twelve everyone began eating.

What you might ask?

In Spain the tradition is to eat grapes at midnight. One for every hour or strike of the clock. Each grape you successfully eat in rhythm with the clock represents one month of good luck. So by the end of it, you're  literally choking down these grapes. It wasn't a pretty site - people were spitting them out, juice flowing out of the corners of their mouths. It actually was pretty hysterical. But I'll be proud and boast - I'm looking forward to twelve luck-filled months. Once all the grapes were down - then the fireworks began. Not in the air. No. On the ground. Not the bright colorful ones. No. The loud ones that just explode like canons.

I thought I was being bombed.

Every couple of seconds a huge explosion would shake the plaza and the worst part was you'd see them explode, but you couldn't really make out the firework as it was laying on the ground, waiting to go off. Clearly safety came first.

From the plaza, we began our journey outward, into the nightlife world. The first club we arrived at, Munich, was pretty dead. I didn't understand. It was new years, how could it be so empty? Quickly it was explained to me that the bars stay open until two or three then the clubs began getting packed.

Man. Was I in for a long night.

Regardless of the lack of crowd, our group ended up making a dance party of our own. The DJ was already spinning, the beers were flowing. Why not? We danced amongst ourselves for a while until other people started trickling in. It didn't take long before it started to feel good. Lively.

Let me be the first to say something - dancing in Europe is awesome. No one cares what they look like, the style they dance, who they boogey with. Everyone is just out on the floor, flailing around, having fun. You'd never see that in America. There is just too much judging going on. Moral of all of this? Throw a couple beers in me, put me in that kind of environment and I start groovin' - although, I was told I got a little too carried away and ended up clapping to the songs a bit too often. Whoops.

From there we went to another club, Kafka, the one below Paige's apartment and the night really took off. This place was absolutely nuts. When you picture a European club in your head - this is it. Lasers, smoke, strobe lights. Hell, even portions of the wall glowed and shifted colors. We kept sluggin' drinks and the dancing really kicked in. It didn't take long to notice bouncers were moving throughout the crowds, looking for drugs. A couple times while I was in the bathroom occupying a stall, the door would fly open and one of them would be on the other side, making sure I wasn't snorting a line or dropping anything. Literally hanging out in front of them, I had nothing more to offer except a mousy, "hola."

A bit intimidating? I'd say so.

But it didn't matter. By this time, the night had turned into a whirl wind. The music was thumping, our feet were movin', colors flashed before my eyes, and the crowd around me just bobbed up and down in unison to the beat. It was something magical, if not at this point a little hazey and hard to remember. I remember looking around and just seeing everyone having a blast, smiling from ear to ear. Leaning in to talk to one another over the blaring bass. Paige was across from me, seeming to have the time of her life. I was too. It really couldn't get any better.

When we took a break to grab new drinks, I checked my phone and saw that it was 7am. Where the hell had the time gone? Clearly I had lost it somewhere back on the dance floor amongst all the empty beer bottles. We took a quick poll, found no one was ready to call it quits, and went back out into the crowd for more.

Eventually Paige and I pried ourselves away from the dance floor and went to bed. It was a huge bonus that the club was directly below her apartment. All we had to do was walk out the entrance, turn the corner and walk up a flight of stares.

If I had to walk any further at 9:30am - I don't think I could have made it.

Chapter Four: Magic Carpet Ride

Much like every other portion of the trip, our journey to Morocco began before the sun had risen. We rose early, packed, and were out the door pretty quickly in order to catch the ferry over to Africa. Now - the drive was only a little over two hours, which wouldn't seem too bad, but the night before yielded very little sleep. For you see, Paige lives on the 2nd floor of an apartment complex, but directly below her is a night club, that at one time was open, but then closed for excessive drug use. Low and behold, the week I arrived in Spain, it opened again, and boy was it bumpin' the night before our departure. We could hear the bass boomin' and feel it thumping through the floor. Now - I don' think it affected her as much due to the low, slow, heavy breathing I heard, but for me, it made driving a bit harder than it needed to be. Not once did I fall asleep, or drift over in any of the lanes - no no, I'd never drive like that or put a passenger of mine in danger - but I was told numerous times, my eyes were beady, hanging open, and I looked rather dead - staring straight ahead. That I can admit to. Damn contacts get so dry when I'm tired and blinking with dry eyes is such a pain - I'll tend to just look straight ahead and deal with them. Thank god for two things:

1.) Peanut and banana sanwiches. Paige and I lived off them during my visit and that was my breakfast and it gave me such a boost once it hit my stomach.

2.) We stopped for a quick photo op. The sun was rising over the mountains and illuminating early morning mist that was lingering around a series of wind turbines. Not so much did the photos wake me up - but how damn cold the Spanish countryside was. Burr.

But drive aside - we eventually made it to Tarifa, found a place to ditch Ruby, hoping she'd be fine hanging out by herself for five days, and made it onto the ferry just in time. Getting onto the boat, we found some seats and headed out across the Straight of Gibraltar. As expected, we both passed out and missed almost all of the ride to Africa. Upon arrival, we gathered our things, got our passports stamped and walked off the boat.

Welcome to Tangiers (a place I probably don't need to go back to).

Immediately I could feel the difference in culture between Europe and Africa. Not only did it look different - it just felt different. Of course the people helped - because the moment we stepped into the port, we were being grabbed, offered taxis and tours. It was a bit overwhelming, but honestly not as bad as I would have assumed. That is, until we met Abdule. He seemed to nice on the exterior. He worked for the tourism commision. Offered to help us get from the port to the bus station and even throw in a bit of a tour along the way - showing us the old market, the new parts of the city, the royal palace. But before all of this, we asked how much he cost - we were prepared for this sort of thing. How much he cost!? Don't be ridiculous. He did it out of the kindness of his heart - he liked Americans, it allowed him to practice his speech, it was fun. Sure sure. Ok Abdule. We went along with it, asking numerous times on our journey his cost, to which he always replied, "nothing."

Well that son of a bitch duped us. Maybe we were just ignorant and gullible, but if someone insists multiple times they aren't going to charge you, you don't expect them to grab your wrist at the end and demand a significant amount of money from your wallet. 

Touche Abdule. You won this one. 

Now, I'm not one to get intimidated by people who are smaller than I am - but there was just something about the look in his eyes and how he was squeezing my wrist that convinced me to just give up the dough. Thankfully, once it was in his hand, Abdule scampered away to whatever hole he had crawled out of.

Annoyed - Paige and I climbed onto our bus and continued out journey to Chefchaouen.

What. A. City. 

If you could even call it that. Maybe a large town? Massive village? Regardless - it was beautiful. Tucked away in a valley, built into the side of a mountain, every building is blue (as we later learned to kill mosquitos in the summers) - Chefchaouen was a magical place. Low and behold it is also one of the hash capitals of the world. So there were a lot of high individuals stumbling around, feet dragging below them, offering pieces to us. Chocolate? Chocolate? Nah - thanks though, we're good. A few times we were even offered to hike up to one of the weed farms and take pictures of the plants for Facebook. 

Hah. 

While we were only there for a day, there was something special about that place. The winding streets lined with hundreds of shops. Indigo buildings. The cats that roamed the streets. Kids playing everywhere. Soccer, hide and seek - eager to look upon us as we walked by, greeting us with brief "holas." Everything about it was beautiful. We saw the sun set over the mountains, painting all the houses in radiant reds, the moon rise and illuminate the passageways between them in a brilliant white. The next morning we hiked up to an old Spanish church that overlooked the valley, listening to the call to prayer echo throughout the streets, finally reaching us up on the hillside. Our time there was brief. Almost too short to be honest. But in retrospect, it's alright because it gives me a reason to return. It's certainly not a city to be easily forgotten.

When it was time to climb on the bus a short twenty four hours later, I had a bit of remorse in me, but I was eager to get to Fez - the second largest city in the country.

The bus pulled in fairly late and we hopped in a cab with another American who was backpacking through Europe and made our way to the hostel. One thing we quickly learned though was that the language barrier was larger. Unlike farther north, Spanish was not commonly known. It was either Arabic or French. Neither of which we were too familiar with. But with some luck, pointing at the address on my iphone, repeating myself slowly and using what little French I do know, we made it where we needed to be.

Checking in, we were greeted with the traditional mint tea (oh my god that stuff is like crack). All we really wanted to do was stretch our legs and find somewhere to eat in the Medina (the old city), which was a stones throw from the hostel - but literally everyone told us not to enter after dark. It wasn't safe. We didn't belong in there. We shouldn't even attempt going in.

Man. Scare tactics. And did they ever work. But, in our favor.

We ended up eating at the hostel's restaurant and the head waiter, who spoke very little english, took a liking to us and called up his brother on his cell phone and thrust it into Paige's hand. Waiting on the other side was an English speaking man, who agreed to meet up with us the next day and give us a tour of the city. 

Oh. Dear. God.

Not this again...but to be fair, it all worked out. We met Zach and his friend, Jaweb at the only McDonalds in Fez (how ironic is that) and began our tour. Both were students at the American University and eager to practice their accents with us and show us around.

It ended up being the perfect day. We saw everything. The royal palace, leather tanneries, the ins and outs of the Medina, turkish bath houses, schools, mosques, sampled some authentic food - tajine and cous cous. By the end of the day we literally saw every inch of the old city. They were wonderful hosts, expecting nothing from us in return. I walked away from the tour with a lovely leather jacket and Paige made out like a bandit - a couple bags, shoes - all sorts of goodies (Morocco operates much like the Caribbean - on a bartering system, so prices can be dropped significantly and boy, did we drop em').

Later that night - we met back up with Zach and Jaweb for some shisha and drinks, but with a twist. We had to meet them in the heart of the Medina - after dark. Um. Okay. Wandering through dark alleys, in a maze-like city, in a foreign country is a bit nerve wracking - but both Paige and I were surprised to realize in just a day we had become pretty familiar with the winding paths and narrow passageways. We only showed up twenty minutes late (a few wrong turns here or there), but we made it. After a quick hookah, we went out to a local bar - and I'll be honest with you. I can't even really describe it via this blog. It truly was one of those "see it to believe it" places - but I'll try. Just imagine a ridiculously crowded bar. Hazey. Filled with layer upon layer of smoke. Drunk older men everywhere. A live band. Dancing. Yelling, singing. Oh and hookers. Tons and tons of busted, gnarly hookers making their rounds from man to man. Thank god for Paige - otherwise I would have had to turn a few of them down.

It really was a day to remember. I'll always be indebted to Zach and Jaweb and how well they treated us. Taking time out of their day to show us around, free of charge, and welcome us as openly into their culture as they did. It was the perfect way to see Fez.

The next two days we spent on our own - training down to Meknes for one of them, and wandering around the Medina in Fez again another. The second time in the Medina allowed us to stop and shop some more, meander about at our own pace. Highlight of the day? Eating camel. Yup. Camel. Sure - it was in burger form, but check that off my bucket list.

I'll be honest. Morocco was nothing like what I expected it to be. I went into this leg of the trip expecting chaos. Hecklers everywhere, trying to sell you things (yes, we did get dragged into two carpet shops and begged to by some lovely rugs), run down towns, food and water that would make you sick. But I was pleasantly surprised. Morocco took my narrow-minded assumption(s) and slapped me in the face with them. I love that country. The warm and inviting people, decadent and rich food. Skies that are always blue (at least during our visit). There really were no aspects of Morocco that I didn't enjoy.

Oh right, besides Tangiers.

Eph you Abdule.