One night, Dad and I got to a cafe and when I tried to ask for two minutes in Spanish, she said “¡Sí, dos mohitos!”
Stretching when you’re walking all day every day is vital to keeping you healthy and in shape for the next walk. And if you ask me, after watching Dad, there is no better room to do it in than a circular room at the Prado museum with a bunch of Roman statue men facing inward.
I had a great conversation in Spanish with a taxi driver, who asked me which was more beautiful, Santa Monica or Santa Barbara. When talking about how I live in NY (state), too, he said “New York. The city with all the electricity.”
Prostitution is legal in Spain, but the question that never needs to be asked out loud is “but do they hold licenses and certificates of good health?”
Waiter: “English menus?”
Us: “Yes, how did you know?!?”
Waiter: “…You said ‘two, please.'”
Best bad Spanish moment:
Cashier: “one of these?”
My last conversation in mimed Spanish: I reclined my seat on the plane to Istanbul, to the loud and talkative reaction of everyone sitting behind me in row 11. After profusely apologizing because I was certain I’d slammed the knees of the man behind me, but being confused because they were all smiling… Ahhh. They want to know how to recline their seats, and I will act out that they cannot, because they are in row 11 which does not recline because row 12 is the emergency exit row.
I’m such a nerd.
I spent my last night in Barcelona at a hostel, and immediately met fantastic people.
Zach, 23, Florida, UCI and Fordham. Quit his job to travel.
Kat, Canada, traveling for a few months until she gets her nursing job assigned in Australia.
Ben and Hugh, Australia buddies, “on holiday.”
Jeremiah, SoCal, UCBerkeley.
Istanbul update comes tomorrow. It’s just a whole lot of love.