A Traveler's Regret

There are the travel decisions we love and then there are the travel decisions over which we beat ourselves up. Sometimes the regret is instantaneous, and sometimes it comes to us later when we've had time to mull things over. Either way, the essence of regret means that if given the chance to do it again, we would do it differently. There are a few situations I feel this way about.

Shall we begin with the most recent mental flogging?

Travel Regret #1
I didn't go to Greece with the rest of my friends!!  Some of you who have been following me for at least a year will remember that:
A) this time last year I got married, and,
B)  right before that  I decided it would also be a great time to go to Turkey.
I lived it up in Istanbul for a few days and then came the moment when I departed for the airport to catch a flight home, while the rest of them caught a flight to Greece. Why, why, WHY? It had something to do with being a good little bride-to-be and spending my time finalizing wedding details.
You know what? They went to Greece and had an amazing time (minus those pesky riots) while I was at home, performing the aforementioned "finalizing of the wedding details." Guess who had more fun? Not me. And you know what else? The wedding went off almost without a hitch (minus a caterer who I am trying to purge from memory).  So you see?

Lesson learned: Just go to Greece next time.

Travel Regret #2

Yes, that is me making throw-up faces

I was not at all excited about the food in China or Hong Kong. In fact, this picture at right will demonstrate to you my actual feelings on the matter. At the time, I blamed it on the copious amounts of rice I had eaten during a previous trip traipsing around southeast Asia and had grown increasingly sick of.  As a result, I ate very "safe" foods, minus one endeavor to consume snake on a stick. McDonald's frequently called my name, as did  various other fast food establishments. Never once did I really allow myself to experience and indulge in the flavors of a country that is home to a plethora of savory cuisines.  I am kinda mad at myself for that. Reading other people's blogs doesn't help this regret much.

Lesson learned: Eat whatever the locals eat.

Travel Regret #3
This one is is just plain cringe-worthy and should be blamed on the immaturity of youth and a large amount of alcohol.  After nearly two months on and off the road in Central America, we were back in Antigua, Guatemala for one last week of Spanish school. We stayed at the home of a young woman, who was probably not much older than us. All went well until she asked us for money to pick up some medicine, promising to pay it back the next day.  One of us forked over 100 quetzales (about $13).  The next day she did not have the money, nor had she made dinner (as per what we were paying for in our homestay), apologizing to us that she had been sick and had not had a chance to get the money . No problem. We are human, we understand.  We were not so understanding though a few hours later, when who did we see out dancing the night away in one of Antigua's bumpin' clubs?
You guessed it.
You should have seen the look on her face when she saw us. I approached her, questioning "Estas enferma?" with all the snotty attitude I could muster in a different language. She mumbled something and melted away in the crowd. We went back home after several more hours of drinking and dancing, and collapsed into bed. We were leaving first thing in the morning for Costa Rica and in the haze of the night, we realized one thing: we had been scammed. What to do? Nothing much to do, really. Who can you call? Could we delay a trip for $13-a significant amount when you're on the road for a while? Early morning found us up on the roof, pacing, feeling the effects of the previous eight hours, and trying to figure out a plan. It was then that I honed in on the dozens of glass gallon jars littering her rooftop.  All were clean and clearly being reserved for some purpose.  I glance at the jars, lock eyes with my friend, and in an instant, the plan becomes clear. We proceed to smash nearly every jar on that rooftop, leaving a giant mess of glass shards and fragments.

An alcohol-fueled hissy fit if there ever was one.

Yeah, the woman was wrong to take the money. No doubt about that. But the truth of the matter is that it was $13. Even worse, we were in someone's home, destroying their property. Still worse, perhaps the scene that greeted her later on her own rooftop sowed the seeds of an irreparable stereotype of Americans.

Lesson learned: Get over myself. Also, note to self: Get a grip!

Do these moments define who I am? Not in the least. We travelers pride ourselves on being cultured by our exposure to the world's humanity. Really though, traveling just exposes our own humanity. It is what we do with that unveiled truth that will either make us a good traveler with bad travel moments or an all-around bad traveler. Because yes, there are bad travelers. You know who they are-you've met them.

What about you? Any regrets?

Nica What? Nica Who?

Nicaragua it is!

Me, my trusty new passport with my trusty new name, and my backpack, are jaunting off to Nicaragua next month to spend some quality time in Granada volunteering with La Esperanza Granada, an organization/volunteer group focusing on the education of children.

Now, before I go any further, the title to this post is in fact a direct play on the ever popular Jay-Z and his well-known anthem "Jigga What, Jigga Who."
 Just wanted to clarify for those of you may be less than enthused when it comes to hip-hop.

According to urban dictionary, the definition for this jiggy expression is:
"perplexed exclamation denoting confusion or suprise in reaction to another party's previous statement or action."
Which.........just so happens to be the very same reaction I've been getting from some as I have begun to share my plans with friends and strangers alike.  "But aren't you married? What does your husband think? How can you go away that long? Is he going with you?"

People! Did my life end when I got married? Am I not allowed to travel anywhere now that I have a husband? Am I just supposed to be a happy housewife, dutifully making dinner and cleaning the house? (I totally do both of those things, by the way. Seriously. Just made an extremely tasty dinner last night. If my travel blog doesn't catapult me to success, maybe a dinner blog will). Does a month or so apart make us forget what each other looks like? A month is not going to do anything 'cept make the heart grow fonder.

Thankfully, those responses have been minimal. Most people, including the husband himself, have been quite supportive.

Since he is really the only person who counts, as of about a month from now, I am dusting off  ye olde backpack, hopping on a flight to Managua, followed by a bus to Granada. When I get there, I will be fulfilling yet another travel dream.

Can't wait.

A Sweet Summer Adventure

Summer is a tantalizing five weeks of school away.

Aaaaah sweet summer.

It's what I have lived for since last August. And it's not because I hate my job (I actually love my job). Instead,  for the first time in my life,  I will actually be getting paid to laze the days away. The perks of a putting up with oft snarly teenagers nine months out of the year. 

Did I say laze the days away? Well, not quite.  I just purchased my latest plane ticket and while it will be sweet summertime still, there won't be much lazing going on. I fear it will be quite the opposite as more than likely, I will be up to my ears in small children. This is a volunteer adventure, and it's something I have had my heart set on ever since I learned of the opportunity while on a previous trip. Commitment to the organization and the opportunity was virtually impossible though-as a substitute teacher, it was crucial that I work during the summer to keep me afloat until school started again. Going away for a month or more was out of the question.

Until this year. Woohoo.

In the same spirit of the contest I had with my students prior to my Madrid excursion, I am going to put you all to the test as well. (If you already know my destination then don't chime in!)

See what you can come up with:

This country underwent a bloody revolution in 1979, a year before I was born.

Now isn't that just a happy comforting clue? I have been to this country before, but I did and saw absolutely nothing for the entire week. The exhaustion of a two day bus ride from a country to the north was more than enough to ensure that I was useless for my duration of my stay.  I was content with the Oasis of a hostel, with  its free internet and pool, and came out only to dine on copious amounts of beans and rice, a staple dish of not just this country, but those around it.  And I do mean copious.

Think you know?

Change is Good

As promised a few months ago, I am finally getting around to updating this blog. Perhaps some of the more recent readers will be surprised to know that as was announced in the headline at the top of the blog, I am not really single, not a substitute teacher, nor do I actually live with my parents. No, I wasn't making it all up. On the contrary, I am just a bit of a procrastinator. Combine this with the fact I am now teaching full-time, and well, some aspects of the blog are bound to suffer. 

So today, the first official day of spring break, I have taken the bull by the horns and made some changes. I am also taking the bull by the horns in other areas--chiefly, where can I go the minute school gets out for the summer?

Summer plans are in progress. Some big, some little.

Hope you all like the changes. After all,whether it's  huge or minor, change assures that we stay out of the rut.  It keep us on our toes. More importantly, it holds complacency at bay.

Some lofty words for a just few minor blog changes? Yeeeeeahhh, probably.  But it's spring break, so I'm inspired.

(speaking of spring break and change, this is the first spring break in seven years that I haven't ventured off somewhere. hmmm. I think I am OK with that though.)

Now go make some changes! 

My Dirty Little Secret

Here it is, in plain bold for the world to see.

I CANNOT READ A MAP IF MY VERY SOUL DEPENDED ON IT.

This has been an ongoing condition, first discovered when I began traveling without the directive leadership of dear ole' mom and dad.

I tried to pretend as if I could read a map. I tried to fake out friends, strangers, and traveling companions alike. You know, you stand with your map, you point to various things on it,  you peer pensively around, you look up then down then up, then stride off confidently into the sunset. If you're in a group, you try to throw in helpful suggestions by just randomly speaking street names or routes that are in the vicinity of where ever you may be headed. For example:

Group: Well, how about we try to head this direct-
Me: RT. 30!!!
Group: No, it really looks like this is where we need be going-
Me: CONGRESS AVENUE!

You get the idea.

But my severe lack of directional knowledge was officially confirmed when I headed off to Central America with two of my best friends. I think they tried to pretend like I was very helpful and knowledgeable at first, but we all knew the sad truth much sooner rather than later. Finally, we arrived at the point where the two of them would discuss best routes, how to get out of a neighborhood, how to get to the bus/airport station, how to get back to our hostel/house, all while I sat or stood quietly somewhere, waiting for them to lead me onward and forward. If we were lost, I ceased to be consulted. I did try to pipe up once, near the end of our trip, and both of them just looked at me with a mixture of amusement and pity. Back to waiting patiently on the sidelines I went.

It's ok. I know my weaknesses.  On trips with the girls, (or anyone really) I am never ever in charge of directions or getting us anywhere. EVER. On my latest jaunt to Madrid, I literally followed Amanda like a lost little puppy dog. If she said go left, I turned left. If she said go right, well, I did!

I also know my strengths.
I am in charge of finding things for us to do, places to see, and of huge importance, places for us to lay our heads at night.

yeah, right

And you know what?
I am completely fine with that.

I just hope my students never find out. I can surely read a map on a wall. But put me "in the map?" Forget it.

What about you all? What are you travel strengths and weaknesses?

It was Clean, Cheap, and a Little Noisy

Literally, as we were landing in Madrid early on a Friday morning last month, my friend and I looked at each other and had this conversation:

Me: Hey, do you have the map I emailed you that shows how to get to the hostal?

Her: No, I left it. Do you have the address?

Me: No, because I emailed you the map. You are in charge of all things map-related.

Both of us now paused for a moment of consternation.

So there we were, with not a whole lot of clue except the name of the hostal and the metro stop. That was it. Madrid is a big city.

Oh well, just find internet right? Right, but the airport internet wasn't working for some mysterious reason.
Of course.

Long story short, a kind metro employee Googled the hostal for us, pointed it out on a map, and told us exactly what lines to take to get there. Perfect.
Three hours after landing, we arrived exhausted, bedraggled (and for me, a little ill) heaving ourselves up the stairs and into the front lobby of Hostal Comercial. After a pleasant conversation in Spanish, we learn that we can't check in until 12 or 12:30. Uggh. I just wanted to sleep and it was  only 9:45.

But sleep I did, right there on the couches with a lion perched above my head.

After waking up and feeling famished, we headed out to find some food and explore our surroundings. What we found was McDonald's (don't judge me.  I was feeling sick and needed some comfort) and a hive of city activity. Hostal Comercial is set in a fantastic location-close to just about everything you might want to see on a quick trip to Madrid. Plaza Mayor is a few blocks away, the Sol metro stop a few steps, the La Latina tapas district a little jaunt and everything else a short little hike-perfect if the weather is cooperating. Which-it completely did except for one day when it was rainy and drizzly.We never took public transportation once, minus the to and from airport trips.

Granted, we walked until we fell into bed each night feeling as if we had just done some sort of Civil War march,  but that is beside the point. We saved money and we got exercise.

As for the hostal,  with any internet find, there are going to be some pros and cons. If you are looking for a place to crash in Madrid, pay attention.

First the good: Excellent location, super clean (much more so than my own home), and decently priced. We stayed 4 nights, split the room, and the total came to about $100 each. Not bad for the euro. Winter season helped out a bit with the price. It was a shared bathroom, but there was a sink in our room to make it a little more convenient.
Now the bad: Excellent location minus some good soundproofing means that we were part of all the comings and goings of the party crowds each night. At one point, it really felt as if the man standing in the middle of the street screaming drunkenly in Spanish was sitting right next to my bed. And speaking of the bed, I am still sort of stretching out the kinks acquired while trying to find out a spot that was softer than what I imagined the street might feel like if I were sleeping on it.

Ok, it wasn't that bad, but you get the idea.

All things considered, I would stay again if the price were still right. I would also make sure I was prepared and knew where I was going BEFORE my plane began its descent.

Madrid Has Left Me Wanting....

More.

That's right. I didn't get enough. 

Our first venture to Plaza Mayor

Not sure where to focus this post actually-I could share the whirlwind that was Madrid, review our lodging, relate the adventure of the entire morning spent in an attempt to get to Toledo (lesson learned: book things early), or divulge the fact that I absolutely cannot read a map. And umm.....well, I teach social studies.

**Ssshhh-don't tell my students***

I think I will save that for another post, because it truly bothers me.

Anyway, Madrid was awesome. I loved it. My first real venture into a western European country was a success-despite the pesky euro. Turns out, we picked a superb time to go due to the annual rebajas being enjoyed by Spaniards and tourists alike. Rebajas means "sales" and I do love a good sale. It made my obligatory foreign country shoe and handbag purchase much easier to swallow. 

Aside from that though, Madrid is quite the vibrant city. We were able to enjoy it sans the hordes of summer tourists and the accompanying tourist prices.It seems Spaniards just love to be out and about...all the time. Even the rain didn't dampen the spirits of los madrilenos-the one rainy day boasted plenty of locals coming and going, umbrellas in hand.

Trusty 'ole Blue. Breakfast of Champions

We were right there in the mix, trying to cram as much Madrid in the very short time we had. Landing early on a Friday morning, found us facing a full day ahead minus a full night's sleep. Which was both good and bad-- I learned on this trip that I may be young at heart, but my body is not 22 anymore. No sir. A friend of mine asked me when I returned if we went out and partied at night. I nearly laughed in his face.

Party? I was lucky to make it to 9 p.m most nights. I will place the majority of the blame on  the time change, the short trip, and the miles and miles of walking every day, but I also know that I can't just roll into another country anymore and have a spring in my step without proper time to rest and adjust.

More Plaza Mayor. Can you ever have enough Plaza?

Do I sound 80 years old?

Regardless of the octogenarian shuffle,  Madrid was stunning and I am lucky to have gone. I just want more.

What about you? Ever been to a place that when you left, you felt like you weren't quite done being there yet?


(Speaking of wanting more, there will be more on Spain. However, I am currently experiencing a bad combo of writing lethargy and no time)