Chapter Twenty-One: Spanish Polar Express

You already know that I took the opportunity to meet up with a friend in France based on my last blog. What you do not know is that when going to France, I happened to catch the Spanish Polar Express. That is, what I like to think of as the Spanish version of the Polar Express. There is something that has always drawn me towards trains. Whether it is the solemn distant sound that you hear from afar or the constant forward movement, there is truly something mesmerizing about a train ride. Thus, instead of catching a flight, I took the opportunity to see the landscape via train. And lucky for me, I was granted with a little magic that day.

At the time that I went, you may realize already that Europe was experiencing winter for what it is meant to be. Snow. Snow makes up winter. In that case when I caught my train from Bilbao to head to Bordeaux, I expected the landscape to change. But as the landscape changed from coast to inland, I did not expect the climate to change. So quick was the change that I do not recall when the change occurred. But it happened. I swear to it that I magically somehow stepped onto the Spanish version of the Polar Express. All of a sudden the trees, houses, cars, and everything around me turned to white. Although it was not Christmas time, it sure felt like it.

And just like a child on Christmas morning I was giddy as ever. I had seen snowflakes in my town awhile ago but it was nothing to compare to this. There was snow everywhere. And like a true Midwesterner from the United States who has missed winter so, I of course had to pull out my camera. Unfortunately my photos did not turn out the best. The movement of the train was too fast to get a clear picture.

Instead of viewing the picture right away, try to build a mental picture of what I saw. If you can recall the illustrations from the famous book, The Polar Express, you can imagine my train ride early that morning: Snow-covered roofs; clear white roads; farm animals grazing; frosted misty mountains; in the meantime you sit inside watching the snowflakes pass you by like as if you were in a snow globe.

On my Spanish Polar Express that day, I saw through the eyes of a child. I saw magic. And I believed. So believe me when I say this: Magic is real. You just need to believe. If you don't want to believe, take a train somewhere, anywhere, and you will be drawn into its magic.

Chapter Twenty: French Cuisine

Arriving to France on Friday night, I could think of just one single thing: food. My friend who I was meeting in Bordeaux had repeatedly told me about French food and had especially laid heavy emphasis on desserts. All I have to say after this weekend is that I have no guilt about what I ate. Eating is an important part of travel. It is part of the culture. It is a part of the people. So unlike other travels that I have been on where the highlights were of places or people, France highlighted its food for me.

So allow me to begin my food frenzy from this weekend.

On Friday night when my friend and I found our hostel, we had one direction set for ourselves: to find food. We came upon a restaurant that served a menu (three-course meal). Talking over wine and telling stories of this and that, I managed to consume a salad with goat cheese, duck, potatoes, and a delicious chocolate cake. I wish I had the words in French to tell you just exactly how delicious the meal was. French, in my opinion, is after all the language of love. And that meal was exactly that, love. I was taken in on the first night and I would have two full more days after that to experience French cuisine.

Saturday morning then involved waking up early to see Bordeaux. Michelle, my friend in France, and I had already made the plan to tour the city as quickly as possible then to jump a train to see another city before arriving to her town. So needless to say, we browsed Bordeaux while skimming through the streets, wandering through and out of churches, checking out souvenir shops, and of course grabbing something quick to eat. In the morning I was introduced to two different pastries. And due to the unusual cold that has been set into Europe these past weeks, we eventually found ourselves several times throughout the weekend finding other cafes to sit down in and to try something new.

That's how it was when we arrived to La Rochelle later that day. After touring cold windy fortress towers, we needed some warming up. And what better way to warm up than to hot chocolate and crepes? I ordered a chocolate-banana crepe not realizing how big and filling it would be. My eyes were bigger than my stomach but that did not stop me in the least from finishing my entire plate full of food. Nearly every last crumb was licked off the plate. And again, there was not guilt afterwards. There was only a warm over-flowing sense of love for the food.

However, do not misread or misunderstand me. I do still love Spanish food and everything it has to offer. In fact, even the French appreciate Spanish cuisine as well. Before I had left Spain, Michelle and I talked about bringing Spanish chorizo (a type of sausage) and morcilla (another type of sausage) to make in France. Therefore, that Saturday night instead of going to another restaurant, Michelle and I cooked at her place in Niort and served other French and Americans that were living in France a traditional Spanish lentil soup with chorizo and fried morcilla with red pepper. From the French side, we put together an excellent dish. Unfortunately, I did not have another Spaniard along to testify to it as well.

Thus, Saturday came to an end and Sunday began. Sunday, I suppose, was and was not a day of rest. We slept late knowing that I would have a sleeper train and would probably not get a lot of rest. However, Sunday was a bit of a rush as Michelle and I sped through her town to see the quick sites before we hopped yet another train to reach the city of Poitiers where my train would leave later that night. And of course due to the abnormal cold and lack of precaution on our parts (mostly mine) to not dress warm enough, we were driven into churches to rest our cold feet and yet again into cafes to warm our hands with either coffee or hot wine.

Hot wine? Yes, I tried my first hot wine mixed with some spices. Yes. That's correct.

What's that you say? Did I like it? Hmm... I did not dislike it. I'm just obviously not French. Maybe with some more practice rounds it will grow on me but at this point, I think I will pass. However, do not be afraid to try it based on my first impression. Nor either don't just pass something up based on looks or appearances. There were several things I passed up on the menu based on my definition of what food should be. I stuck with the safe route.

Take for example how I chose the salad with goat cheese instead of the salad with gizzard. If you have tried gizzard salad and liked it, you are most definitely braver than I am. Nevertheless, if you are on the same side as I am about salad choices, remember this: be bold every so often. Don't hold back and stick with the same old, same old. Try something new. Attempt a Spanish dish back at home. Or find the courage to try some French cuisine.

Chapter Nineteen: Numbers

A child who does not play is not a child, but the man who does not play has lost forever the child who lived in him.
~Pablo Neruda

This week seemed like a constant question: How old are you? Followed by of course, I am twenty-four.

This week also seemed like a constant reminder. Between teachers, students, and friends I was told and told again how young I am.

True, I am young. I even surprised several students with my age. But after receiving many cards from students at school and many versions of Happy Birthday in English and Spanish, I celebrated my birthday "Spanish style". And throughout the night, I shared some advice with some Spaniards. Some have taken this up to be"wisdom" but I just consider it a way of life considering I watched and learned this from my parents. My parents have taught and shown me that your age is only a number. Nothing more. What counts more is that if you truly feel young within yourself, then you are young. It all depends on how you look at and perceive yourself in the morning of every day.

If every morning you wake up thinking, "Dear Lord, please take away these wrinkles and this gray hair," that inner spirit that makes you feel young will be drowned by darker thoughts that will do nothing but age you further yet, physically and spiritually.

So yes, I accept that physically I am still very young. Twenty-four is not a number to complain about nor would I ever try to. And yes, I may not have the right to say, "Don't worry" about a situation like this considering I am not yet placed into that dilemma.

However, I do feel like I have the right to remind people to enjoy the day. Whether it is your birthday or not, be thankful for what you have. This year I give thanks to all family and friends who have shown me love from the very beginning and have accepted me for who I am. Because deep down when you think about it, numbers do not and should not matter to anyone. What is more at stake and more important is the child within you that yearns to play more and more as an adult figure. Keep that spirit alive and you will stay a child at heart forever.

Chapter Eighteen: Small Moments

At times throughout the day, I need to disconnect myself from reality. Music tends to build the disconnection from my reality but if I truly want to transport myself to another realm, I need to do something active: running, biking, hiking. Something. Not just sit in front of the TV with the remote in one hand and a bag of potato chips in another. There is something about the way that the wind can brush through your hair or the sound that leaves make as they are blown around that can really put you in another world. It is then when those small moments occur. So small that they pass you by just as quickly as they came. So if you're not paying attention or if you are in a rush to get somewhere, you will lose a precious moment during your day.

To bring myself to my point more clearly, it was on Monday that I decided to take a hike. I have already decided to begin training for the Way of Saint James (El Camino de Santiago, in Spanish). For the last few weeks then I have been adding on an hour of hiking. Last week was four hours. Four hours. That's all it takes to build new memories in a busy week.

I had gone back that day to a place where I had been before with others. I knew the way and since it was such a beautiful day, I had to take advantage of the weather. Even a fellow mountain biker commented on the beauty to me. So take into consideration what I like to think as my first small moment during the hike.

Coming up a hill, I could see in the distance another person coming from a rougher side-trail with his mountain bike. Coming closer I saw he had short curly hair in the front and very unattractive braided-like dreads in the back. He certainly wasn't a future husband candidate on my part. And only wanting to continue on my hike I almost passed up a small moment before me. However he stopped me to ask for directions. After explaining where he was and where to go, we talked about how gorgeous the views were that day. Two minutes tops. That's probably all the conversation lasted. However, for me it was a small victory for two reasons. One, I was proud to be able to give directions to this mountain-biker dude. And two, I was proud to know how to give directions. Meaning, I didn't slip up on my grammar or pronunciation and during our other half of the conversation, he never asked where I was from. I felt for once that I had a place here in this city. If I can give directions and converse like that without any problem, then Destiny must be showing me how proud she is of how far I have come while I have been in Spain.

Moving to a new place, whether it is a new city, state, country, or even continent as for my situation, is never easy. You start over. You begin a new life. So if or when you move to a new and unknown place, remember those small moments in your day. Those moments will motivate you to go on. To go ahead. To go beyond. If need be, do what I did. Hike into the mountains and sit on a log to reflect and meanwhile be further surprised when a farmer comes up the path asking if you've seen his goats. Yes, that would be another small moment on that day of mine.