Spanish Handshakes

In this exact instant I find myself in the center seat of the 23rd row of a Virgin America airplane. Besides the constant humming of jet engine combined with random soft jolts of slight turbulence the cabin is completely silent. Takeoff was only thirty minutes ago and as music is  playing in my white earbuds my good friend Jack Colombo is in the chair next to me. 

It's been six months since riding in an airplane and despite the limited leg space and lack of free movies it feels good to be on the move towards somewhere again. The last time I looked out the window of a moving plane it was to return home from teaching English in Murcia, Spain at the beginning of the summer. Our landing destination will be New York, Jack's current stomping grounds. The plan is to celebrate New Years in Brooklyn this upcoming Thursday, mix in some random exploring around the Big Apple, hopefully catch up with a few other longtime friends who are living in this part of the East Coast, then leaving the city on January 4th.

Upon arriving home last June I didn't know what the future would look like. I didn't know that I'd be going to New York for New Years. It was vastly uncertain if I'd be teaching English in Spain for a consecutive school year. It was unknown that I'd land a pretty fun wine bar job in San Francisco and meet a lot of interesting people there. I didn't know how fortunate I'd be to have reconnected with close friends and family since coming back to the Bay Area.

I also didn't know that on January 4th, 2016 I would book a one way ticket back to Spain.

After hanging out with Jack in New York the plane that will send me away from the city won't travel back towards California, it will head accross the Atlantic for a layover in Copenhagen then finally touching ground in Barcelona. 

In this exact moment there isn't a single day of accommodation booked, nor is there an official itinerary once in Spain. The first goal for this trip is first take some time to simply "be" in Barcelona, to drink a black coffee in an open plaza somewhere or possibly try to learn some Catalan words in dim lit bar. The most important and possibly only "real" reason for being back in Spain is to return to Murcia to see my former housemates, English teacher friends, the staff of Nuestra Señora de los Angeles and Vicente Medina, and to see the kids who I once helped teach last school year. 

Being home has been great but I really miss the people who were an important part of the experience that was living in Murcia. Seeing some of them again will be a blessing and I'm not sure how it will feel beyond absolute joy. 

After revisiting, sharing hugs and then handshakes with friends of last year the rest of this trip will be guided by chance and a desire to let Spanish breeze decide.

I don't know how long this will all last, maybe a few weeks or possibly a couple months. I don't know where buses and BlaBla cars will end up taking me. Sunrises and sunsets are the only things I know will happen once Jack and I starting walking towards the exit of the New York airport.

The other only thing I do know is that I'm sitting in an airplane, the leg room is ample, and there is a smile on my face. It's time to enjoy the ride. 

If you've read this far, thank you! Have a great New Year and keep doing what makes you happy :)

 

Those Days in December

On August 13th, 2015 I opened up a newly purchased black moleskin journal and started writing about my day.

It was a Thursday evening and I don't remember my mood or why I decided to scribble in it's first lines during that particular moment.

"Today is Thursday and in this exact moment there is only an hour left in my day at work." 

Nothing more and nothing less was written. For the past few years I have been slowly filling black journals in hopes of remembering small moments, names of people, dates, ideas, and things that have been happening around me. Inside I want my future self to read about these mostly random accounts in order to not forget about experiences.

The moleskin that was started for no real reason on August 13th, 2015 is currently sitting opened faced in front of me atop the faded wood of my families' coffee table located centrally within the breakfast nook of our house.

I find myself seated and a semi-fresh cup of kind-of hot coffee is being guarded by one hand while a black inked pen is in marching formation within a tangle of right hand fingers.

After nearly four months of traveling between my hands and pockets, my backpack, forgotten at work, the backseat of my car and countless coffee shop tables, I find myself looking at a blank page within the now faded in color journal.

The last page.

A single sheet of paper is the last line of defense before purchasing another 190 something page directory of wanderings and going from prologue to epilogue.

It was hard to know that four months would go by before finding myself here in this moment, sitting above this book like a human balloon, looking for a way to properly end a chapter of personal accounts.

I didn't know back in August that I'd writing about being a year older, about attending my high school's ten year reunion, celebrating Thanksgiving in addition to Halloween before reaching the end of this moleskin booklet. Those events mixed with scribbles about meeting up with friends, going to work, being with my parents and describing various surroundings have filled most of this leather companion's contents.  Reflecting on four months of writing has made me grateful for friends and family and they have been a great source of inspiration not only in writing but also to be a better person. I feel blessed to have them in my life, and to you who is reading this I also feel honored that you have taken time to read this blog post.

With one sheet left I don't really know what to write. Some notes about how the current December day has progressed would be appropriate. I ate some really good breakfast tacos earlier today, maybe that would be worth remembering. Or possibly a random thought that just popped into my mind might seem interesting the next time the booklet finds itself fully opened between the palms of an older self's hands.

With pen tip slightly angled and pressed upon the top left corner of the very last page I feel joyed to be at this point, to have gone this far not only in this particular notebook but in life.

Looking back, the past four months are something I would never elect to replace and it's great to have experienced them. In an instant everything can change, and it's impossible to know what December 11th, 2015 will look like. It feels good to simply be here now.

Gazing to the side window my attention is temporarily distracted by a passing car.  I press firmly with the black inked pen between the grey lines of the very last page.

It's just a day in December, but this time I know what mood I'm in.

"If you've made it this far, don't stop, keep going."

Outside it's raining. I can sense that it's almost time to get ready for work.

If I hurry maybe I can swing by the bookstore.

So There I Am

Inside my mind there sits a medley of words floating through a dark void, with no actual direction in which to go. Once a sentence begins to form or take shape it quickly gets scattered like pool balls within an invisible green canvas. Each building block falls apart as more letters circle within my head and no combination seems to take form. Letters begin meeting letters but soon they disappear into a blackness that doesn't want to spit them back out.

For months I have logged into this page, stared at the header, and looked blankly at the black button keyboard of my computer as if waiting for a chess match to begin. A desire to write has sent me back to this blog, ready to take lead in a keyboard tapping partner dance, with hopes of inspiration rising inside like the gradual smoking of an active volcanic mountain. One spark of a free flowing sentence might be the turning point towards a vertical eruption of fiery wordplay lava. One sentence or partial phrase would take temporary haven along a seemingly secure first line but soon would be washed away by a fierce wall of erase button.

Since September this blog has gone through more drafts than a group of friends in an affordable happy hour. Half a page here, a paragraph there, and the only thing keeping me from completely deleting them is that I want my future self to look back and recall how blocked from writing I currently find myself. Glancing at the wreckage of semi constructed posts I feel like a general feeling nothing but pain for his poorly equipped army. The only person to blame is myself, and a flatline of inspiration.

Closing my eyes I can see myself seated uncomfortably in a wooden sail boat, waiting for a gust of wind to take me somewhere, anywhere. The rickety boat, along with this blog, hasn't been moving in any one direction and now the question of dropping anchor and swimming to shore is becoming a higher possibility.

If I made an escape towards land will I ever step foot again on the dock that sent that boat out there in the first place? I slice the tips of my fingers through the chilly liquid surface and upon retracting my hand out of wetness my shoulders send a slight shiver of cold discontent. I chill of memories from prior posts leaves me staring out towards what looks like absolutely nothing.

In a breath I turn my head and look out towards the horizon, towards a completely still field of blue water. Trying to search for the exact line separating sky from sea not a single sensation of natural breeze can be felt. As time continues I soon begin forgetting why I want wind to continue guiding the boat forward, and also don't really see a destination for which to captain it. It's becoming increasingly hard to gaze outward, maybe out of brightness from a now slowly dropping sun as it reflects off of the watery panel in front of me or possibly out of internal fatigue from trying to focus for so long. Before the sun fully sets I want to try and make at least a little progress towards somewhere, however when I try to paddle with my hands the boat simply rotates in an awkward splashing fashion.

I've been waiting for too long for that wind to take me away. Who knows when or if it will ever show it's blustery face again.

It's almost completely dark. Looking out one more time I don't even know if it's the horizon that I'm staring at. I turn towards the back end of the boat, hanging my legs over the side, contemplating a possible goodbye to this old yet loyal wooden partner in wanders that has been a part of me since the days of Missoula, since echoes of dogs barking on rooftops, since looking for shade in El Esparragal, and then..

....open my eyes.



So there I am.

Somewheres and Other Wheres

Three months ago today I was still an English language assistant living in a Murcia, Spain. The eight month teaching contract was nearing a close, the emotional last days of class at Nuestra Señora de los Angeles and Vicente Medina were sneaking closer into sight, and a plane destined for home was already booked. On June 1st, 2015 I can't remember what exactly I was doing, maybe waiting for a bus or possibly having a beer with friends in a shady plaza somewhere. The only thing I can remember from this day in time is what was on my mind. 

Will I come back to Murcia?

In early June I was offered a new contract to return to Murcia for the 2015-2016 school year. I remember telling myself that by September 1st (Today) a final decision will need to be made as to whether a return to teaching in Murcia will be happening next school year. 

Upon returning home, reuniting with family and friends, two lists were made. One was titled "Why I will come back to Murcia" and the other "Why I will stay home." Within minutes the list for why I would come back to Murcia grew quite long. I was fortunate in meeting some incredible people, many of whom I now consider to be lifelong friends. The schools in Azarbe and El Esparragal were incredible, the children were wonderful, and thinking of them makes me feel nothing but absolute joy. Coming to Murcia I wasn't just visiting, I truly felt like I was a citizen of this hardly visited yet vastly underrated city. 

It's been almost three months since writing that first initial list. Like a race between hares and tortoises the list for "Why I will stay home" has slowly been catching up. I forgot how much I missed my family. I forgot how relaxed I felt after watching the sun reflect across the icy blue of the Sausalito bay. Seeing a favorite band with friends who have been there since days of homeroom is something irreplaceable. Mexican food still tastes amazing, and through two jobs I have met some really cool people. 

Three months later I found myself last night at 11:29pm with a list completely tied. Less than thirty minutes remained in what was my personal deadline for coming to internal terms with a plan. With both sides completely equal and still not a clue as to what seemed like a better decision I came to the conclusion that I really want to do both. I deeply want to be in Murcia, to continue with what was started there and see where life goes, but I also really want to be here in the Bay Area because there is nothing love for this place. 

If I chose Murcia I would have to leave in about three weeks from today, tell the bosses of my two jobs that I'm leaving, and say bye again to a lot of people who I had only recently reconnected with. If I chose home I wouldn't be experiencing a new school, new travel destinations, and wouldn't be building on the friendships that were birthed only almost a year ago. 

Blankly staring at the list last night at 11:29pm I sat up from the couch where I was seated, got up, brushed my teeth then washed my face because it was almost time for bed. I walked up the stairs to my room and instead of directly turning off the lights before sleep I grabbed a coin. 

For three months I had been racking my brain, driving myself slightly mad with uncertainty like an unsettled white capped sea, and thinking about where, where, and where. Holding a dollar coin with James Garfield's golden face on it I was sick asking myself questions and ready to move forward towards somewhere or other wheres. 

It was now time for chance to decide. I flipped the coin and closed my eyes. 

If it landed "heads" I would go back to Murcia, if it landed "tails" I would stay home, continue saving up, and continue towards something else.

The coin, along with my stomach, spun for probably two seconds before it connected with fuzzy blue carpet.

I opened my eyes and searched for a shiny golden circle in a sea of faded blue. 

Tails.

With a handful of minutes to spare before midnight I officially decided to turn down a teaching position in Murcia, Spain. I deeply apologize to the school in El Infante where I was assigned for this upcoming year but know that whoever is coming in my place will do an amazing job, probably better than what I would do. Thank you to La Consejeria for the consideration and support. 

With only a handful of minutes before midnight I made a new deadline. December 1st, 2015. 

On December 1st, 2015 I don't know what I'll be doing or what I'll be thinking about. Maybe I'll be waiting for a bus or having a beer with friends. The only thing I do know is where I'll be. 

I'm going to be in Murcia, Spain. This time not as an English teacher but as wanderer with dusty shoes, and more importantly as a friend.  

The coin that's now in my hand bares the image of the Statue of Liberty with the inscription "United States of America." This is where I'll be staying...for now :)

To whoever has taken time out of there day to read this I really appreciate your time, and I also really appreciate you :) 

Sincerely,

Daniel Catena 

In Between American Dreams

Note: Written last night, finished in this exact moment :)

Currently as I write this post there is only one hour left in what was a Monday in late July. The room where I'm seated is completely quiet except for a barely recognizable chatter between unknown people on a random television program.

Sitting on a soft white couch in my living room, my fingers as they tap keyboard are the creating the largest disturbance to the otherwise tranquil house. 

Somewhere else my two new roommates are sleeping so this post is being written as silently as possible. The people sleeping in the house where I'm currently living aren't Lola or Lucia, the people who I lived with for nine months in Murcia: They are my parents, and this "current" place of residence is the house where I grew up in Sausalito, California. Being the last one awake in the house is a tradition we have been keeping for many years now so it feels comfortably familiar to be keeping it going :)

Since returning home from Spain practically a month ago life has changed, in some aspects instantaneously and others quite gradually. 

People walk differently, traffic flows a little differently, conversations between people flow at different paces, and simply the wind hits your face differently. Some friends are now engaged, some have kids, some have new jobs, some are newly single, and some haven't been in touch at all. It's been nice catching up with important people after nine months of temporary absence and refreshing to feel a part of their lives once again.

Slang words that had previously been left in the mental attic have now been opened up like last year's Christmas present. People expect tips, expect you to wait in line, don't get upset if you to pay with credit or debit cards, and it's common to experience good restaurant service. Instead of walking or checking tranvia/bus schedules between places there now exists my own car. It's horribly great how easy I can have access to Goldfish Crackers, Mexican food, and mouth inferno hot sauces again. I can go into a public bathroom and expect there to be soap and hand towels not just one or the other. You can catch people mid conversation about the 49ers rather than debating about who will play against Real Madrid. The scorching white Murcian sun has been replaced by the marshmallow fog of the Bay Area. It's been odd being home but at the same time it's been like a breathe of fresh California air. I don't have to worry about being hot, translating verbs inside my head, or sounding like an American speaking horrible Spanish.

Despite being home from Spain for a month now, the rhythm of home has taken slower to readjust. The first time going grocery shopping in America I accidentally walked into a woman with her food cart, cut off an elderly man between checkout stands, and had absolutely no idea where salad dressing was located. Looking around the store I felt lost with how many options there existed and found myself blocking the flow of store traffic. Like common household items, future plans beyond living with my parents is completely hidden somewhere between unseen store aisles, possibly between the bread and organic hand soap.

Outside of seeing friends, being with family, and taking in the much desired local flavors of home there has been one major goal since returning to the United States: Get a job, save money, decide on the next life step. I'm hoping that achieving one goal will be a gateway towards the others.

So far I have been lucky in landing a part time wine bar job in San Francisco where three nights a week I pretend to know the difference between Merlot and Syrah. After sending dozens of resumes and savaging Craigslist, Monster, and Indeed like that was my second occupation there are some promising opportunities that could surface within the next couple weeks.

One month since between stateside there exists a good chance I will go back to Murcia at the end of September to start a second school year teaching English. However there is a chance I will try to save some money and teach somewhere else, potentially Colombia. There is also a chance that I will land a "career" job and stay stateside for a long time. At this point there is a really good chance of anything happening and it's vastly uncertain where the next steps in life direct themselves. The one thing that has surfaced through the internal lake of life decisions is that one more year of teaching English is something that I really want to accomplish. 

Despite not knowing what exactly the next clear decision will be, having more experiences with good friends and family has been like a resurgence of vitamins missing from a daily diet. Doing brunches, seeing concerts, grabbing a quick beer or simply watching a quick inning of a baseball game on television have been simple experiences that I have greatly missed during my time in Spain. I've missed seeing close friends from home and I also sincerely missed being a close friend. Being back home I feel blessed to have the friends I grew up with and seeing them again, family included, has had more importance than passport stamps. 

As these final words flash along the whiteness of computer screen I don't know what time I'll wake up tomorrow, or even know what the next fifteen minutes post overdo blog posting will look like. The unknown is a little terrifying, yet silently like this house it's something I want to hold onto because I know that soon there will be concrete plans and a definite direction towards something. Having no idea keeps life interesting and forces you to be more "here" than "everywhere else."

The only thing I want to do is embrace not having a clue, being in between jobs, in between plans, and in between dreams.

Cheers for now, you look beautiful, have a nice day :)

Blowing Out the Candles

Today is Tuesday and this blogpost marks my last day in Spain. I find myself drinking a recently brewed cup of coffee in Cafe Haskell, the home away from home that happens to remind me of being home. With quotes from Oscar Wilde about San Francisco painted on its faded blue walls and vintage photos of the Golden Gate Bridge the mental preparation for the upcoming change of scenery is progressing with calmness.

While enjoying what could be my last cup of brew in Murcia I am waiting for pictures to upload onto my computer. The photos being saved are those from a six day trip taken last week to Denmark and Sweden. Knowing that my days in Europe were reaching an end I wanted to say hello to some longtime friends who I haven't seen in quite a while.

After initially flying into Copenhagen I took a Danish version of BlaBla Car to Aarhus, the second largest city Denmark, to see Lonnie and Mia. We met traveling two years ago and the last memory  had of them was seeing them board a passenger bus going towards a destination that I cannot remember. During our two day reunion we visited the ARoS Art Museum, wandered through a sculpture exhibit along the sea, went to an Irish pub trivia, visited the Old Town Museum, and had some amazing homemade Stegt flæsk (sounds like Stick Flisk) which is mostly made with savory bacon. Seeing them again was a truly wonderful experience and I'm looking forward to our next reunion.

The visit in Aarhus was short lived and quickly I boarded a train destined to Copenhagen airport where I would go north into Sweden. After landing in the Stockholm Arlanda airport I booked a bus to Uppsala, a university city that sits within lushly green Swedish countryside. A beautiful and massive brick cathedral overlooks the seemingly tranquil student atmosphere. After a forty minute ride a familiar face was waiting for me at the bus stop. Five years ago Malin, one of my best friends, and I said goodbye to each other in an airport without knowing when we would meet again. We kept in touch and seeing her was truly a surreal experience. Currently living in Uppsala, Malin showed me around her city for a day and we also spent a full day in Stockholm, Sweden's capital. Between salsa dancing in Uppsala, ferry rides through the capital's harbor, and wandering around Stockholm's Gamla Stan, seeing her again was something that will forever keep me in a good mood. We ended our time together similar to how we said farewell five years ago, with backpacks on our shoulders and smiles on our faces. She left for her hometown to see family, and I returned to Stockholm Arlanda airport in order to bounce back down to Copenhagen. 

At eleven in the evening I found myself back in Denmark's largest city, and this time the plan was to stay here for a couple days. A second familiar face greeted me at the airport's large exit terminal. Five years ago, in the same exact hostel where I first met Malin, I met another really great person. Cille, who is from a smaller city in Denmark, is someone who I only spoke with for about an hour in person. The theme of our conversation is something that I truly don't remember but we decided to share emails and planned to keep in touch. For five years we maintained contact and now we were finally going to meet up again. We spent just one full day together with her brother Niles but it was a day that I will remember for the rest of my life. We walked through Copenhagen Park, around the original Carlsberg Brewery, wandered along the colorful Nyhan district waterfront, took a ferry tour, explored the bohemian Christiania, and climbed the tower of The Church of Our Saviour. This was all accomplished before five in the afternoon when Cille and her brother had to hop a train for their hometown. After saying farewell for the first time in five years I spent the rest of the day with Severin, Cille and Nile's older brother, where we relaxed and had pizza while watching some movies. The next morning I left Copenhagen via plane and was greeted by the unforgettable high temperatures of Murcia. 

Sitting here in Cafe Haskell there is steaming cup of emotions swirling in front of me, more intense than the nearly pitch black espresso and water resting next to my computer. I feel completely thankful to have had the opportunity to see Lonnie, Mia, Malin, Cille, Niles, and Severin. Encounters like these really make me believe that life is a gift and I feel grateful to have an experience like this. This was special and I know that the next time we all meet again will be memorable as well. 

The time for reminiscing on the previous week will have to be short lived because once I finish my coffee a lot of packing will have to take place. With only a handful of hours remaining in Spain I still haven't done laundry nor have I packed my bag.

To be honest I'm not sure how it feels to be leaving Murcia. I'm ready to see family and friends from home again, ready to eat Mexican food, ready to watch baseball games and ready to hopefully get a job for the summer. I'm ready to be a more present son and better friend to the people I grew up with again. However despite all the "readiness" there is a great deal of sadness. This small, almost completely overlooked Spanish city is now a home rather than travel destination and to walk away leaves a sour taste in my mouth, possibly influenced by the sugarless coffee now in my hand.

Thanks to reunions of last week I know deep down that the friendships made here in Spain will not be forgotten. We will see each other again, get tapas in a plaza somewhere, and share more memories somewhere in life. 

There is one sip left in my drink, the equivalent of few more moments of candlelight here in Murcia before this life chapter becomes darkened by period marks and departing flights. 

Take good care of yourself Murcia, thank you for accepting me, for sharing your culture, and for all of the wonderful memories. I love you.

Blowing out the candle I can hear winds coming up from the Sahara as they flow nothing but fiery invisible waves through the city streets.  

The brightness of the sun blinds me for a quick moment as I send a silent step outside the cafe. The winds are calling. 

They say it's time to go home. 

Counting Days like Turtles

It's only eight o'clock in the morning and already the piercing white orb of Murcian sunrise is sending a slight sting along the side of my face.

I find myself sitting in a cruising ALSA bus as it escapes the cities' urban horizon and destined towards the airport in nearby Alicante. As of a few days ago my Student Visa for Spain expired and now I am officially a Tourist looking out the window of this progressing form of transport. Teaching contract officially completed I am celebrating by leaving the country for a short while. 

Today marks the beginning of what will be a six to seven day trip in Northern Europe in order to visit friends in Denmark and Sweden. Within the span of about six hours I will be seeing Lonnie and Mia, two girls who live in Aarhus, Denmark. We haven't seen one another since the spring of 2013 so this reunion is coming with much anticipation. After seeing them I plan on hopping a second plane to Stockholm Sweden in order to see Malin, a close friend who I haven't seen in five years. After Stockholm there will be a return to Denmark wiith at least two days spent in Copenhagen doing some wandering with Cecillia, a girl who I haven't also seen in five years.

The timing of this trip couldn't be better. With only two weeks left before flying home to the United States it is essential to see these really great people before the time zones between us grow larger. It's also nice to get out of Murcia because currently the vast majority of American English teachers (Auxiliares de Conversacion) have already left the city. Saying farewell to close friends such as Susana, Tom, Alvin, and Cynthia, mixed with giving final presentations at both primary schools where I was contracted makes the reality of change feel like the vacant seat to my left is occupied with an overly emotional invisible passenger.

Seeing the massive exodus of friends from Murcia brings back flashes of the pivotal first days after moving to Spain. I didn't know where I was going, what the next day was good to look like, or even how to ask for directions. This time around I know how to ask for directions but still have no idea where I'm going. In two weeks the world is going to change yet again and it's something that leaves me excited yet increasingly vague like the changing of wind patterns.

A few days ago Lucia, Lola, and myself went to Puerto de Lumbreras near Lorca to work alongside a volunteer project that was gathering to count Tortugas Moras (a kind of land based turtle). Despite finding very few turtles we had a fun time, met some really nice people, and got free paella. This might have been the last trip the three of us will do together for a while because it's hard to say if Lucia will be in Madrid or Murcia when I get back from Denmark. 

This bus is punctual and I can see signs indicating that Alicante is fairly close. Despite the echoes of goodbyes still vibrating within my consciousness the desire to say "hello" again is rapidly elevating in priority. I feel absolutely blessed to have the opportunity to see Lonnie, Mia, Malin, and Cecillia again after such a long gap of living. The last time we all saw one another could have been the final moments of our friendship but we kept in touch and now here we are :) This trip is inspiration to keep in contact with the amazing people who I met in Murcia because if we want to see one another agiain, it surely will happen. 

The number of turtles we found near Lorca matches how much time is left before starting a new chapter in life, not a lot. The only thing I can do is be present in the moment and more importantly be thankful. 

Peace, love, and hold the biscuits. I'll eat them later. 

Daniel Anetac (Catena)

Spanish for Farewell

Today is Thursday and the feint echo of conversation between my housemate Lola and her friend can be heard from our house's patio as I relax in our living room. Melodic Murcian Spanish mixed with the soft passing of the occasional unseen car are making the afternoon pass with much desired calmness.

Life in Murcia has maintained this rhythm for quite some time now. Relaxed. The weather forecast each day has been hot with  zero chance of chilliness for what seems like a few consecutive weeks. The lingering swoosh of a nearby tranvia (tram line) gives the false hope of possible breeze as I take in a quick view of a cloudless blue sky.

Sitting here, taking in the afternoon hours of the day, there exists a creeping internal storm that is due to hit the shores of my attention in exactly one week:

The completion of my English Language Assistant Contract. 

The realization of this unavoidable event has been something that I have been trying to ignore since returning home for a few weeks in early April. Despite numerous attempts in trying to swat away it's untimely arrival it can still be heard like the chirping of birds hidden within nearby ficus trees.

June 5th is the official last day of my teaching contract but half the classes in one school will be leaving for a field trip to Asturias on Monday, meaning that goodbyes with a lot of kids had take place this week. Saying farewell to close to seventy children, most of whom I will probably never see again, might have been one of the difficult moments of my life. After hugs mixed with the shaking of hands, I closed the door to classrooms being sadly aware that I would never open them ever again.  

In one week the high fives, the calling of volunteers, the writing on chalkboards, and the constant horsing around will stop. Deep down I want to make sure that each student lives a good life, stays in school, and becomes the best person they can possibly be but I know that my role in their world was only meant to go this far. Somewhere within the warmth of Murcian air the melody of beautifully sounding music has just been given its warning to stop due to noise complaints.

It's hard to physically put into words how it has felt to be a part of both Vicente Medina and Nuestra Señora de los Angelés but two descriptions that keep finding their way back into the forefront of my mind are challengingly incredible and incredibly challenging.

With no prior experience at managing or even talking to children in a classroom setting, nine months of working as a teacher in Murcia started very difficultly. However one month guided into another and a bond between myself and the students began to take foundation. Physically witnessing children learning makes me truly grateful for the professors that I once had in school and there exists inspiration to keep working with kids in the future.

Deep down I know that there are people, a great number of people as a matter of fact, who could have done a better job and who would have been more qualified to teach the children English than myself. At the same time I feel humbled, honored, and nothing short of proud to have had the opportunity to try my absolute best. Walking away I feel safe knowing that everyone, the students and myself included, has learned something from this experience.

Ascen, Rosa, Sarafina, David, and Señora Carmen all deserve great amounts of credit for showing me how to be an effective teacher and also for trusting me to serve as their assistant.

Despite June 5th being the final day of work, my last day in Spain won't be until Wednesday, June 24th. The remaining few weeks will be shared with Lola and Lucia, my two housemates and close friends, plus a week long trip outside of the country. On June 10th I will fly to Aarhus, Denmark to visit Lonnie and Mia, two really good friends who were met a few years ago in prior travels. From there a second plane will send me to Sweden to visit Malin, a close friend who I haven't seen in five years, then come back to Denmark to visit Cille, another friend who hasn't been seen for five years as well. These are all people that are very important to visit, especially if a return to Spain doesn't happen next school year.

A second stint in Murcia is very possible because I have been awarded a placement for next year at an still unknown school, however a final decision about whether to come back won't take place until later in the summer.

This post, like the past nine months of living in Murcia, is about to reach it's timely expiration. I may never buy colored dice, foamy bouncing balls, or Despicable Me stickers ever again but where there once was room in my backpack to store such items, there now sits nine months worth of wonderful memories.

Its now time to soak up some Murcian sun before it dips downward and out of site...

...towards Home.

Thank you for taking time out your day to read this blog, you are a very beautiful person.

Take care & stay in school :)

Daniel Anetac (Catena)

On Being a Nomad

Note: Started roughly two weeks ago. Finished somewhere around three minutes ago. 


The conversation lasted probably about two minutes. Like most interactions between people who haven't seen one another for quite some time the order of salutations went like this:

We walked towards one another. We gave a hug mixed with a pat on the back, then proceeded with general questions like,"What's new with you?" or "How is your family doing?"

The person greeting me was the father of one of my best friends and it had been more than half a year since seeing him, not since before leaving to teach English in Spain. I was visiting him and looking to see the rest of his family because during this brief moment in time I had returned home for a few weeks to see friends and my parents.

"How is Spain?" 

"It's going really well so far."

Had I been meeting some interesting people? Yes. Was he, along with my best friend, and the rest of their family doing well. Thankfully yes as well. Were we both happy to see one another? Most definitely.

"What are you going to do when you come back?"

"Well...I guess I haven't thought about that part yet." 

Maybe the mood shifted or it was a token of imagination.

With a silently serious look on his face, "I'm glad your getting this out of your system." I didn't quite register everything. "You know, so you can eventually get a real job, and start making some real money. Eventually you have to start being responsible." 

As I stood in front of my friend's father I didn't really know how to respond. Due to my lack of proper words he continued about how my best friend was moving up in his job and my friend's sister was working towards a promotion in the company she worked for. The person who was looking at me had also worked really hard in his life and now had a nice house, been running a successful business for many years, and had a beautiful family.

As we made conversation I took mental note that most of the money I had to my name had been spent on flying home and the current pair of dusty walking shoes I had on also doubled as those used for running. Trying to focus my attention on anything other than my lack of self accomplishment it became increasingly heavy standing next to this man without feeling like I wasn't doing anything useful with my life.

Should I be out in the working world trying to make lots of money? Was this current life choice of exploring different places, meeting odd cultures, and trying to learn about other people's way of life something that was simply in my system? Is teaching English not a responsible thing?

Looking blankly at this man whom I hold a great deal of respect, the only real answer that made sense is to agree with him.

"Yeah, your probably right. It's something I'm probably going to look into pretty soon."

I was hoping to catch my close friend at home but it looks like he was away and the only thing caught was a piece of unexpected self-deprivation. Shaking hands with his dad we parted ways. Him shutting the front door of his house and me taking stride down the street back to where my parents' home was located.

As I found myself strolling downwards around a gradually winding street, many questions started knocking at the door of my consciousness.

Should I start making some real money? Do I want to work towards buying a house, saving towards retirement, planning for a family?Do I need to start being successful?

The sun had been shining and somewhere a bird or two was probably chirping. Due to the gradual decline of the street's asphalt passageway I was forced to keep my attention focused on its cement foundation in order to not suddenly trip forward.

My eyes were looking downward in order to keep me upright. The path began to flatten towards normalcy. Despite the change in terrain a gaze continued it's focus along the black tar that smoothly tucked itself below each step because inside there existed a feeling that I had already fallen.

The street was now fully flat. Taking a quick breath to scan the immediate surroundings of the tree covered neighborhood I felt like the dumbest person on the block. Nice houses. Nicer looking cars. People who were making money.

Living day to day. Moment for moment. Experience for experience. All of a sudden this personal manifesto that I had invisibly tattooed along my heart years ago seemed like a waste of time and energy.

Should I start looking for a REAL job? Was a nice house like these on both sides of me something I should be working towards?

Looking down I saw that one of the shoelaces of the increasingly warn out pair of sneakers was close to needing a retie. The seams along the sides were starting to tear. It was getting to be almost that time to regretfully pay for a new pair of wandering foot companions.

Before continuing along the solidly molded passageway towards home I remembered why they got so dirty; because I decided to make them that way. I wanted to take them to Morocco to share some cus cus. They were itching to go hiking near Cartagena, Spain. We went half ways on a day trip through Toledo. They wanted to feel on their souls the beauty of the Love Lock bridge in Paris. They wanted to go to sleep in one hemisphere then wake up groggily in a new one. They wanted to get lost and find a way to communicate in a foreign language for help. They wanted to make friends in places that used to be just dots on a map.

I looked up. It was time to keep going. The shoes on my feet didn't look dirty enough.

Maybe I'll get a real job one day. Maybe one of the nice houses passing me on both sides will become mine eventually.

Or possibly I'm going to move to South America or find a gig somewhere in Asia, live off of very little money, and love every second of it.

Walking down the street towards my parent's house I could literally feel the very little loose change I had in my pocket hopping about.

Taking one last look up the hill towards my friend's families' house, I knew I was the smartest person on the block.

Three Thousand Minutes in Africa

A man with grayish white hair, glasses and a long vivid green robe stood at the other end of the boat ramp as we exited the large FRS ferry.

Within moments of making eye contact with this unknown person we were instantly greeted and presented with numerous ideas for things to see in Tangier since we were obviously new to the city.

"What do you want to see?" 

We had no idea. It was still only nine in the morning and we were not ready to answer such questions.

"Come with me and I can show you some really authentic places. Where are you from?"

The conversation was very one sided and we quickly started increasing our stride to lose the fellow through the fray of departing boat passengers. We had just shunned our first of what would be many people attempting to forcibly sell us things we didn't necessarily have an interest in buying.

Within seconds of shedding one person we were greeted by Sharif. Donning a dusty brown leather jacket and a seemingly well practiced sincerity he offered us taxi transport to our hostel, The Melting Pot. We had not a clue as to where it was located, the historic neighborhood of Medina. Seeing that we didn't know how the exit the port and that Sharif's immediate presence was temporarily keeping scores of other watching salesman from offering us things we decided to follow him.

An unmarked tan taxi was sitting a few meters away and upon slamming the doors we held our breathes hoping that this was a wise decision.

"Where are you from? Oh San Francisco, I love that city! Welcome to Tangier......"

After following Sharif out of the taxi and through a handful of winding corridors, seemingly tight alleys, and wading through groups of onlooking locals in addition to random men trying to get our attention with Hola, Bonjour or Hello we finally reached The Melting Pot hostel.

"I will take you to some real authentic places, try cous cous, go to the kasbah.."

Sharif offered to take us to all of these places but after checking in to the hostel, unpacking our light luggage, collecting ourselves and then collecting a map, we tipped him for his initial services and left him at the front door of the hostel.

Within an hour of being in Africa we had successfully been rude to two people. It only took us this long to understand that not only was it important to be this way to people offering you things within the city, it was absolutely necessary. Once you open up even for a second to someone looking to get your attention this is when you have an unwanted salesman following you for as far as a few blocks trying to make you buy something.

This goes against my normal principles as a human being but this wasn't home, nor was it Spain. The rules had changed the moment we left the European operated water ferry.

This was the worst yet also the only negative aspect of Tangier.

The city sits along the Straight of Gibraltar where the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea combine into one another. The United States also opened it's first ever consulate in Tangier back when George Washington was still alive. Despite being a Muslim city, there exists great influences from former conquerors like Portugal, Italy, Spain, and France, creating a fairly diverse atmosphere. Walking through shoulder tight alleys within the maze of Medina, up through the bustling market places of the Kasbah, we were greeted with sights, smells, and tastes that had been previously unknown. Glancing through an open door you might be able to notice a seamster patching together a new suit, a person receiving a classic style shave, or possibly smell the fresh aroma of delicious Moroccan flatbread being pressed into shape.

Despite the affordability of nearly everything it is a custom in Morocco to negotiate the prices of practically every good you see. After two attempts Sharon and I were able to find some really beautiful mementos in the form of earrings from an elderly man in his large gift shop that was four stories tall. After getting a tour of the property, seeing his rooftop terrace, then turning down an invitation for tea, we haggled with the gentleman for about ten minutes before leaving with the items.

Along each corner it was fairly common to see lines of tables with mostly men taking in the flavors of café-au-laits (coffee with milk) or mint infused green teas. By coincidence we stumbled upon a restaurant nestled between scores of soccer stores and tried some delicious Moroccan soup and came back a second time to try tagine which is like a stew but with less broth. Overall in Tangier we really enjoyed their flatbreads, green teas, sufficiently strong coffees, and savory cous cous. Everything was well priced and the portions were very generous.

This was the first time I had ever set foot in a Muslim nation and seeing a contrast in culture was surprisingly enjoying. Despite being a visibly male dominated culture we did see women dressed sometimes in formal attire with hijabs (face covering veils) but also others dressed in similar trendy fashions found in the United States or Europe. We did see massive groups of people praying at certain hours of the day and there would be moments when we thought an evacuation alarm was going off in the city but instead it was simply the voice of prayer echoing from loudspeakers that were attached to the towers of mosques. This was all very different, but to see it in a native setting gave a sense of calming security.

Between colorful archways, beautiful yet minimalists style mosques, silent corner streets where stray cats outnumber people, and a chaotic yet harmonic atmosphere, the city is one that is very much worth visiting. Not once did we feel ever in danger and the locals when not trying to make you buy something are quite warm towards strangers. People in Tangier speak as many as five or six languages so it is fun to greet someone in Spanish then say goodbye in broken French.

On our second and final day in the city we used seven different forms of transport to see the peaceful white walled old town of Asilah which once was and still is a haven for artists. Staring at Atlantic ocean swells it is easy to feel transported into a different place while walking in silence along perfectly clean pedestrian avenues. After hailing a motorcycle that boasted an animal carriage we made it back to our hostel in time to pick up our belongings and this time walk to the port where a ferry to Europe waited.

By the time we were sitting within the soft cushioned seats of the FRS ferry, waiting to depart back to Tarifa in Spain, I felt ready to leave Tangier. Sharon and I managed to see most of what it had to offer and we were about to sail back to our place of origin feeling satisfied.

From Friday until Sunday we had stayed in Morocco for forty-eight hours, about three thousand minutes. The sample of the culture we tasted in Morocco has lasted significantly longer than our weekend stay, roughly thousands of years.

I feel certain in saying that almost everything we experienced was something new and for me something that still I don't quite understand. I don't know why things smelled the way they did, why people spoke in the manner they spoke, why the colors were one way and not another, or simply why the shadows of grass changed directions the way it did.

Looking outside I can see a disturbance in the branches of a partially visible tree. A breeze is picking up. There are moments in life where the best decision to make is to stop and listen to the direction of the wind. The gust I'm witnessing as it sends invisible shakes is heading south..

...towards Africa.

The only thing I understand as these letters finalize within this post, like the wind and like countless prior or future wonder seekers, is that I will be back.


-Daniel Anetac (Catena)

Andalucía via Spanish Guitars

Today is Saturday and at this very moment I am sitting in the backseat of a dark grey BlaBla car as it passes slower vehicles along an unknown motorway. Snow capped mountain ranges are engulfing the immediate horizon and not a single trace of clouds can be seen overhead. Sergio and his friend are manning the two front seats while a really good friend and I are relaxing in the back.  It's been about two hours since we left Murcia and currently the scenery that is welcoming us along both sides of the car's glass windows is that of Andalucía, the autonomous community of Spain that borders directly south of where I am living. 

The person sitting to my right is none other than Sharon Walsh. We used to be neighbors in our hometown of Sausalito, California and our friendship spans back to the days of carpooling in middle school. She is taking a few weeks off work to explore Spain and it's been really fun catching up with her while also doing as much exploring as possible. 

Sergio, our BlaBla driver, is from a city in Andalucía that also happens to be our final destination for the weekend: Sevilla. 

We currently don't have any accommodation booked and at the moment our plan of action will consist primarily of what some people in various parts of the world call winging It. It should be a really fun time no matter what we end up doing and just having an opportunity to see this part of the country with a great person is something that makes me feel truly fortunate. 

Last weekend another longtime friend, Anna Sun, from back home was visiting Barcelona on a work related excursion. Thanks to a day long extension of the trip with help from her manager Melinda we were able to meet up for the first time in nearly six months. Between seeing La Sagrada Familia, trying some delicious craft brews, and a great deal of wandering through the cities' various neighborhoods, the short trip to Barcelona was a pleasant break to the routine of teaching in school. 

Seeing Anna and Sharon serves as a warm-up to something that has been sparking a growing sense of anticipation for quite some time now. In three weeks I will be coming home for the first time since crossing the big pond to Spain and the sensation of knowing that a return is about to take place feels nothing short of amazing.

I love Murcia, feel absolutely lucky to be here, cherish the people who I've met here, and wouldn't change this experience for anything. This being said I am also really missing home and seeing two great people from there gives a suspicion that  possbly the timing of our meetings was not a coincidence. It's time to be with family and friends from the place where I grew up. If any of you are reading this then let's definitely make plans to meet up when I'm back :)

Sevilla will be a really fun time and as this car races with the sun I can only imagine what new things we will see. In three weeks something even bigger is approaching. Spanish guitars of some unknown band are jamming in increased rapid rythims through the cars front stereo sound system. Physically I'm here in Andalucía, but the smile on my face is coming from a different place, one from across the way, and one that I can't wait to see again. 

To whoever is reading this I hope you are happy and what ever it is you are doing I think you should keep it up because your looking really good right now :)

-Daniel Anetac (Catena)

Plastic Plates in Águilas

Today is Saturday and currently I am the lone patron of my favorite coffee shop located within the heart of Murcia's university district, La Merced. Cafe Haskell is a gem of a hangout spot partially because it is the only place in the city that makes you feel like your inside a relaxed cafe setting. The owners are two Italian girls who have decided to decorate their business with various mementos from San Francisco which is also another reason why I have become a fairly frequent regular. With a earphones safely guarded under the protection of grey beanie and a warm caffeinated beverage awaiting the initial first sip the vibe in Haskell is quite comfortable. It's been a few weeks since updating this blog so I hope that whoever is taking time to read this is having a great weekend :)

Life here in Murcia has been following a very busy pattern. From Monday until Thursday a great deal of free time has been dedicated towards planning activities for Nuestra Señora de los Angeles and Vicente Medina the two primary schools that have contracted me to work as an English language assistant. Tuesdays have now officially become the most pressing day of the week because at Nuestra Señora de los Angeles located in El Esparragal, Spanish for Asparagus, I have taken the helm of an English after school program to help some of the students receive extra practice. With the goal of helping fourteen students gain an increased understanding of my native language while also giving myself some much desired extra experience teaching without supervision I am confident that everyone will gain something valuable from this experience. The first class ended with a variation of "Hot Potato" which was surprisingly successful.

This past week has also marked the return to full-time salsa lessons at Bora Bora which will be good for learning some new dance moves, meeting new people, and also getting more Spanish practice. The group so far seems really nice and I'm excited to see where things go. When not dancing or doing something related to teaching English a great deal of time has been spent doing language exchanges, exploring new parts of Murcia, and taking part in some of the country's more well-known festivities. Murcia is not a big city when compared to Madrid, Barcelona, or even Denver but it manages to provide its inhabitants with a wide variety of dining options, nightlife, parks, group activities, and all for a very affordable price. Also with more than 40,000 university students there is a constant energy that keeps the lifestyle here refreshing.

Last Saturday for many people around the world represented a day to be with your significant other, also known as Valentine's Day. In Spain and in various other countries, most notably Brazil, another celebration was in full effect: Carnival. A month before Lent, typically around February, many cities around the world take part in large parades, days of non-stop dancing, exotic costume parties, and various celebrations that last for two consecutive weeks. If you happen to be in Spain during this special time of year there are a handful of destinations worth visiting such as Cadiz, the Canary Islands and Águilas.

Águilas is a small Mediterranean port city of roughly 30,000 people that is sandwiched between the edge of the Murcian and Almerian districts of southern Spain. Last weekend my roommate Lucia, her classmates, and myself took a train from Murcia and took part in the Carnival festivities within it's narrow stone streets and under the protection of the cities' once prominent cliff-side castle. Between DJs playing tunes ranging from Blink-182 anthems to latin infused foot stompers we had a really fun time. Thousands of people, all of whom dressed up in costumes, crowded the narrow streets in what turned out to be a seemingly infinite dance party. Dressed as a picnic I quickly lost most of my costume in the fray of dancing and crowd swimming people, which mainly included plastic plates and neon colored silverware glued to a green T-shirt.

The following morning we all arrived back in Murcia via a early train not exactly sure what year it was but the trip was well worth it. Next weekend one of my best friends, Anna Sun, will be visiting Barcelona from California and a much anticipated reunion almost six months in the making is going to be taking place.

Thank you for reading this blog. You look really pretty. I hope you are having a great day and I miss you a lot.

Much love, gravy, and plenty of biscuits,

Daniel Anetac (Catena)

Zen Station

An empty white plate with fragments of remaining empanada crumbs lies to my left as I balance a now fully consumed miniature glass bottle of what once was pineapple juice down on the table facing me. Slightly hunched over the marble square table it's difficult looking forward due to piercing yellows from a saluting sun. Enclosed within the center of three rows of small square tables I am taking a seat within the cafeteria of the Alicante bus station and without thinking I decided to eat my breakfast while facing the large rectangle shaped primary window. Two people can be faintly seen directly in front of me through the curtains of sunlight as I attempt to bat my eyelids free from their stinging discomfort.

The room is fairly large and combined with various ticket kiosks and tourist booths there exists a great deal of space for people to relax before traveling to other destinations. I, like every almost everyone here, am waiting for a bus. Based on the illuminated departure and arrival times there sits at least a few minutes before the moment arrives for me to grab my small backpack and make way towards the exit. 

With muffled and hard to recognize Spanish voices dancing with static making routine announcements the bus station is at a bare minimum capacity since it's still quite early in the morning. Before my bus arrives there isn't enough time to do anything except wait for it to lurch into the station and collect the unknown quantity of people who are finding ways to stay occupied until it's potential appearance. 

With the sun still blocking my full vision I can make out the partially concealed moving figure of a cleaning cart being guided by a soft walking bathroom attendant.

Waiting can be a difficult process. With the comfort of eye blinking speed technology and a constant rotating wheel of daily tasks it can feel like a dragging red light has been preventing you from crossing the street towards the next wave of circulating activities you would like to be swimming towards. If there was a non digital clock somewhere within the station there would sit a slightly growing suspicion that the hands were moving in the wrong direction.

In relaxed motions a series of large passenger buses can be heard accelerating in and out of the two story bus terminal but still the one I'm expecting hasn't parked in the loading bay. 

With my jacket fully zipped due to sudden chills from the outside and a backpack sitting patiently beneath my feet I'm ready for this bus to be here. However knowing that this is something I have no control over I decide to change the one thing I know is manageable, my breathing patterns.

One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four.

Repeat.

Not having any say of when this bus arrives actually isn't that bad. There isn't a button to make it change is speed nor do I have an app to know how much time it's lacking. The ticking of time will simply have to progress in its normal undisturbed pattern.

One breath, two breaths, three breaths, four.

Repeat. 

With the sun loosening its blinding powers due to incoming clouds combined with a different seating position its starting to feel relaxing having to wait. The bus will be here when it gets here, so until then all I care about is,

One, Two, Three, Four, Repeat.

Thank you for reading this blog, I hope your enjoying your day :) 

Road Baguettes

Orilla de Azarbe, Murcia.

A lengthy aged cement road that serves as a man-made oasis from a sprawl of lush plots of farmland.

A line of houses and unknown public buildings with dusty faded paint stretching along the foundations of this road until they come barley recognizable.

For some people this sight might be something off-putting, rare, strange, and a stew of many other emotions. For four months I have given this view one identity:

Thursday.

Standing next to a wide metallic post with the markings of "Latbus" I find myself on the corner of this street awaiting the usual Thursday ride home after a day of working at the primary school Vicente Medina. Four hours of mimicking basic English grammar, listening for errors during speaking exercises, giving dozens of high-fives, and attempting to maintain the role of "teacher" towards a few hundred Spanish children, makes the silence of a lone bus stop feel like an embrace from a long lost friend. Not seeing a single person within tangible range of senses makes being here somewhat alien yet increasingly refreshing.

A single car passes. The person driving shares a similar interest towards me as I have towards them. Very little.

A gust of chilled winter air yields a silent shiver and somewhere the shaking of unknown trees can be heard in a soft waving fashion.

The number sixty-two bus is the only one that I have ridden on in Spain that arrives exactly on time. Normally they arrive eight minutes early or five minutes late. This in the four months since starting my contract as English assistant is the only public transport that arrives exactly at 1:13pm, the time printed on the chronicled list of arrivals along the metallic postage sign that faces me to the right. Vicente Medina is conveniently located directly in the middle of what some call nowhere hence hardly anyone is entering or exiting this particular bus, especially at this particular moment in time, giving each rare passenger a comforting awareness of punctuality.

Knowing that there is probably still a three minute window before the bus arrives I instinctively unzip my backpack and rip out a piece of semi-squished baguette then swallow it down in only a few bites. I bought this snack before heading to work this morning in anticipation of being hungry. My parents would probably have told me to chew slower but this is technically my Friday and being on a completely silent street where there inhabits more chirping rooftop pigeons than people I'm sure that no one will give much attention.

The taste of road baguette lingers in my mouth within Orilla de Azarbe as these words become immortalized inside the realm of this blog.

I dig a little deeper in my snack's paper bag and gather an additional soft chunk of soon to be eaten bread.

This post is coming two weeks later than intended. I wanted to write about the visiting of some great friends (John, Nick, Andrew, Thilak, and Gabriela) during the winter holidays. I was really fortunate enough to have visited John and Nick in Manchester, Andrew in Liverpool, Thilak in Cologne, and Gabriela in Paris. It had been years since we all had last seen each other and the reunions that we shared we something that i am truly grateful for and will remember for the rest of my life.

Preparing my first private English lessons, researching new warm-up activities for students at the two school I work with, and reconnecting with friends have all consumed great quantities of time since returning to Murcia.

Where there once was inspiration for a blog post there now sits a loaf of bread that was bought from a store located along a different corner in Murcia, and also possibly in life.

The proper words, descriptions, and gratitudes I wanted to express to the people visited during the break have regrettably taken the same form of the baguette that was once in my backpack. Similar to the ghost of what was once in the now empty paper bag as it sits balled up in the palm of my hand I can hardly remember how the words I wanted to use looked like. Maybe the post I wanted to babble was supposed to be this long or possibly it was going to be shorter.

I sincerely apologize and as the number sixty-two bus is starting to show its purple and orange rectangular forehead along the once empty Orilla de Azarbe concrete passageway it is now time to go forward with the afternoon and in life.

The bus is now here. I'm greeting the driver. The bus stop is now disappearing from sight as I sit in the back aisle of the typically empty Latbus.

Not a single person is here expect for me, the driver, and seats filled with memories from winter break. The hunger still persists however the road snack is completely gone and now there are only a few fallen crumbs that have escaped into my backpack.

Will I buy another loaf in the future? In this world its hard to say what decisions we will make and which bakeries to support.

There is one that I know will be frequented again. One that continues to keep me smiling and looking forward to when I get to see it again.

To some people it may have many names. I for a handful of years and hopefully for the rest of my life will give it only one identity.

Friendship.

Until next time.