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.