Some Final Words

It has been exactly a month now since returning to the US. Life is busy and days are filled with hours of LSAT studies, visiting old friends, and spending time with the family. Am I happy to be home? Absolutely. But do I constantly find myself daydreaming and planning my next adventure? Of course. On that note, I'd just like to share with all of you a favorite quote of mine, as I feel like it describes this past year, as well as my insatiable curiosity for travel and getting to know this beautiful world. Thanks for joining me in what has been an amazing journey ....

Some people do not have to search, for they find their niche early in life and rest there seemingly contented and resigned. At times, I envy them, but usually I do not understand them…and seldom do they understand me. I am one of those searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we completely content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to take walks along the beach; we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power and unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests, mountains, deserts, hidden rivers, and lovely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as our laughter. To share our sadness with the ones we love is perhaps as great a joy as we know, unless it is to share our laughter. We searchers are ambitious only for life itself and for anything beautiful it can provide. Most of all, we want to love and be loved, to live in a relationship that will not impede our wanderings and prevent our search. We do not want to prove ourselves to others or compete for love. This passage is for wanderers, dreamers, and lovers who dare to ask of life everything which is good and beautiful.


Due to technical reasons, photos from travels to Turkey, Scotland, Paris, Germany, Vienna, Budapest, and Valencia cannot be uploaded. However, all of these travel adventures can be seen on my facebook page. Enjoy!

JUSTO ... Going Home!

Taken from travel journal 30/06/09:

"Develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music-the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself." -Henry Miller

I'm going home!! And surprisingly, I couldn't be more excited ... to see my family, to see Nick, to begin LSAT studies and to meet Brittani's new baby, Jack. To see old friends and start a new phase and adventure. What will the next 6 months bring? A new language? A trip to Central America? A new job? This year has already been filled with so much ... many travel adventures, professional learning and growing experiences, new friends and cultures ...

Just hopped on the Madrid to London flight, but just barely. Got to the airport with almost 3 hours to spare after a lovely taxi ride - with the taxi driver telling me how great my Spanish is, how great Madrid and all of Spain (to the South of Madrid) is, how fabulous and unique the clubs and nightlife is (lo mejor del mundo me dice).

However, waited 30 minutes in the Iberia line when it was the wrong line, stood in a crazy long cue, as the Brits say, with British Airways for one hour, then had to unpack my suitcase and decrease my luggage by 4 kilos (for us Americans that's over 8 pounds), leaving many of my things at a lonely table in Barajas. Paid the 27 euros fee for sobreequipaje (overweight luggage) after listening to a Spanish nun behind me comment to her friends that Americans always have too many things (guilty as charged!), rushed to gate S after a crazy Spanish pija skipped everyone in security and my sweat-drenched self ran to catch the 5 minute tram to passport control, where the idiot immigration officer stamped over 5 other of my stamps.

I then went to the wrong S gate (it was 22, I ran to 45), grabbed a carro (trolley) and sprinted, even though I was wearing my cute rosy red flats, over to S22, only to be the second person to board (hey, silver isn't bad for someone who was in LAST place). I slid my red northface backpack that has been with me at every moment of my adventures throughout Europe into the cabin right above seat 17A. A viejo (old man) passing by chuckles to himself and says at the same moment the bag slides into the overheard compartment, "justo."

Justo, indeed!

Grow Up, Kate. Anda.

Taken from travel journal 24/06/09:

How I'd love to wander and be a professional traveler. Especially after our trip to Istanbul ... not sure what it is, just not feeling very motivated to enter the workforce back home. Part of this, I'm sure, is how awful the economy is right now. The fact that I have applied for over 50 jobs since February and only heard back from 2 isn't the most uplifting news. And I suppose I should be glad and thankful that I heard back from these 2, but they're not jobs that I want to be doing. It's like I'm constantly just waiting around for the perfect opportunity to just fall in my lap relating to human rights or immigration, but it's just not happening.

Am now here in Scotland, staying at the Peebles household in Bridge of Allan, close to Stirling. It's a grey, but beautiful Saturday morning. Euan's family has been so wonderfully accomadating. I even have my own bedroom (with bathroom!) while I'm here. His sister, Kirsten, and Euan have been constantly feeding me, stuffing my face full of cranberry, garlic and dill, matured whisky cheeses and lovely ginger + rasberry jams, making me into a proper Scottish fattie. Yesterday we went to the Royal Highland Show where we saw lots of sheep, (even a sheep shearing contest!) horses and Highland coos (cows). We even saw pipers playing Amazing Grace - it made me think of Grandma and how much I've been thinking of her and missing her on this trip.

Still cannot believe I'll be home in just 4 days now - in a lot of ways this trip to Scotland has been good for me, to see Euan working, living at home, being a "grown up" - all the things that I must think about and do.

But here I go again ... plans for my "gap year" as the Brits say, in between now and law school ...
Work and live in Milwaukee for a few months, take my LSAT on September 26th, apply for law school, Guatemala in October ... perhaps Colombia, Argentina, Chile and Bolivia in January? And then there is next spring with David studying abroad in Ireland and our family trip to Greece. But what about my desire to learn French? Martinique sounds nice, as well as the French Riviera. Oh yeah, did I mention Vietnam and Thailand. Hi, I'm Kate. I have a problem.

12 Steps

Taken from travel journal, 23/06/09:

Sometimes I think I should enroll myself into a 12 steps program for those of us with travel addictions. Anyone like to join with me? How is it possible that even after 6 months of straight travel, I'm not tired in the least and could continue with tanta esfuerza for 6 more months?

Hi, I'm Kate. I have been traveling the world for a year, but am already looking ahead to plan my next trips ... the Middle East, Rwanda, Central America, Southern Mexico, Southeast Asia ... I am a true wanderer and explorer. I just love getting to know this great world we live in. I'm a travel addict, I have a problem.

Moving On Already? Not Quite.

Taken from travel journal, 23/06/09:

On another, YES! another, EasyJet flight, flying home to Madrid today. A week from now I'll be leaving this chapter of teaching and adventures for the US of A. And tomorrow I'll be on my next EasyJet flight to Scotland, the last final hurray before starting LSAT studies and the law school application process. Still cannot believe that this year in Europe has finally come to an end. To think of all the trips I've made, all the visitors I've had, all of the great friends and the amazing people I've met and worked with ... literally with a *snap* of the fingers, I'm heading back to America on British Airways once again.

So many things have happened, so many mistakes made, but so much more learned and gained. I feel stronger than what I was last September 21st. Through my professional experiences both with nannying and teaching English, I have learned to always keep in mind that this culture is not my culture - if they do things a certain way (or not do things) it's because it's their way. Because I'm in their country, I need to be respectful and open to this way.

Te acuerdas, Katy ... no estás en América.

My Favorite?

Taken from travel journal, 23/06/09:

While in Berlin two weekends ago, Denise, Elvia, and I were trying to figure out which trip within these past ten months has been the "best." I honestly could not come up with an answer, nor even pick the top three or rank the top ten. To choose would be like saying that all the other trips weren't great. Just think - thirteen countries (Spain, England, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Morocco, Austria, Hungary, Germany, France, Italy, Portugal, Turkey, Scotland) in ten months - each trip with a different vibe, a different feeling and circumstance, different tastes and flavors, and sounds and music and language ...

How could one possibly choose? They're all worth writing about.

Book Recommendations

Books Read While Traveling Around Europe:

• Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi (started and finished this book during my trip to Istanbul ... it is, by far, one of my all-time favorite books ... a must read!)
• Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe (how did I not read this in high school? Another favorite!)
  
• Eat. Pray. Love. by Elizabeth Gilbert
  
• The Shack by William P. Young
• Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston
  
• A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
• Penal Colony by Franz Kafka
• Boy in the Stripped Pajamas by John Boyne
  
• Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton (again, another favorite ... classic American literature)
  
• Pillars of Hercules by Paul Theroux (this incited my interest in traveling to Turkey)
  
• A Year in the Life by Frances Mayes (my favorite travel author)
  
• The Soloist by Steve Lopez (because Strauss and Beethoven are fabulous)
  
• El laberinto de soledad by Octavio Paz
• Harvest of Empire: History of Latinos in America by Juan Gonzalez
  
• Men that God Made Mad by Derek Lundy (great historical insight into Northern Ireland)

The Open Road

http://happydays.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/07/the-joy-of-less/?emc=eta1

SUSANA

While in Granada two weekends ago, I met Susana, a wonderful woman from Cuba. Though I´ve been in Spain for almost a year now, it was the friendliest encounter yet.

It was a Sunday, our last day in Granada. Though I had already traveled to Granada earlier last year, I wanted to take my mami to Andalucía, my favorite part of Spain. And what better place to go than to the last Moorish city of Spain, home of La Alhambra and Barrio Sacromonte´s flamenco? We had been shopping all morning, after starting off the day with typical tostada andaluza and café con leche. On our walk into downtown, we stopped by a scarf store that was, unfortuantely, closed. We were both disappointed about it, but continued on our way on a never-ending quest to find a Moroccan tetera and tea set - a purchase that should have happened while in Marrakesh a few weeks beforehand.

As we were on our way back to the hostel, content with our recent tea set purchase, rushing as our bus was leaving in forty-five minutes, we stopped in this scarf store that was now open. We entered and I immediately spotted a blue and red scarf I just had to buy. From the back of the shop, I heard ´puedes cogerla si quieres´ in a thick Caribbean accent. Not only was I initially excited at my first instinct that this woman could be Cuban, but someone was actually being helpful. FRIENDLY even. ¡Alá! When I walked up to the counter to give her my three euros, our nice store clerk told us tres pesos ... digo, euros. At the very moment, I knew it! There wasn´t a doubt in my mind that this woman was cubana, spotting her Cubanness from the moment we walked in. I asked her where she was from (La Habana) and told her all about my Cuban-American novio and his family. She shared with me that her husband was from Camagüey and expressed genuine concern at the distance betweeen me and my novio cubano, while I´ve been working in Madrid and he´s been studying hard to graduate and finally write about Cuba. She was excited about the buena mezcla between our Irish and Cuban roots.

Towards the end of our conversation, shortly after giving my mami kisses, she said to me, ¨Siempre tienes una amiga aquí. Me llamo Susana.¨ As we left the shop, my eyes filled with tears as I could not believe this beautiful, chance encounter and Susana´s friendliness. It was, and I´m sure will remain, my best experience with an individual here. Someone who actually takes the time to talk to you, introduce themselves, and ask questions about your life instead of rushing to take that one last smoke before break is over or pushing you and hurrying you along to catch the próxima llegada of the metro or cercanía. Perhaps I´ve been living in Madrid too long, where I, too, find myself living that survival-of-the-fittest mentality, especially on line 6 on my way to work each morning.

But perhaps it was a simple cultural and individual connection, brought together by a similar talking point: Cuba. Whatever it was about the meeting of my new friend, it filled me with joy, hope, and seemed to ignite once again that ¨buried by European travels¨ curiosity of going to the island, Susana´s patria to meet more people like her.

Unexpected Travels

Though I have always wanted to visit Vienna and the thought briefly passed my mind as I booked my May trip to Budapest, it didn't occur to me that I'd actually make the trip this time around. Yet the night before hopping on that Hungarian train to Austria, I made the decision, only after twenty-four hours of being in Budapest, to go to Vienna early the next morning. And what a sound decision I made! I loved every step of the city with so much classical music history and beauty. It's filled with such old world Austrian charm, and despite going through WWII, the city has managed to preserve its rich musical treasures, Habsburg traditions and palace, Stephansdom cathedral, and well-organized, quaint streets filled with bakeries and cafés on every corner. At every block there is another opportunity to take another photo, and with the black/white setting on my digital Canon, I hope I somehow managed to capture the unique charm of Eastern Austria before heading back to the train station for my three hour return trip to Budapest.

Going Somewhere: Hungary and Austria

"Yeah, but it's exciting to know that you're going somewhere, isn't it? You don't know where that somewhere is yet, but it's going to be great."
- Tawanna, co-worker and friend from Georgia

[taken from travel journal, May 15th, 2009]

What a beautiful day to be in Vienna. Am now on a three hour train ride to Vienna, Austria, the "big apple" of Europe, to the music capital of Mozart, Strauss, Chopin, and Beethoven. I am so glad that I'm on my way! Despite a stressful morning at Keleti Pályaudvar train station, trying my best to figure out my daytrip from Budapest, sans amigas, totally and completely on my own, I'd say I have managed quite well. How exciting and exhilarating at the same time to do this, to figure all of this out on my own, only on my second day in Hungary. 8,000 forints less on my credit card and in a land where I don't understand a single world of this language, I am itching to see the city that awaits me when I step off this train in two hours and fifty-two minutes.

And how wonderful a place I'm leaving for the day - BUDAPEST. A true fusion of East and West, a city divided by the Danube River making one side Buda, and the other side Pest. It's a city of different languages and cultures, great food consisting of goulash and rich pastries (always my favorite), but also of complicated history and political structures. What initially struck me about the city was that there are countless blocks of buildings literally divided into two different architectural styles and eras - one from the Soviet era (very linear, straight, and dull colors) and the other from a time long ago, before the Great World Wars, decorated beautifully with adornments and arches, painted in bright hues of yellow and green.

Yesterday I truly got a glimpse into the city's shockingly recent past when we toured the Dohány Street Synagogue, the second largest in the world (right behind New York's) and the largest in Europe. There was a museum filled with pictures of Budapest during the time of the Holocaust. I couldn't help but weep for all of these sad eyes of the Hungarian Jewish people. Children in work camps, frail mothers with sick babies, and the elderly - all in work camps, all being persecuting for their religion. And only sixty years ago did this happen. Nunca más.

happiest people in the universe

Where in the world do people feel most content with their lives?

Perhaps I won't move back to the States anytime soon :)

http://travel.yahoo.com/p-interests-27761674;_ylc=X3oDMTFzODRwOWZjBF9TAzI3MTYxNDkEX3MDMjcxOTQ4MQRzZWMDZnAtdG9kYXltb2QEc2xrA2hhcHB5cGxhY2VzLTUtOS0wOQ--

Djemaa el Fna

2 young women, who don't look the slightest bit of Moroccan, traveled to Marrakech, Morocco last weekend. They had no plan, no hostel reservations, yet managed to have a great trip, despite many people's advice telling them otherwise. Yo no iría they told us. But we did go and here I am, back in Madrid, living to tell about it.

It was a travel experience like no other. My first time in Northern Africa, a Muslim, male-dominating society where the harsh sounding sounds of Arabic and various Berber languages fill the streets. Though it was only a brief two day stay, I felt that this was enough to satisfy my previous curiosity of Morocco. We were able to experience the amazing tastes and flavors of Moroccan cuisine - the tajine, couscous, and kebabs. It was a vegetarian's dream with such a selection of tasty dishes all containing fresh vegetables, chickpeas, and legumes. My favorite gastronomical experience yet with the sweet curry flavors and saffron spiked stews.

What suprised me the most about our stay was the locked away French knowledge that seemed to easily escape me when bargaining for teteras (teapots) to make that wonderful Moroccan mint tea with the most freshly picked mint or negotiating our hostel down to 150 dirhams a night (less than 15 euros for the room ... about 7 euros per person).

I still wake up each morning craving their freshly squeezed orange juice that truly is the best OJ in the world. Be prepared to only pay .12 USD for a big, refreshing cup.

The only real regret I have about the trip, however, was witnessing the tragic end of a small companion that sneakily accompanied us until our last night. Our dear lizard friend that slept in the corner of our 150 dirham a night room saw its end to a Moroccan flip-flop. Poor thing. And we caused all of this to happen, fetching the owner to come to our room, simply to dispose of it by putting it out the window. Yet our little friend had to be difficult and scurried underneath our bed, in pure fright and confusion. After tearing the room apart searching for him, his curly tail was finally spotted by my eagle eyes under the bed frame. Our last instructions were to SORTEZ! the room and the last thing we heard was a heavy flip-flop hitting the floor, as this little guy (or girl) met his/her end.

Thankfully, after a few moments of sadness for the brutality against our poor lizard, we slept soundly that night, only to safely make it to the airport the next morning and return unharmed to Madrid. We can now tell the tales of the enchanting camel rides, desert legends, the Atlas mountain range, the Ourika valley and its waterfalls, and mysterious Marrakech.

SAFE and SOUND

hi familia -

just wanted to let you know that i'm back in madrid after a weekend in marrakech, morocco. we had a fabulous trip! ate some delicious food, drank some fabulous mint tea, and rode a camel. i cannot wait to tell you all about it. i'll try calling sometime later today.

check out pictures on my blog. i'll write a longer blog update about the trip sometime this week.

lots of love,
kate

Truly Enchanted

"I need a vacation" were the words said about a dozen times in our piso the day after returning to Madrid after our Semana Santa/Easter vacation. Or maybe we should have been saying, "Let's go back." Coming home to the cold, rainy weather of April in Madrid was difficult considering our ten days of beautiful and warm Italian sunshine in Milan, Venice, Pisa, Cinque Terre, Siena, Florence, and Rome. As travel writer Paul Theroux writes, "although the journey is over, the experience isn't." Travel can be a cure ... but this trip had not cured me of Italy, and I know I will someday go back because Roma, non basta una vita (Rome, a lifetime is not enough).

You can check out pictures from my travels below. Enjoy!

ITALIA

Off to ITALY!
Happy Semana Santa!
Will write an update and post pictures once I'm back in España.
CIAO!

The Rough Guide to Spain Needs Some Smoothing Out Around its Edges

While living in Buenos Aires in 2006, I bought the cheapest guidebook of Argentina imaginable before leaving, not wanting to pay over $20 for those travel books like Fodor's, Rick Steeves, or Let's Go! Yet during my time in Argentina, I soon discovered that my frugality, inherited from my father, should have been a trait to have skipped me in the gene pool, as I was surrounded by peers who owned the latest edition of The Rough Guide to Argentina, a travel book series that truly is one of the best, despite its $24.99 pricetag.

The one thing I have learned since those moments of constant borrowing of my friends' copies of The Rough Guide, is to always invest in a good travel book before jumping on that plane, train, or automobile. So before last year's move to Madrid, I logically bought the latest copy of The Rough Guide to Spain, trusting in its recommendations and insight.

However, on a recent day-trip to Toledo with my family, I became a skeptic to guidebooks in general and opted to follow my own travel instincts throughout the day. The Rough Guide to Spain states that "despite its reputation as one of Spain's greatest cities, a visit to Toledo can, in some ways, be a bit of a disappointment." Au contraire. Not disappointing at all and the best day-trip I have yet to take in my time living here.

Dear Rough Guide,

Toledo is the city of Spanish artist El Greco, as well as the former Spanish capital that preceded Madrid. The city itself contains curvy streets, historic military walls, steep walkways and lots of stairs, the gorge of the Río Tajo, churches, synagogues, mosques, and houses. It's also the city in Spain known for its damascening of jewelry - you name it, they'll have it. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, or rings made from iron or steel that have had gold or silver decorative threads applied to the objects fine, narrow grooves. Its desolate landscape brings to mind Cervantes and his Don Quijote and Sancho Panza, the land of windmills and the Visigothic, Moorish, Jewish and Christian cultures.

Certainly not disappointed.

Sincerely,
A very content visitor to Toledo

The Gang's All Here

Grandpa, brother David, and cousin Emily are in Spain! How wonderful it is to have them here. Seriously, I could not be happier. To see them, spend time with them, and show them my life in Madrid is wonderful. David and Emily both said to me, "This is like a movie, Katie. Your apartment, your life here. It's so cool." Just feeling so incredibly fortunate to have them around.

Today is Father's Day here, which Spain has purposely made fall on St. Joseph’s day since the Catholic Church holds a significant influence on its culture. So today, I'd like to just thank my grandpa (gramps), almost eighty years old, who is here, walking from Retiro Park to the Puerta del Sol sin problema. And to think that in the past two years, we have traveled together through three continents - Europe, South America, and Africa. He truly shows his grandchildren how to live. How blessed are we to have him as a role model and friend.

The Omnivore´s Dilemma

Since January 4th, 2008 I have been a vegetarian. Perhaps it´s strange that I remember that specific day so vividly, but it remains a day (and an experience) that is hard to forget.

On this cold wintry Wisconsin night, I ended up in the Madison Meriter Hospital´s Emergency Room due to major stomach pains. There was a blockage in my intestines that left me with intense pain and the inability to force myself out of the fetal position. I was fortunate enough to have my parents take me to the hospital after finding me on the floor of my college apartment. $698 in hospital bills, countless bloodwork and stomach tests later, I was out of the ER, thinking about what I had eaten that day (sausage pizza) and proclaimed henceforth to fill my life with legumes, leafy greens, garbanzos, peanut butter and Very Vanilla soy milk.

It has been over a year now since that hospital visit. And yet I have faithfully remained a vegetarian, through thick and thin, through trips to Mexico and Africa, and living in Spain, the jamón serrano capital of the world. Although I constantly face ridicule from my pork eating Cuban boyfriend and misunderstanding from the older women teachers at work who every day at lunch sound like the Greek mother in ¨My Big Fat Greek Wedding¨ ... WHAT?!? Chu don´t eat no meat?? But jamón serrano is different. Hay que probarlo hija.

Yet this past weekend while in Lisbon, I managed to end up in an emergency room again with more stomach problems. Only this time my parents weren´t around to take care of me. Did I mention I don´t speak portugese? 5 hours, 9.40 euros, and many rocky conversations in both English and Spanish with kind and helpful Portugese doctors, later I was back at our hostel, completely exhausted, dehydrated and worn out from the past 18 hours of being in and out of Lisbon bathrooms. What was ¨supposed¨to be a crazy, party weekend with my 5 best girlfriends ended up, at least for the first 2 days, to be a painful trip. I was, quite literally, the party pooper.

All of these stomach problems and hospital visits in the past year (had another episode in Barcelona back in December) lead me to question whether my stomach issues are at all connected to the food I eat. Or perhaps I just have a sensitive stomach, or something even more serious. Before Lisbon´s incident, I had only eaten pasta, the bland noodles and olive oil kind. It leaves me in an ¨omnivore´s dilemma¨... do I continue to exclude meat from my diet? The reason I did so in the first place was to prevent another ER visit, but this clearly hasn´t mattered. However, I enjoy being a vegetarian, more health conscious and more aware.

Perhaps a Spanish digestivo (gastroenterologist) can help me begin to resolve all of this next week. Ya veremos.

I Should Have Known

What should have been a 30 minute appointment ended up taking me the whole morning. 2 1/2 hours to be exact. I should have known.

I´ve lived in Spain long enough to realize that things here, especially when it comes to bureacracy, take forever. Yet today, for whatever reason, I was very much in an ¨American¨ frame of mind. I left promptly from my apartment at 7.30 to arrive exactly on time at the U.S. Embassy of Madrid for my 8 o´clock appointment. What was supposed to be a half an hour visit for adding additional pages to my passport took the U.S. Embassy until 10.30.

I ended up missing two of my morning classes and feeling angry at myself that 1) I had traveled so much and needed more pages to get me through these next few months of travels while I´m still living here, and 2) for thinking that I would be done with my appointment by 8.30, getting to work on time. Obviously I was expecting that the U.S. Embassy would have American employees that would actually be ... punctual. A word I haven´t said in months, a word that has, for the moment at least, left my own vocabulary.

But, al final, all worked out. I have my passport with extra pages, school understood, and no pasa nada.

Brilliant

I should really think a name for him. Or better yet, simply ask, ¿cómo te llamas? He might be one of my favorite persons in this city, that keeps feeling smaller and smaller each day. Yet I don´t even know his name. But he makes me smile and brightens up these never-ending rainy mornings.

And for all of you back home thinking, but you have a boyfriend, no os preocupeis. Don´t worry. I am in love with his music, as my favorite nameless stranger is a violinist. A brilliant one at that, always playing Mozart, Vivaldi, and Handel. So talented. He stands and plays for thousands of people busily passing by him on their commutes to work, right before the Cercanias (notice my favorite word again) entrance at Nuevos Ministerios. It´s like that story about the famous violinist, Joshua Bell, discovered on the streets of New York and who now is a world renowned musician.

I should really find out his name.

My Best Discovery Yet

For the first two months of my commute to work from the city centre of Madrid, I took the metro, the subway system that, in my opinion, the Spanish have done so right in comparison with other subways in Europe's biggest cities. Despite the metro's convenience, it would take me an hour and a half to get to work morning. And logically, I'd make the same 90-minute trek on my way home at night. I'm not sure what made more exhausted - my students or the commute.

It wasn't until I started my private English lessons after school that I discovered Madrid's best-kept secret. The train. Cercanías has become my favorite word in Spanish.

My commute is now cut in half. I can sleep in, have that extra cup of café con leche in the morning, and it's always guaranteed that I can find a place to sit and read on the train, something that was unheard of when taking the metro. I can enjoy sunlight, the views of the mountains as the train heads northward and, if I'm tired enough, even take a little siesta, knowing exactly what time I will arrive at my destination.

Perhaps it's my best discovery yet ...

The Ultimate Identity Crisis

My freshman year of college, I decided to be called Kate. After 18 years of being known as Katie, Kate seemed to be more appropriate, more grown-up, a way of separating myself from my family and friends from childhood. An act of independence, my first step in achieving it. And 5 years later, I have no regrets about this decision. I enjoy how these two names distinguish my family and my college (now young professional) friends. Even my parents and best friend since the sixth grade have gotten in the habit of calling me Kate, after years of being Katie to them. Everyone in my life was fine with the name change, accepted it in a no pasa nada sort of way (though I still have a close friend from middle school who makes it a point to purposefully call me Katie when the rest of her world, especially at UW-Madison, began calling me Kate).

Yet when I arrived in Spain, I had the ultimate identity crisis. Kate was too difficult for my students to pronounce and for the first two days of work, I was known as Kay ... a name I'm not fond of, though I completely adore my Great Aunt Kay. So I made the decision to revert to being 10 years old once again and had students and teachers alike begin to call me Katie. Yet, given that everyone I work with is a native Spanish speaker, my name was always pronounced Kah-tee.

So here I am, known as Profe Kah-tee all throughout Northern Madrid. It has been five months since this name change, but I still cannot accept whether or not I am okay with being called this. This new name presents new challenges here, as I never know how I should introduce myself to people I meet for the first time. I'm now known to many different people as three, sometimes four if you count my birth certificate approved 'Kathryn', names.

To complicate things even further, there is one Spanish teacher at school who speaks English beautifully. She always calls me Katie, pronouncing my name just as my Mom does. My second graders, the best behaved group and the class most eager to learn, are constantly confused, hearing this teacher call me Katie, and not Kah-tee, like the rest of their teachers and peers. Poor things ... I never meant to present them with such confusion. These 8 year-olds are simply trying to keep track of LIFE in two languages. Between memorizing the water cycle in English and remembering which animals have stripes (Profe, what are stripes again? How do you say 'stripes' in Spanish?) versus which ones have spots, they are now even more perplexed as to how to pronounce my name. Who really is our teacher? And how in the world do you say her name? Joder. I'm ready for recreo.

Nameless Encounters are the Best Kind

Traveling during the holidays. The logic behind it is simple – you want to spend this time with your family, your significant other or your friends. Or perhaps you´re heading home for a few weeks for some much needed comfort and relaxation. Better yet, you´re going on a trip, hopefully somewhere warm, while the kids are on break from school. The reality is, however, that traveling during the holidays was, for me, and so many others, just like Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas.

It was my first time travelling during this time and it was a good taste of what is to come if I continue to pursue a life abroad or in another part of the US. The flight itinerary seemed simple, Madrid to London, London to Chicago, and then, home. A four letter word that seems to have more significance during this time of year. At least it does for me, especially this year, as I am so far away from it. Little did I know, I was bound to be even farther from home during this past holiday season, given the locura of my holiday travel realities.

64 hours later, one sleepless night at the airport, 3 cancelled flights, $500 less in my checking account due to U.S. domestic flight costs, and an updated flight itinerary (Madrid to London, London to Miami, Miami to Chicago, Chicago to Milwaukee). Let´s just say that Heathrow Airport was my home away from home 24 hours before Christmas Eve.

Despite the bad luck, frustration, and anxiety of holiday travel, I can´t help but think about the great conversations I had at the strangest hours with other fellow travellers who, believe it or not, often had worse luck. Making ourselves comfortable on the hard leather couches of Heathrow´s Café Nero where we spent the night, I met a college student from Wake Forest. He was studying abroad in London last semester, went to Egypt after his studies, lost his passport in Cairo, missed his flight back to London, and was trying to make it home to Ohio before the 25^th. Then there was the older South African gent, about 60 or so, who was currently living in Nassau on a boat. No job, no plans. "I've travelled to 70 countries ... Thailand is my favorite." He knew the cleaning schedule of Café Nero like the back of his hand, and even had his own couch staked out, as he had been at the airport for three days, without enough money to get back to the Bahamas.

Not only the great conversations, but the people you see during travel make the journey interesting. My grandmother once told me, as we were sitting in a Florida airport, returning to cold Wisconsin after a beautiful Caribbean cruise, that she loved to people watch in airports. ¨You see so many different kinds of people.¨ I remember seeing the mob of young college girls from different parts of the Midwest heading to Sevilla for their semester abroad. Or the old German man with a heather green cap helping his wife with her oversized luggage.

Words are never spoken, names are never asked, and everyone goes on their way, hoping to make it home, wherever that may be.

Round II

So here I am, back in Madrid, after three wonderful weeks of comfort, security, relaxation, my family, boyfriend, and best friends back in Milwaukee. How hard this transition has been … completely removing myself from those few weeks of home and suddenly forced to accept and participate in this other life, this new life, I have created for myself these past few months.

Slowly but surely, paso a paso, I am getting used to the daily work schedule once again, though I can never seem to master the Tetris-like configurations of madrileños on the Madrid metro on my hour and a half commute each morning. But I must admit, it´s lovely being back at school with my students. I am now, once again, known as Profe Kah-tee.

¨Where does cotton come from?¨

¨Can you hear the difference in the /i/ sound between ¨sing, wing¨ versus ¨night, fly¨?

I am kept busy with my second graders and their preparation for the Trinity English exam in a few months. There is a true need for native English speakers in the public schools of Madrid, and I am happy to be a part of it.

Yet when the days are rainy and the wind from the sierras makes everything seem colder and everyone more irritable, I find myself dreaming about the trips ahead and the trips past.

How I´d love to go back to London with friends, Euan and Yadira … to fall in love with Big Ben all over again, and drink a pint or two. Or repeat December´s Barcelona trip, to view all of Gaudí´s fascinating works once more, to listen with such fascination to Catalán on the metro, and to stay out until morning, walking and drinking cañas along Las Ramblas. And Granada … to return to La Alhambra and feel its majesty and mystery all over again … to hear that wailing of the late night Flamenco, to smell the freshness of the rich citrus from the orange and lemon tress, and to feel that harmony and eternity of the mix between the Spanish and Arab cultures.

Yet then I think to all my travels ahead and that intense curiosity that continually consumes me and make me anxious to head to Barajas airport and hop on the first plane to somewhere. Dublin and Belfast, to the country of my family, la patria, to learn more about the conflict between Catholics and Protestants, the conflict that has, in many ways, shaped what I believe in, and where I come from. To Italy, for its art, romance, rich food and lively, beautiful people. To Berlin, for the history, for the past conflicts of WWII and the Cold War. To Morocco, Sevilla, Portugal, France, Scotland, Egypt. For? For the experience.

Grampa (spelled as we pronounce it) gave me a charm necklace this past Christmas that reads, ¨Not all who wander are lost.¨ Although I must leave those shores of comfort and family de vez en cuando to fill that seemingly unquenchable desire to know the world in which I live, I am not lost. A wanderer I may be, but I know, from all of my travels, even at the age of 22, that no matter where you go, there you are. And of course, all roads always lead to Rome – or better yet, home.