Whale watching!

I succeeded in capturing a humpback flapping its tail! I spent a glorious day out on a boat tour, with about 25 other American tourists. I am exhausted, red as a lobster, and still swaying with the sea, but it is a day I enjoyed beyond measure. We saw many whales as well as dolphins and a tortoise of some kind, plus some multicolored fish. But watching these whales breach and play and flap and even seem to wave their fins goodbye was the highlight. (The boat was very rocky, so it was difficult to maintain the aim of my camera; forgive the shakiness). 

Puesto del Sol

Living right at the ocean's edge gives one the chance to enjoy one beautiful sunset after another. I am posting a few pictures of them. I am loving it here so much, staying so busy doing nothing, that I might have to stay another day to squeeze in all this nothing. The sound of the surf is my constant companion, and it is like an irregular heart beat of the earth and sea.

View from the patio of my little casita.

View from my breakfast table this morning.

People surfing at the beach in Sayulita.

I walked into Sayulita today from my hotel (about a 20-30 minute walk, depending on how lost you get). This was the view of the town beach as I emerged from the jungle. The town is much more full of gringos than I thought the day I first arrived. There are surfers and beach bums with long dread locks and overly tanned retirees flouting their destiny with skin cancer. It was weird and fascinating. I then hiked back to my private oasis here at the hotel and decided I'd seen enough of the town.

Embracing a Perfect Day

When I was 15 years old, I had a perfect day. I boy I liked in high school liked me, too. He asked me to the school dance, and we went, and we had a great time, and he kissed me goodnight, which at 15 was a perfect date and a perfect day. I remember coming into the house after this perfect date and kiss goodnight and being so happy, and I found my mother sleeping on the couch. I thought this was strange, but I was busy being happy, so I said goodnight. The next morning, my parents said they were getting divorced.

In my 15-year-old mind, I turned this into a condemnation of having the “perfect” day. If I ever allowed myself to feel happy and at peace and content with the world as it is, I thought, disaster would surely strike. You might think that nearly 30 years of life experiences would help me reject this silly notion, but it is amazing how we hold on to supposed truths we learned as kids. There have been many times I have had wonderful days and wonderful experiences and wanted to be happy and at peace and content, but I have always reminded myself of that day and told myself, no, you never know what might happen and you have to guard against the foolish notion that contentedness and peace are things you’ll get to experience without a counterbalance -- for you, Erin, the yin of happiness shall be followed by the yang of crisis.

Today is one of those days. I had a wonderful day. Everything that I thought might happen has happened and every way that I envisioned this day would go has gone that way. There is not a single thing that I would change about this day. I began my adventure, post-editorial committee meeting, by taking a taxi to the Wal-Mart of Puerto Vallarta, where I knew I could catch the bus to Sayulita, the pueblo where I had made hotel reservations. That went as planned: I picked up a few necessities at Wal-Mart, I went to the bus stop, I caught the bus to Sayulita (which was not the higher-end inter-city bus I expected, but was really better, because it was an un-airconditioned, bouncy bus that made many stops along the way and on which I was the only gringo, which let me feel, at least for the moment, that I had strayed off the “beaten path”). I arrived about an hour later, walked around the pueblo, and saw the perfect combination of a non-touristy town that yet had a sprinkling of occasional tourists and signs in English. I then took a taxi to my hotel, which was the perfect distance away from the town, so that I could not stop grinning as the taxi pulled into this tiny oasis on the sea. I checked into my room, which is feet from the ocean, eclectic and small and quaint and perfect, got a tour of the grounds, waded in the surf, sat in a beach chair to read, and then met Jose, a waiter who has entirely embraced his new role as my personal Spanish teacher. I later enjoyed “happy hour” (two-for-one drinks -- two for me!) with perfect white wine and a beautiful sunset. I ordered from the menu where every single dish, including the green salad, has a recommended wine pairing (do you see what I mean about perfect for me?), and then skipped straight to dessert (perfect!). Now I sit on the terrace of my casita and listen to the surf and think and write and look forward to yoga tomorrow morning, and kayaking, and seeing more whales (saw some spouts today offshore).

There is nothing about this day that I would change. It fills me with dread to write that, but one goal of this journey is to work on self-awareness and mindfulness. Thus, I am aware that the fear of accepting a perfect day is something I need to overcome. Tomorrow the sun will rise, and the world will not end, and crises will not befall me, and I will have a day after that (however less than perfect it might be), and a day after that, and a day after that.

Not off the beaten path

I continue my streak of traveling to places NOT off the beaten path. Right now I am at an all-inclusive resort in Puerto Vallarta. Very much on the beaten path. I think they actually comb down the sand on the beach each night. Everyone speaks English. Typically, I say something to the staff or waiters that I think is in excellent Spanish, and they reply in English. Only after begging that they speak Spanish to me so that I can practice do they let loose -- and I catch barely 20% of what they are saying. But they are so nice and sweet and excited to help me.

This morning my waiter had such a long conversation (plática) with me in Spanish (most of which I didn’t understand, but I think it was about how many people here only speak English, that he had only been able to speak English at a conversational level for a year, and that if I come back tomorrow so-and-so from the wait staff could tell me more about the next town I am visiting) that I was afraid he was going to get in trouble.

I’m not quite yet on vacation, as tonight the events related to my editorial meeting begin. But I have Internet here on the beach and made an appointment at the hotel spa for this afternoon, so it’s not exactly working either!

Here is the sunset from last night at dinner.

Time for a permanent blog address

I have been fortunate enough to have had adventure after adventure, and a few friends and family members willing to read about them and give me positive feedback (thank you!). So I decided to give my travel blog a permanent home. I chose the title, "While the Adventure Lasts," to suggest a little melancholy and uncertainty: This year I will turn 45, will have been at the same job for 10 years, and will celebrate my 20th wedding anniversary. Being at about midlife, am I also at the midpoint of potential adventures? Are more travels behind me or ahead of me? Will money, health, and time run out before I've seen and done all that I want to see and do? Sounds like it's time for a midlife crisis, or maybe just time for the next adventure.

Next up: two weeks exploring the Pacific coast of Mexico, sola!

THREE WEEKS IN SPAIN BLOG: Final days, final photos, final thoughts

We are on the last day of our trip, and I need to note a few things I don't want to forget!

Name that nationality.
This was a game I encouraged---Barcelona is such an international city that we encountered many, many different nationalities. We were mistaken for being German, Portuguese, and British. We frequently heard two different groups speaking English to each other because it was their only common language, but definitely not the native language of either. We met some Israelis in Sitges who repeatedly tried to communicate in English with their Spanish waiter who was being too rude to be helpful (like EVERY male waiter we dealt with in Spain!), so I offered to help translate for them. We ended up striking up a conversation, and then ran into them again two days later in the Barri Gotic in Barcelona!

Of course, we also encountered some Americans (but if they were "ugly" Americans, I said to the kids, in my best "Bruce the Shark" from "Finding Nemo" voice, "Probably Canadians!").


I win at Spain!
This was something Alex started: If he turned out to be right about something (the time of day, the way we needed to walk, which metro line we needed... anything...), he would proclaim, "I win at Spain!" Eventually we all wanted in on that action.


Jamon iberica.
Many, many restaurants, and most grocery stores, and then of course the stores specializing only in cured meat display whole pigs legs, hoof and all, hanging from the rafters. Anna was really grossed out by this. I didn't find it too appetizing myself. They carve thinly sliced bits right off the leg and serve or sell it to you. Just not my thing.

Here are some pictures from the open-air market near our house, including some raw and cured meats, as well as fish, vegetables, and fruits, in every form. Beware, these pictures may contain images disturbing to some viewers.

Pig legs hanging in the background.

I did try to warn you.

Llonganissa and fuet are rustic-style sausages, typical of Catalunya. I gave them a sporting try, but, nope, they are not destined to become my favorite food. 

Rude waiters!
Have I mentioned enough how rude the waiters are in Spain? Even today, on our last day, in an upscale restaurant, when my Spanish had improved and we had learned some of the ropes of ordering, we could not believe how rude the waiters are. They don't make eye contact. They don't care if they get your order wrong. We had only about two or three good restaurant experiences here.


I miss French food.
And I can't even reminisce about food in Spain without missing the food in France. Sigh.


Souvenirs.
I bought Anna souvenirs from two museums here: the Gaudi gift shop and the Picasso museum gift shop. Can you guess which is which?

We also agreed to purchase two silhouettes that a street artist had created for us on the spot at a restaurant in Barri Gotic. Can you tell who is who?

Cathedrals.
I have seen A LOT of cathedrals on my travels (in Montpellier, we saw three in one day). Here are a few we've seen on this trip:

Barcelona Cathedral, outside...

...and in.

One facade of a cathedral in Girona, a city north of Barcelona that I visited one weekend.

Another cathedral in Girona  (or the same one, but different facade? Not sure because the stone walls and cobblestone streets all blend together here).

The skyline of Girona, a city at the confluence of the rivers Ter, Onyar, Galligants, and Güell.

Cathedral in Rupit, the small village in the Pyranees foothills where we hiked.

One of the cathedrals in Montpellier.

Another cathedral in Montpellier, but this one has been deconsecrated and had an art exhibit going on that day.

And on, and on, and on. When I was first in Europe as a teenager, I met a couple Americans who joked that if they didn't see a castle, a cathedral, or a mountain each day, it was a wasted day of sightseeing. Fortunately, it is almost impossible NOT to see one of those while traveling through Europe.


Iced coffee.
It's hard to get iced coffee here. When you ask for it in English, you get a mug of hot coffee and a separate glass of ice: Café con leche con hielo (when I type that into my online translator, I get both "coffee with milk with ice" AND "iced latte").

Tired, lost, confused...
Easy to be at least one of these, in a day of travel. Here are some miscellaneous pictures of us all.

On the trip TO France, we were not able to book the TGV (the high-speed French train system). We ended up on two different regional trains that made ALL the stops. Some of the stops were a mere 5 minutes apart. That was a really, really long train ride. We made sure we got tickets on the TGV for the trip home. Cut the trip almost in half.

Arthur had the camera in Montpellier and apparently thought me studying maps was suitable subject matter.

Montpellier has these awesome trams, really, really cool, and great for getting around the city. They are all decorated differently on the outside, apparently by well-known designers.

So photogenic.

Oh, c'mon!

Another one of the trams in Montpellier.

On the tram (I was really NOT that lost!)

The closest thing to Great America that Anna found (she REALLY wanted to go to an amusement park, any amusement park---traveling through Europe isn't stimulating enough?)

One of many sidewalk cafes in France where we stopped to eat, drink, and cool off.

Sète, France, the "Venice of France" (yeah, not quite).  

Shhh. I'm going to get in trouble for posting this.

Had gone to France in search of medieval villages and castle walls. We didn't really find any, but I did get to walk around the old city walls in Girona. I love this picture.

Off the beaten path?
These two summers in Europe have taught me that remote villages and hidden gems in Europe just don't exist any more. There are just so many people out there traveling around. In the past ~20 to 25 years, since I last traveled in Europe (first in 1986, then during a year abroad in 1988-1989, and for our honeymoon in 1993), not only has the world's population grown, but also more countries have created globe trotters; in 1989, people from the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe still couldn't travel abroad easily, and neither India nor China were the affluent countries they are today.

Everywhere we go, the lines are long, the museums are full, the trains are booked. How long will it be before a lottery system is instituted for tourists even to be allowed into cities like Venice or into historical city centers like Barri Gotic here in Barcelona? I heard from our Spanish house-swap partners that they got up at 6 am every day while at Yosemite, just to avoid the crowds.

Well, I don't think I can talk the family into another summer in Europe next year. I'll have to look for my next adventure elsewhere. Taking suggestions!

French food, French language

I might have made a mistake going to France just as I was feeling good about my Spanish. I felt like I had turned a little bit of a corner with my Spanish. I was having real mini-conversations with people. One waiter asked if we were from Portugal, because of my accent! What!??!

But then we went to France. What a disaster. Every time I tried to think of any French words, only Spanish came to mind. Sometimes I was pronouncing Spanish words as one might in French. I was basically speaking nonsense. I started asking people, "Parlez-vous Anglais ou Espagnol?" There were a couple people who preferred to speak in Spanish.

On the plus side, though: THE FOOD!!! Everything tastes better in France. We couldn't get over it last year, when we went to Paris for two days on a vacation from our vacation in London, and it was true again this year. The bread. The cheese. The wine. The bread. The bread. The bread!!! At our hotel, for the breakfast buffet, they had little croissants and breakfast breads like I have seen at so many hotel "continental breakfasts" for work, but these were NOT the same. They melted in my mouth. They were little tastes of heaven. And the automatic coffee machine! Push a button and you get steamed, frothy milk, delicious coffee.... We enjoyed that hotel and its associated restaurant so much, we ate there almost exclusively. Olympics playing in the bar, French wine by the glass, English-speaking waiters, and central air-conditioning! I loved that hotel.

I sit here now, at 22:55, watching the Olympic closing ceremonies in our Barcelona "home," after a 4-hour train ride on the TGV from Montpellier. We now have only one full day back in Barcelona to soak up what's left, buy last-minute souvenirs (that's on Anna's agenda, not mine), and get ready for home. I could easily stay another week. Or two. I could do without the heat and humidity, but I've still loved this trip.