Goodbye Spring Sun. Hello Snow.

It's April 21 and it snowed this morning.  I guess this is my welcome to Copenhagen.  But now, just a couple hours later, the sun is shinning again.  Nope, nevermind.  Now, it's raining again.  What the hell is happening?   

Here are images of the spring snowflakes, just in case you don't believe me:

Also, these images give you a nice view of the windows across my way referenced at the end of my initial blog.  Speaking of windows, we still do not have any curtains up on ours yet as we need a car to get to IKEA and won't have access to one until Sunday.  Therefore, I still feel like I live in a fish tank.  Today was no exception.  I deemed it too snowy to go for a run - as a beginner I welcome every excuse possible - and opted for a work out video, Hip Hop Abs, which I purchased in a moment of weakness off an infomercial.  I got sucked in by Shaun T's charm and pizzaz.  Aside from probably being the new "naked neighbor," today I put on an elaborate display of semi-coordinated moves in my living room doing Hip Hop Abs.  I tried desperately to add style and spunk to Shaun T's moves, particularly one named "The Freak."  For those of you who haven't worked out with Shaun T, you're really missing out.  To my neighbors I say, "You're Welcome."

I thought I would have months to prepare for snow here.  It's a little unsettling to see it already.  I had a list of things I wanted to do in the city today, but instead, I'm choosing to stay inside with a cup of tea and a good book.  I'm obviously not from here.  

Ash Grounded

I started being a little more proactive about taking photos.  Here are a couple from last week. 

 

After a sunny week in Copenhagen, Friday morning was filled with disappointment.  Volcanos ruined my weekend plans and I don't like it.  I had plans to visit England for a couple days for a reunion, but the universe decided otherwise.  Katie, a Brit I fondly call one of my closest friends, was having a going away party in Derby over the weekend before she bids farewell for Australia.  Katie and I met in '07/'08 when she was living in LA.  We continued to keep in touch after she moved back to England, skyping, planning regular visits and met in different travel destinations (including Ibiza and Thailand).  Living 6,000 miles apart, we obviously didn't see each other as often as we'd like.  When I decided to move to Copenhagen, I was thrilled with the thought of living so close to Katie.  Only shortly after, I learned Katie had also made some big life decisions and is now moving to Australia NEXT WEEK to be with her boyfriend.  We planned a Derby reunion before she moves over 9,000 miles away.  Only this...

stood in our way.  Flights all around Europe were/are still canceled.  I guess this visit wasn't meant to be.  This must mean I have to visit Australia now instead.  

Being ash grounded, I had to regroup and sort out what to do with my weekend in Copenhagen.  I activated my new Danish number this week and feel officially connected again.  With my new phone bringing an increased sense of independence, I made Friday and Saturday night plans with girlfriends, both new and old.  Friday night, after a sushi dinner, I went with one of Pedro's former co-worker to the Huset House to listen to some live music.  It was some pretty chilled out jazz music as it was still fairly early in the night.  There were bands lined up to play round the clock until late Saturday night.  These Danes like to party all night.  I parted ways with Abilia, met some girlfriends at a cozy little bar in the city center and then we wandered to a little hole-in-the-wall bodega.  It was a really nice night of catching up and relaxed conversation.  

Saturday night, I went out with a couple new girlfriends to a posh bar in the city.  They played very good dancing music, so true to form, I displayed some of my best moves for my new friends.  Said moves were well documented and, again, I like to think that's a sign of approval.  The bar was a bit expensive though - around $27 for a cocktail - so I was very pleased with myself for the aggressive pre-drinking that took place.  In an effort to manage my unemployment fund, this will definitely be a repeated strategy for Copenhagen nightlife outings.  I congratulated myself by dancing on the podium.  Celebration + Cardio = Happiness.  

English breaky and city tour.  Sunday morning, Pedro and I went to Miguel's for an English brunch and took a leisurely 2+ hour walk around the city.  This time I brought my camera.

On our street, I spotted my initials on the sidewalk.  I think that means I belong here.  

We walked most of the city and stopped at this church for some photos.

Pedro getting romantic at Gefjon fountain.

Norse mythology states that Norse Goddess Gefjon was best known for creating the island of Zealand, by turning her four sons into oxen so she could plough the land.  Here she is, ploughing her land with her oxen.

We passed through the royal square and saw the changing of the guards. 

Electric cars :) 

The boys lead the way.

In the city center with my mellon. 

This followed with another big pasta dinner.  This type of eating is pushing me to drastic measures...  I went shopping yesterday and bought these.

Now, I'm a runner.  Or at least I'm trying to be a runner.  I've actually never laced up shoes for a run on my own.  Without being forced to by a coach or a drill sargent in some of the several boot camp classes I've taken, running has never made sense to me.  I just think... there's no one chasing me, why go so fast?  Calm down and take a walk.  All that pounding can't be good for your joints either.  Even living steps from the boardwalk in California, I would rather walk twice or three times as long to opt out of running.  Now, I'm almost 30 and have decided to torture myself.  


This morning, Pedro was trying to pump me up for my new hobby and pointed out a nice loop around a lake nearby.  He said it wasn't that long of a run and was super close.  Feeling confident, I pumped up the music and sorted through my new gear.  He left with a smile and some encouraging words... "Run, Forest, Run!"  If he would have seen me out there, he might not have been so proud.  But I blame him, because after looking at Google Maps, it appears the loop is 5 miles long.  That's a bit aggressive day one.  I'm not quite there yet and should be starting one mile at a time. 

The first big run started off badly.  My ankles had zero strength and I felt like a baby must feel when they're taking their first steps.  I'm sure this reflected well for my form.  Only because I was surrounded by other actual runners, I pushed through and somehow my ankles started to eventually feel stronger.  This must be the endorphins kicking in, which seem like more of a necessity rather than a bonus for running.  Still, I couldn't get the thought out of my head that I must have lost my mind to pick up this new hobby and that no one was, in fact, chasing me.  I still have a lot of perfecting to do before I blog about my progress again.  I learned this morning that (1) running makes me spit and (2) I'm a total failure at trying to look semi-cool while spitting.  I ended my run with an unhappy red face covered with spit.  Exhibit A: 

The good news is, I'm dressed in all black, covered from head to toe, and disguised with a hat and glasses.  This is exactly how I like to exercise in public.  Like a criminal.  

Week one in Copenhagen.

Photos.

After a quick glance, it appears very easy to upload photos to my blogs.  Not sure why I found this to be a struggle with my first blog.  I went back and added images to my last post and will try to incorporate pictures with my new updates as well.  

I find this city so incredibly beautiful and EVERYWHERE I look I want to take photos.  Beautiful things... not only is it the canals, boats, architecture, cathedrals, cafes, outdoor picnics, etc... but it's also the people here in downtown Copenhagen.  I feel like it is filled with an overwhelming amount of beautiful fashionistas.  It's like I'm living in a realtime version of The Sartorialist.  It seems as though it's not the exception, but rather the rule.  This makes for incredible people watching and borderline creepy staring behavior.  It also creates instant wardrobe envy and feelings of inadequacy.  How can there be so many model look-a-likes running rampant in the city?  Single male friends... use this as your motivation to visit me this summer.  I did find some relief last night when Pedro and I went to the cinema to see Alice In Wonderland.  First, excellent film.  Second, the theater seemed to be filled with people that came in from the countryside.  Feelings of adequacy are starting to come back.  

In the effort to be more of a local and less of a tourist, I've been leaving my big oversized camera at home more often than not.  Also, when you're walking or biking everywhere it's a bit uncomfortable to have my canon with me for an extended period of time.  Plus, I will be less likely to make friends if I'm following around all these beautiful people with my camera.  The last few days, Pedro and I have spent time, sitting in grassy areas by the canals, in the sun, enjoying observing people also gathering on blankets and watching passing boats.  I will try to be better at documenting and sharing these beautiful little moments.  

Where are the beaches?
For those of you who don't realize, Copenhagen is on an island.  I've recently learned that because of the large number of islands and inlets here, Denmark has one of the longest coastlines in Europe --- longer than the Great Wall of China.  They also claim to have "plenty of white sandy beaches."  This is another bit of information that put an extra pep in my step.  I've been living by the beach for nearly 7 years just prior to moving to Scandinavia and have fully embraced a beach lifestyle.  Now, having parted ways, I will continue to miss my beautiful beaches.  I was determined to bring part of that beach life to Denmark, so I lugged my cottage-chic "BEACH" sign that used to hang proudly in my old beach house in Venice to my city apartment in Copenhagen.  Now, perhaps it's not so ironic.  I have a new summer goal.  It's to visit these so-called beaches here in Denmark this summer and detail the differences between them and my beloved beaches of SoCal. 

Starbucks and The Viking Spirit.  

After meeting with a cruise ship coordinator about some part-time work this summer, I was instructed to read over 30 pages about "The Land of Danes."  It's been pretty interesting reading so far, especially for me since I just got here.  Somethings in this booklet are pretty funny too.  Here is a sentence on page 3 that particularly sticks out.  

"The Viking spirit compels Danes to travel as far and as frequent as possible and to enhance the feeling of being abroad, the country's only Starbucks is at the airport."

This is just ridiculous.  Admittedly, maybe I find this significantly outrageous because I have learned to love Starbucks in a way that others may call unhealthy.  For the record, while living in Venice, I was a strong supporter of Ground Works and the Cow's End like any good local.  While these local established were near and dear to me, Starbucks also has a special place in my heart.  Especially for large soy lattes.  No one else seems to compare.  I feel like I could write paragraphs and paragraphs about my love for BIG coffees in the States.  This type of rambling may be the first sign of withdrawals.  I'm SLOWLY adjusting to these mini espressos.  Just give me some time... I've only been "European" for a few days.  

But, the primary reason I find this sentence about 'The Viking Spirit' to be so ridiculous is that on every other corner in Copenhagen there are McDonald's (5 in the city center alone), Burger Kings and 7-elevens.  In fact, as of November, the CPH airport has been proud to house Europe's largest 7-eleven which is near 200 square meters long.  I can only wonder how these establishments enhance 'The Viking Spirit'.  I'm convinced there is a political or economic reason, aside from their spirit, that is keeping the Starbucks franchise from branching out in this International city.  Maybe it's for the best not to have Starbucks here, but I still don't appreciate the guide book's rational.  Besides, if they did have a Starbucks here, a latte would cost something outrageous, like $10 for a small.  I'm moving on and accepting change, one baby espresso at a time.

Taxes.

As you probably know, taxes here are high -- 40-60% income tax high.  I'm well aware that the taxes are considerably higher in Denmark than in most places in the world, but it's still shocking to see some of the numbers.  For example, cars are taxable at 180%, cigarette taxes are 300%, with alcohol at 50% and gasoline at 100%.  

This makes having a car a definite luxury and another reason why my trusty little VW didn't make it here from Venice beach.  So now... I will travel by foot, by metro and by BIKE.

Bicycles.

I'm VERY excited to have a new bicycle.  Thank you again Pedro.  The first day Pedro and I went to pick it up, was the first day I started to feel a little like I belong here, rather than just any other tourist.  This is more than thrilling for me.  It's the little things that make me happy.  I haven't adjusted the seat yet though, which makes this ride rather uncomfortable.  I consider myself to be quite tall, standing around 5 feet and 11 inches tall, but there must have been some kind of nordic giant was riding this before me, because I can barely reach the pedals.  I assure you I usually don't have issues about being too short or too small.  I really should revel in this moment, but my backside won't let me.  This did not stop me from celebrating with dozens of pictures of me standing proudly next to my bike.  

Bicycle Fun Facts.  In the Dane guide I acquired, they have some notes about biking in the city:

* There are more that 300 km of bicycle lanes and residents travel an average of 1.2 million km on bicycle every day
* 1/3 of commuters choose biking over other methods of transport
* Traffic lights are programmed to bicycle lanes and there are discussions of making car-free zones

Feeling like an out of control speed-racing Dane.  After just one day of biking through the city, I can confirm that these bikers are crazy and I now understand why they get so upset when walkers don't pay attention to the bike lane.  Also, my new ride goes considerably faster than my old purple beach cruiser and I think it's safe to say I may be be a hazard on the road for anyone who crosses my path.  

Everyday life with a foreigner.  Adjusting to being a foreigner. 
Did you say I wasn't talking enough?  That's right friends and family, it's been brought to my attention that I've recently become less talkative or annoying, however you want to look at it.  I think all this time with foreigners speaking different languages has significantly changed my communication patterns.  I didn't realize it until Pedro took my quiet demeanor as a sign of unhappiness.  For the record, I am super happy, just maybe a bit more reserved than normal.  For those of you who know me, you know that quiet and understated are not adjectives that typically apply for me.  Maybe this is progress.  I'm learning and appreciating listening a lot more.  I just hope there isn't a backlash on my next visit home.  I'm imagining myself exploding with conversation with no end in sight.  But honestly, so many things are new to me here and I've been spending my initial days as more of a sponge.  I'm sure my loud, chatty ways will come back sooner than Pedro would like.

I feel like when you first live with someone, it's always a learning process.  The little nuances that you discover are all part of the ride.  I love my dear Pedro with everything I have and find it fun to experience day-to-day life with him as a live-in.  This will most likely be an ongoing theme to revisit throughout my notes, but there are a couple things I noticed in the first week back in Copenhagen.  The learning experience can be enlightening, frustrating and at times funny.  With Pedro, more often that not, they are funny to me simply because he is European and accents easily amuse me.  

For example, this week Pedro had a nightmare which woke me up.  He was still sleeping when he starting thrashing and rambling franticly in what I believe to be a mixture of the 4 languages he speaks.  Not understanding a word, I try to wake him to ask him what exactly is causing this spastic seizure.  Unsuccessful at stopping him, he continues and proceeds to jump out of bed and remove all the sheets, blankets, covers and pillows that were keeping me warm at 3 in the morning.  This was a rude surprise.  Now cold and unhappy, I look at him, standing in the middle of the room, waving off invisible creatures and speaking jibberish.  When he finally came to, he still spoke jibberish and said something about Cleopatra trying to kill him.  Normally, I might not be as amused with such a starling wake up experience, but really, a dream about Cleopatra and snakes combined with his own language confusion is more than a little adorable.  The kicker is my realization that he talks in his sleep.  While this can be a brilliant discovery when there's an opportunity to hear one's subconscious spew freely, I don't appear to be as lucky.  In my case, I have the great opportunity to hear a subconscious of a strange combination of languages.  I guess we can't have it all.

12 Days in Europe and Counting

To blog or not to blog.

Sometimes, when I hear the word "blog" I simply cringe at how geeky and self-fulfilling it seems.  Other times, I think what a great way to share my experiences with loved ones without writing one-off emails to everyone.  Ultimately, I decided to give it a try and see if anyone actually cares about my adventures.  Perhaps, I'm also selfish and crave self-fulling things.  Either way, here it goes.  I feel pretty confident that my initial post will by far be my longest.  Apologies in advance.  


Goodbyes in Los Angeles.
There is not much to say here that won't induce tears.  Well, my tears anyway.  Living in Los Angeles, there are transplants everywhere you look and I've been to dozens of goodbye parties.  With this experience, I thought I would be slightly prepared, but my actual departure was much worse than I anticipated.  When others leave, I think... no problem, now I have a new place to visit.  However, when I was the one leaving, I found it incredibly heart wrenching to leave the little Venice beach life I created and all the amazing people that filled it.  Lots of tearful goodbyes.  No regrets on my decision though.  It's simply a new chapter and I'm determined to stay connected with my LA favorites while branching off to a new life.


The Flight...


At the airport, I was a bit of a teary mess after saying goodbye to my dear friend, Amanda, at the curb.  In my defense, (1) Amanda is amazing and (2) the whirlwind few weeks leading up to departure included: organizing a long list of last minute details, shipping select items from the post office, packing my life in two large bags, selling off the rest of my two bedroom apartment that didn't fit in my travel bags, wrapping up work, moving out of my apartment, preparing for and doing job interviews via Video Conference, trying to balance quality time with my mom (who thankfully flew in to help me and who I credit for ensuring everything got done in time), and saying goodbye to friends and loved ones.  This is enough to throw anyone into an emotional roller-coaster.  My last day at the office was actually also my last day in the country.  I spent the morning selling my car, finalizing work details and fitting in my last Google massage (which is something to be appreciated and is already desperately missed), while my baggage waited for me in the garage.  Amanda picked me up from the office and drove me straight to the airport.  In hindsight, my tight schedule might have been a little aggressive and I might recommend someone else give themselves a little more buffer time before departure.


At check in, even though I was hiding behind oversized sun glasses, I'm pretty sure the attendant could tell I had been crying.  He was in his late 30s/early 40s, tall, gentle and looked possibly Indian.  With an understanding smile, he waived my overweight baggage fees, assigned me a better seat and told me the best place to get a snack before boarding.  At this moment, I determined SWISS airlines to be the best airline around.  I used to fly on a regular basis for work domestically, have also done a lot of international travel as well, and have never had such a pleasant experience.  It didn't stop at check-in, the flight attendants were very accommodating and everything inflight was FREE.  They started us off with happy hour cocktails before coming around with snacks.  The food was also a pleasant surprise.  Appeared to be fresh and, to my delight, had various vegetarian options.  Soon after, I was in a Valium induced semi-coma, so it's hard to tell if the service dropped off mid-flight.  Either way, I'm still super impressed with my experience.  This type of service used to be the way of all international travel, but today, most airlines opt for nickel and dime policies.  Cheers to SWISS for keeping standards high.  You will now be my preferred airline.      




ESPANA.
My move date, departing March 31 - arriving April 1, was specifically set so Pedro and I could still make Easter holiday in Spain while allowing me to finish off my quarter at work.  This is the major reason for the tight turnaround in my travel agenda.  With only a short 12 hours in Copenhagen, I fit in a shower, dinner, time to rummage through my overflowing bags to pack for another trip and a nap.  At dawn, Pedro and I were again lugging bags downstairs and a few blocks to the metro on our way to CPH airport.  




Barcelona. 


First destination is Barcelona.  This is my first time in Barcelona.  Even though I'm in a jet lag haze, I'm wearing a smile and happy to be discovering a new city with my love.  While Pedro and I are scurrying around the airport looking for his friend, David, we see a little white car drive past us at race car type speeds.  I don't pretend to have my miles to kilometer conversions down yet, but let's just say it was going incredibly over the speed limit.  So much so that the car was getting impressive air time after each speed bump.  About ten minutes later, we're on a shuttle to another terminal and see loads of policia surrounding one, presumably dead, policeman lying on the ground surrounded by glass.  Quite the first impression of Barcelona.  Shortly after, I asked David what kind of city he was living in where runaway cars are murdering the police at the airport arrival area.   


We then settled into David's apartment near the city center.  He has an amazing little spot with a terrance and a loft where Pedro and I stayed.  Day one consisted of a nice lunch with some traditional Spanish food at David's place, a siesta, a walk and then a dinner out followed by many drinks at different bars around town.  David is an English teacher in Barcelona and is gracious enough to speak English in my presence.  This, especially at first arrival, is a very comforting welcome.  One major thing of note that I have a hard time with in Spain - besides my struggle to communicate - is the smoke.  You can smoke anywhere, in front of anyone - babies, little kids, people eating - it doesn't matter the circumstance, the Spaniards will smoke 'em if they have 'em.  I'm pretty sure my clothes still smell even after a proper wash.  


Day two of Barcelona, David showed us around to some of the touristy areas to give me a proper feel of the city.  We took a few photographs, saw some Gaudi buildings, went to an incredible market, and stopped at various bars/cafes for espresso/beer and tapas.  It seems to be a common theme to stop at a different cafe each hour.  I particularly like this slow relaxed pace.   Things I'm really learning to enjoy: siestas and cafe breaks... and of course, Spanish food.  It was also nice not to have pressure to fit everything in, as we plan to come back to Barcelona a few times each year to get breaks from the weather in Denmark.  In time and with a true Spanish style, I will learn this city.  From what I saw on my first visit, I can definitely see why people love Barcelona.  Now on to Murcia! 

Lost in translation in Murcia. 


Murcia is in the south of Spain, south of Alicante, and is where both Pedro and David grew up.  This is now my second visit to the city and for some reason, it looks better the second time around.  Maybe it's the sunshine, but this town is growing on me.  It could also be the holiday week that made the city come alive.  My first visit to Murcia over Christmas was a bit stressful due to my major deficiencies with the Spanish language and that it seemed that NO ONE in Murcia spoke any English except David and Pedro.  As you can imagine, this is especially difficult for Pedro who had to translate every conversation I had.  I tried shouting out the few words in Spanish I knew, like a caveman, and followed with charades.  My best attempt at sentence structure.  Pretty primitive.  Pedro's friends and family must think he found a real "special" girl.   Pedro's dad still teases me about how I demonstrated a flying plane by extending both arms out straight and tilting from side to side.  To avoid further embarrassment, I quickly learned the word "avión." 


This time around, after day 4, I start feeling more confident with my Spanish and actually attempt real sentences.  Pedro helped coach me and I practiced out loud to perfect my pronunciation.  Attempting to really WOW his parent's, I asked them, in what I thought was perfect pronunciation, to join us for dinner after we landed.  With a look of total confusion, they just stared at me and said "Que?"   Pedro repeated exactly what I thought I said and then they seemed to understand.  A couple different options for what could have happened here:  (1) they have absolutely no confidence in my ability to pick up the language and immediately dismissed my attempt or (2) I'm completely tone deaf.  On reflection of feedback from my rare, but strong karaoke renditions of Jon Bon Jovi's "Wanted" or of STYX's "Mr Roboto," I'm starting to think that maybe my Spanish doesn't sound the same to others as it does in my head.   I pride myself on performance rather than my vocal skills.  At dinner, Pedro left me alone with his parent's and sister for what might have been 5 minutes to park the car, but it felt like 30.  The three of them sat there and stared at me.  While I think I understand a great deal of Spanish at this point, they have a pretty thick accent and I'm obviously a failure at responding properly, so without Pedro it's pretty much a disaster.  Panic starts setting in as they never seem to hesitate to speak freely to me in Spanish, even though my translator is missing.  As the only gringa in the open-air restaurant, it's obvious to everyone around that something is a miss with this situation.  I have no idea what they are saying to me and while I'm fidgeting around frantically looking for Pedro, they just continue repeating their sentences, just louder the second time around, which doesn't really help.  Finally, Pedro comes back and resumes his role as translator throughout dinner.  After dinner, we grabbed some paparajortes (which is father had to repeat to me several times... each time louder and slower - PA.PA.RA.JOR.TES!!! in which, each time, I replied, "que?").  Having never heard of this dessert in my life, it wouldn't have mattered if he had a megaphone.  This still makes me laugh.  Even with the language barrier, I really like his family.  

Interactions with Pedro's family wasn't the only time I stumbled.  I'm learning that verb usage in Spanish is very important.  It can completely change the meaning of what you're intending to say.  For example, I wanted to say I'm ready to go.  Instead of saying "estoy listo," I said "soy listo" which means "I'm clever."  Ironic that rather than trying to say let's go... I end up sounding like I'm congratulating myself.  Another example, it is important to know that the verb "querer" can mean to "love" something rather than just to "want" something.  This slight, but significant, difference can create sticky situations.   Also, upon saying goodbye to everyone I met I said "mi gusta" thinking it means "pleasure to meet you."  Only days after returning to Copenhagen did I learn that means "I like/love you."  Pedro's friends now not only must think I'm "special," but also aggressively friendly.  


This visit proved me wrong about the English capabilities in Murica.  The last day in Murcia, to my delight, I met a few of Pedro's friends who spoke some English.  They helped me practice my spanish and now my comprehension is rapidly increasing every day.  With great happiness I can say that Pedro can no longer speak freely in front of me in Spanish without worry that I'm listening and understanding.    


Lunch is at 3. Dinner is after 9. 


Schedules are a bit different in Spain than I'm accustomed to.   My jet lag is still pretty strong a couple days into the trip.   The good news is that I'm in Spain and siestas are appreciated... usually.  The bad news is the more I nap, the longer it feels like the longer it takes me to recover.  The last couple days on our visit, there is absolutely no time for naps or breaks.  We had power days with a full agenda of errands that completely wore me out.  We planned on lunch with his immediate and extended family, which started promptly at 3:00 PM.  The three hour "lunch" was filled with very fast paced Spanish and I was too tired from jet lag to try to follow the conversations.  These are situations where "lo siento, no habla espanol" is perfect.  I simply smiled, ate and zoned out.  


Sometimes, I also like to believe that I have a stomach of steel, which is stupid because after being a Pescetarian for the past three years I should be pretty aware that I have a hard time processing meat.  While avoiding meat and quickly learning "sin carne para mi," I still dove face first into everything else represented on the table.  Which is also probably why his mother, who barely comes up to my waist, made a comment about me having to eat twice as much because I'm twice as big.  Although I thought I was in normal consumption ranges, I am American and I did wait until 3 to eat lunch, so I probably did binge a bit.  This resulted in stomach pains that took my reserved quiet composure to a rushed disagreeable temperature.   I couldn't get out of there fast enough and when I realized I've been sitting in silence, listening to spanish with a disagreeable stomach for over 3 hours, my mood got increasingly sour.  I'm sure my first impressions with the extended family are now probably at an all time high.  Although, they did repeatedly ask when, exactly, we were planning on having babies.  I take this to mean they must like me a little.  It was past 6 when we left and when we made dinner plans for after 9 that night.  Thankfully, dinners are light meals.


Bando de la Huerta.  The whole city celebrates.


The last day we were in Murcia participating in "Bando de la Huerta" was by far the best day for me.   People drive in from all the surrounding areas come to Murcia and dress up in distinctive costumes for the celebration.  Pedro had an extra outfit for me, which was so fun.  Next year, I want to splurge and wear a Spanish dress.  A couple of his friends looked like Spanish princesses and I had costume envy.  The party starts early in the day and goes until dawn.  I don't think I saw any other obvious tourists there all day besides me... even though I was in traditional costume, my gringa blondie looks give me away every time.  The entire day was a massive city wide party!  We wandered around downtown, danced in the streets, danced in bars, ate lots of tapas, walked through the parade and visited with Pedro's brother.  Fortunate for the people of Murcia, I gave them a little taste of MY traditional dance moves.  I like to think they were well received.  I took their blank stares as a sign of approval and encouragement.  Bando de la Huerta was an excellent way to end our visit and I look forward to next year!  


More about Bando de la Huerta: 
This celebration is part of the Spring Fiestas in Murcia, and will allow you to enjoy the typical customs and traditions of this fruit and vegetable growing region.
The “Bando de la Huerta” celebration comes on the first Tuesday after Easter, coinciding with the most important day of the Spring Fiestas. It consists of a parade of oxen-drawn carriages and booths from which the participants, known as "huertanos", throw food at the spectators. After the floral offering to the Virgen de la Fuensanta, the parade begins through the streets of the city, accompanied by local folk groups and associations.

Back in København.
One week in Spain and now back in Copenhagen.  It's only officially been my new home for one week and I spent the entire time in Spain, but when we landed it felt good to be home.  The first day back, the sun was shining and it was beautiful out.  It felt like a crisp fall day, which is a drastic comparison to my old home of Venice beach where I'm sure my friends are already in bikinis and frolicking on the beach.   With Pedro at work, I settled into the apartment and then bundled up in my scarf and jacket to wander the city.   I met Pedro for a coffee and we went to the post office together to pick up my goodies.  I shipped 7 small/medium sized boxes of special items I insisted on not leaving behind.  Regret started to hit when we had to lug them up to our fourth floor apartment.  72 steps.  up and down. over and over again.  However, once I got everything upstairs, happiness returned.  I unpacked all my goodies and started getting organized.  It's strange merging yourself into someone else's established space, but it must be done.  There are also a considerable amount of changes to make to the decor of the apartment.  In time, this place will be girl friendly.  Why must all single men have black leather couches?  I'm slowly making progress in this bachelor pad, but unfortunately new furniture is at the bottom of the shopping list.  Conquering my to-do list is first... get a job to pay for said couches.  I have money saved and should try to relax, but my to-do list seems longer now than it was when I was gainfully employed.  


Work never stops.  My second day in the city I had a business meeting lined up already.  No need laying about.  I'm considering starting working as a consultant for an interesting start up.  Options are endless for my new adventure.  I have another meeting lined up tomorrow to discuss part-time summer employment to keep me busy.  One thing is for sure... life is not boring here.  Pedro likes to watch movies before bed, and of course CNN, but other than that, I haven't watched any television.   This to me feels like progress.  


Poker is International.  Friday night we went to Pedro's friend's house for dinner.  Not only is Pedro an incredible cook, his friends also have exceptional skills in the kitchen.  Miguel is Columbian and cooks to perfection.  I'm a beginner in the kitchen, but with these chefs around I'm starting to learn.  After a delicious meal, we settled into Texas Hold 'Em, which made me feel right at home as this is a family favorite in the States.  More happiness. 


Saturday. Countryside. Horses. Castles. Amazing.   We went for a trip to the Danish countryside on Saturday to visit a friend's home.  The drive was beautiful.  Another gorgeous day in Denmark.  We stopped at a cafe by the Queen's Summer Castle for a bite to eat first.  Then we visited the gorgeous farm that Pedro's friend works on.  The house was really stunning and is positioned on acres of rolling green grass, right off a beautiful lake.   There were different buildings around the property for feeding, riding, etc. with plenty of room for the horses to run and graze outside.  The day was perfect.  Blue skies and vibrant green grass.  I think 14 horses in total.  

Futbol.  Saturday proved for another grand meal.  A girl can really get spoiled with this type of cooking.  Thank god I've been walking everywhere and have to walk 72 steps just to get to the apartment.  After dinner, we raced to a little pub to watch Barcelona beat Real Madrid.  As we all know, soccer is not big in America.  People may argue this and it is starting to get more popular every year, but let's face it... it can't compare to the viewership of american football, basketball or baseball.  Having little experience watching futbol in proper settings, I can say that I really fully enjoyed this new experience.  I can't say if it was just that the game was intense and really well played (I was cheering for Barcelona) or if it was the crowd in the bar that was energizing.  Watching the game with Spaniards couldn't have hurt.  They told me repeatedly how BIG this game was and how many millions of people watch Spain play futbol.   References to how the Superbowl could never compare to the importance of this game.  I learned a full lesson on how politics play a big role in the rivalry.  These people take futbol VERY seriously.   The friends cheering for Madrid were almost mute the rest of the night.  Serious sports depression.  Thank god Pedro liked the winning team.  


Peeping Toms.  Sunday was a day of organizing the house.  It's amazing how a man so accomplished and organized in life can simply overlook some glaring issues in his house.  I found an area behind the sink that has never been cleaned, a vent that had collected dust for at least 4 years and windows that you could barely see through.  After a quick trip to IKEA and power tag team style spring cleaning, things are starting to come together.   After spending, what seemed like hours, doing dishes at the sink, I realized not many people in the buildings across from us use window coverings.  I can clearly see these people and identify what they are up doing on a regular basis and they can also see me.  Our bedroom has blinds, but the living room is a free for all.  I've already seen more than one naked neighbors drinking their coffee in the mornings.  I've started a shopping list of must haves for the apartment and living room blinds are at the top of priorities.  Over the past couple days, I started collecting lifestyle details about our neighbors while cleaning, but first noticed the transparency after dancing in my skivvies in the living room.  Pedro kindly announced that there were 2 danes across the way watching me and I might want to consider taking my little dance routine to the other room.  Perfect.  Already making friends with the neighbors.  I wonder what they think of me in the mornings when my short blonde hair stands straight up.  Some sort of American life-sized blonde troll doll.       

Back logging blogs for 12 days is exhausting.  That's it for now.