Here's another two week update, folks.
A couple weeks ago, I went out with Mette and 20 of her friends to celebrate her birthday. Pedro, laid up with his bad knee, could not make it and had to stay home, pouting. Mette's celebration was a lot of fun. It was at this pub that I reunited with my new friend, Lars from the Marina. He was quick to remind me, repeatedly, that he is NOT in fact old. I went back and reread my last post and realized I described the setting as being filled with old men in almost every sentence. Whoopsie. I stand corrected, Lars. You are right. I should clarify that I was referring to Henrik. He's super old. Not you.
Mette's birthday started at a little pub in the city center where she treated us with many pints, Jaggermeister shots, and laughs. Then, the singing started. I initially thought it would just be the traditional "Happy Birthday" song in Danish, but to my delight, it was followed by at least 2 more Danish songs. There were lots of aggressive clapping and shouting accompanying said songs, mostly from me. In retrospect, I should remind myself that it might not always be best to participate when you don't know any of the words as grunting made up Danish lyrics may not be the best way to make friends. Thankfully, no one seemed to care. As the singing continued, I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. Nothing short of a video will give true credit to this moment. After many drinks, we all walked to Christiania and ate delicious falafels. Shortly after, we gathered in a concert hall, which was upstairs in what looked to me like an old farmhouse with candles. The opening band was good. All of their song lyrics were in English. Every one. But, when they addressed the crowd, they only spoke Danish. Next on, was the group we came to see - The Black Heart Procession. Right before they started playing, I learned they were from San Diego. Overwhelmed with patriotism, I had to restrain myself from introducing myself. I have to remind myself that not all Americans are meant to be my friends. For example, I've met two Americans living in Copenhagen since I moved here and I haven't been impressed with either. One of the girls was from Cincinnati, but you'd never know it because she spoke English with a Danish accent even though she's only been here 3 years. After almost 8 years in LA, I never lost my mid-west accent. She was really trying hard. Everything about her screamed that she desperately wanted to be Danish. I immediately disliked her. I promise that I will not be that girl. The other American was so deeply rooted in his southern ways from the North Carolina it seems he hasn't adapted much. at all. I won't be him either. I joined an American expat group, but haven't been able to attend an event yet. I've met a TON of expats here, but it should be interesting to meet other American expats. Stories to follow...
Euro travels. I've been to Spain four times now, three times with Pedro. Each time is challenging and funny, but I find that each time my experience is better and better. I like Spain more and more with each visit. This may be a direct correlation to my Espanol, which is also getting better and better. It makes such a big difference when you can actually understand some of what is happening around you. This last visit, I was actually able to completely relax, even though I was a full time nurse to Pedro and his injured knee. Poor guy is getting carted around in wheelchairs, using crutches, and, mostly, complaining. I've become his full time chauffeur, which I think Pedro views as punishment. Driving in Spain is a real experience. There are roundabouts everywhere. This was definitely an adjustment for me, but by the end of the trip I consider myself an expert.
The last visit to Spain was spent mostly in Pedro's hometown, Murcia and at his beach apartment in La Manga. In the city was non-stop appointments at the doctor's office and at immigration services. Fun stuff. But, when we were at the beach, it was beautiful. There we relaxed, slept in, finished a puzzle, and watched amazing sunsets. One thing that has surprised me is the alarming number of Brits living in the Spanish beach communities. It's as if they are taking over. None of them seem to want to even try to learn Spanish either. There are complete British communities here, with their own bars, grocery stores, etc. It's nice for me to be able to speak English, but one thing I learned in Spain is that I no longer like the British accent. I remember a time when I thought it was exotic, charming and exciting. That time is long gone.
Here are some photos from the trip:
At the doctor's office, I noticed a couple curious things. First, in the waiting room, this is the coffee machine:
I thought maybe a photo of a latte, or anything coffee related, would've been more appropriate. But not here. Here we have a picture of a healthy, pretty girl almost taunting the sick and tired people waiting for medical attention.
These are the signs for the bathroom. This is another first for me. Typically, one sees the universal stick figure outlines of a man or woman, but this sign maker really splurged for a sexy photo shoot to identify these toilets.
Bonding with the mother-in-law. Everything is ridiculously overpriced in Copenhagen, so when in Spain, Pedro and I like to take advantage of the cheaper prices here. This often involves packing an extra suitcase for all the things we acquire in Spain - clothes, food, etc. This last trip, I wanted to be sure to also indulge in some of the other activities I've become so accustomed to in Los Angeles. In retrospect, I lived a very pampered life in LA and my cheap indulgences are clearly luxuries in Copenhagen. These luxuries include massages, manicures, pedicures, facials, waxes, maids, laundry service, etc. I used to have a team of people to meet my needs. Now, unemployment has significantly changed that. After enduring some of my complaints, Pedro arranged for his mother, Carmen, and me to go to the salon for a pedicure. I did not really know what I was signed up for, but happy to have something done about my feet. Pedro's mother is very cute and I'm starting to understand her more and more, even with her thick Murciano accent, but still not completely. His father, however, though adorable, I cannot understand one word he says. Here he is with his parrot.
On our walk to the salon, Carmen stopped in a few shops to say hello and started introducing me around town. Once at the salon, we get escorted to a back room area where a few girls from the salon were stationed. They first all start examining and tugging on the neckline on my dress, which is linen, tailored, and has short sleeves. I'm still not sure what is happening when they hand me a medical gown and tell me to change in the bathroom. Confused, but not wanting to seem fussy, I agree and come out with only my g-string, bra and medical gown. They then instruct me to lay down on a stretcher. While thinking this is THE strangest pedicure I've ever had, I chalk it up to being in Spain and start wondering if there are places in America that make you get naked before getting a pedicure?
Next thing I know, the girls pin back my hair and ask me to lay down. Going with the flow, I hesitate but comply and am very pleased when they start giving me a facial. Now I suppose the gown makes sense because the facial includes my neck and chest. Carmen is sitting next to me and chatting up the girls - there are two working on my pedicure, one on my facial and one on my manicure. After my lovely treatments, Carmen suggests I get waxed, although she was asking me if I wanted to get my eyebrows done. Those of you who know me know that I barely have any hair and to get anything waxed on my face would basically leave me without eyebrows all together. This is not an option, but, regrettably, I asked if I could get a bikini wax. It's not a problem, although I didn't realize it would be in the same room. They simply just moved me to another stretcher and proceeded with the waxing business. Now, I enjoy mother-daughter time with the in laws, but I did not expect her to see my private parts so soon in our relationship. The experience was a bit horrifying. Getting a Brazilian can be traumatizing for the modest when you're alone in the room, nevermind having you're future mother-in-law watching over the process. Even though the girl who waxed me missed some spots, I didn't dare complain in fear that the experience would last longer than it did and that it would require additional positions. The best news came when it was time to pay. All of the treatments were only 20 Euros! Amazing. When we returned to Pedro and his father, I explained that it was wonderful, but quite the experience. Pedro then translated that it was actually a training salon which is why it was so cheap. Works for me.
We also spent an afternoon at an amazing spa, Balneario de Archena, to try to get some water therapy for Pedro's knee... that's the angle I went with anyway. While there, I fit in a 30 minute massage and, of course, it was not what I was expecting. This was a completely naked massage under big water spouts. It reminded me of my first massage. When I was 13 years old visiting Venezuela with my family, all the girls were gifted a massage during the trip. As the youngest girl in the family, I wasn't as thrilled about the present as the others. Thirteen is an awkward age to receive a first massage as it is, but it was also completely shocking for me to get naked in front of an old Venezuelan woman and then have her rub my body. In the States, you would never get completely naked in front of a therapist (in any legal establishment anyway). There is always dim lighting, soft music and lots of covers. I think the Venezuelan woman sensed my American Tween horror so she handed me a small hand towel to cover myself. Hardly effective. Now, sixteen years later and after showing Pedro's mom my privates a day before, I'm not nearly as modest. At the balneario, the therapist adjusted the water to pour down on me in a rotation. When I wasn't being rained on by warm mineral water, she vigorously massaged mud on me. Exactly what I needed. I don't feel like it's worthwhile unless I feel like I'm being beat up. After, I stood in the room while she took a power hose to me to clean off all remaining mud, similar to the way prison guards clean incoming inmates in the movies. That lady was all business, but very effective. I left feeling super relaxed and happy.
One night, while Pedro met up with friends, I joined his sister, Carmen Maria, and her girlfriends for a girls night. Carmen doesn't speak English, so I was a little nervous, but I was relieved that one of her girlfriends, Manuela, did and she helped serve as my translator. Carmen has a really great group of girlfriends and they made me feel super comfortable - even though it must be very annoying to have someone who speaks like a primate disrupt your evening. It was only about 8 girls sitting around chatting, so it was a perfect setting to practice my Spanish. More immersion. It was funny, at first only Manuela spoke English with me, but after a couple beers all the girls suddenly knew some English words and whenever they were stuck used Google translate. Amazing tool. If only my phone worked in Spain, I would consistently use Google translate on my mobile when trying to communicate.
We spent the last night in Spain in Alicante. Alicante seems to be a lot more International than Murcia. We stayed at a friend's parent's beautiful apartment. Their terrace had sprawling views of the sea, the mountains and the city. Gorgeous. Marta's parents were amazing hosts. They were interesting, charming and generous. Marta's mother, Lola, who looks more like Marta's sister, cooked us an amazing lunch with fresh fish and paella. Lunch, of course, started after 3:00 pm and ended after 6:00 pm. We then continued our conversation on the terrace and enjoyed cava and tortilla de patas and olives. This lead to a pretty competitive olive pit spitting contest, of course. It's a real sport and will even be part of the Olympic line up in the coming games (either 2012 or 2016). As luck would have it, Manolo, Marta's boyfriend, is a local champion. We stayed on the terrace talking for a few hours. I was so proud of myself because here I had no problems understanding Marta's family as their accent is more neutral, so it was SO much easier to participate, engage and ask questions. Even though everything was in Spanish, I don't think I missed much. Around 11:00 pm we started to get ready for dinner. We went to a nice sushi place in town - which they picked special for me since I don't eat meat. When we sat down it was around 11:30 pm and there were only a couple people in the restaurant, but around midnight the place started to really fill up. Spaniards really do eat dinner late. We didn't get home until after 1 am when I promptly drove into bed. It was a full day of eating, drinking and sleeping, and that's exhausting. They tell me the Spanish people eat and drink as a sport, and they do it well.
Next week, we'll be in Italy for a wedding in Tuscany. I can't wait for more adventures! We're planning on taking a scooter side trip while we're there but, Pedro's knee may have other plans. We'll see.
Engagement.
Pedro and I have been engaged for some time now, but have been pretty slow on proper announcements, aside from our families and close friends knowing, it's been fairly quiet. Quiet until last week, when Pedro changed his relationship status to engaged on Facebook. This resulted in an overwhelming number of sweet comments and well wishes. I suppose it's now official because Facebook says so. It's quite the effective way to make an announcement. We've been planning quite a bit lately, so I suppose it's time to share the good news with everyone! We're extremely happy and look forward to many happy years together. I feel so lucky to have found such an incredible, kind, sweet, handsome, funny and clever man. Thank you everyone for the kind words of encouragement!!! :)
