Reunion en Estocolmo

I’m all packed, and as compact as I ever have been because of RyanAir’s specific restrictions - one bag to check and one carry-on. No purse, no satchel. This time tomorrow I’ll be on my way to Sweden to visit Adam. We’ve talked about it in the past, when we were both still at Albany and I was questioning my masochistic manner of always befriending the international students.

 “I’ll come visit you one day in Stockholm!” It wasn’t a lie, I just didn’t think I would actually ever make it there.

But now here goes! Another stamp in the passport, another European airline experience. Another overnight stay in a dark Heathrow terminal. My dad calls me a dirty backpacker but I prefer dusty duffler. Or musty equipajedora. It’s funny how one day I was completely content sprawled out on my bedroom floor reading books, writing poems with no desire to go anywhere and now I can’t go even a few months without packing a bag and hitting the road. Water, food, and travel. That’s all I need.

And maybe some strange and colorful fashions. A wise [wo]man once told me: “You can buy happiness. In Spain, at Desigual. I’ve said good-bye to some of my more subtle attire to make room for the goodies I splurged on at my favorite store. The selection in the Massionave location in Alicante is impressive. It puts Herald Square’s Desigual to shame. In these threads I am bold, badass, bodacious and busty. You know, happy.

But really, I’m happy for so many reasons. This month has been pretty fantastic. Alicante is a ciudad like I’ve never seen. It is warm, and colorful. Charming and exciting. Antique and modern. It is all of the things that I loved about Salamanca but more. Who would’ve known - more than Salamanca!

It’s small enough to allow one to quickly become acquainted but large enough to stumble across something new everyday – an aquarium in the middle of a plaza, an adorable bakery with a Spanish Lee Pace as its Pie-Maker.

Alicante's party ethic puts this New Yorker / Albany-an to shame. Fireworks midday at a central tram station and then at midnight shot off of the Castillo; parades every day of the San Juan fiesta. Kegs and Eggs has got nothing on Hogueras. Giant statues are scattered around the city – some taller than the strange viny trees; all made of wood and Styrofoam. The details are impeccable; the colors are as vibrant as the people. One can immediately see the work that goes into the specifics - the long hours spent planning, sculpting and painting. Then it all burns to the ground.

Fireworks go off at each location and flames attack the sculptures. Bomberos stand by with their hoses. They spray the flames, they spray the people. The people scream! They curse the firemen. The fires heat the people’s faces and send them into a rage. “Hijo de puta! Hijo de puta!  AGUA AGUA AGUA!!!”

High-powered hoses directed at the masses has always left a certain anger in me. Tonight, though, America’s history is far from my mind and I shout with the Alicantinos to be sprayed down.

* * *

Here, I’ve had plenty of time to unwind and reset. I am well-rested and filled with stories and poems. I have material for years. I am so content. I’m equipped with what I need for part two of Amanda-tries-to-acquire-another-degree. I’ve gathered enough pleasant memories to fuel my year of thesis writing. But let’s not rush it. There’s a-whole-nother week before I have to leave Europa.

Xoxo

A. Emme

P.S.

There’s been an awful lot of photo bombing happening here in Alicante. In that same spirit, a compañera of mine blog-bombed my entry draft and I’d be a buzzkill not to post it:

Also… I am leaving this really awesome lady behind in Alicante because I am lame and am going to Sweden.  Ashley is pretty much the best human being I have ever met and I think I am going to move to Milwaukee to be near her forever.