Querida bella España,

La semana pasada cumplí 3 años en seguidos en tu tierra. Esta puesta del sol era una de las primeras vistas que disfruté de mi primer paseo por el paseo marítimo, en A Coruña. Era mi nueva casa en aquel tiempo y estaba descubriéndola, pasito a pasito. En esa época no conocí a nadie en Galicia, unha nova terra para mim, pero el amor y pasión que he tenido por tu país y tu gente es más fuerte que nunca y tres años de vivir aquí no lo ha apagado en mí sino ha crecido aún más fuerte. Que cansancio tenía aquel día que llegué en Coruña pero yo estaba lleno de sueños y nuevos planes para los años que vendrían.

3 años. Es casi mil (1.000) días en tu país tan bello y tan diverso. Amo a tu gente, tu idioma, tu comida, tus costumbres, tus paisajes y tus playas. Claro que hay y habrá problemas pero este país me dejado soñar y ser yo misma como nunca he podido hacer antes.

España me atreve ser creativa, aventurera, valiente, generosa, una luchadora, una soñadora, una verdadera amante de la vida.

Torre de Hércules October 2014

La Alhambra (February 2016)

Templo de Debod (June 2017)

Gracias por darme una bienvenida tan grande cuando pisé en su tierra por primera vez cuando tenía 21 años. Tengo tantos recuerdos inolvidables aquí

¿Y ahora? Nunca me imaginé que viviría en la capital, una ciudad tan grande y diversa como el país tí mismo. Diría que soy una persona completamente diferente a la que volvió aquí pero la verdad es que soy como siempre he querido ser. Y me da mucha alegría. No hay precio con el tiempo que he tendido aquí para crecer y floricer como una mujer y amante del idioma español.

Es asombroso lo que puede pasar en poco tiempo y dónde podemos estar.  No puedo esperar ver ni puedo imaginar los rincones que voy a descubrir en el año que viene. 

Sigue soprendiéndome, España. Esoty preparada para la próxima aventura.

Un besazo!

Saludos,

 Sarah la Viajera

This post originally appeared on Instagram //este artículo originalmente aparceció en Instagram. Echálo un vistazo aquí.

Alguna vez has vivido o actualmente vives en España como extranjero/a? Cuéntame tu historia abajo en español o inglés! Tengo muchas ganas de leerlo 🙂

In case you missed part 1 of this story, click here.

Soon enough, it was time to land and then disembark from the plane. Since I was on an international flight, we had to go through customs and put our luggage through another set of scanners and then go on our way.  I did just that but needed to exchange some of my remaining dollar bills first.

I had two things working against me at that point: 1) extremely sore feet from walking a few blocks in Manhattan and 2) a really tired and jet lagged body that just wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep.

I wasn’t fortunate enough to be able to do the latter and I tried to connect my little netbook to the WiFi at the airport and send an email back home before I caught the metro. No such luck. I couldn’t figure out which website to go to once I had connected to the network.

So, I braced myself for the real test. The one I had been studying for…

The metro.

I had to navigate the Madrid metro with no one by my side to guide me and no cell phone service. And my first obstacle right off the bat, after I found the entrance to the metro, was buying a metro ticket. I had never used a subway system in my life, though I had just come from NYC.

After a couple of trials and errors, and even a nice madrileño who offered to help me -but spoke too fast-I managed to buy the ticket to the Atocha train station. My main obstacle was figuring out where to put the coins in! So silly but so frustrating at the time. Once  I would arrive at Atocha, I would catch a high speed train (the AVE) to Sevilla, my final destination.

And as much as you can study something on paper, especially a map, the real test of knowledge comes when you have to put it into practice. This is where you see what you’re made of in tricky situations like those.

Again, I had never used a metro or subway system before. I hadn’t even used a city bus! I had spent most of my life up until that point being driven to a place, walking or riding my bike somewhere or borrowing someone else’s car to get there (sending out thank yous again to several friends in Jacksonville who helped me get around for all those years!).

These modes of transportation are all normal for city dwellers but when you come from a gigantic country like I do with an underdeveloped infrastructure, driving everywhere in a car is the norm.

Now, who can tell me how to get to the Atocha Renfe metro station? (Photo taken in January 2017)

Boy, did I have a lot to learn in such a short time. And unbeknownst to me, back in Ohio during my study sessions, I had somehow chosen the longest route possible to take on my very first morning in Spain.

I lugged my suitcase and bag down the escalators and followed a small crowd of other travelers down to the platform to wait. I hadn’t ever seen any of the things I was looking at before: an overhead digital board that announced in how many minutes the train would arrive and what direction it was headed. Signage for the stops it would make on that line from the starting point at that station.

Let’s back up, though. Direction? “As in North or South, East or West?” I asked myself. It didn’t make sense.

Once I rode the pink line (8) of the end of the line, I got off with many other people but had my heavy suitcase to deal with and keep track of. Plus, I was really wanting to take my black wool coat off as I was starting to burn up on the train. But…I didn’t want another thing to carry in my hands so I kept it on and suffered.

However, the bigger issue at hand was just trying to figure out where the next line (the Circular, line 6) was in the huge station I had presently found myself in. I was able to find the platforms for that line but I foolishly thought choosing a platform was going to be as easy as it was at the airport.  I was very wrong.

So, I asked a friendly-looking older lady nearby for help.

Sometimes the only word between you and getting some help is: “hola.” (in Spain)

I mentioned something to her about needing to go to the Atocha train station and that I didn’t know much about the Madrid Metro. She could tell I had just arrived from some foreign land but she helped me make sense of the map I had in my hand.

And then she dropped some knowledge on me. Something I couldn’t have learned back home (cause I didn’t Google transportation tips – shame on me!) as no one there used metro systems or knew how to read metro maps.

It was at that moment that she explained to me that if I wanted to figure out which direction I needed to go, I needed to look at the very last station on that metro line to get it. The light bulb clicked and suddenly I had felt I had had some pretty powerful information in my head now.

Or at the very least, I wouldn’t look as puzzled as I did at the ticket machine earlier. I’ll take that.

So, once I had figured that out, things were a little bit smoother sailing from then on. Except I was getting ever so tired and more annoyed at how heavy my suitcase was (but would realize later on that I had packed much lighter compared to other students). Luckily I met some good Samaritans along the way.  Gentleman who offered to help me carry my suitcase down a wide staircase with very narrow steps for me.

Spanish guys were pretty nice. Maybe I could get used to this kind of chivalry.

Then, I got lost again once I had made it through all those stops on the Circular from Nuevos Ministerios. (Which in hindsight I now pity my younger self for choosing such a long and tortuous route.)

I knew I didn’t have a working cell phone at the time but all of a sudden I had this burning desire to call my mom and ask for her help. Nothing could quench that desire at that moment. But let’s face it, there’s nothing my mom could do to help me, even I had been able to call her.

She and the rest of my family were fast asleep at home, as it was 5 a.m. for them. I wished I could be asleep in a warm bed, too.

This was the bed that was waiting for me at the end of a very, very long day.

But no, I was off on my international adventure in the middle of a metro system some 4,000 miles away from home. And at the time the only thing that was getting me confused was to find the last line where I needed to get off, which was the line 1 at Pacífico.

Asking more questions and seeing that my questions were answered with more helpful replies and tips, I made it to the last line and then, eventually made it to Atocha. I was a  bit tired and thirsty but I was all in one piece, with luggage in tow.

If I remember correctly, I believe that first metro journey lasted just under 2 hours. Now I know how to get from the airport to the train station much faster and in a more efficient way but back then I didn’t.

I was also jet lagged, frustrated and a little bit shy to ask for help. These are all normal things you experience in your first 24 hours.

It wasn’t until I arrived at the train station all in one piece that I started to notice more details around me. I had observed different fashion styles I had seen on the metro earlier but I didn’t pay too much attention to the way things around me looked. I mean, after all, most of the metro stations started to look the same, minus the different colors to match each metro line.

The train station was enormous and I felt like its size was swallowing me up as I slowly walked towards the main entrance to the long distance trains, my head swiveling around on my neck, trying to take it all in.

And then I noticed the view outside one of the gigantic windows.

As if I were being drawn towards it by a magnet, I walked a little bit faster to get a peek at what was outside.

Madrid.

Not the underground view of it, either. Finally, I was able to catch a glimpse of what a real, major European city looked like. I saw parts of brick structures that made up the train station, a whole line of taxis parked out front (and thought to myself, how many taxis does one city need?!) and then farther off in the distance I saw this tall, historic looking buildings. I tried not to noticed that it was also a pretty gray and dismal January day, but I would soon be enjoying the sunny skies of the South of Spain.

My first ever glimpse and photo of Madrid, la capital.

I had a feeling I was going to enjoy living in Europe these next four months.

After taking a couple of pictures, one of the view outside and one of me after over 24 hours of travel and sightseeing – which today, hat particular photo is called a selfie-, I remembered I was thirsty and lugged my stuff to a nearby vending machine. A juice box, which I hadn’t ever seen in a vending machine back in the US, for just over a euro, caught my eye. (I actually got ripped off at that price as I would later learn that you could get 4-6 of them in pack for the same price but it was good at the time.) It satisfied my thirst for a little bit but after that, I decided it was time for me to go on ahead to my train platform and wait for the train. And maybe take a short cat nap if I was lucky.

Final destination: Seville (photo taken later on in 2016)

So I made my way on over to the main entrance that was next to a huge digital board that listed all of the departing train for the next few hours. I saw “Sevilla – Santa Justa” and took note of the platform number. Where said platform was actually located beyond the buzz of activity past the line for security was beyond me.

As I went through the line with my ticket and passport in hand, I was told to load my ginormous suitcase on to the conveyor belt along with my other bag. That was a lot of fun. *Groan.*

I also walked through the typical security gate with things in my pockets, I’m sure, but that was it.

In the back of my mind I thought Spanish airports and stations didn’t put as much focus on security procedures as the US did. Oh, well. I still felt safe but I was minutes away from sitting down and maybe taking a nap.

Finding a place to sleep and boarding the train in a couple hours were the most exciting things on my mind, haha.

As soon as I found the seating area near my gate, I sat down and inched my suitcase closer to me. Maybe I could turn it on its side and prop my feet up on it.

None of that happened because that’s when the exhaustion set in big time. I ended up falling asleep in my chair, holding my handbag and my carry-on luggage close to me.  I didn’t want to have any of my important things swiped from my hands, after all.

I’m not sure how long I ended up sleeping in that chair but it was long enough for passersby to stop and stare at me. I was probably quite the sight and in hindsight, I probably would’ve stared at me, too, haha.

After what felt like a short nap, but hours of waiting for my train, it was time for me to board. I was finally on my way to my new home in Spain: Sevilla!

I ended up finding my correct seat based on what it said on my ticket, after asking for help, of course, as I was clueless. Once I found the seat, and  the appropriate racks to store my luggage, I sat down and took in the surroundings. I don’t remember too much about what I saw but I do remember being impressed that the train took off on time.

The monitor said 15:00 but my body kept arguing with me that it was really 9 a.m EST and it was trying hard to persuade me to take another snooze. I was sitting in a fairly nicer chair now.

I wouldn’t listen. I was stubborn and decided to pull a book out of my handbag. I don’t remember what it was but I do remember not reading more than a line of it and looking out the window for a few seconds at some very green pastures…I didn’t think Spain had green…I thought.

Then, my eyes shut and my head slowly tilted towards the window.

Bam. I was out like a light.

It wasn’t until many years later that I actually saw what few sights there were on the AVE train line between Madrid and Sevilla because I slept through the entire ride my first time! I was excited to experience my first high speed train but I was at the point of my travels where I couldn’t stay awake.

And the nap was supposed to be refreshing but I think because I didn’t pull the shade down and slept in broad daylight. My poor body clock was so confused.

What I was supposed to admire and enjoy outside my window on the high speed train.

So, that high speed train experience went a lot faster than I should have and by the time I knew it, I was finally in Sevilla! The man next to me was kind enough to retrieve my carry-on luggage for me and as he handed it to me, he said, “Very heavy,” and started to walk down the aisle. Huh?

How did he know I spoke English? (He had plenty of time to read the front cover of whatever book I had in my hand, which was in English, that’s how he knew, haha).

I was able to snap myself out of my slumber and get ready to meet the coordinator for my study abroad program.  I was finally going to be able to talk to someone and start to make a connection with someone who lives in this country.  I was starting to feel excited again and less tired.

But, I forgot one little thing: my actual suitcase. I have no idea what I was thinking but maybe I thought that the train attendants would load the luggage off the train for us?

Again, I was thinking train stations worked like airports. Silly me.

Not too long after I found my coordinator, she told me where my luggage would be (in the Renfe office) and we went to collect it. I was glad to finally get into her car and chat about my journey up until that point. I was feeling a bit more energized but not too much. I was looking forward to the couple whose house I’d be living in for the next month.

And I was looking forward to climbing into a bed and sleeping about 12 hours. Give or take, haha.

The drive to Triana, one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city, was a blur. The only thing that stood out to me was this huge, sort of odd-looking tower towards the river and I kept remarking to myself how big everything looked.

We made it to my host mom, Manoli, and her apartment building fairly quickly. Mary Alice, the coordinator, helped me take my things up not one, not two but five flights of stairs! Bless her. And after Manoli opened the door and greeted us with two kisses on each cheek – that was odd-, and we did our introductions. Mary Alice also went back down to her car and got the 5L jug of olive oil she brought from a family member’s farm (I think?) and gave it to Manoli. I tried not to let my jaw drop as I didn’t know olive oil could be bottled in jugs that big! Wow.

After a short visit, Mary Alice reminded me when and where orientation would be (with her and 3 other girls from  the program in a bar, like no joke) and we said goodbye. Manoli showed me my room and I started to get settled. I desperately wanted to shower and go straight to sleep but I was only able to shower as she wanted to serve me dinner.

Tortellini con mantequilla y queso. Not the meal I had that night but it was one of my favorites later in the semester. (Insert heart eyes.)

The shower felt great and the only thing I remember about dinner was I ate pasta, Manoli’s husband Antonio came home and the two of them chatted with me and told me that “How do you do?” was the only thing the knew how to say in English. They didn’t exactly know what it meant and I was honestly too tired to tell them.

So, once I finished dinner, I thanked Manoli for the meal and wished her buenas noches. To which, she replied, “hasta mañana.”

As I shuffled down the hall, the exhaustion had begun to set in again. Why didn’t she just say buenas noches back? I wondered. That’s strange.

At that point, I didn’t have the energy to contemplate anything else. Not in English nor in Spanish.

And with that final thought, I climbed into my bed that first night and fell fast and blissfully asleep.

I had survived day one. Can’t wait to see what the days to come would hold.

Have you moved abroad before? Was your first day anything like mine was? Share your thoughts in the comments below! I’d love to hear them!

Stay tuned for next week’s addition.

This verdant northwestern corner of Spain is not to be missed. While Santiago is the final destination on the Way of St. James, there is so much more to discover. Whether your visit is long or short, you’ll find dozens of things you can do in this enchanting city. Here are five of my favorites!

1. Take a rooftop tour of the Cathedral

Do this in the late spring or summer to get the clearest views.  For one hour, a guide will show you around the rooftops, explain its history and allow ample time for photos.

2. Eat Galician octopus at O Bogedon Os Concheiros

Santiago is packed with great places to eat from bars to family-style restaurants that serve the freshest seafood.  Wander away from crowded Rúa do Franco and your taste buds will be rewarded with some of the most succulent octopus you’ve ever tried.

3.  Visit the Museo do Pobo Galego

A great way to get a deeper look at the rich culture of this unique region is to visit the museum about the Galician people and their way of life. Don’t forget to snap a photo of the famed spiral staircase inside!

4. Take a hike

Get to know Galicia. Pico Sacro is just a short 30 minute bus ride and then a short hike up to the peak. Your efforts will be rewarded with a stunning view of the surrounding area.

5. Shop at the Mercado de Abastos

Head to where the locals shop. Go early to find deals on fresh seafood and produce.  It’s a busy place but you’ll definitely walk way with your arms full.

Regardless of how much time you have, you’ll leave the city with wonderful memories. Don’t forget to plan a return trip as there are more hidden treasures waiting to be found!

This past February I had the opportunity to visit Granada for an entire weekend thanks to a few days of paid vacation for Entroido (Carnival). I didn’t miss much in Galicia as it rained during most of the week that I was gone and a lot of the Carnival activities were postponed or still celebrated but done so in the pouring rain. I wasn’t too disappointed that I missed out since I stayed for Carnival the previous year and had a lot of fun checking out the festivities around Ourense, a destination spot for most Carnaval-goers in Galicia.

However, the Galician winter was about to get well underway and I had to escape down to the sun drenched streets of Andalucía and check out Granada.

El Albaicín, a neighborhood that has the most white houses (pueblos blancos) that I´ve ever seen!

Andalucía is the stereotypical image of Spain — warm and sunny weather, flamenco, bull fighting and an over-abundance of olive oil — but for me, it’s my happy place. Ever since I lived there in 2010 and every time I go back to visit the region, I get so excited yet relaxed at the same time. Something inside me loosens and calms down. A feeling I usually only experience each time I arrive home in Dayton, my hometown. And to me this makes sense. This part of the country – a country that is not my own – has become like another home to me.

And speaking of second homes, Sevilla in particular is like that for me and not only because I’ve lived there before. It’s because I integrated myself into the culture and made some wonderful lifelong friends in the few short months I was there. It’s where I learned how to speak Spanish and, after a lot of hard work and countless headaches, become fluent in it. Where I learned to live and thrive after having experienced a few tough lessons that semester abroad. I came back from those experiences stronger and with a greater appreciation for that region and the Spanish people themselves. And whenever I head back over that way, I’m like a kid on Christmas morning. I can´t sit still nor can I concentrate on anything else. And you definitely can’t wipe the ear-to-ear grin off my face or the damper the joy I feel inside when I go.

However, Granada and specifically the Alhambra has been calling my name for the last decade. It was a shame that I never went while I was a student in Sevilla but sometimes life presents you with a second chance and this past February I got mine. And everyone knows that if you plan a trip to Granada you MUST go visit the Alhambra – especially when you’re still in your twenties and can get a little bit of a discount on the entrance ticket! 😉

Two things in particular motivated me to visit Granada and the Alhambra this year instead of putting it off once again. I’ll start with one of the reasons that doesn’t make me tear up as soon as I think about it for too long, as I’m not as emotionally invested in this one as I am the other one.

First off, at the school I’m working at here in Santiago there is a beautiful little girl who was born blind. Besides noticing that she needs assistance getting to and from her 5th grade classroom to other classrooms and that she uses a special Braille typewriter to complete her homework assignments, she’s a normal 11 year old girl. In the beginning when I first started working with her in the art classes I assist, I was nervous around her and I didn’t know how to best communicate with her. I got frustrated with myself when I wasn´t relate well to her or when she didn’t understand the point of the activity we were doing at the time.

That all changed when I started really paying attention to how she views the world and which of her other senses she uses to best communicate with those around her as she can’t rely on her sense of sight. In the beginning I felt sorry for her, to be honest. Especially the first time I came to the realization that she can’t see the color purple -my most favorite color in the world- with her own two eyes, no matter how much I desperately want her to see it. It took me some time to accept that she isn´t able to see and that it´s not something that she can change about herself. But, after I learned that she experiences the world best through touch, I began to focus my words and actions around touch whenever I interacted with her. I found this quote from a well-known poem about Granada again and it wasn’t until after I met this wonderful little girl that I truly understood its meaning.

“Dale limosna, mujer, que no hay en la vida nada, como la pena de ser ciego en Granada..” -Francisco Asís de Icaza (Translation:  Give him alms, woman, there’s nothing worse in life than being blind in Granada.)

I ended up getting tired of seeing or hearing this quote as it was mounted on a plaque near a main plaza in the center of the city but I let the words sink into my mind and I mulled it over those few days I was there. The little girl I’ve gotten to know, Paula, has changed my perspective on life and I am more grateful for my sight now than I ever have been before. She was once someone who made me so nervous to be around but now she brings me so much joy. I love seeing how she sees the world with her hands and she impresses me with her love for extreme sports such as surfing and horseback riding. She actually showed me horses communicate best by touch so she can communicate perfectly with them. In a way, she is more in tune with the world than most people ever are in their lifetimes. She feels the same emotions that most kids her age feel but what’s different about her is that she also takes time to absorb experiences and get her hands on them too so to speak.

So, as I made my travel plans for Carnival, I decided that I had to take advantage of going to Granada and while I was there, I had to see the Alhambra. It wasn’t as if I would lose my sight any time soon –knock on wood– but I felt that it was now or never.

Secondly, a terrible start to 2016 was also a big motivator for me to go to Granada and not put it off any longer. I woke up to the news that my oldest cousin, who lived in California, passed away at age 32 from her grueling battle with first, breast cancer and then later the following September, lung cancer. As the new year drew near, the cancer ravaged her body even more until she went peacefully on the very last day of 2015, surrounded by my mom’s family. I cried my eyes out when I awoke to the news and the days following. After a while I pulled myself together. Or as best as I could while living far, far away from my family.

Thoughts and plans I had once put off overwhelmed me as I pondered over just how short life truly is. I also wondered if there was a dream place that my cousin had ever wanted to go see in her lifetime. I don’t know if there ever was as it was something we hadn’t ever talked about before. One place in particular for me stood out and I couldn’t dismiss the thought or put it off any longer. I had to see the Alhambra before I die. It was an item on my bucket list that I had yet to fulfill and there was no time like this year to cross it off. And not only would I do the trip for myself but I would do it for these two special people in my life who have taught me so much in such a short time. I would go for Paula, a joyous little girl who may never be able to see the world as I do and for my cousin Jenna, a beautiful and kind soul who left this world far too soon. I would go for them and I would enjoy every single sight, smell, sound, taste and touch along the way.

Now, getting myself to Granada and not running into any road blocks along the way was the only challenge that lay ahead of me. I had the burning desire to go and I had my reasons for going firmly in my mind. The only things that could slow me down or hinder me from going at all were technology and the various modes of transportation that I needed to take in order to arrive there in one piece.

The clasic blue, yellow, green and brown tiles (and Arabic script) that can be seen all over the palaces.

When I finally made it to the entry door of the Nasrid Palace (the starting point of any tour of the Alhambra) and the man who had told me earlier to go to the taquillas first to exchange the ticket I had printed off at a La Caixa ATM for an official ticket, . He recognized me from earlier and the tone of his voice as he said, “Vente amiga. Hay tiempo para todo,” urged me to walk faster towards the ramp and into the magical palace that was just a few feet away.

As the barcode scanner passed over my ticket and beeped, I realized I had completed the final step of my journey. I was in. No one told me that I had arrived too late and had missed my entry time into the Alhambra. No one told me that I had bought the wrong ticket and that said ticket wouldn’t allow me to enter. I was in and it was finally my turn.

And as I took my first steps down the path that lead to the main door, the tears came. And not in a soft and graceful way, but in a more intense, please-no-one-look-at-you kind of way. You know, the kind of tears you shed after you complete something very strenuous or you hear of bad news about something or someone that’s very close to your heart. The kind of tears that ruin mascara and good makeup, haha.

Images and experiences of what it took for me to get there flashed before me: a flight from Santiago to Madrid, the Cercanias train from the airport to the Atocha station and a short walk to the bus station in Madrid, an overnight bus to Granada, a brief early morning check-in to my accommodations and then finally, a taxi up to the hilly area where the Alhambra palace is located. I had arrived. And I was finally seeing the beauty of this palace that I had dreamed of seeing for so, so long. I continued to cry and wipe my eyes as I walked into the first room of the Nasrid palace and I took in all of the tiles, designs and Arab architecture. I waited for a couple groups to pass by me and got my bearings. I had no idea what kind of a treat my eyes were in for later as I continued to make my way through all of the palaces and gardens that make up the Alhambra.

The sunrise I saw over the ancient Albaicín neighborhood earlier that day and the six hours total I spent on the grounds were more than worth my time. It was an experience that I’ll remember for the rest of my life and while I will cherish it forever, I would not be opposed to visiting both the palace and the city again.

The Alhambra and Granada are two magical places that can’t be replicated. And I must confess that I fell in love with the city in less than half a day. That´s a first for me! I’m so honored to have had the privilege to see them both and for the memories I made there. I know I’ll be back for a visit and perhaps I’ll cry then too or perhaps it is possible to visit the Alhambra with dry eyes. I’ll have to find out if this is true! 😉

If you know me outside of the blogosphere, you´ll know that I have a habit of being late. It doesn´t matter what for or why, I am simply always late. The long answer can be found (and deduced) in this blog post but the short answer is this: I love to wake up early and get a head start on the day but I move slow in the mornings (and often over-thinking everything). This translates to me arriving late to almost everything under the sun: movie theaters, restaurants, bus stops, train stations, airports and even my own parents´ or grandparents´ house for dinner, haha. It´s like I have this insatiable desire to see just how close I can arrive to the time before a movie starts without me or before a train decides to leave me in its dust at the station.

I´ve been traveling internationally off-and-on for almost 10 years and you would think that I would have a set routine or schedule when it comes to traveling but I honestly don´t. I have packing a suitcase down to a science yet I can´t seem to do the same for the actual travel part. The most important aspect of traveling (minus the experience itself) in most people´s opinions.

As much as I try to break the habit or simply take baby steps to be more punctual, the whole being late thing seems to go well with my lifestyle so why change? It also doesn’t help that the Spanish culture in which I live is more laid-back and most of the events, parties and activities (even movies sometimes!) are known to start late (sometimes 2-3 hours late). One of the most ironic things about this culture; however, is that the trains -all around the country- leave at the exact time the schedules say they are going to leave. And once the doors whoosh shut, not a single soul can get on or get off said train. Or can they…?

(Disclaimer: Don´t try these methods at home or in another country. I can´t guarantee any of them to work. And I don´t want any of you to get angry with me for having tried one and it not working. But you guys still might get mad at me anyway because of how lucky I´ve been when I´m late. And I´ve had plenty of times where I haven´t been lucky – don´t worry.)

Come take a little trip down memory lane with me as I recount three experiences where I should have missed a city bus, a regional bus and then, most recently, a train but didn’t!