Winded Up

Although Irish people mainly speak english, it is more accurate to dub it Irish-english because of all the quirky phrase substitutions they have. It makes everything sound a lot more fun, in my opinion. For instance, a bow tie is called a dicky wicky. And the common phrase what the craic, refers to "what's up?" Craic in general means "fun," so if you are having a good time somewhere, you would say there's lots of craic here,  or lots of craic! 

The phrase I learned a little too well though, was winded up.

It happened on our first night in Dublin. Domhall decided to take us out to the local bars, away from Temple Bar (the district of bars that is infested with tourists). Here, we were surrounded by actual Irish people, and not fellow Study Abroad Looking To Get Wasted For Paddys Day Americans. At one of the bars, we noticed a guy wearing an Irish jersey. This caught my attention because I was looking to buy one for a costume party we planned on attending later. The plan was for me to dress as Jason Sherlock, a gaelic football player who is Asian. Anyways, I go up to the guy and ask him where he got his jersey. Before he can even respond, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn face to face with an older woman. She was a beautiful, dark-haired Irish woman, probably in her late twenties.

"Why are you talking to my boyfriend?" she asks me. She did not look very happy.

Even in my "slightly" not sober mindset, it registered in my brain that I was in trouble. That this might officially become my International Incident Abroad. I was pretty [bleeping] scared.

"Nothing!" I started to bumble. "I don't like your boyfriend! I just wanted to know where he bought his jersey!" Words are spilling out of my mouth like an uncontrollable waterfall of drunken nervousness.

"So, you don't like my boyfriend. You don't think my boyfriend is cute?" This girl seems to sound even angrier, which I didn't think was possible.

Amidst my mad scramble of apologies and pleads, the girl suddenly embraces me in a hug and starts cackling hysterically.

"I am kidding, child! I never even met this guy before in my life! Ha Ha Ha Ha!!!!!!!"

I look down to see the original guy staring up at us both, probably wondering why he was being besieged by women he did not know.

In the end, the woman's laughter wasn't malicious, and we all had a good hoot about it together. Later I learned that I just faced a classic wind up situation. In more familiar terms, I was hella trolled.

Me with my new friend

That Time I Went to a Reggae Concert

Travels have the potential for a lot of firsts. Portugal brought me my first ever reggae concert, and it was awesome.

Julie and I will remisce years (or weeks) ((or days)) later, and say

Remember that time our host in Portugal invited us to his reggae concert where he and his friend were opening for the band and even though they were playing really early when the venue wasn't full we still danced like fools and moved around the entire room, swaying to the beat and spinning like in a trance, and we weren't squished or covered in sweat, and it was lovely and liberating and enchanting and mesmerizing, and then we got to see the main band sing and play instruments live? 

That was pretty cool.

Our friends!

The headlining band

Portugese Love

Upon arriving to Portugal, Julie and I knew we were going to be hosted by a 25 year old guy named Tiago. What we didn't know was that we were going to be housed with his parents, and automatically become adopted into the family. What I didn't know was that I would once again meet some of the kindest people this world has to offer.

Tiago's family runs a small restaurant in Seixal, which is a small town across the water from Lisboa. It isn't an urban city, despite being so close to Lisboa. On our first two days, Tiago had work during the day, so we were picked up by Tiago's parents and driven straight to the restaurant. There, his parents made us sandwiches and coffee, and packed us extra food to take to the city. After eating we would be driven to the ferry. Tiago picked us up every night at the ferry when we wanted to return from Lisboa.

Me and Julie's morning sandwiches and coffee

We never could have expected so much. The family gave us all of this, and so much more.

Dinners were eating custom meals at the restaurant, or home cooked dishes from Tiago himself. At night we got to meet a lot of Tiago's lovely friends. I can say I went to an actual reggae concert now thanks to Tiago. And without speaking a word of english, our Portugese family still communicated and interacted with us in the most friendly way you can imagine. Kindness trumps language barriers.

On our last day, Julie and I got to explore Seixal with Tiago. It was an experience I would've missed had I stuck with the traditional, tourist-methodology. Tiago spent his entire Saturday driving us to his favorite beaches and scenic spots. It let me see just how beautiful Portugal can be beyond the usual images you see in commercials. Looking back, it would have been such a tragedy if I had missed those sights. Seixal is a breathtaking place.

Exploring a hidden cave in Seixal

Time and time again, I am stunned by the capacity humans have for love and kindness. I do not know what I could have done to deserve meeting such beautiful people, I just know that there is no possible way I could ever convey all the gratitude I feel.

Being greeted to hugs and kisses from this enthusiastic dog every time we entered the house was the best way to come home

Tiago cooking dinner for us

Home cooked dinner, equipped with the greatest sangria I've ever had. And I'm studying in Spain!

You know what gets me the most, though? After all of this, the family treats us with such excitement and joy, as if they are equally happy just to know us. I mentioned how they don't even speak english, right? 

On Friday morning, I was about to take a picture of the kitchen when one of the family members noticed, and proceeded to take my iphone and excitedly gather the entire family for a photo shoot session. I never would have interrupted everyone's work to take pictures, but she legitimately seemed to be having so much fun taking the pictures (hence all the pictures earlier in the post). The only picture I regret not getting was of Papa Beard. This is the nickname I coined for Tiago's father because he is, literally, the human reincarnation of Papa Beard.

It's unfortunate that I didn't get a picture, but here is a close enough substitute. Imagine being fed and spending time with this fellow here. Wouldn't you also just completely fall in love? 

And then on our last morning, after Tiago refused to let us call a taxi and drove us to the airport at 6:00 AM, it was time for the good byes. Tiago grabbed us into a hug, and told us how he was so lucky to have us as guests, and that he feels so happy to have gotten to know us. 

...

At that moment, my heart was about to explode. 

I just hope Tiago makes his way to the U.S soon so I can attempt to try and reciprocate a fraction of what he has given me: all the delicious food, great sight-seeing, so many new friends and family members, and an absolutely, incredibly, ridiculously unforgettable experience. Portugal can stand alone for its beautiful beaches and vibrant scenery. But honestly, it is these precious interactions that leave the deepest imprints on your life. 

Tiago showing his mom the present he helped us pick out for her!

Delicious restaurant dinner: steak and mushrooms. All cooked by Tiago's mom

Tony suggested we try some famous Porto wine...best wine I've ever had.

More restaurant dinner and sangria

IMPORTANT UPDATE ABOUT BRAINS

Turns out I didn't actually eat goat brains.

After talking with Inma about what we did this weekend, she assured us that the waiter was joking with us and was just trying to scare us.

Well, he definitely succeeded in that.

Also, apparently he said sheep brains, not goat brains. Not that that matters anymore, because I am BRAIN-FREE!

Wait, that came out wrong. Language problems...

Granada

• Visited the Alhambra, which is one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture I have ever seen. It's an ancient palace from the old Arab empires. My pictures nor words will never do it justice. You just have to go see it for yourself in person.
• Ate delicious tapas! Granada is renowned for having the best tapas around and now I can say I see why.  
• Got to see a lot of beautiful street art. I love graffiti art work and I think it adds an interesting flavor to the surrounding street and neighborhood. 
• Was invited to eat lunch with Julie and her spanish family. Spanish culture is unique in that it doesn't encourage visitors in the house. Which is why being invited over was a real treat and such a lovely experience. I love Julie's spanish mama and her lovely dog Haida! 
• FUNNY STORY, when I gathered Julie and her family to take a group picture, Haida the dog immediately LEAPED onto the table and insisted on being in the picture! Greatest dog ever.
• FUNNY STORY part 2: took down a 6" tall ex-football player boy on our way back to the hostel. Maybe I'm stronger than I look? We got honked at too...but long story short, we made it back alive. 
• Again, accidentally ate goat brains. It may have been unintentional, but at least I can say I really "absorbed" the authentic culture of where I was? Yay? 
• Bought awesome fatboy pants. They're puffy with a cool bohemian pattern. Can't wait to wear my matching pants with Julie in Portugal! 
• Was brought back to life at a teteria. Thank god Julie and I are on the same page are on really similar pages when we need it the most. 
• Partied in gypsy caves until 4:30 AM with a bunch of international students from all over Europe 
• Saw the Sierra Nevada mountains.
• Spent the entire weekend with Julie Brown. 
• Successfully caught the bus back to Cordoba with only 1 minute to spare, and spent 3 hours taking in beautiful scenery with Yalda while riding back home. 

Easy to say, it has been a great weekend. 

And you know you are having the best possible home stay experience when, after 72 hours of exploring/eating/sleep deprivation, you get off your 3 hour bus ride, enter your apartment, and get that yeees, I am home feeling. Great weekend, great life.

Inside the Alhambra

Inside the Alhambra

One of the 8937422394 tapas I had this weekend

Julie, Tara and their spanish mama.

Posing by the Alhambra

The Alhambra

Look at the Sierra Nevada mountains! 

More beautiful views of the mountains

Friendship! Love! White on Yellow love!

On my bus ride home

Losses in Translation

Language barriers make the easiest tasks become hikes to Mt. Everest. For instance, trying to tell someone how you almost locked yourself out of your apartment becomes a 2 hour long Odyssey monologue. Painful, long, and really awkward to hear. Luckily, I haven't had too many serious mishaps yet. But language barriers can quickly go from something comedic to serious, especially if you're dealing with things like allergies, electronic malfunctions, or taxi/bus driver directions. So far, my language barrier experiences have been the "shake my head in shame" kind, and not the "crap, do I need to call the US embassy?!" kind. 

• In Cordoba last week, two high school classmates who are studying abroad in France and London came down to Córdoba for a day trip. It was really fun showing them around and getting tapas with them. While ordering tapas from Casa Santos, a tapas place well known around town, I tried getting myself a cup of vino blanco but ended up with fino, which is a wine unique to Cordoba. It has kind of a weird fishy taste and isn't my favorite drink. When I took my cup and took my first sip, I thought, god damnit, I got stuck with fino AGAIN!? This has definitely happened to me more than once. Sigh.
  
  

  

  This is what a NOT free "tapa" looks like

• In Granada this past weekend, I was getting tapas for lunch and was trying to figure out which ones were free to choose from with my wine. Accidentally ended up ordering a 9 euro entry somehow, while thinking it was a free tapa the entire time. Ouch for my wallet, but at least it was really delicious for my tummy.
  
• Again in Granada, I accidentally, not knowingly, ate brains. We were eating at a very well known and delicious restaurant called Casa Juanillo (It's in the Sacromonte district-up in the mountains by the gypsy caves and a gorgeous view of the Alhambra). There weren't too many vegetarian options, but I see "Tortilla de Sacromonte" and decide to order that. Tortilla is really common in Andaluz and is just eggs and potato cooked into a nice, spongy, cake-type thing. What I got though was different from any tortilla I've seen. It was much for thin, like the egg "bing" I was used to eating from my parents. No problem. I eat my tortilla thinking nothing of it. It is pretty good, nice and spongy and flavorful. I guess I never caught the part where our waiter jokingly told us "there is a surprise ingredient but I won't tell you what it is until after you eat the food." HONESTLY, if I had caught him saying that, I wouldn't have gone within 10 feet of the plate. Maybe it is because I'm chinese and I come from a culture of people who eat weird and disgusting things (I.E fish brain, blech!!!), but that sentence right there is the dead giveaway that you are about to consume an internal organ. But no, OF COURSE, I didn't hear or understand him saying that. Which is how I ended up eating goat brains in my tortilla.

Let me just repeat myself one more time for emphasis.

During my trip to Granada, I ate goat brains.

You know what, I forgot what the original point of this post was. Now I can't stop thinking about the goat brains again.

The end. 

Apple Skins

It's true, I never learned how to skin an apple, because my parents did it for me until the age where I could deal with eating the skin.

This past Sunday, some friends and I agreed to meet up at 8:30 am for a hike. Of course, I crawled out of bed at 8:06 am. Running on a very tight schedule, I rushed into the kitchen to grab an apple for breakfast and pack my water bottle. (Side note: living in a world without Berkeley Time has made me realize how horrible my punctuality is). It's cold and dark, and I am the only one awake in the apartment. Except for my little brother. I turn around from the sink and see Currito sitting at the table, staring at me with his big, wide, un-humanly awake eyes. 

"Manzana?"

I quickly hand him my apple and reach for another, when I hear rustling behind me. I turn around to see Curro grabbing a knife, in an attempt to skin his apple. Without a second thought, I took the knife from him and began butchering his apple. I would use the verb "skin," but that would imply that I didn't cut off more than 50% of his apple in my attempt to peel off only the thin, waxy exterior. Oops. I handed him back his apple, now completely cut up in different angles and barely recognizable. Still, it was without skin. By this point it is 8:40 am and I have 4 missed calls. But the usual, stressed out anxiety you get from being super late to somewhere, was replaced with a warm feeling accomplishment. For being able to peel an apple for the first time, and to be able to do it for someone else. 

I've never been a big sister before. I'm an only child and in my entire family, I am the baby. So skins get peeled for me without me even having to ask. How else could a girl get away without knowing how to skin one herself for 21 years? But for some reason, this small random incident sticks with me because it reminds me that for the first time in my life, I am not the baby. In fact, someone else is instead of me. 

I'm not trying to imply that I deserve a marching band and ten gold stars for taking the time to skin an apple. This is what should be done. I'm only reflecting on this very nuanced but noticeable change in my lifestyle, because it really is a unique and interesting experience for me. I am happy to say that I'm enjoying the role-reversal though. I just hope that I'm playing the part of older sibling correctly, and not letting my Only Child show. 

The Water Bottle Story

As a precursor to this story, it is good to know that I have a reputation for getting free food for some reason.  Call it the starving-baby-looking-Asian-girl-affect? The most well-known place where I am a regular recipient is Cheeseboard, back at Berkeley. But okay, that is not the point.
This story takes place on our last night in Istanbul, which was definitely my craziest. After our night of debauchery, we decide it is time for some midnight snacks. At some point, I end up with warm chest nuts from the stalls in my hand. Not sure how that happened. Okay. I eat the chestnuts and they are yummy and apparently they were free because the stall was closing (?) or we were talking to them (?) and they were being nice (?). Point is, this inflates my alread already-inflated ego and all the sudden, I decide to promise Julie that I would get her a free hamburger from the burger joint. My memory is a little patchy, but it all goes down kind of like this:

Me: Hello! We are American and this is our last night and we have no money! Free hamburger?
Worker: What? You want 1 hamburger?
Me: Yes but we don't want to pay we are Amerian and this is our last night and we have no money!!
Worker: What?
Me: Okay, here is my credit card!!!
Worker: Okay
Me: Then can I have that water bottle?
Worker: Okay, you want one water bottle.
Me: OKAY THANKS!!!
Worker: What?
Me: OKAY YOU GAVE THIS TO ME I AM TAKING THIS NOW OKAY BYEEEE~ (: (: (:

And there is the story of how I stole a water bottle from the most popular burger restaurant in Istanbul.