I think a “fuck you, wordpress” post is in order- it seems that every time I head to a new country, my blog rebels by deleting my first post from on the road. Either that, or all of my tech savvy was somehow lost in the air between Liverpool and Madrid.
Well, no point crying over spilled milk. I still argue though that there is a point to crying over a lost blog post. I may have just written the funniest 637 words ever, but thanks to some internet issue (glitch in the Matrix, I’m sure) you will never be able to read them.
Anyways, moving on from
my your loss. Currently, I am in north western Spain, scene of the entire crime that was my sophomore year of high school. So far, I’ve only run into one old ‘friend’- after dinner (Spanish tortilla, chorizo and grilled calamari… I know, I’m drooling too) somehow conversation turned to driving- how difficult it is to get a driver’s license and if it warranted the hassle and money after all. One of the guys in the group of about 10 of us sitting around trying to digest, starts telling this story (translated from Gallego to English for the sake of simplicity and paraphrased because my memory sucks)-
“Well, a friend of mine from California told me that she got her driver’s license at 16. In America, they just let you get your license when you’re 16 years old- I know because thats what my American friend, Gillian told me.”
Wait, wait, wait… WHAT?! Who????
Oh yeah, that person he was referring to.. that was me. Boom. I’m so cool that 12 years later they’re still telling untrue stories about me. Fact is, I didn’t get my driver’s license ’til I was 18.
Other than overhearing stories about my 15 year old self, I’ve been getting back into the hang of living my life in Spanish- not just the language, but the eating dinner at 10 pm, the siesta, kissing people on the cheek, drinking wine in bars picked from the vines next door, and the relaxed lifestyle. Off to celebrate Independence Day in a great way- churrasco, cider, countryside and a sunset later than my bedtime.