Two tablespoons of sunshine, please.

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To quote the Backstreet Boys, “Sadness is beautiful, loneliness is tragical.”  Tell me the truth—am I biased because I love the Backstreet Boys or are they just brilliant?

Yes!  They’re brilliant.  I knew it.

The reason I’m writing about good ol’ BSB is not because I want to talk about how much better they are than N’Sync, even though we all know they are.  I’m writing about them because I always thought those lyrics to be meaningful.

Last week I was a little sad–probably one of the only times I’ve been sad in the last few months.  I woke up sad, which is the worst way to ever wake up but hey, I guess we all need that feeling sometimes.  The snooze button was my friend that Monday morning, and all I really wanted was to stay in the darkness beneath my bedsheets for a few more hours.  But I did what I’m best at and rallied—to class.

I was miserable until I walked out of the apartment and into the sunshine.  Here in Sevilla, the sun is always shining.  The sky is my favorite shade of blue, the clouds are either nonexistent or perfectly white and fluffy.  I walk to school in the happiest of moods and permanently with a pep in my step.  I often find myself trying to hold in a smile.  I see strangers and tourists on the street wanting to ask them if they love this city as much as I do.  I decide against it, knowing already that they do.

I know they do, because the sunshine is electric.  For me, it’s almost impossible to be sad when the sun is out and about and free and lighting up the world.  It was just what I needed on that sad morning.  I popped my headphones in and you know what I did?  I put my CRY playlist on.  My CRY playlist was made for stressful moments where I just know that crying will help.  Songs move me so quickly and without my permission, and this playlist triggers the tears in my eyes.

But I didn’t cry.  Maybe I was just feeling nostalgic and not sad like I thought I was, but I couldn’t do it even with this playlist.  Instead, I let my sad morning turn into a happy day and I smiled the whole way to school.  It was picture perfect outside, and on those days it’s okay to be sad.  In the movie The Town, one of the characters says that sunny days remind her of death because her brother died in a hospital on a sunny day.

I guess it’s better to be sad on a sunny day.  If you think about it, happy days are good days to be sad every once in a while.  You can go back in your mind and be sad, but the sun is out, and that should remind you that you’re okay.

We get hurt often.  We lose people often.  We lose people all the time.  Sad things just happen, and nothing’s wrong with remembering that.  I always like to look back with a smile.  Whether the sadness is over the death of a loved one, or the one that got away, or the simple memory of the past, sometimes what we need is to listen to a sad playlist on happy day.  Sunshine is medicine for our memories.

I could live here.

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My girlfriends and I always say, “I feel like a new woman!” after we get waxes down below.  And if you’ve ever had one then you know what we’re talking about.  That feeling you get when walking out of European Wax Center (or Zenter, where I went this morning here in Sevilla) and back into the world is, dare I say, Priceless. With a capital P.

This morning at Zenter, the lady who was waxing me said I must be really excited that the waxes here are really cheap (€18 ~ $23).  My face lit up and I went on and on about how I try not to get waxes in the States because they cost me about $50-$60 including tip.  She couldn’t believe it just as much as I couldn’t believe that it costs half the price here.  ”Los Americanos no sabe nada,” she said.  (Americans don’t know anything).  I laughed and completely agreed.

After my wax, I left with a smile on for reasons I couldn’t really share with anyone.  I just felt great and well, you know, like a new woman!

So I’m walking back to my apartment, passing through Calle Asuncion–the main shopping street/center in the barrio of Los Remedios in Sevilla.  It’s a wide street, no cars allowed.  Full of shops and boutiques, cafes and small bars.  There were children playing soccer and old couples people-watching on benches.  Dogs in the shade of the trees that line the street, and people riding along the bike path.  Women watering plants on their balconies.  Happy humans all around.

And then there was me, a study abroad student cherishing every second of living in this neighborhood.  The sun was shining and I walked down the street like Tom Hansen in (500) Days of Summer while Hall & Oates plays.  I looked around me and I thought to myself, “I could live here.”

Splits

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The last couple of months have been nothing short of a dream.

I used to think that traveling was about seeing new places and getting closer to being able to the world as a whole, with my own eyes instead of through pictures and imagination.  And that’s what it used to be to me.  But recently travel has become more about learning than seeing.

Learning about myself by testing my limits–you know, seeing how long I can go without sleep, or how successful I can be at convincing the Aer Lingus agent to get me on the next flight to Dublin after I missed the first one.  I learn something before, during, and after every trip.  Before a trip, I am one person.  And after, I am another.  It’s that simple, because every adventure remains with me somehow and it changes me inevitably.

Just the same, I learn about others by sharing.  Sharing earphones while they play DJ. Sharing clothes when mine are ruined by a spill in my backpack.  Sharing cabs and hostel rooms.  Sharing moments.  Hardships.  Breathtaking views.  Sunsets, walks, train rides.  Even sharing toothbrushes.  Just kidding.  That should never ever happen.  But if it did, we could learn by sharing the journey followed by the memory.

Then there is the learning about the places in the world that bring us together and put us all on the same page of desire.  Because I know we all want more sometimes.

But even further than that, is the learning that we don’t need more sometimes.  There are moments during travel in which I know I could live forever.  Half a mile up a dune in the middle of the Sahara Desert during sunrise, for example.  Or the very first second you step foot on new ground, maybe in a city that you are about to call “home” for five months.  In these moments, with what little I have in hand–a suitcase or a backpack–it feels like just enough to last forever.

I love rollercoasters

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I don’t even mind when the conductors and personnel tell you the most obvious things over and over again, as if anyone is really crazy enough to get on the ride and take their seat belts off or something.

I like the building-up of fear and excitement and how those feelings mix inside you as if you never had a choice. And then, the fall. It’s fast and fun and there’s the moment where you think you lost your breath, but then before you even notice that it might have happened, you find it again. And then this smile forms on your face—you know the kind you can’t even take off if you tried.

And then it’s over. And that’s how life is too.

You go back up the hill and the fear surrounds you slowly, followed by the excitement, and then it ends until you feel it all over again.

Five months ago I was deciding on the city where I would study abroad. At this point, I was simply looking at the rollercoaster, admiring from far away and believing I was brave enough to ride it.

Seven weeks ago I was on a plane to Europe with plans to travel before school started. Impatient and just about 100% excited to finally be going somewhere. I guess it’s like waiting on line for my turn on the ride; seeing people get on and off and feeling closer and closer to being in their shoes.

Two weeks later I was on the plane to Spain. Luggage in hand, butterflies in my stomach, and fear in my head, I think I could see the top of the hill where the exact path and future of my ride lay. I was holding on tight and wishing for nothing but a smooth fall.

And here I am now, just a second or two into the free fall. Losing and finding my breath and consciousness here and there. Not believing where I am when I look around. Being thankful every time I see the sun in the morning. Feeling exhausted but never more alive.

It’s the best feeling I’ve never known.

It’s too late to be afraid of rollercoasters. You are on one.

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Am I on vacation?

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OH HEY WORLD.  WHAT’S UP?  Long time no chat.  And by chat I mean just me writing a blog and no one reading it.

According to ChristineMeetsLife.com, my last blog was just two weeks ago but it feels like two months.  I’ve been nonstop living every day since I last posted and as exhausting as it is, I feel more awake and present than I ever have before.

Since I last wrote, I spent a few days in Madrid for study abroad orientation and now I’m finally settled in Sevilla.  Everything–and I mean EVERYTHING–here is unreal.  This city is a movie set with a perfect blue sky background.  Every day is a dream.  The streets are like time machines, the buildings are an artist’s palette, and the atmosphere is a drug–addicting and unpredictable.

I feel like I’m on vacation.  And instead of writing in an attempt to catch up, I’ll show you instead–all courtesy of my addiction to Instagram.

Here are pictures from Madrid:

 

 

Toledo:

 

 

Sevilla:

 

 

 

 

Granada:

 

 

These pictures do none of these great cities any justice but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.

The aura of travel

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I love early mornings. And I really love early mornings spent traveling. I woke up a little earlier than 6 am this morning in order to make a 7:14 am train from Amsterdam Centraal to Schipol Airport in order to make a 9:35 am flight to Madrid.

The walk to the train station was quick, and yet we passed quite a few fellow travelers. Walking in the darkness with their backpacks and heavy jackets. We traded polite nods as we passed them, and it felt like an exchange of a “Welcome” and “Goodbye” to Amsterdam from one visitor to another.

At the train station, it was silent apart from mechanical sounds and the rolling of suitcase wheels. In the bicycle car of the train, a wide open seatless space, a dozen early morning travelers stood together. I was well aware that we are all going to separate places but I couldn’t help but feel an automatic connection with this group of strangers.

All of us, unquestionably, would have preferred to be in a warm comfortable bed rather than squished together in a moving train car. We all know early mornings and the rush of trying to make a flight. We all know what bad customer service is like. We all know just wanting to go to sleep, and just hoping for good weather, and just wanting to be there already. We all know extra fees, overpriced everythings, back pain, loud crying babies, and in general, we all just know.

There was an unspoken understanding between us all on that train this morning. Even if no one else felt it, I’m glad I did.

 

 

Here I am in Amsterdam!

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See what I did there? #rhymecrime

Today is Tuesday and my 5th day in Amsterdam and aside from being 50 degrees colder, it’s just as lovely as I remember.  Canals, narrow cobblestone streets, dark buildings, and the liveliest of atmospheres, this city has an empowering energy that I remember  feeling before I even got off the train for the first time.

I’ve been living with a Norwegian friend, who I met at Hofstra a few years ago.  Ironically, I’ve been learning more Norwegian than Dutch during my stay in Holland.  I guess that’s normal.

Over the weekend we went to a place called Pacific Parc and I would really recommend that place if you enjoy music from the mid- to late- 80s.  There were these two ridiculously dressed female DJs that were going wild and I suppose seeing that is an experience in itself.  We also went to an Irish pub by Leidseplein the following night, where I decided to begin collecting coasters from bars.  So far I have three or four different ones.  Not a lot.  Gotta hit up more bars.

What impresses me the most about this city is the mix of people.  You’ve got American tourists who just want to get high and walk the streets of the Red Light District dreaming of the girls in the windows, and let’s be real, is that even something worth dreaming about?  Sigh.  Americans.

You’ve got the locals–people of all ages that have a love for this city that they can only hope is conveyed to visitors. You’ve got international students who probably came here to find the perfect combination of schoolwork and partying, hoping for more of the latter only to find that Amsterdam is about more than just the party.  There are people and places here that matter.  Things to learn and see and do and be a part of.

I learned the most about this city by taking walks that lasted for hours.  Up and down the canals and through all of the little streets that weren’t made to be discovered by tourists.  I met incredible people who wanted to know about me–a stranger–for no reason at all.  Just a little different than the people you’d find on the streets of New York City I’d say.  But then again, NYC is different from every city.

But then again, so is Amsterdam.

To see more photos I took in Amsterdam, visit my flickr page here!