tags: #triplog #travel-journal *I wrote this shortly after returning from a trip to Spain. Technically unfinished, but I might never return to finish it...* --- There's that thing I've seen people say all the time on Reddit when someone extols the virtues of travel and romanticizes the life changing experiences they'll have once they quit their job and go on a 6 month trip around the world--wherever you go, there you are. Wherever you go, there you are. Meaning wherever you travel to, you'll probably bring whatever you're trying to escape from with you. --- My parents attended one of those timeshare presentations where they lure you in with a certificate for a free week's vacation, then relentlessly hawk their worthless garbage---a timeshare, a restrictive travel points membership, snake oil. But if you just say no...you can score a certificate for a "free" week stay at some resort for your trouble. And that's how I found myself sitting in the fucking magnificent south of Spain, two weeks til the New Year, ruining everything with my pensive moods, unable to escape everything about my "real life" I was trying to forget. On our first night in Benalmádena we found the main area surrounding our resort to be a ghost town, which I'd expected from my research. Not so surprising. It's a beach town in winter. On the main street, we found that the restaurant we'd carefully researched and selected for dinner (which was open according to google maps!), was closed til the New Year. So we walked further down, most were also closed, checked out some menus, and dipped into a charming place that turned out to be my favorite of the trip. Dad and I shared a delicious squid ink paella, jet black, with mussels, clams, and shrimp. The socorrat had the perfect crunch. I took a bite of my mom's foie gras and brie and apple tart. ![[don_marisquito_paella.jpg]] At the end of the meal our waitress poured us complimentary shots of delicious strawberry tequila which tasted like yogurt. My dad asked why many of the restaurants were closed. She waved at the street outside, as if to say *isn't it obvious*, and explained that there were few tourists, so they coordinate with the other restaurants to avoid competing for customers. Then she said, “Also, it’s winter, you know? It’s a time to rest.” A time to rest. Huh. I mulled over the idea of winter being a time to rest. I don't think I've had a nice, long rest since I was in school. I would kill to get a 2 month summer break again. I’ve been working full time for a year and I'm still struggling with the concept of full time work. In the winter, when the sun sets before 5pm, I feel like I’m in a state of just sheer disbelief, going through the motions. Thinking *Is this why we’re here? Am I really going to work 9-5 Mon-Fri like this for the rest of my life? With only 15ish days of PTO a year?* (And that's really good in America, btw!). I feel ashamed. Like I can hear the spirits of my ancestors mocking me for being unable to cope with...making a good salary to sit all day at my computer. How can I not be ashamed, when my mom and aunts raised me and my cousins working 12 hr shifts scrubbing bedpans and taking vitals and administering medication to patients that cursed them out? I struck the cushy job lottery and all I can think about is escape. I think it's because mentally it's difficult to rest. Yes, I can log in around 9 AM and end at 5, but it takes longer than that for my brain to follow. Building software never ends. The project never ends. If it ends, 3 more pop up in its place. New features, new market opportunities, more sprints, growth, profit, more. I feel like I'm relegated to finding moments of rest day to day, minute to minute. Watching the Price is Right with my dad over my lunch break. FaceTiming my boyfriend after I'm done with my design practice and chores for the night. And when I do plan for a week off, it's not enough. It's never enough. --- We spent some time exploring Benalmádena, the town our hotel was located in. We rode a rickety old cable car to the summit of Mt. Calamorro and walked along a few trails. While gingerly climbing down the side of the mountain following my dad, I had one of those "zoom-out" moments where you almost feel like you're watching yourself from a movie, or outer space, and I thought about how this scene was a great metaphor for our lives. My dad always leading the way. Our relationship can be trying sometimes, but I absolutely struck the decent parent lottery. As I move along in adulthood and find that the "adults" in my life, the people who raised me, grow older and greyer, I often find myself thinking about what I'd say at their funerals. How blessed I feel to have been raised by them. How I cherished this period of my life living with my parents. How grateful I was to get to travel with them, to spend quiet evenings watching TV with them, to drop in on my Tita and Oma with Chinese takeout for lunch on random days. And now that I write that I think…hm…maybe I should say these things to them while they’re alive? ![[IMG_3958 Edited.jpg]] *Taken in Antequera*. I won't, of course. For us it goes unsaid. Most of them would probably tease me. But I probably should anyway. Wandering thru Benalmádena Pueblo, it seemed silent and deserted. You wonder, are we lost? Is it siesta time? But then you turn a corner and you hear a hint of chatter. You follow the noise, which crescendos to a roar as you reach the plaza, finding everyone eating and drinking, enjoying their tapas and cervezas. We ended the night at Descansa Tapas. We sat down with our beers, some jamon iberico, and a charcuterie. I was fascinated by two things that I have never seen in the US--the giant jamons that lined the wall, and a Spanish family with a stroller, their child in tow at 10pm. In the US, there are several kinds of bars: some are bastions of debauchery, others are pleasant/hip sorts of places to catch up with a friend over a drink, and a few are the kind where you go solo, to unwind alone with a drink and only your thoughts for company. But they are certainly never family affairs. I'm not sure what I think of it. But if the grandest of all pastimes is to spend time with the people you love most over a meal--why not bring your kids to the bar? --- Another day we walked down the beach in Benalmádena, and encountered a string of the usual beachside restaurants, with their owners outside trying to lure you in. There was one particularly charming owner who worked his magic on us, and it worked---we told him we'd come back, then walked a bit down the boardwalk before we decided we we were hungry and returned. The food - simple grilled meats and sopa del mariscos, was pretty good, and he gave us a free pitcher of sangria, so all was well. As my mom and I got ready to leave he chatted with us, asking if we were Filipino. Turns out he worked for some time in Dubai, where he befriended a lot of OFWs (overseas Filipino workers). They taught him how to say “salamat” (thank you), “sige na” (go ahead), and of course, “putang ina mo” (your moms a whore, or fuck you). Cursing and swearing. The universal language. --- We went to Granada, saw the Alhambra, and of course it was absolutely magnificent. I don't want to talk about the Alhambra yet, or ever, because I'm daunted by finding the right words to describe it. I don't know if there are any. When we got back to the hotel that day we spent in Granada I was utterly drained. My parents retired to their room; I cracked open a beer to unwind and watched some Spanish TV. It's good immersion. I flipped through the channels before landing on a variety show, the kind of which is incredibly popular on Filipino TV (surprise, surprise, colonial roots run deep), and this one checked all the boxes for me to check out and disconnect from reality. Charming hosts, inane games (contestants attempting to type out a word on the screen behind them using a blank keyboard, with the audience guiding or misleading them), giant Iberian hams given out to the audience as giveaways. The usual bread and circuses. I was morose. Due to the pandemic, it's been a long time since I've left the country. Last time was Jan 2019, when we celebrated my cousin's kid's birthday in Korea, just 2 months before New York shut down. We were only starting to hear stirrings of a virus spreading throughout Asia when we got back. And in the nearly 3 years since, I've spent a large amount of that time at home, working at my computer from the comfort of my childhood bedroom. Basically, I am older and fatter and I've gotten too comfortable. Complacent. It's been 3 years since I've been an idiot tourist in a foreign country, and here I was, armed with a smartphone and a high school Spanish level command of the language. I was tired from (not tired of, but from) planning the itinerary, figuring out how to get around, trying to communicate with waiters, etc, etc. It's all basic stuff, and frankly Spain is probably easy mode for travel as an American, but I was out of practice, exhausted by the dread of the sheer pointlessness of work looming over me, anxious about the COVID testing required to go back home, and ready to walk the plank to escape managing my parents emotions alongside my own. I was a fucking mess. So I cried. I bawled over my second beer as I stared at the TV, which was now showing Lego Masters Spain. Just letting out what needs to be let out. I write about this because my incompetence and immaturity embarrassed me, and I want my future self to remember that it's ok to admit these things. --- I will talk about the magnificence of Ronda, Antequera, and Granada altogether. As I walked through these ancient cities I dreamed of magical realism. <-- don't love this phrasing, thinking of another way to say what I'm saying whenever I travel through new cities I imagine all the people that walked the same path before me who snuck off to fuck here, who walked through here in search of a moment of solace, who wrote stories and songs here, etc. Ronda walking through and up the park. Jardines Cuencas? Alone for a few minutes, I snuck off up the stairs, hunting for a better viewpoint of the Puente Nuevo. All these ancient cities, settled by Celts, conquered by the Romans, later the Visigoths, the Berbers, finally (for now) the Spanish. -picture- In the belltower in Antequera, I became a soldier, on watch. -picture- In Granada I watched a bird flutter from a tree above me down into a fountain in the gardens below, and thought it was a sign from God, or at least whoever's writing my story. I loved the vibes in Granada. Of course the Alhambra was stunning, but the Cathedral was lofty and white and bright in a way that makes you understand God. We sat in the plaza and people watched. There were musicians on every corner. I grabbed a bocadillo - plain tomato, olive oil, and hunks of cheese -- and sat down in the plaza. My mom and I split it in half. There was an older man playing a guitar on the bench near us. Granada's a cool city. I think I'm partial to university towns. There were so many young students - hip, well-dressed with their long overcoats, perfect for the chill of the Sierra Nevada. I remember very specifically, the old man was playing a song and the lyrics went "te quiero tanto, tanto", and a young couple walked by. The man clearly recognized the song, flitted forth, and twirled his girlfriend around. I've scoured the Internet for the song and I can't find anything that sounds quite the same, although it could be https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dy_A6Fdjt90 or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IkiVO2fHvs or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKAnHKibnfw? or https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rz1HZQCtiCQ - really leaning twd this, the beginning sounds correct https://www.musixmatch.com/pt/letras/Los-Panchos/Cabaretera Yo soy un hombre pobre Muy poco para ti Te quiero tanto, tanto Mi amor es tan sincero All I always feel in these cities is longing. Longing to live in age that places a premium on beauty. And rest. Looking at the intricacies of the Arabic script decorating the walls of the Alhambra - it made me think, I hope I create something truly magnificent in my lifetime. --- The chocolate. The fucking hot chocolate. The US is deprived of the best breakfast in the world--hot chocolate and churros. --- Spent the last 2 days exploring Málaga. When you research Andalusian itineraries, Málaga is often allotted a single day, and is the first to be cut when low on time, so my expectations were low. But I was impressed. The city is charming. Temperate weather, care given to outdoor spaces, streets lined with orange trees. My mom and I browsed the shops at Calle Larios. I bought a gorgeous blazer. Been trying to dress zanier lately. We passed a few hours there waiting for the Christmas lights to come on. -picture- When the lights came on, they illuminated the walkway and shop windows with a light show choreographed to [En Navidad](https://open.spotify.com/track/5B7T5rlFMewr6Npbuw8q8t?si=2c7808e1f3b04724). Lots of people in the street started singing, it definitely seemed to be a local favorite. The last two days coming back from Málaga, we bought a massive bocadilllo at a cafe near the train station, packed with ham and cheese and lettuce and a boiled egg on a baguette, and it was simple, but delicious and immensely satisfying. Food was genuinely a challenge for us while in Spain. My mom is picky and we were staying in a beach town during the off season with several restaurants closed. I found myself bored by the standard tapas, but I also found myself discouraged from seeking out more interactions with waiters, and ashamed of this discouragement! I look forward to going back one day when I can make a better attempt with my Spanish. So anyway, two days in a row we sat down in the living room of our little aparthotel, with beer and this giant bocadillo that was absolutely fucking delicious, and on the second we watched the Survivor finale. When I think of favorite moments with my parents its simple moments like that. Moments where we enjoy an unexpectedly good meal, where the beauty of the nature is around us, where my dad breaks out into song and dance, emulating a performer we heard that day, and we all laugh together. --- Created: December 27, 2021 Last Modified: July 7, 2022