Well, I’m back from Spain. And bike racing again.

I’ve had a lot of doubt since Spain about my bike racing ability, with a few people reminding me of the fact I didn’t ride my bike for 4 months. I had a couple decent results in collegiate racing this year before JMSR but the stage race was going to be the first real test of my abilities. I was both excited and nervous.

Wednesday, I went to Art class, then ran home to finish packing. I drove down with Chase and a new teammate this year Sam Fritz, who was guest riding in the Pro race. We arrived late that night to meet John Heinlein (new teammate) and Logan Grace (former president of UMCT). We would have a four man crew racing this year, with support in the form of Jacob”Oko” Okamoto and Andy Keogh. They are both part of the new Vol Gas Racing squad-a new group of mainly Minnesota based riders looking to make some waves in the regional scene this year.

Day 1

The Thursday road race is a race with a lot of climbing. Last year, it sorted out most of the GC, so would be vital to get right. The plan was to have everyone make it over the first and biggest climb, Devil’s Den. From there we’d go for the stage or attack for a GC result.

The descent into Devil’s Den is 1000 feet of switchbacks, so with a peloton of 100 riders, it would be vital to make the front group if we wanted to get over the climb. For the 5 miles leading into the descent it was pure chaos, and with full road closure we were all over the road. The first switchback a Kelly Benefits Strategies rider slid out by sprinting up the inside and then just flying off the road into the brush. About halfway down I saw Logan get a flat and from there I knew he was going to be chasing.

Up and over the climb it was controlled but dropped 2/3rds of the peloton. Descending past the climb the group recollected itself. The group swelled in the next few miles, getting up to 45ish. Chase flatted, which left just me and John in the main group. We went over Hell’s Kitchen hard but only a few riders fell off. Two snuck up the road about 20 miles to go, the rest of the group pretty much sat up. The race finishes up Mt. Sequoyah in Fayetteville, as we got to the bottom steepest part, the field shattered. I couldn’t hang on to the lead group but caught on to the next group. I rolled in with them, in 18th place tied for 14th. John rolled in 24th, having stayed with the group until the climb. I was happy with the result, but had set a goal of finishing in the top 10. There was work to be done.

DAY 2

I felt pretty good the night before, but as I woke up I felt pretty horrible. We rolled out, with aggressive racing establishing a group of two, with a second group containing John bridging up to the breakaway. We were happy with that road position, but I felt horrible. Every climb we went over I felt horrible. I focused on staying hydrated and eating, and as we approached Mt. Gaylor, the biggest climb of the day, I started feeling better. The climb is 75 miles in but the road race is 114 miles long, which means a lot can still happen at that point. I got over the summit with the main group after suffering like a dog. Chase popped during the climb, and John had fallen out of the break up the climb. Logan made it over, and we caught John. There were three of us in the break, but both of my teammates were worse for wear.

There were two kickers remaining. Up the first, I found myself with John and Logan behind a split, but bridged up, making it to an uber-select group of about 20. Matt Stephens, the winner from day 1 was chasing hard, understanding the GC threat of the break. We rolled past two riders, which left two up the road. There were about ten working to chase the break down, with about ten just sitting down. I was out of water with 20k to go, not feeling too hot. I had a gel which picked up the legs-I was just glad to make the lead group.

I opened up the sprint 200m to go, but everyone blew past me. The break had won by about a minute, with Matt Stephens losing the yellow jersey. I rolled in with the group, moving up to 14th, but tied for 10th place.

DAY 3

I felt rough again, but knew that the uphill TT was a big opportunity for me to move up. We had a chill morning before moving over to the course. There was a little confusion around the start times, where we ultimately were pushed back an hour. Just before the start it began to pour down rain-I considered the adversity, as much as it sucked, a performance advantage-I didn’t let myself get upset by the inconveniences.

I took off with last years winner on my wheel-when I started I felt sluggish, like I wasn’t on top of the pedals and as if I couldn’t turn my legs over. Nonetheless, I kept pushing, until up and over the top of the switchbacks where Andrew Evans (last years winner) passed me. I rolled down with an average power of 385 watts-I wasn’t sure exactly what time I came in, but I thought it was good enough to hold on to my GC position of 14th.

When we got results back, I saw that I had come in 21st place, moving up to 11th on GC. The top ten was within reach, but I doubted that I could make up any ground. I hoped I would have enough to finish the crit with the main group, and, with luck, crack the top 10 on GC.

Day 4

I had a fair degree of confidence I was going to finish the crit-if I could move up or not was another question. It was a hot day, but I had proved myself to be one of the fastest riders throughout the week. I was going to finish, and hold my 11th place spot in the General Classification.

The crit was ripping fast from the gun-the first 8 laps were absolute torture before it started to slow down. I worked on staying as high up as I could, moving up in the opportunities I could without wasting too much energy, and drinking water-I often struggle in the heat and I forget to drink water in really fast crits often. But the group pared down further and further, and when I saw Chase pass me about 35 minutes in, I looked behind me and realized that there were only a couple people left behind me. Chase and Logan protected my GC Position, dragging me to the front only to have me fall back again each lap. At one moment, a gap opened on the hill and I told Logan I needed him to pull to stay with the group-he dieseled me back up. Two laps to go they both popped, and I knuckled down, knowing I could make it to the finish. A little split formed but it came back together, I sprinted up the last hill as hard as I could knowing that I needed to finish within a second of the group to get the same time as them. Results came back with me moving up two spots in GC, as a couple of the top 10 had been dropped during the crit. I ended up 9th overall, thanks to the support of the team, one of my best results of all time.

We packed up and drove home, getting in at around 1 AM. It was hard, but it was good. I’m motivated to train, but I’m not sure for what: it’s been frustrating seeing the racing scene collapse around us. I hope we can race Northstar Grand Prix, I hope I can keep the results rolling. It’s been fun training, it’s been fun being the president of the Minnesota Cycling team for my final collegiate season, but I’m discouraged by what seems to be perpetually declining interest and attendance in bike racing. I hope something can be done-but what do I do? It’s a different question. The big races continue to draw fields, but the small races are collapsing.

It’s something I wrestle with. I hope we can see a renaissance of bike racing in America-I’d love to see it and participate in it.

 

 

On behalf on the national holiday commemorating the signing of the Spanish constitution (which, wildly enough, was only in 1983), the whole country ended up with another long weekend. I had nothing planned, but once I got out of my class on Wednesday morning, I received a call from Jake:

1. We were going to the first game of the Copa del Rey that night-the round of 32. I had no say in the matter.
2. There were tickets available for the Alhambra for the next day, and let’s go, please.

So the stage was set. By the time I finished my classes, I hopped off the metro and only had time to drop off my stuff before we made our way over to the stadium by bike-it’s only just a couple minutes away. We locked things up and met some other people from the program right outside.

Sevilla won 1-0, but the other team (Villanovense) put up quite the fight, especially for being as trash as they supposedly are. We went all together to the most well known Spanish fast food chain/cerveceria: 100 Montaditos. They’re really everywhere, at least in Andalucia-I just went to google maps, there are 3 within 1 mile of here.

I’m back from a 5 minute wikipedia binge-there’s actually 5 in the US, all in Florida.

But we had to head in on the earlier side-we had a BlaBlaCar booked for 9 AM the next morning, and we needed a little bit of time to get over to the bus station to meet him. After a little bit of tardiness, we met up with Luis, a really great dude from the area who now lives in Seville. His girlfriend, however, is a Granadina, so he spends a lot of the weekends over there-and because of this, was chock full of suggestions for Granada. After some discussion about politics, TV Series, and the our collective good fortune to live in the time of the two greatest futbolistas of all time (Messi and Ronaldo), he dropped us off near the university campus. Granada is a city full of students. It’s somewhere around 250,000 people and has a student population of 82,000.

From there, we started walking uphill-we had a time to keep at the Alhambra and were a bit behind schedule. We walked through the more urban area, then up through the older city center where we snagged the last 2 hostel beds (I feel like they always say that) immediately before heading up to the Alhambra. I had taken a little walk around the block as Jake was setting up, which resulted in me going up to the palace from a different direction that Jake-running into an Adelante Andalucía protest, which held me up even further.

But finally I summited the hill and me and Jake pulled out our tickets and walked inside. The Alhambra is a huge Muslim fortress that later turned into one of the most prominent royal courts of the Reyes Catolicos-it was here where Cristopher Columbus pitched his trip to Isabel and Fernando. The most beautiful and intricate part is called the Nasrid Palace-the place where the last Muslim rulers of Spain lived. Our tickets said 1:30 PM, but we had only showed up at 1:59-and there was a line. I went to the front to ask if we would still be able to get in, and to my surprise, the guard/curator/employee opened up the gate and told us to head through.

Up to this point, we were having a good time-but from this time forward, things were going practically too good to be true-but it wouldn’t stop. Me and Jake hypothesized why it feels like we get away with a lot of stuff while examining the 1000 year old intricate architecture and sculpture of the Palaces.

When we wrapped up the inner palace, we walked over to the Generalife, the gardens that wrap around the other side of the palace. We left for a little water/restaurant/tapas stop before realizing that the Alcazar was to close at 6:30-we only had an hour left to see the oldest and arguably most historically significant part, the fortress.

So we dipped back down and made our way through the fortress to the tip of the mountain. We climbed the tallest tower, took a picture with the fortress and the snow covered Sierra Nevada (active skiing resorts above 3000m-although last week in Seville it hit 70). And then it closed, so we left the fortress and walked down the other side, popping out in a plaza and headed back towards the campus.

We ended up at a cerveceria/tapas spot and had a light little dinner, and a pre-nightime cafecito before winding our way through the city again, back to the hostel. When we arrived, there were a couple spread out groups in the kitchen/dining room, and we were immediately offered a drink-I don’t know exactly how it happened, but we sat down with a group of vacationing girls who turned out to be from Seville as well. It was one of their birthdays but they were about to go to bed-until we showed up.

It was salsa night! Come out, kids! So as the rest of the hostel packed up to get their dance on, so did we, and so did the Sevillanas. We wound our way through the streets around the center, ending up with the 12ish who had come on the excursion-but being Spain, and being only 10PM, it was completely dead. It’s kind of like going to a Salsa bar at 6PM in the US-of course no one will be there.

Plan B was a clubish type bar nearby. There, we said goodbye to the group we had met earlier (lame), and the night continued. There were two hostel employees with us, Eric, and a polish girl who’s name I don’t remember. (I’ve learned here that I’m good with English names but not-so-good with not-in-English names(.

We hung out there for a little while with the group, having a slight run in with who I think was a nazi. From there, we went to a chiller bar and had a bit of a foosball tournament. I only played in one game. Loss.

 

Jake played a few rounds. All wins, I think. That kid.

But the night wasn’t to end yet. There’s a famous disco in Granada called Mae West-everyone, all the time, was telling us to go there. So we started hiking.

You know how, on a typical night, you sometimes run into people? Me and Jake ran into a two girls who told us, no, Mae West is not worth it, especially not this early, and that we should come with them to a couple spots to chat with them. They were named Ana and Carmen, as we came to know, and Jake really hit it off with Carmen.

We went to bed on the later side that night, to be honest, and woke up to our friend from the hostel Eric telling us that checkout time was 11, dammit, and get out. Actual time: 11:30.

I wish I could block my mom from reading this.

From there we went to get some breakfast and visit the cathedral. We payed our diligent 3 Euro, and spent a long while in there. The proximity to Christmas meant that it was nativity’d to the nines, and the long weekend had made the whole city filled with Spanish tourists-which was pretty cool, since it feels like tourist destinations are so often dominated by English.

After that we snaked our way down through the old city, heading roughly in the direction of where we were to meet our BlaBlaCar home (8 Euros compared to the 23 Euro bus!) We stopped for a lunch outside in the 70 degree weather, faced with the nicest waiter I’ve ever met in Spain, who also undercharged us. After that, we walked around a smallish indoor market. I took a picture of a group there. Actually, come to think of it, I took another picture of a couple overlooking the Alhambra. For some reason people trust their phones with me.

By the end of our 2 hour lunch, we were ready to meet the BlaBlaCar, which went off without a hitch. We hit Sevilla by 8pm, and walked through the center, which was filled with literally thousands of people. Hopping on the metro was like herding cats, which ended up with us standing in two lines (one for getting into the station, another for getting onto the train). But finally we made it home, where I nuked some pasta my family had left me-they had left for the beach.

Phase 2

But it was only Friday. We had done this whole trip, not even realizing that we had a whole weekend ahead of us. I was invited out to La Alameda by my friend Blanca, we met a group of her friends out there-including a Youtuber named Juanki who is the strangest combination of likable and unusual you’ll ever meet in your life.

I was pretty tired, so after a bit of chat, I packed it in for home and crashed immediately.

I woke up the next morning fully recuperated, went to my favorite cafe to pretend to do some work for a second (actually, I think I wrote the Barcelona post there, and then went for a run. I watched my current favorite Spanish language show, Bajo Sospecha, before yelling to Jake outside my window what his plans were for the night.

Jake and I live literally across the way from each other, close enough to have an ‘inside voices’ conversation across the 12 story chasm. We used to call each other to coordinate plans, but now I just open my window and yell across for him to open it up. He told me that we were gonna bike to an Airbnb where our friends Chris and Lauren were staying, hang out there for a bit, and see where the night would take us. Plans with Jake are often like this: versus ‘do you want to do this?’ it’s more of a ‘We’re doing this.’

We biked over there, only after a little bit of navigational trouble, then chilled for the next couple hours at their house. By 1ish, Granada was catching up with us, and a pizza stop later, we were biking back home.

The next day, I had some goals to accomplish. I had two papers to write, then I wanted to go to the gym, hit an area I had never hit during the daytime-Triana, then buy my sister a present (I don’t think she reads this, so I should be fine).

That went without a hitch until I found out that my gym membership had lapsed, so I biked home before doing my daily run. At 6 pm, we had a goodbye cruise with all of the kids from the program and all of the orientation guides I had come to know so well.

But that was not the fate that awaited me-I ended up showing up 1 minute late, due to some unforeseen circumstances, which caused me to arrive exactly as the boat was pulling away.

So I sat on the river of the great Guadalquivir, filled with self pity. 30 minutes later I got up and got myself some juice.

When the rest of literally everyone I know in Seville showed up, I was there to greet them.

I got pictures with my favorite ones, then went to 100 Montaditos (I’m starting to understand how they stay in business) with Jake and some friends for a quick merienda. From there, we went to the strip of student oriented outdoor bars by my house to hang out. We hung out there till dinner time, 9 pm.

So that was one of the best weekends of my life-filled with friends, productivity, beautiful sites, people, friends, new, medium, and old. This weekend I said goodbye to a few people, went to dance, did a thousand things that I pray I’ll be able to do again.

Last night my host mom told me that it’s the final countdown-but only the final countdown of this stage. I started to look for flights back this summer.

I’ve got a final this afternoon, then about 24 hours to pack, say my last goodbyes, write my people a few letters, and then get on a damn plane.

No matter how far it is away, you always arrive.

Jack

The city that ended up inspiring me to go to Spain initially was absolutely on the short list, so when my former roommate/part time Barcelona resident Goodwin told me he was coming over to reestablish his residency, I committed to the first Ryanair ticket I could find ($59).

After a slight concern about me getting bumped off my flight, by 11am Thursday I was soaring out of the Seville airport for the quick and pleasant flight over to Barcelona. It’s about 10 hours by car, 1.5ish by plane. We touched down with minimal fuss and I started to wander my way out of the beautiful labyrinth that is the Barcelona airport.

Once I finally made it to open air (read: diesel filled), I tried to find the best option for ground transport to the city. The airport is actually pretty far out of town, so there’s one option for a train, a bus that takes you straight to town, taxi’s, or a cheaper bus that takes you someplace. I shelled out the 6 euros for the bus.

It dropped me off in Plaza España, a huge rotunda in the middle of Barcelona surrounded by some big buildings and a stadium or something and a big museum-big city stuff. From there I grabbed some M&Ms then ducked underground to take the Metro the rest of the way to the AirBNB.

Upon arrival I met for the Goodwin’s mother Pauline and cousin, Robert, a DJ/music producer who lives in Lisbon, Portugal and was flying over for the weekend (there has to be something in their genes). I met with them and learned about them while Goodwin got a tattoo of what I know to be whirly-birds or helicopters, but are scientifically named Samaras. While we ate some popcorn, I learned about Robert’s life in broadcasting and his shift away to a more creative side of life-super interesting and inspiring in a lot of ways.

From then we walked down to the Metro station and jumped on to get over to the Sagrada Familia. We had a quick minute to tapear nearby before our time at the cathedral. When 3:15 rolled around, we took a quick picture in front, then went right inside.

I remember hearing about the cathedral for the first time and the ambition of the whole thing and how it would take centuries to build and how ginormous it was. So when we entered, I was taken aback by two things. First of all, it’s both huge and beautiful-but both less huge and less beautiful than I expected.

Seville has a huge cathedral as well. But Seville’s is almost double the size. And granted, the tallest spire of the Sagrada Familia is taller (172m to Seville’s 105m). But Seville is made out of blocks of marble and the Sagrada Familia of cement. And Seville’s was finished in 1517-La Sagrada Familia is still being constructed, using modern construction techniques. As far as things go, I went wanting to have my mind blown by the Barcelonés Cathedral-but there’s no doubt in my mind that given the history of the cathedral here, in Seville, beats its more famous sister. They also have the same amount of stars on google reviews.

After that, a Metro ride home and a Thanksgiving dinner among Americans at a hole in the wall Senegalese restaurant. This year, I’m thankful for other languages, travel, and being healthy.

A little nap, then to a few bars before bed. The bar scene is way different than from Seville. Here, everything (while equally cheap) is practically the same. You get a cafe, which serves beer, or a bar, which serves beer and mixed drinks (copas), or a bar, which serves beer, mixed drinks, and cocktails. In Barcelona there’s a much wider variety of bars, themes, tiki bars, cheap bars, dive bars, skater bars-the reality is it is much more reminiscent of a bar scene in a large city in the states, except generally the bars are all pretty small in area.

The next day, Goodwin and woke up to go for a run, then had a breakfast. I split off from the group for a few hours to do my own thing: first, a walk through the condensed Barrio Gotico, stopping at a free archaeological museum displaying some subterranean ruins of a 17th century Barcelona. From there, I walked, grabbing a coffee and trying on some Ray Bans, past a few shops, wandering through the cathedral and a park, past the zoo a magnificent fountain before checking out the Arc d’ Triomph and people watching while munching on a pastry.

I met up with the rest of the group for a late lunch before we got some groceries for an AirBNB resupply, then powernaps for everybody. That evening we made dinner and planned out the next day, which we would rent a car to take to Monserrat.

Monserat was incredible. We drove up out of Barcelona and into the mountains before arriving at a monastery nestled into the crook of a Mountain. After poking around a little, we bought some tickets that would take us on a tram to the final summit above the main area.

After the tram to the mountain we hiked a little ways up a wideish trail, stopping a little ways away to eat our packed lunches. Afterwards, Goodwin and I continued up, running into a few groups of climbers scaling a few different types of geological formations. We looped our way past a chapel, then to these little monastery type looking caves, then looped back down a long staircase. After that, down the tram for a cafecito while Robert went and picked up the rental car.

We drove to the coast for a paella and a really incredible sunset-good weather as well. Paella might have messed up the stomach a little, but it was all in good fun. We drove the rest of the way into Barcelona. That night was just me and Goodwin out, and we went to a cool little bar and had some really great cocktails.

The next day, we woke up at a reasonable hour before Goodwin and I dipped out to Barrio Gotico so we could grab breakfast (crepes and coffee), then buy some socks. The same weekend as Black Friday, it was a big shopping weekend and there where a lot of people around. We finally found him a few suitable pairs at H&M. It was really busy everywhere, kinda fun to be in that shopping environment.

We walked back where I packed up my backpack and hopped on the train to take me to the other train that I could take to the airport. I got on the wrong one, then missed the next one that could get me there, which took me about an extra 45 minutes longer than expected. This resulted in a tight, tight, airport run. Barcelona has two terminals, and the train drops off at the arrivals terminal, so I had to run across a skywalk to catch a bus to take me to the right one. I showed up to the airport 50 minutes in advance, but showed up to the right terminal 30 minutes in advance. It was tight, but I made it in time-and the flight ended up being delayed a bit. I made it into Seville and took the bus from the airport, getting home in time to have a nice conversation with my sister and do some homework before going to bed.

Great trip, but ultimately, Barcelona has nothing on the people, amiability, beauty, price, weather of Seville-I guess it has the beach, a bigger club scene. But Sevilla is much more my style.

I’m writing this a couple weeks late, so I’ll write a post about my trip to Granada this last weekend. Then finals, one last weekend, and a flight home a few days before Christmas. Should be a blast, and a mess. I’ll be back.

 

 

 

 

 

I was the last one to get on the bus: from my wake up at 6:45 to the bus leaving at a soft 7:00, I had ended up missing my tram stop, which ended up with me running a very quick half kilometer before I had even entirely woken up.

From there, we drove down to Tarifa, the closest point to Africa. We hopped on a ferry, and about 30 minutes later, we were in Africa.

 

Africa, to tell you the truth, does not feel particularly different than anywhere else in the world. It’s a little more chaotic, it definitely smells a little like you would expect Africa to smell, but at the end of the day, your feet are on the ground, there are people out and about, there are plants. It is, after all, only a few miles away from Spain.

We landed in Tanger and immediately headed up to a women’s center where we met with three young women from there. They were all studying there, and we had a conversation over the meal in regards to the country, a little on politics, and the life of a student in Tanger.

We were a group of about 15, all American’s living in Seville with my program, lead by an incredible guide, Marissa, who originally came to Morocco for Peace Corps, but who now lives in Morocco full time.

After that lunch, we drove along the coast to a beach town called Asilah, where we stopped at a bakery to eat some bread and this delicious and burning hot hummus type thing: so good. We walked through the town, then eventually along the beach before hopping back in the van and riding into Rabat, where we would stay the next couple of days.

The homestays we stayed in hosted 2-3 people. I stayed with my friend Lowell, who was a bit culture shocked by the whole thing. We were picked up by our host brother for the next two days, Salim, after which we were treated to a delicious meal prepared in a tajine before we went to bed. The accommodation was comfortable but quite different. We ended up in a house with a girl who was in Morocco for a whole semester, who had a lot of interesting experiences to share-her life was completely different than ours in Seville. It’s harder for her to go out to eat, to make friends, to learn the language, to everything.

We had a great breakfast of fried bread with a jam and a buttery cheese. Also prepared was a rich coffee. Morocco has better food than Sevilla. All types of fried food, heavily spiced (which Spanish cuisine misses sometimes). All sorts of sauces, buttery, fatty, delicious breads, couscous, simmered veg, all incredible.

The next day we woke up and went over to the famous kings mausoleum-an incredible architecture marvel filled with intricate tiling.

From there we went over to a student center where we got a bit more into politics and the religious and political dynamic in Morocco. The king there is very powerful and, although Moroccans can vote, the king oversees all of the political situation there. Women legally don’t have different rights, but in religious and familial contexts, it’s a bit questionable at times-the expectation is for women to be pious, to be wives, generally (although tons of women go to college because it’s free and there isn’t an expectation for them to get a job). They talked about the taboos behind alcohol and Hijab, the judgement, the communities, the expectation of education. After, we went to some roman ruins before another lunch. Food is eaten off of a communal share plate, which makes for an original experience.

After that, we walked through some roman ruins of an old village. Cats are a type of protected creatures in Islam (but not really pets), so walking around you’ll see tons of them. There was a whole posse of them at the ruins.

That afternoon we walked around a market with a group of Moroccan students who, as far as my knowledge, were about as liberal as the average american student-their parents, however, all were much more conservative. They all had a remarkable energy to work and all of them wanted to get out of Morocco.

After that, we went to the Hamam, the public baths. It’s about the size of a couple hotel rooms, and people come there to bathe. There are three rooms, the first with hot water, where you soap up, and the next two where you progressively rinse down. It’s quite the experience, and was 100% completely authentic.

You could pay someone 50 Dihram ($5) to give you a 10+ minute scrub down with an exfoliating glove. He scrubbed and scrubbed and took layers of skin off. It was a crazy experience, lying on a wet, Moroccan, terrazzo floor, scrubbed down by a sweaty professional scrubber downer. At the end he stretches you out and cracks the ever living heck out of you. Then he dumps a cold bucket of water on you.

Another dinner later, a conversation with Salim, and an early wakeup the next day to drive into the Atlas mountains. We walked into a small town of 300 where we had a lunch of couscous with some people who lived in the village there. The father was half farmer/half truck drive and they had 3 kids running around. When he grew up, he lived in the same village, without access to a road, running water, or electricity. In the last ten years, all of those have come, along with smartphones.

We wrapped up there after a short hail squall, then drove into Chefchaouen, a city where all the houses are painted blue (no one really knows why, but it’s morphed into tourism). We ate a meal, shopped around in the big markets they have, then discussed the events of this trip before going to bed. We took a hike up to an overlook before heading out the next morning (below).

Ultimately, it was an incredible trip. We interacted so deeply with the culture, the food, my skin still feels great from the exfoliation. So many crazy and authentic experiences. I now have a deeper appreciation for the Muslim world, and a desire to understand how the more conservative Muslim countries work. I have an incredible optimism for Morocco, and developing countries like it-there is so much potential there that is finally, due to travel, technology, the internet, is finally getting unlocked.

When my friend Jake and I found out that our All Saints Day break coincided with a 90 Euro flight to Gran Canaria, one of the principal islands of the Grand Canaries, we literally booked it on the spot.

With Halloween on Wednesday, the flight at 11, and a typical Sevillano night out wrapping up at about 6am, it was going to be a bit of a fight to hit all the obligations we needed to. After a night in the bustling Alameda de Hercules, we made it back for some sleep before waking up to take the 9 AM bus.

We arrived to the airport without a single hitch, and breezed through security, even though they took my sunscreen. We napped on the benches until we headed over to the flight (last on the plane by choice). We arrived treated to incredible views of the island before hopping onto the bus to head into the city of Las Palmas.

The bus drove along the coast until we pulled into the San Telmo Bus Station. We pulled up a map and walked a few blocks over to a hostel. I went for a run, got my bearings, and took a nap. We ate shortly after, taking advantage of the hostel’s beautiful kitchen, and then went out on a Tapas crawl with the hostel. There we met a few characters, including a semi-pro Belgian footballer who was traveling with a German companion-many people at this time of year are there for the surfing, them included.

The next morning we took advantage of the surf as well, renting boards from a Brasilian transplant named Gino. We surfed, then bussed back. I left my swimsuit on the bus.

After a lunch and a siesta, I went out, determined to track my swimsuit down. After 30 minutes at the bus station administrative office, they tracked it down thanks to my ticket number and ended up finding it (miraculously). They told me to come back at 6 to pick it up. That night we headed over to the hostel of our friends, where we joined a barbecue on the rooftop terrace before ending up, to my chagrin, at a club full of Canarians.

I woke up before Jake with a resolve to run up into the neighborhoods on the hills surrounding Las Palmas-as I winded around through the neighborhoods, the roads started to steepen, to stairs, the streets turned into alleys no wider than 6 or 7 feet, and over the very top, concertina wire surrounded the apartment complexes. I wound through a park/field and ended up on this rocky goat path where I saw a dude throwing up. As I ran back down, three men yelled for me to stop.

I pulled out an earbud and skeptically looked back at the 3 dudes smoking cigarettes on a stoop. A man with a face tattoo spoke first, ¨los perros muerden,¨ he said, half slyly. The dogs bite.

I went the other direction.

That afternoon we went to the old town and explored around the church, passing through a great museum that was formerly Christopher Colombus’ house. I really recommend it, super well set up and incredibly informative without being too dense.

The next day, Sunday, was one of the best days of travel in my life. We woke up at a standard hour and dipped down on a bus to Maspalomas/Playa del Inglés. When we arrived, we got our bearings by talking to a bike shop employee and grabbing a quick snack at a grocery store.

The beach is on the corner of the island, and we were on the far side of the beach, so we decided to hike the whole way along. It’s a huge beach/dune preserve. After procuring some sunscreen, we started to hike along until the waves got bigger and the people got progressively less clothed.

We finally arrived to a quieter part of the beach with some waves-I snapped some pics, changed behind some sand dunes, and we started to perfect our body surfing technique. They were big and foamy enough that you could really ride them all the way into the shore. We had a blast until a beach lifeguard pulled up and waved us in the shore.

He asked if we spoke Spanish and looked pleased when we said we did. Then he told us we had to leave cause the currents were strong and he didn’t want us to die. I appreciated his commitment to lifesaving.

We walked around to the other side of the beach and headed back into town with a plan to hitchhike (autoestop) in Spanish about half of an hour into the mountains right above tohe town to hike in this town called San Bartolomé. When we made it to the start of the road up into the mountains, a guy pulled over and tolled us he was going to Fataga, a small Canarian town nestled in the mountains. There were some hiking spots that lead out of there so we went with him

His name was Wim and he was a semi-retired former dutch sculptor that spends winters in the Canaries working on his 200 year old house and trying to build one of the worlds most complete cactus gardens. We talked to him for probably an hour, and he took us to an overlook on the way up, then showed us his house and a trailhead right nearby. His house was the old mill, and the entire towns water supply flows directly through his living room

His house looks directly over the town, which is a quiet little pueblo with a few restaurants and a gas station. We hiked up a trail to get to a ridgeline and check out the grand vistas.

We hiked back down in to town and ate at a cafe. As the sun set we tried to hail a ride down, and within the first 20 cars to pass, a Latvian vacation crew offered us a ride back into Maspalomas. We took it up, they argued among each other all the way down, before dropping us at a bus stop so we could catch a bus back to Las Palmas.

The next day we rose relatively early to check out and go boogie boarding. It was incredible, I rode one wave in from so far out, it was such a blast. The waves were big, too. It cost something like 12 or 10 euros to rent it for 3 hours. I recommend it over surfing every time.

We went to a grocery store and cheffed up a delicious tuna salad for 8 euros between the two of us-with enough leftover for a sack airport dinner. The hostel was happy to store our bags, let us shower after boogie boarding, and let us use their expansive kitchen facilities to feed and recombobulate before heading down to the bus station. Security, again, was a breeze, literally the fastest I’ve ever gone through. Door to gate-under 10 minutes.

Although we arrived early, our flight was delayed by a little over an hour. Things went smoothly from then on, with a nice little homework hour, then the flight. When we arrived in Seville, we missed a packed bus back into town so decided to take an Uber back with a Spanish caballero we met named Pilar. Seville just got Uber and, interestingly enough, due to legislation, all Ubers here are owned by companies that work under Uber. So when you get picked up by Uber, your driven by a driver who gets paid a salary by a company that gets paid by Uber-even so, it’s cheaper than the already ludicrously cheap cabs.

We got dropped off curbside, the driver said he wanted to go to New York over Christmas. I hope he gets there.

Seville is good, I go to Morocco next week followed by a trip to Barcelona, then Dublin, then things start winding down-crazy how the time flies with so much to do. I had my ‘mid-semester’ (more like 3/4) check-in this week which really made me reflect on how truly content I am to be here.

Jack