Tuesday, March 31, 2015

The Big Mango

Let's get one thing clear from the get-go: this post's time stamp is a lie. It marks the date I wrapped up my time in Bangkok, but it's hardly the moment when I found a chance to sit and write. Turns out that powering across Southeast Asia in just a month doesn't leave a lot of time for blogging, hardly even for selecting the photos for a daily facebook post. And returning home to jetlag, mutliple rounds of friends visiting, and a few trips scattered through Europe in between preparing to move out of Paris and attempting to catch up once more with each of my friends in the city of lights, well, it doesn't leave much time to document an amazing series of adventures from the other side of the world. So here I am, sitting on a bus heading back to Aarhus (I'll fess up: it's already late May), and I am trying to find a way to summarize an eye-opening, bewildering, and exhausting month of exploration while on the brink of beginning a new life as a postdoc in a small(ish) Danish city.
A random smattering of Bangkok

I began my grand tour of Southeast Asia in Bangkok, aka The Big Mango. Here, I discovered the true meaning of the phrase "the city that never sleeps." The steady flow of heavy traffic at all hours of the day and night sets the tone for this hectic city. Even on our night bike tour with our hostel owner, we found ourselves battling to dodge traffic.
Night biking through the Big Mango with out hostel owner
I also learned that people here will put just about anything (and any quantity of it, challenging the limits of physical possibility) on the back of a motorbike. You have to admire their industriousness.
Defying gravity: the Thai will put anything and everything (and as much of it as possible) on a motorbike

Juxtapositions between modernity and poverty were striking: on day one, I found that the metro system was modern, comfortable, even fully air-conditioned, but try to transfer onto a bus and you'll find yourself in a rickety vehicle with seats resembling school desk chairs nailed to the wooden floors, and a woman with a change tin walking around the bus in between stops to collect fares. 

In every direction, the cacophony of novel and exotic sounds, smells, and colors could easily become overwhelming, especially when blanketed in a tropical heat. And so the temples were a welcome respite from the energy of the city outside their walls. I made a point to visit Wat Pho and Wat Arun, two temples boasting very different styles.
Wat Pho
Wat Pho was built between 1656 and 1783, though it later underwent some major renovations. Not only was it a holy site, but it is also Thailand's first public university. Here, King Rama III had scholars collect the wisdom of the age on topics such as poetry, history, religion, medicine, political science, literature, and linguistics, and had this information carved into over 2000 tablets which were posted around the temple grounds. Wat Pho is famous as the home of the reclining Buddha, a 46-meter-long, 15-meter-high, lacquered and gilded Buddha statue which you can see in the middle of my Wat Pho collage.
Wat Arun
Wat Arun, or Temple of the Dawn, was built around the same time period as Wat Pho, but it has a very different feel. This temple is located right along the Chao Phraya River, so I navigated my way past the Royal Palace and Wat Pho, through some markets, and into a ferry to make my visit. Much of Wat Arun was under construction, and so we couldn't climb the central, Khmer-style tower for which this palace is known. Wat Arun was smaller and felt less regal than Wat Pho, but it held a different sort of charm, especially with all the mother-child animal sculptures scattered around the base of the central tower. And who can complain about warrior sculptures guarding real-life napping cats?

With some new friends, I spent part of my last day relaxing on the Golden Mount (Wat Saket), which offers some fantastic panoramic views across the city. Here, a friend taught me about some tidbits of Buddhism. The half-empty bottles we saw lying around the statues here weren't trash but rather food offerings to the gods represented in the statues. I learned that the bells and gongs can be used to make beautiful sounds which are also considered to be offerings to the Buddha. When watching my friend cringe as a tourist rang a gong four times, he explained that only certain numbers are considered auspicious (like 1, 3, and 5) and should be used in offerings.
The Golden Mount

No description of a visit to Bangkok is complete without some mention of the royal family propaganda. Photos, billboards, and posters of the members of the royal family are plastered all over this city. For the most part, it seems harmless enough: the people here are rather fond of their king, who they feel makes a particular point to travel around the country to get to know his people, for whom he has real concern. Still, things can easily become a slippery slope. Remember, this same king supported the military coup. (Locals will tell you that he did this to stop the warring factions from killing so many people, but then again, the locals who sing another tune don't face such great outlooks these days.) At least what I can tell you from a tourist's perspective is that the coup increased military presence in the city and thus improved security for foreigners. Whether I should feel guilty about this or not, the military coup certainly wasn't bothering me.
Thai Royal Family propaganda is all over this city

My mouth has never been so happy as it was in Bangkok (and, believe it or not, my stomach too!). The freshly squeezed pomegranate, passion fruit, starfruit, and orange juices awaited me on every corner, readily poised to satisfy me as soon as the craving might strike. And the coconut ice cream was served in coconuts cracked open and shaved upon order. I had never realized that fresh coconut shavings could be so slimy, almost mango-like in texture!
Coconut ice cream eaten out of a fresh coconut with its own shavings is even better when shared with friends
I soon learned that there's nothing like a refreshing, mildly sweet papaya salad for an afternoon snack on a sizzling summer day (maybe minus the tomato slices.) I even found a vegetarian restaurant, May Kaidee, which offered a ridiculously delicious and accessible cooking class full of lessons on curries, spicy soups, salads, and a mango sticky rice dessert. By chance, I was the only sign-up my day, so I even got a private half-day cooking lesson!
May Kaidee vegetarian Thai cooking class: highly recommended
A quick swing by the Flower Market a couple of days later enabled me to stock up on all the exotic spices I'd need to hone my Thai cooking skills back home. (Now to just find the time to put those new skills to good use!) 
The Flower Market
My muscles also didn't have much about which to protest as, at $5/hour, I was a very regular client at the Thai massage parlor just across from my hostel.
The massage parlor had little towels folded up like elephants and topped with orchids on every chair.
It's a hectic place but I absolutely loved it and hope to return. Bangkok ranks high up on my list of cities to visit.

Recommendations:
-Enjoy the curry and the fresh fruit dishes.
-Make a stop at May Kaidee's restaurant
-Get as many massages as you can squeeze in. If the full-body thing isn't for you, at least sit back in an arm chair and let your feet be pampered after a long day of walking across the city.
-If hosteling, check out Born Free Hostels. Run by a Swiss-Thai couple with a perfectly blended local and international flavor, they get give you advice as locals and insight into the culture in the context of a broader Western perspective. The hostels cultivate a social environment ideal for meeting fellow travelers, especially important for solo travelers.
Entry/lounge area of the traditional Thai home converted into the Born Free hostel where I spent my first five nights in Asia. Recommended, especially for solo travelers. Great atmosphere and layout for meeting new people.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Bangkok via Moscow

Luckily, the flight over was fairly uneventful. In fact, on the overnight leg, the plane was half empty so I even go to stretch across three seats for an 8 1/2 hour flight, an unusual luxury. That said, there are still a couple of highlights to share.

Number 1: Welcome to Russia! Undress yourselves!
Moscow airport may not pay top ruble for their translators.
BON VOYAGE!!

Number 2: You know you're in Moscow when you see these vending machines.

I especially liked the one of Putin chillaxing in Crimea. Too soon? Not in Mother Russia!

Number 3: Watching the morning sun dance across the clouds over Bangkok during our descent.
Sadly, my SD card broke last night and all the photos from my first day in Asia are lost. You can imagine what's on the top of today's to-do list. I'll be snapping and posting more shots soon.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Ready to go!

Travel outfit a.k.a. hiking gear laid out for the morning.
Suitcase packed.
Vaccines, travel visas, extra passport pages: check, check, check.
And after this painful evening trapped in my former PhD lab, loose ends on my pending scientific publication: all tied up.

At last, I'm ready to go!
Ready to test out four weeks of life as a backpacker.
My flight departs for Bangkok in less than 12 hours. I'm off for four weeks backpacking across Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos. Southeast Asia, here I come!

Monday, March 23, 2015

Paris in Pink

My favorite week of a Parisian year. The city is opening up its spring wardrobe, and just in time. I'd been a bit heartbroken over missing this on my last spring in town, but luck was on my side: the cherry blossoms have arrived!

Saturday, March 21, 2015

A not-so-sunny Southern Spain

After Granada, stop #2 on our half-week tour through Southern Spain was the capital of AndalucĂ­a and Spain's fourth largest city, Seville. But first, speaking of not-so-sunny, we saw a solar eclipse during the bus ride there!
A shout out to Brian for his brilliant camera work to get this shot of the solar eclipse from our bus
Seville was founded as a Roman city and, like Granada, was conquered by the Moors of North Africa in 712 AD. It was, however, reconquered significantly earlier, in 1248, following a fifteen-month siege.

Architecturally, Seville has a much more European feel than Granada. Speaking of the architecture, you can't go to Seville and not see the world's largest Gothic cathedral. Literally: it's hard to miss. The cathedral was built during the 1400s and early 1500s to celebrate the city's wealth after the Reconquista. A mosque had previously stood on this site and to some extent still does: the cathedral bell tower was actually the minaret of the earlier mosque.
The Cathedral of Seville: world's largest Gothic cathedral and site of Christopher Columbus's tomb
Just across the plaza is the Alcazar, a palace still in the hands of the royal family and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The entrance to the Alcazar
However, my energy was waning quickly, and just a day after the Alhambra, I was all palace'd out. So I beelined it to the nearest Starbucks for my cafe con hielo (iced coffee) pick-me-up and left Brian to the official touristing business. Meanwhile I wandered the narrow streets of Santa Cruz, the old Jewish Quarter of the medieval city, and admired parks filled with orange trees and tiled benches.
An afternoon of wandering around Seville
I was just a little horrified by the multi-colored KKK-styled dolls I found haunting various tourist stores and even a chocolate shop.
Never in my life did I expect to see a cutesy purple Klansman figurine. (Spoiler: they're not actually KKK dolls.)
A chocolate shop window filled with a rainbow of KKK-garbed figurines. If you look closely, on the second to lowest shelf, there are even chocolate and white chocolate KKK-style edible men.

Turns out the KKK-style men were preparations for the Semana Santa, or Holy Week celebrations. Way before the KKK was a thing, the penitentes, or people doing penance for their sins, were dressing that way here in Spain during the week leading up to Easter.

Late in the afternoon, Brian and I rejoined forces to cross the river and explore the Triana, the old Gypsy Quarter. Here, upon stumbling into the DulcerĂ­a Manu Jara (41010, Calle Pureza, 5, 41010 Sevilla), we discovered that some non-Parisians have attained equal mastery of the art of pastry-making. Highly recommended.
A quick tour through Triana, the old Gypsy Quarter of Seville
The Mushrooms of Seville, the world's largest wooden structure (or so says wikipedia)
After a quick pass under the Mushrooms of Seville (officially known as the Metropol Parasol), the city's answer to modernist monuments, we powered back to the hostel to cash in on the free sangria hour followed by home-made paella. It was the first time in years that I can recall spending an evening just hanging out with a bunch of hostelers. Despite the shock of realizing just how out-of-touch I already am with "what's cool these days" (thanks, college kids), it was a surprisingly and unexpectedly fun way to spend a Friday evening.

Our third and final stop on the Grand Tour of Southern Spain was Malaga, but with only a few hours to see the city before our flight home, I can hardly claim to have properly visited. I did, however, thoroughly visit one delicious vinoteca, or wine bar, where we enjoyed shrimps and garlic with real spices (unlike what you can find in Paris, where nothing has a kick), shrimp skewers, and an anchovy and olive oil tostada along with a couple rounds of chilled white wine.
Worth a visit: La Barra del Soho, 4 Calle TomĂĄs Heredia, 29001 MĂĄlaga
With just a half-hour to spare, we wandered around the park and past town hall which was surrounded by palm trees because, what else? I had a hard time understanding how this was the same European Union which I call home. Everything was just too tropical! That said, the lack of sunshine made it feel a bit like home, though not the homey feel we'd been going for.
How is this still the EU??
And there you have it. A half-week in Southern Spain: check. On to bigger and farther (and surely sunnier) travels in just a few days!

Friday, March 20, 2015

Traces from another Spain

In fourteen hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed... you know how it goes. But did you know that, that same fateful year, the Spanish monarchs were busy kicking out locals on their home turf? After about 700 years of Muslim rule in Spain, in January 1492 Queen Isabella rode in on her horse to finally claim the Alhambra, the last Muslim stronghold in Spain. Though the Alhambra hasn't been in Muslim hands for more than half a millennium, the modifications made since Christian occupation, like the crosses topping some of the buildings or the church which stands where once there was a mosque, do little to hide the cultural origins of the Alhambra, whose name comes from Arabic, meaning The Red, after the materials from which it was made. The traces of Spain's Muslim rule extend well beyond the walls of the Alhambra and are deeply ingrained in the local culture.
The Moors crossed the Strait of Gibraltor and began their conquest of Europe in 711 AD. Until 1492, they ruled most of modern-day Spain and Portugal. During this time, the Moors brought things to Europe like Arabic numerals (the number system which replaced Roman numerals and that we use to this day), public libraries, street lighting, and the orange (and lemon, fig, pomegranate, sugar cane, and loads of other crops). They founded universities across Spain and opened up public education at a time when most of Europe was still illiterate. Their influence is still felt in many every day words which they brought into European lexicons via Spanish, including algebra, decipher, chemistry, orange, and even (ironically, given the taboo on its consumption in modern-day North Africa) alcohol. 

Construction of the Alhambra began in 1238 under Muhammad I Al-Ahmar, the founder of the Nasrid Dynasty, and it was built up over the next couple of centuries. Muhammad XII, a. k. a. Boabdil, the last Nasrid sultan, lost the Alhambra to the Catholic monarchs King Ferdinand II of Aragon and Queen Isabella of Castile, culminating centuries of reconquest efforts which originated from the small region of northern Spain which had never fallen under Muslim rule.

After its conquest, the Alhambra was occupied by Spanish royalty. King Charles V even had an extra palace built since the three Nasrid palaces just weren't enough. (The European Rennaissance style completely clashes with everything else on site.) Over the years, the Alhambra has served as a source of artistic inspiration. Washington Irving spent time living in the Alhambra to write his Tales of the Alhambra, which massively popularized it as a tourist destination in the 1800s. (Irving is still honored at the Alhambra with plaques in Spanish noting where he stayed.) Later, M. C. Escher also created art work inspired by his visit. In 1870, the Alhambra was declared a Spanish national monument, and in 1984, the Alhambra and its neighboring Generalife were recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Today, the Alhambra is a must-see destination in southern Spain. Located in the city of Granada in Andalucia, it can be easily accessed by bus from Malaga, where several low-cost airlines fly. Granada itself is small but charming. We kicked off our visit with a stop at Las Salinas, a cozy Spanish restaurant on the Calle Elvira with simple but delicious menu.
The old town has plenty of winding, hilly roads, scenic views, colorful store fronts, and charming cafes to keep a tourist busy (and her wallet empty) for an evening.

We could hardly complain the next morning to wake up to this view just outside our bedroom door:
Sadly, blue skies weren't to be. After lunching through a brief window of sunny weather, we hiked the hillside up to the top of my travel bucket list, the Alhambra. Inside, it was quickly clear the architects had thought of every last detail, even what lay underfoot.
We began our visit in the Generalife, an area somewhat separated from the rest of the Alhambra, designed as a place to which the sultans could retreat to relax. With its multitude of garden beds, fountains, orange trees, ornate alcoves, and fantastic views over the city and countryside, all that was missing was a fresh coat of paint, some blue skies, a few less noisy French teenagers, and a sultan lounging in a shaded corner.
Our next step, after hiding on a garden bench for long enough to lose the herd of French high schoolers, was the bath house, or hammam. The interior had been somewhat stripped down since its days as a hammam. If I remember correctly, it most recently served as a hang out for locals to listen to guitar music. However, the basic structure was still preserved, and I especially appreciated the skylights.
Our next stop was the Alcazaba, a military fort and the oldest part of the Alhambra.
We couldn't quite figure out the purpose of the maze-like structures throughout the Alcazaba, and we were running out of time before our 4:30pm entrance to the Nasrid Palaces. Still, I squeezed in a shot of this gorgeous floral layout which was characteristic of the Alhambra landscaping.
And finally, we made it to the pinnacle of any Alhambra visit, the Nasrid Palaces.
The Nasrid Palaces are a complex of three palaces: the Mexuar Palace, built from 1314-1391; the Comares Palace, built from 1333-1391; and the Palace of the Lions, built from 1362-1391. During our tour, it wasn't terribly obvious where one palace ended and the next began. The palaces are all covered in extraordinarily intricate and diverse patterns in plaster, wood, and tile on nearly every inch of wall, ceiling, and even (to a lesser extent) the floors. One of the most well-known spots within the palaces is a courtyard named, for its central lion fountain, the Palace of the Lions.
The palaces were once brightly painted, and I wish even one room could be restored so that we might get to admire the palaces in their former splendor. Only traces of blue paint can still be seen in some of the crevices between the patterns, most especially in places where visitors can't easily reach. Not only did paint brighten the palace, but stained glass windows once adorned much of the grounds. Thanks to a massive explosion of a nearby gunpowder workshop in the 1590, only a single piece of original stained glass remains, hardly visible in a roped off alcove, but a glimpse of its corner of it gives an idea how light passing through such glass could have danced along the patterned walls to create a display fit for a king-- or a sultan.
Strolling through the palace grounds or looking down over the surrounding lands, it's easy to imagine how heartbreaking it must have been for the last sultan to surrender the Alhambra, but I, and countless tourists, have greatly appreciated that it passed hands without a fight.
We also spent a couple of evenings exploring the old historic center of Granada. It was somewhat surreal to walk down streets and through monuments, to peer into entryways of homes, and to find so much North African architectural elements and decor in a solidly European city. But what a fantastic experience to get to peer into this living testament to Spain's storied past.

Monday, March 9, 2015

A Biarritz-Bayonne birthday weekend

Biarritz is a town famous for its surf, but my feet never touched the water. I can, however, assure you that the soft sand cushions for a good nap. It's also famous for its casino, but we didn't get much further than its market. The cheeses, veggies, shrimp, fresh fish, and chocolate mousse cake were all fantastic. And we found the stuff for one mean (read: fantastic) sangria.
A lazy Saturday in Biarritz
The next day we discovered that we'd poorly planned: Bayonne, our Sunday destination, was recovering from the massive festival it had hosted while we lounged on Biarritz's beaches on Saturday. The remnants could be seen in the brightly colored confetti between the cracks in the pavement. Though the town was quiet, we found a very friendly (and French-- yes, it turns out they're nice once you leave Paris!) server who kept us happy with several rounds of regular and finally dessert tapas along the Bayonne riverfront. The city is rich in history, having changed hands over the centuries from the Romans to the Vikings to the English to the French, but we didn't spend so much time learning about the culture as just enjoying the scenery. And no regrets there.
Sunday afternoon along the riverbanks and through the city of Bayonne
Sunday afternoon tapas

The weekend was over far too soon, but not before we packed more party (and people) into one night-train car than I'd ever seen, making this a strong contestant for best birthday weekend ever.

To leave you on a tasty note, here is our killer sangria recipe:

Ingredients (for 15 people)
- 150 cl red wine
- 20 cl Porto
- 20 cl Cognac
- 5 oranges
- 1/2 liter of lemon-lime soda
- 15 ice cubes
-optional: bananas/apples/pears/peaches/strawberries

Instructions
Mix the wine, porto, cognac, and the freshly squeezed juice of 1-2 oranges
Wash and dry the rest of the oranges and cut them into very small wedges
Add the fruit to the mix
Right before serving, add the lemon-lime soda and ice cubes
If you choose to use additional fruits, add these now
Serve
Enjoy!

Stay tuned for my next installment of funemployment in Southern Spain!

Friday, March 6, 2015

A different flavor of Spanish Basque

I unenthusiastically dragged myself out of bed at 7 in the morning to catch an early train over to San Sebastian, or Donostia in Basque. Upon stepping off the train, I quickly realized that despite its proximity, this place was no Hondarribia or Saint-Jean-de-Luz.
The%20Maria%20Cristina%20Bridge
The Maria Cristina Bridge looked like it belonged in Paris more than in the parts of the Basque Country I'd spent the previous day exploring. And it had some awesome lamp posts:
The cathedral also spoke to a much more recent past than the buildings I'd seen yesterday.
Turns out that a variety of fire (by accident), shelling (by the French), and ransacking (by the English and Portuguese) between the late Middle Ages and the early 1800s means that little has been standing for more than two centuries in this politically important border town. Yet the town did a good job of picking itself back up. The casino-turned-city-hall is nothing to scoff at.
Even the beaches in San Sebastian are fancy.
The Parte Vieja, or historical city center, is home to some charming, narrow, mostly pedestrian streets.
And there was some dangerously good shopping both within and beyond the Parte Vieja. 

The city, as I soon realized, is a major tourist destination and the site of many cultural events. It has even been selected, along with Warsaw, to be the 2016 European Capital of Culture. It probably merited more than a four and a half hour visit, especially when you consider that this included at least thirty minutes of half-napping on a park bench overlooking the beach, shopping, and a break to sip wine and eat some seafood. But if you have a chance, I recommend the latter. I found not only free wifi but also yummy pintxos--the Basque take on tapas-- and a warm and sunny atmosphere at the Bar Amazonas (Plaza de Bilbao I), well worth the visit. Sadly, the train schedules didn't offer me many options, so after powering through my white wine and a final set of emails, I ran off to catch a couple of trains back to France, where Nicolas will be joining me (in Biarritz) this afternoon, followed by the rest of the gang tomorrow morning.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Making the most of my youth

Taking advantage of my last day as a young person, at least according to the French national rail system SNCF, I caught one last youth-discounted train yesterday afternoon headed south. I woke to my 28th birthday in the Basque Country, hosted by a few generations of a lovely, hospitable, local family who made me feel like I was waking up at grandma's. The Basque grandmother I never had, that is. I split the day between Ciboure and Saint-Jean-de-Luz, which wrap around the two halves of a little bay:
Ciboure's claim to fame is the composer Ravel's birthplace, which still stands. (it's the cream colored one toward the right.)

On the other side, Saint-Jean-de-Luz made its mark when it hosted Louis XIV's marriage to Maria-Teresa of Spain.

This is the house in Saint-Jean-de-Luz where Louis XIV and Maria-Teresa spent their first month as newlyweds. And while I only spent time on the Saint-Jean-de-Luz beaches, both towns boasted beautifully sandy coastlines.
The Basque cross and the unusual local font immediately caught my eye. They were surprisingly modern and trendy for such traditional marks of the community. Over tea at L'Acanthe, I even treated myself to a Basque cross brownie. It paired well with my Ceylon-blend chocolate, vanilla, and rose flower tea. Happy birthday to me.
To wrap the day up, I hopped the border into Spain, about fifteen minutes away by train. Though staying in the little town of IrĂșn, a former Roman town, my hostess (with whom I could only speak Spanish-- oh, but that was just the start of the adventure!) insisted that I use my evening to explore Hondarribia, a nearby hilltop town whose Renaissance walls still encircle the old town. Without enough Spanish to argue with my overly enthusiastic hostess that I was just looking for a simple dinner and an early evening, I soon found myself directed to the nearest bus stop after dropping off my backpack in her home. Some sort of confusion or miscommunication between us, totally plausible given my Spanish level, led to my completely missing the stop. Eventually, I hopped off the bus and wandered back in the dark along my best guess as to the route the bus had just taken. At least I had a brilliant moon to lighten the moment. (Bad pun, sorry.)
And eventually, I even managed to trace the bus trail all the way back to what turned out to be Hondarribia, whose walled hilltop city was completely charming.
I hadn't bargained on missing my stop again on the way home, nor ringing half a dozen random doorbells after 10pm to ask in my broken Spanish if my hostess were there, but I suppose these moments make the trip more memorable. Though I was much more ready to laugh after finally making it back into a warm home and slipping into some cozy pajamas. 

In between the evening's confusion, I found myself completely fascinated by the linguistic division I'd observed today. For centuries, this region was united by the Basque language, a linguistic isolate with unknown origins. However, I think my host family in Ciboure is fairly representative of the current situation: the grandmother spoke both fluent French and Basque, though a local Ciboure-variant which doesn't totally line up with the "unified Basque" since codified by the region in an effort to preserve the language. Her daughter, a middle-aged woman, spoke mostly French and just a little Spanish, no Basque at all. On the other side of the border, Spanish was clearly the lingua franca. I was shocked by the stark contrast in communication between cities which so strongly resemble each other. How is the culture of this region that straddles a national border, this region with centuries of shared history, with the same traditional symbols and architecture, evolving in response to the rise of the national languages and the disappearance of their shared Basque over the last several generations? Unfortunately, that was a question which would require more than a day and a significantly more advanced Spanish vocabulary.

This was undeniably one of my more unusual birthdays. I'm looking forward to what the rest of the week, and my 28th year, have in store.