happiness

me and charlie

When I left for Spain last April, I had high hopes of happy experiences waiting for me abroad, and a supportive boyfriend patiently waiting at home. Call me naïve, ignorant, or ridiculously optimistic (I am all of those things at any given time), but I saw no reason why life should not play out exactly how I expected.

Well when the opposite took place, I felt cheated. How dare the Universe not hand me my fantasies on a unicorn shaped plate! I’m afraid I got a bit petulant and pouted for a bit, before changing tactics and desperately trying to accept my situation, as The Power of Now so adamantly stresses.

Aside from dealing with a miserable living situation, the boyfriend aspect went from bullshit to abysmal. Before I knew it, I was engaged in a battle so emotionally traumatizing and so deep that I couldn’t see the white surrender flag I always carried. The emotional battering that both of us took left nothing but a wasted carcass of a relationship, sagging on the cusp of death. I didn’t love myself enough in that moment to kill it; despite the agony I was enduring.

And the agony was profound and unrelenting. The capacity of despair that a human being is willing to take before saying “enough” is quite unnerving. Even more impressive is how emotions will bring you to an acute point of visceral pain, but never actually destroy you. No, instead you get to linger with the pain, and figure out every day how to be a normal human being on the outside as your insides turn black and decay.

It had been years since I had sunk that low. I had no idea how to cope. I had no support system, nor did I ever have the opportunity to be alone and sort through all that I was experiencing. You know The Scream by Edvard Munch? That was me. Twisted, excruciating turmoil. And silent.

"I can't keep my eyes open," Lana says...

"Here, I'll help you..." - Marina

And then here is where things to start to get blurry~

Marina leaves us to go check on the status of the boat. Soon enough, we hear loud yelling in a thick accent that can only belong to our little Ruska. Lana and I go over and see Marina arguing with a “boat official”, telling her she will call the American Embassy.

The girl walks off and Marina informs both of us that from this point on we don’t speak any Spanish and to let her handle it. We nod. Never argue with a Russian. The line is forming for the 7pm boarding so we jump in too. Soon the girl comes back and singles us out, and her and Marina start arguing again, creating quite a scene. Lana and I are horrified at the turn of events, and in our wine-logged brains can think of nary a solution. The lady keeps informing Marina that she is calling the police, to which Marina tells her to go ahead, and that she is calling the American Embassy. The situation continues to escalate, people are staring in bewilderment, and I have visions of us spending the night on the sand.

The girl leaves again “to get the police” (honestly! we’ve PAID for this ticket! It’s not like we’re trying to get something for free…) and our bartender friend scoops us up and takes us over to another boat. We walk right on, not even showing them our tickets. It was SO easy. Too easy. And just like that – we were on our way back to Vigo.

We arrive and naturally are hungry. We find a cute terrace to dine (love European terraces!) and what else? Promptly order a bottle of wine. This meal was just to whet our appetite. Real dinner comes later.

I ask the waiter how much a bottle of Albarino will be, since I don’t see prices listed on the menu. He tells me 12 Euros, and brings us a bottle. You can’t put much past me – I look at the bottle and see he has actually brought us a Ribeira. Albarino’s cheap whore of a sister. Not as good. But I have a high threshold of tolerance so I don’t complain. We drink up, knowing full well he cannot charge us 12 Euros for this. Well wouldn’t you know that little scamp brought out our bill and it was 12 Euros for the wine. I call him over to dispute my point, of which he knows nothing about wine and gets the manager. Great. I’m THAT girl. But still, I couldn’t help but feel like they were trying to take advantage of dumb Americans.

The manager comes over and I politely inform him that the waiter told us it was 12 for an Albarino, but he brought us a Ribeiro, which I know for a fact is not as expensive, thank you Monsterville and all your amazing wine classes. The manager proceeded to argue with me about every.single.point. I addressed until I got so exasperated I just asked for the bill. I didn’t care anymore, we’ll just fucking pay it. THEN he wouldn’t give me the bill! What the hell is going on here? I’m telling you we will pay! Give me the bill. Marina then pulls out her phone and informs him she is calling the American Embassy.

Eventually, he walks back into the restaurant, knocks 5 Euros off, and brings the bill back. Was all of that worth 5 Euros? Course not. But the point was, he assumed that I don’t know wine. You may be able to weasel money out of me for a lot of things, but wine? Don’t even try, sir. And that was MY point. Also, this entire altercation took place in Spanish. Boom.

We bounced back gracefully from this evening and had a civilized dinner together.

No. We didn’t.

Marina and I carried on to Real Dinner, where we ordered another bottle of wine and ended the night crying together in the park next to the restaurant. Lana wasn’t interested in eating and instead went home and dialed a couple of exes. It’s clear we shouldn’t be left alone.

Marina and I come back to the hotel drunk and exhausted, and she declares she is going downstairs for more wine. I take this opportunity to strip off all my clothes and throw myself on the bed. Marina comes back as I’m passing out, and I overhear her set two bottles of wine on the counter.

“The manager wanted 24 Euros for these. I said one. We settled on six.”

Then the manager knocks on the door because the girls are being too loud.

“Erin, crouch behind the wall.” Because I’m naked. Not, “put some clothes on.” Crouch. I do this without question. Then he leaves and I go to sleep.

Portugal in the morning.

After a quick elimination round of rock-paper-scissors, Lana and I were banished to trudge across the thick sand to the restaurant where we could buy some more. I swear it took us a good 30 minutes to cross the dunes, and we were sober. This sand was relentless and grabbed onto us mercilessly with each step, laughing at our struggle. I had not come to these islands for a leg workout – quit being ridiculous, Sand. We arrive and Lana declares that we need a beer to reward ourselves for a journey well done. This seemed like a brilliant idea so I got us two Estrella Galicia cañas. As we downed the last sips and set our glasses down, a dapper young gentleman swooped over, gave us quick refills and a wink, and carried on with his business. Lana and I looked at each other knowingly – you never turn down free alcohol. Life lesson #3. We gulp down the beer, fully aware that Marina is waiting with our stuff and expects a bottle of wine immediately. Although, I don’t feel THAT sorry for her, considering her view at the moment was this:

life does not suck

As we hurriedly finish that round, we get a third refill. Ok, now this is just silly. If silly = awesome. After our third, I tell Lana we have probably been gone 30 minutes now, we are happily buzzing, and we should go. She looks at me and laughs for no apparent reason, then bites me.  And then we get our fourth refill. Ok this time for REAL, is our last one. We order a bottle of wine and giggle like schoolgirls as the beer floats up to our heads in dizzying bubbles, bypassing our empty stomachs. Life is goooooood in this moment. Real good.

round 2

round 3

round 4

We finish our beer, grab the wine and leave before temptation gets us a fifth time. We are acting like fools, but in all serious I tell Lana that Marina is gonna be PISSED when we get back, and rightly so, and to give her the wine immediately to placate her.

We arrive, putting on very apologetic faces, and she looks up from her book.
“You bitches. You were gone for an hour and a half!”

We collapse into a heap of insanity on the sand, laughing like assholes.

Hmm. I misunderstimated our absence. But the soothing balm of Albariño calmed her rage. We spent the afternoon letting the sun and wine carry us into a blissful stupor. And sunbathing topless, which I do love about the European culture. No photos tho, pervs.

Later, as if on cue, Marina looks down at her watch.
“It’s totes 5:00pm.”
“That’s totes our boat,” Lana says, as she points to the boat pulling away from the dock. (note: we quote I Love You, Man. A lot. Totes mah goats.)

So we will be catching the 7pm after all. I knew it.

So we wander around the other parts of the island.

I stub my toe on a rock at one point and it’s a bloody mess. Not bloody in the British sense, but in the “there is red liquid spewing from my body parts” sense. I feel the need to clarify this considering I use the terms interchangeably. My friends felt the need to document my struggle in getting to the water to wash off my toes.

climbing down the sharp and scary rocks

washin off mah toe

holding up something

…and then we’re out of wine. Time to head back to the restaurant.

This was our 4th year at Wurstfest in New Braunfels. It’s become an annual trip involving lots of mayhem, mischief, and in true “us” style, epic awesomeness. Because we go hard -we don’t go home.

pork on a stick. fo sho.

hat vodka

NO muffin tops

a koozie for your pitcher?? brills

i'm telling ya, unicorns are everywhere

Cheers to year 5 being even better!

Filed under: Austin, Festivals, My Life, New Braunfels Tagged: New Braunfels, WurstFest ]]> http://worldaccordingtoerin.com/2011/11/16/wurstfest-nay-bestfest/feed/ 2 erinparker75 wf1 wf3 wf2 Picnik collage wf7 wf9 IMG_0976 IMG_0971 http://worldaccordingtoerin.com/2011/11/15/an-adventure-in-galicia-las-islas-cies-chronicles/ http://worldaccordingtoerin.com/2011/11/15/an-adventure-in-galicia-las-islas-cies-chronicles/#comments Tue, 15 Nov 2011 04:31:22 +0000 erinparker75 http://worldaccordingtoerin.com/?p=2135 Continue reading →]]> Las Islas Cies are like an obscure paradise, nestled somewhere off the coast of Galicia. I’m an island girl for sure (Cancer), but I had never heard of these dazzlers until Lana enlightened me. Oh yes, I was intrigued. Especially when you see photos like this:

We were hoping to catch a ferry from our hotel in Nigran, but discover that we need to go back to Vigo instead since the ferry doesn’t operate in Nigran until mid-July. Fail.

So for our last night we cab it over to Baiona which is the village next to Nigran and is said to have a raging night life. It does not. Dinner was subdued because of general heat exhaustion and living life in excess. The highlight of the evening was when they played Danza Kuduro in one of the open bars we found. There were approximately 5 people there. We had a few Estrella Galicia’s and left.

We leave Nigran in the wee morning hours of 8AM on a bus. Once in Vigo we get a room at the same hotel and hop on down to the marina to book our tickets.

The girl at the ticket counter informs us that we can either come back at 5pm* or 7pm*.This bit of information is important, so remember it. I want to do 7pm but the Russian wanted 5pm. Never cross a Russian – life lessons to live by. We book the tickets for 5pm and Marina assures me that if we want to stay longer, it won’t be a problem. She is so confident in her statement, I find myself blindly trusting her. Another life lesson to live by – never trust a Russian.

First things first: we need supplies.
Here I am getting our Albariño.

Marina, in a panic, reminded me not to forget the ice. Dude. This isn’t my first rodeo.
Ice and wine in hand, we make our way to the launch.

Lana was terrified on the boat trip out there. She’s afraid of being on water and every time the boat rocked, which was constant, she dug her talons into my leg. So Marina and I, both being strong swimmers, devised a plan. If the boat went down, Marina would grab Lana, and I would grab the Albariño. That covered the two most important things. And we warned Lana that if she struggled against us, we would have to punch her in the face. It never came to that. And lo…this is what we stumble upon…

My awesome meter just peaked.

Coming up next: our Islas Cies adventure. OMG. Epic.

The next morning we take an early bus to Nigran where our cute little boutique-hotel-by-the-sea awaited us.

For some reason, the bus driver hated life, and hated us. All three of us took turns trying to get an answer out of him as to which stop would put us in the closest proximity to the hotel. We were unsuccessful. Eventually I just put my headphones on and figured we’d find a way, somehow. I tend to not worry too much when I’m close to an ocean. It will all work out. And if it doesn’t, there is always wine.

It worked out.

We saw a sign for Nigran so just decided to jump off. We had no idea where we were so we walked into a bar to ask for directions. There was a couple eating breakfast who overheard our conversation and mentioned that they were headed in the direction of our hotel and offered to drop us off.

Oh Universe, always looking out for us.

We get to our HUGE MEGA AWESOME room for 60 Euros a night and immediately change into our swimsuits. The girls are deterred by the ominous clouds but I give them no other option but the sea. Sometimes I can be bossy. But it’s only because I know what is best for everyone involved.

This is what we walked upon:

oy

We are happy here, but also hungry. And jonesing for some of that legendary Galician pulpo (octopus).

We find a perfect place and get some Albariño – the white wine the Galician region is known for and one of my all time fave varietals.

In a moment of deep inspiration, I toast to the start of our vacation, and cover the following important topics at hand:

• how happy I was to be in Galicia with my girls
• how happy I was to be able to introduce Albarino to them
• how we were going to polish off many, many bottles together

Here is Lana’s reaction:I move people to tears, you guys. Words. They’re kinda my thing. And unicorns.

watch out. i know how to make collages now

After 3 hours of dining (drinking) we figure we’d let the waitresses take their siesta. We find out from them that there is no chino where we can buy more wine to take to the beach. So instead, we buy 2 more bottles from them, and they give us ice (and how!) AND actual glasses to take. Just imagine – glass on the beach! Those Spaniards sure do throw caution to the wind. We promise to bring the glasses back the next day, but they don’t care – just told us to keep them.

This is what we came back to:

Later that afternoon, Princess Marina announces that she is going back to the hotel to shower and nap. She looks at us expectantly, as if she needs company. Neither Lana nor I acknowledge her. The beach is my god. I’m not moving. She leaves, only to come back 3o minutes later, wine and actual wine glasses (with stems!) in hand, saying “if you can’t beat em, join em.” She had gone back to the hotel and on the way to our room was distracted by the bar. She then decided a much better plan would be to buy another bottle and bring it back to the beach. I knew I brought her along for a reason.

the damage…

Day one and I’m in love, Galicia.

My plan B was to have Marina fly over from NYC and us romp around Granada and Sevilla for a bit. Lana informed me countless times that that would be a fool’s move. No one goes to the south in the summer. I resisted for a bit until she presented me with a kick ass Galicia/Portugal itinerary. What can I say? She had me at Albariño…

Well the beginning of this adventure in wonderland was already effed up by yours truly. Marina tells me she is leaving NYC on Friday, which for some reason stuck in my head as the day to buy our bus tickets to Galicia. Forget the fact that I am a frequent trans-Atlantic flyer. I should have known better. So Lana carried on the night before, I had to eat the 60 euro cost and get us tickets for Saturday afternoon, when she actually arrived. Transportation fail.

I leave my flat at 8AM on Saturday to scoop Marina at the airport. This is what the streets of Madrid look like at 8AM.

sleepy little town

I just had to chuckle. Definitely a night city. Which is why I love her so.

Marina and I get the bare essentials for the arduous journey – wine and hot croquetas. At the bus station, we settle into our seats and promptly open the first of three bottles before we’ve pulled out of the terminal.

see?

If you’re interested in a good Spanish rose – this one is delish.

Brills. What’s even more brills is that we sat right behind the driver (sit down, bus driver!), talking loudly the entire time (typical Americans) and he didn’t tell us until we got off the bus that you aren’t allowed to drink on buses, and for the future, not to do that or we’ll get a ticket. What a swell guy that he let us drink for 8 hours, and carry on in our merriment.

Marina doesn’t travel anywhere without an economy size supply of Xanax. Now, I’m no drug pusher. In fact, I stay away from Western medicine as a general rule of thumb, being part witch and all. But let me say this:

Xanax + wine = the best sleep you will ever have on an uncomfortable bus seat.

I’m a believer. I’ve converted. But only for bus trips. And planes. Maybe boats too. Now, how do I get my hands on some Xanax when I don’t have health insurance? Therein lies my conundrum.

I look around me, disenchanted with Lady Gaga on the radio and the watching the countless Erasmus students do the mating dance. I did not feel like taking part in the tomfoolery. So we did a loop to wake up. I spied a cute boy and parked it next to him. Naturally. Then he left. Naturally. Meghan and I were chatting it up at the back bar when a tall bloke came up and ordered about 12 shots of Patron. Not a common sight in Spain so I was intrigued. What’s your story, sir? Who are these for? He offers two of them to us. His friends come up one by one to get their shots and they were either certifiably insane or having a bachelor party. Either way, we were in.

i still smile when i think about this night

The group was a good 12 men strong, and they scooped us up along with them like we had been friends for years. O’Connell’s shuts down so we were forced next door. I had a Mahou that I bought on the street and my new friends told me to hide it in my jacket instead of wasting it. I snuck a beer into a bar. Who does that? And as soon as I walked in I took a swig like a fool and a guy comes up and goes “I’ll take that.” Right out of my hand. Sneak Fail.

the dapper bachelor

Anyway, we stay at the bar until the sun rises, then go get MORE beer at a coffee shop at 8:30AM. Wasn’t I just dying to go home 5 hours ago? This is how you know you are in Spain: the coffee shop at 8:30AM was packed full of people just like us, not ready for the night to end. A country like no other, this one.

yes my friends, that is the sun rising...

our Mahou dealer

From there, we move on to a Chino where the boys buy more beer, befriend some Stage 4 Clingons in the street, and move to a plaza to drink. It’s there that I’m sitting, sharing a liter of Mahou with my new friends, and the dodgy scoundrels we picked up pull out cocaine and pass it around. WTF? Here we are at 11AM, sitting on the ground, old ladies passing us on their way to church while these guys do cocaine and we drink our beer. I just laugh at the irony of it all, like an asshole. Thankfully, the bachelor boys do not partake of the hard drugs so I still feel like we maintained some modicum of decency that holy morning.

I finally arrive home at 2PM. THE NEXT DAY, you guys. I think only two words can describe this moment:

Rock Star

the moment of truth:

How affectionate these men are with each other! They would frequently kiss each other on the top of the head or simply hug. I was struck by the fact that I never see American males behave in this manner, and that thought made me very sad.  There was something so pure and sweet about it everytime I witnessed it. It was such a beautiful glimpse into the best of humanity.