Please E'spain: I am a country mouse

During my latter years of high school I primarily listened to three albums: Death For Cutie's Transatlanticism, Plans, and John Mayer's Continuum. I had a favorite song for each one respectively: "Transatlanticism," "I Will Follow You Into The Dark," and "Stop This Train."

The only song that I actually listen to now more or less regularly is the last one. It's a bit melodramatic and weepingly sentimental, but...there's no but (Why do I feel the need to justify so many things these days? Odd). I in fact love that it's sentimental and welcoming to the nostalgic moods that frequent my thoughts these rainy late winter days. Anyways, on Friday I took a train trip by myself to Alicante. I think of Alicante as the Mediterranean Sea's favored child; its beaches are crisp and jeweled. (Valencia's beaches are pretty, but compared to Alicante's, Valencia is draped with hand-me-downs.) The train ride was peaceful. On the way there, I alternated between taking naps and looking out the window. On the way back, I alternated between reading some Dietrich Bonhoeffer and chitter-chattering with some ladies from Ireland. "What are the best things about Ireland?" I asked. "Mashed potatoes, beer, and conversation," they replied. What a combo.

You know when someone says something along the lines of, "Anybody that knows me well would know that I looooove cheese [for example]." And you actually didn't know that the person loved cheese, so you conclude that you don't know him/her after all. Well, I was gonna pull one of those, but instead I'll just say it: I have no sense of direction. People who have witnessed this utter cerebral weakness of mine are not surprised that I got into college; they instead wonder how I made it past kindergarten when we had to do those little maze puzzles to "help the little birdies find their breakfast worms." You think I'm exaggerating, but trust me, whenever a person finds out the extent of my problem, things get awkward, reaaaaal awkward. Anyways, when my friend Nate gave me directions on how to get to his school, it started with "when you get to the train station, exit using the front door." And I had to chucklingly appreciate this a bit, because "anybody who knows me well would know."

Before taking the tram to the little beach town that lies on the outskirts of Alicante, I ended up having a strolling chat with a dear elderly lady named Maria who was on her way to the market. I don't remember what we talked about, but I somehow ended up at the Mercado Centrale, so I made the most out of this detour and snapped a few photos while breathing in fresh fishy air.

[Bright flowers and white walls--such a pretty combination]

[The school; everything was so quaint and anti-urban]

[The beach--a.k.a. the front yard]

[I don't know what these were, but they were tasty. Sorta like an Italian enchilada. The red one was filled with pork and the white one with spinach.]