Le Laboratoire De La Creation

Despite my last minute couch request for three nights in Paris, I ended up finding the most interesting and well-located apartment to stay in that I could have ever asked for. Only a few hours after I sent the request in Marseille, I got a response from a man named Julien, simply saying “Welcome,” with a copy and paste page of directions from the train station to his apartment. On his CouchSurfing page, he described his apartment, or as he called it, “Le Laboratoire De La Creation”, as a place where creativity knows no bounds. Julien, along with his three roommates and countless visitors, are all painters, musicians, actors, filmmakers, writers and sculptures.
The flat was four stories high, strung together by an old wooden spiral staircase that creaked with every step I took. The first floor housed the art studio and miniature theater; the second floor the sculpting studio-and also my makeshift bedroom; the third floor was Julien’s bedroom and office; and on the fourth floor was the kitchen, bathroom, and other three bedrooms.

After reading their profile on CS, I was overwhelmed with excitement to stay in such an artistic environment for three days. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived Monday afternoon, something had happened that caused everyone in the house to sink into a tremendous state of depression. Julien informed me that earlier in the week there had been a tragedy in his family, and for that reason he would be unable to show me around the city. Though he made it clear I was still very welcome in the house, it certainly wasn’t the experience I had hoped for. I almost never saw or spoke to anyone in the house in the time that I stayed there, except for a few painters here and there I met in passing. Nevertheless, I completely understood his absence under the circumstances, and was still very grateful to have a roof over my head. I mean how could I possibly complain? I was only a few blocks away from the Louvre!

My first full day in Paris I tackled alone. When you only have two full days to spend in Paris, it can be hard to decide what to make time for. But one thing I knew for sure, my first destination would be the Eiffel Tower. After a short walk from the apartment to the Seine River, I could see the Eiffel Tower standing tall and mysterious in the distance. The longer I walked towards the tower, the further it seemed to be away. It took me about an hour to finally reach the park it sat in. But when I did, I was completely awe struck. It was so much bigger up close than I imagined it to be, and certainly more impressive. As I stood under the massive structure, peering up through its iron center, I began to tear up thinking about how far I had made it, and all the wonderful things I’ve been able to see because of my hard work. It seemed at that moment that everything was beginning to come full circle, and I was truly proud of myself for making it all happen.

Soon after, I sat down in the soft grass beneath a small tree near the Eiffel Tower to write in my notebook and read my travel book. After a few nice minutes to myself, I was interrupted by a dark-haired and long-faced man. He introduced himself nervously, and told me that he and his girlfriend were practicing foot massages in the park to prepare for a test they need to pass to get into massage school. He then told me that he “needed” to massage my feet for three minutes, because he has to get eight people in the park to do it before he would be prepared for the exam. I responded by telling him that I don’t let strangers massage my feet, but he didn’t seem to get the idea. He continued to plead with me about the ridiculous massage until I finally said very calmly, “Sir, if you don’t get away from me, I’m going to scream.” He then proceeded to give me a terrified look as he walked off to find another tourist to harass.

After such a strange encounter, I decided to grab a coffee at a nearby café to avoid other strange men approaching me with any more absurd requests. So I said farewell to the Eiffel Tower and walked down Champs-Élysées, the back bone street of Paris, to find a good place to relax. Champs-Élysées is an extremely busy street with plenty to see, always bustling with tourists searching for souvenirs and gifts for their friends back home. By the time I reached the end, I’d forgotten all about the coffee I wanted, and continued on towards the Louvre , snapping photos everywhere I looked.

Once I had reached the Louvre I was losing energy fast, and since it was beginning to drizzle, I decided to call it a day and walk back towards the apartment.

The next day I made plans to meet up with a fellow CouchSurfer named Val to go see Jim Morrison’s grave at Pere LaChaise, one of the most famous cemetaries in the world. Being the resting place of such talents as Oscar Wilde, Frédéric Chopin, Isadora Duncan and of course Jim Morrison, Pere LaChaise is one of the most frequently visited graveyards in the world. I met Val at a nearby metro station, and we walked down the Parisian streets toward the cemetery, getting to know eachother as we went. Val was such an interesting woman. She was so easy to talk to, being such a free-spirited intelligent person, and we clicked right away. We explored Pere Lachaise together, going to both Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde’s grave, stopping at every crumbling and ancient-looking grave that caught our wandering curious eyes.

Eventually, the mysterious dead energy of Pere LaChaise was too much to bare, so Val and I retired to the Shakespeare And Company bookstore, where I, of course, had to purchase Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast”. That was where Val had to leave me, so we said our goodbyes and she walked out the door of the bookstore into the quickly fading sunlight. I could see it was beginning to rain, so I left soon after.
I ended up walking for an hour to get home, stopping at Notre Dame on the way, despite the fact that it was pouring rain. It was such a beautiful night that the rain could hardly ruin it. I walked slowly to the apartment, taking my time with every step, only stopping once when a man named Oliver pulled up next to me on a moped to introduce himself and propose marriage (I said no, of course). It was an absolute perfect ending to my time in Paris, and it left me itching for more. This is a city I know I will return to, some day.

Three Guitars and a French Dog Named Sky

By the time I got to my CS host Diane’s house in Marseille, the sun had long set and I could barely keep my eyes open. I arrived much later than I anticipated due to a few missed trains, but arrived all the same. Much to my excitement, when I walked through the door, I was greeted by the most adorable black lab named Sky, who reminded me so much of my puppy Arlo back home.

After I showered Sky with hugs and kisses, I entered the living room only to find four other CouchSurfers having a jam session with three guitars, a bongo drum and a tambourine. It was just what I needed to lift my spirits after a tiring day of train travel! For hours we sat, singing songs, playing music and sharing stories while we sank deeper into Diane’s big comfy couches. By the time I finally put the guitar down it was around 3:30 in the morning. I was exhausted, and the second I crawled into bed I fell fast asleep.

The next morning, we all slept in and enjoyed a late breakfast in Diane’s unbelievably scenic backyard. And it wasn’t just the backyard that was lovely. Every square inch of Diane’s home was beautifully decorated. It was a perfect place to relax and enjoy the charming tranquility the south of France has to offer. As we ate our breakfast, we could here the soothing sound of birds chirping, and fish splashing around in the pond she built-just beside the breakfast table. We sat for an hour or so, drinking coffee and discussing what we should do later in the day while Sky followed the fish with his eyes, surely hoping for the off chance that one leaps high enough to catch in his mouth.

Later on, with our bellies full, we set out to enjoy our first day of exploration in Marseille. We walked from the train station to the heart of the city, snapping pictures of everything interesting we passed, and then stopped at a lovely dessert shop-despite the lack of space we had in our satiated stomachs. The inside of the patisserie smelled so incredible, and looked it as well. I attempted to snap a photo of the dessert case, but was immediately scolded mid-picture by the shop owner. I snapped it anyway, and it came out quite nicely!

We sat outside and enjoyed our desserts while we watched passersby on the street follow their noses into the charming little patisserie. I am really going to miss places like this when I go home. Almost everywhere you walk in Europe there is a place to buy fresh pastries and desserts, and with out fail, they are always delicious.

When we finished our pastries, we head towards Notre Dame de la Garde, a church that sits on a massive hill that is considered the highest point in Marseille. Since none of us had a map, our way of navigating our way to the Notre Dame was to simply walk up hill continuously until we reached the church- which to my surprise, worked perfectly! We made it to the top of the hill much faster than I anticipated, and climbed the stairs all the way to the top level of the old church to enjoy the beautiful view of the city. We sat for a while on the steps of Notre Dame, giving ourselves a chance to rest our legs before we made the long walk down.

Once we felt ready to tackle the walk back, we snapped our final pictures and head in the direction of the harbor to see if we could find a beach somewhere to relax. With one broken sandal, after a good hour of walking, we stumbled upon a small makeshift beach wedged between two buildings on the shore. The beach was probably a quarter of the size of a football field, and was filled to the brim with people. We were all tired by that time, so none of us hesitated to claim a small patch of sand for ourselves. The water was freezing and was filled with tons of over-excited children, so I only jumped in once in the time we were there.

We soaked up the sun for a few hours until we got hungry again, and left only a half hour before the beach closed for the day. On the way back to the train station we stopped at a Kebab restaurant for some dinner. The guy that took our order didn’t speak English, and considering I was the only one of us with a background in French, it was up to me to communicate what we wanted to him. I was very proud of my ability to understand him and verbalize what we wanted. I guess high school French class wasn’t a complete and total waste of time. Thanks a lot Mrs. Ciacco, you crazy ol’ hag you!

The next day we woke up early so we could go to the local farmers market before it closed. It was so much fun going from stand to stand, listening to the locals haggle over assortments of already low-priced foods, live animals and accessories. I lost the others fairly quickly due to the size of the crowd. I found them pretty quickly, but then lost them again until it was time to meet at the car. Unfortunately, all I came home with was a bag of peaches, one for all of us. But they were delicious and certainly worth the two euros they cost!

When we got back to the house we all felt like being musical, so we grabbed the guitars and sat in the shade of the large green tree that towered over Diane’s backyard. We sat together, strumming softly in collaboration, enjoying our lazy Sunday afternoon.

But even in the shade, after a while the weather was getting a little too hot to enjoy. So Diane drove us to the beginning of a nearby water aqueduct to cool off, where we could ride the current all the way down till it ends-right near Diane’s parent’s house. Because the aqueduct is the city’s main water source, we technically were not supposed to be swimming in it. But we did anyway, and so did the dog. I’m glad we did too, because it was a perfect solution to a hot summer day in Marseille.

Once we got back to Diane’s parent’s house, she asked if one of us could follow behind her and drive the car (which was a manual) back from where we left it at the water’s source. I answered before anyone had a chance, telling her I’d be happy to drive her car back. We drove her parent’s car back to her place to drop everyone else off, and then head back in town to get her car. On the way over, I briefly mentioned that I only recently learned how to drive a manual, but she didn’t seem to be too concerned. But when we got to the car I was pretty nervous. This would be the first time I drove a manual on my own with nobody in the passenger seat. Still, I turned the key, buckled my seat belt and put it in reverse. It seemed to me like I was doing a great job. I mean, the car was moving, it didn’t stall out or make funny noises when I switched gears. However, the car was beeping the entire ride home, and for some reason or another, it didn’t occur to me at all that it was beeping because the emergency break was on the entire time.
When I pulled up next to her at the house, she asked me if I smelled something burning. At that point, I realized what I did, and apologized a million times over for making such a silly mistake. We both laughed nervously all the way to the house. But hey, it could have been worse, right? At least I got a chance to practice!

Since we all had trains to catch in the morning, we decided to spend another night in enjoying each other in the company of music. After all, it’s not so often on this trip that I get to have quality time with a guitar, especially with other musicians around to play with. So we made some dinner, and spent the whole night performing for one another and drinking wine. It was a perfect ending to a perfect weekend in France. I hope my hosts in Paris have a guitar. Maybe if I'm lucky they will have a dog too!

Funky Kingston in Barcelona

I finally made it to Barcelona, and I’ve been looking forward to these few days long before I stepped on Spanish soil. There’s something about Barcelona that always intrigued me, perhaps starting with when I saw my favorite French actor, Romain Duris, move there to pursue a writing career in the movie “The Spanish Apartment.” Something about the way he described the unfamiliarity of the street names and metro stops, the beauty of the wildly creative Gaudi architecture, and all the other madness that goes along with being in an unfamiliar city where you don’t speak the language. Now was my chance to see for myself.

For three nights and four days I stayed with my friend Suzi-an American girl from New York that I met at the Nowhere festival. Her building was old and beautiful, and despite the cockroach graveyard that lay just at the foot of the aging wooden staircase, the building was in fairly good condition. When I arrived, Suzi and her friend Amy-who was also at Nowhere, were getting ready to meet some friends at a nearby tapas bar. So I threw down my bags, took a quick shower, and head down with them to meet their American friends from San Francisco, Paul and Rose. For hours we sat drinking sangria, eating tapas and discussing our experiences in Spain thus far. After three jugs of sangria and a hefty bar tab, we went our separate ways and called it a night.

Early next morning Amy had to catch a plane back to San Francisco, and slipped out quietly before the sun rose into the cloudless blue sky. Suzi and I woke up around noon. Since I hadn’t tried authentic Spanish paella yet on this trip, we decided to go to old town to get some for lunch. We ordered two kinds to share: original seafood paella with crawfish, oysters, squid and shrimp, and paella negra-which is black in color from squid ink! Both were really delicious-except for the crawfish. It’s hard for me to ingest anything that can make constant eye contact.

After we walked off the five pounds of rice we inhaled at lunch on the long walk to the beach, we laid down our towels and enjoyed the relaxation only a beautiful summer day in Barcelona could bring. We spent the whole day sunbathing and reading our books as people came and went, kicking up sand as they passed. By the time we finally got up to leave, the beach was quickly dispersing and the sky was turning pink from the setting sun. As we ate ice cream on the long stroll home all tired from the sun’s rays, we decided to have a night in and watch Vicky Christina Barcelona on her big, not so comfy but homemade couch.

The next day I set out early to explore the city solo and admire the beauty of the Gaudi inspired Catalan architecture overlooking Barcelona’s bright and bustling streets. With my iPod on shuffle, I headed towards Casa Mila-one of Gaudi’s most well known architectural masterpieces. The outside of the building was surreal to observe in person. Almost everything Gaudi designed looked to me like something out of Alice in Wonderland. I have never enjoyed the architecture of any buildings as much as I did Gaudi’s in Barcelona. And my favorite was Park Guell.

Built originally as a housing development, Gaudi’s breath-taking Park Guell is full of brightly colored mosaics, open air gardens, endless staircases, countless musicians; and at the very top, gives you a beautiful view of the city. I spent hours wandering its vast corridors. listening to the street performers and absorbing my surroundings like a sponge. Eventually, when my enchantment with the building finally weakened, I head back down the hill it sat on and hurried back home to meet Suzi. She and I made plans with Rose and Paul for later in the evening to go to a Toots and the Maytals concert, and I had to get back home in time to get ready.

Despite the long walk, I made it home with plenty of time to spare. A few hours later, after relaxing in the apartment for a while, the four of us head to the Razzmatazz club to enjoy one of the best reggae shows I have ever attended! Honestly! Throughout the concert, regardless of being 65 years old, Toots Hibbert danced up and down the stage as if he were James Brown in his prime. He sounded great and so did the band, and my god did we feel the vibe! The energy on the tiny sauna of a dance floor was unmistakable, and I’m pretty sure 70 percent of the crowd knew every word he sang by heart. We all were pouring sweat by the encore-especially Suzi, who looked like she was dipped by her shoes into a swimming pool and insisted on leaving early out of sheer embarrassment. Nonetheless, we all walked out of that club utterly and completely satisfied. I had a wonderful time with my new friends in Barcelona, and I can’t wait to return for a visit! Luckily, these friends are American. For some reason, Michigan to California just doesn’t seem like a far distance after this nearly three month trek across Israel and Europe.

Double Trouble in Zaragoza

Well I am back in Spain, on route to Barcelona, to meet up with some friends from Nowhere before I head back towards the south of France. I so badly wanted to spend a week in southern Spain before I leave this great country, but due to my sudden realization of my time constraints I had to cut it all out and take the most direct route possible to Barcelona. Luckily, Zaragoza was on the way, so I got to stop back there for a few days to revisit my friend Carlos.

When I pushed open the gate and walked into Carlos’ familiar courtyard, I was greeted by three other CouchSurfers, A Dutch guy named Paul, an Argentinean named Federico and a German girl named Nora. They were eating breakfast outside, and after sitting on a train for ten hours with out food, I didn’t hesitate to join them. I was pretty exhausted after breakfast, and was in no mood to hit the city, so we all went to the local swimming pool to get to know each other under the warmth of the morning sun. They were definitely an entertaining crowd. We spent an hour splashing around like children and playing marco polo in the empty swimming pool after doing yoga together in the soft green grass.

I have met tons of amazing people on this journey, but some you click with more than others. It was effortless to spend time with them, and I enjoyed every minute. Later in the evening, we played waterfall with cheap wine. For those of you who don’t know, waterfall is a card game of excessive drinking that works best with beer-not wine. I learned this lesson the hard way in the morning when we discussed the events of the night (most of which I didn’t remember). Lucky for me the most embarrassing thing I ever do when I drink is professing my love for the people I’m with-over and over again. Paul informed me that at the end of the night I called a “team meeting” and as we huddled together under the stars, I (allegedly) gave a speech about how we were all a family now, and that I loved them all very dearly.

That day they all had to hit the road and continue their travels. So Carlos and I said our goodbyes, insisting we would cross paths again somehow.

A couple hours later, once the hangovers subsided, Carlos and I decided to take a little road trip to Huesca, a small town almost two hours away from Zaragoza. Part of the reason we chose such a far away day trip was for me to learn how to drive a stick shift-which Carlos promised he would teach me. We drove half way to Huesca and then pulled off in a large parking lot to practice. Though it made me really nervous driving his parents car, I loosened up fairly quickly and got a hang of it in a heartbeat-after stalling it out two times and once in the middle of an intersection. I was so confident by the end of my lesson that I insisted on him letting me take it on the highway, a request he didn’t hesitate to dismiss.

So we grabbed some food and head into town to stretch our legs for a while. I really liked Huesca. It was small and charming, with cobblestone streets and ancient looking buildings colored brightly with shades of yellow and pink. Not to mention there were barely any tourists, allowing me to actually hear myself think for a change. We only walked around for an hour or so, but by the time we got back to the car there was a small pink slip stuck under one of the windshield wipers. Carlos got stuck with a 200 euro fine for parking in a 15 min. parking zone. Definitely not the kind of surprise one can appreciate. With hanging heads we drove off toward the mountains to see one of the oldest castles in the region, sitting proudly at the top of one of the tallest peaks. It was beautiful inside, and we had a lot of fun climbing on the walls and taking silly pictures.

By the time the day turned into dusk we were both exhausted and hungry. So we hopped into our car and head back home to make dinner. The car, however, had different plans for the evening, and it broke down after only 30 minutes of driving. This was not a good day for Carlos, or the car. But he took it all pretty well. Still, I kept him smiling with nice music and conversation while we waited for the tow truck and gazed into the fields of farmland, all golden from the setting sun. It took about an hour for the tow truck to come, and he took us to a nearby gas station where a taxi was waiting to take us home. Despite the fact that Carlos and I were starving, we were both perfectly content. He spent the hour ride home chatting away in Spanish with the driver while I listened to Elliott Smith, and followed the full moon as it slowly crept higher into the sky.

Even after such a chaotic day, I couldn't help but smile all the way home. Daydreaming about all the unexpected twists this two month trip has taken, I wondered where else I might end up in the two weeks I have left. I have met so many wonderful people, most of which I met by chance and won't see again for many years, if at all. So it's important to appreciate every minute, while I'm here. I'm glad I got to spend more time here before I left. Next stop Barcelona!

Los Colombianos in Lisboa

Even though my initial plans for Portugal was for two or three days in Lisbon, I ended up spending a week in the San Francisco-esque city, simply because of its enchanting landscape, beautiful beaches, and vivid nightlife. I never felt bored for one minute of my stay. Although, the first few days after SBSR I mostly spent sleeping off the festival and watching foreign films while my host, Bruno, spent three days miserably sick in bed. Poor guy!

Once Bruno went to the doctor and got two shots of Penicillin in the butt, he started to come around and decided to take me to one of his favorite fish restaurants in the city. I’m not much of a fish fan, but Portugal is a country of fishermen, so I had to try it! Bruno ordered a plate of Dover fish and squid for us to share, and a bottle of Vino Verde-a local white wine made from green grapes that bubbles just like champagne. The wine was delicious and so was the fish! However, once Bruno took out the squid’s spine and showed it to me, it put a slight damper on the rest of the meal and I ate the garnish of tomatoes instead. Overall, it was a tasty meal, and I’m glad I got to go.

Later that night, we went to a Portuguese/Brazilian dance bar and spent hours switching between dancing and drinking 1 euro beers to cool us off on the tiny sauna of a dance floor. There were a few other CouchSurfers at the club as well, one of which-Toby, was at the festival with us. I had so much fun learning to dance to tango, polka and salsa fusion music-which believe me isn’t very easy!

The next morning, Bruno felt well enough to go to work but still wasn’t feeling too hot, so I decided to stay with one of the CouchSurfers that was at the SBSR festival with me for the rest of my time in Lisbon. Natalia and her two roommates Christian and Gilbert, who are all from Colombia, made great company for my last few days. I was mostly grateful just to be around Spanish speakers. It’s not like I speak Spanish either, but after spending two weeks in Spain I know enough to get a general idea of what is being discussed. Portuguese sounds like a mixture of gibberish and Russian to me, neither of which I speak.For most of my stay with the Colombians, Natalia and I just sat around drinking nice wine and gossiping with each other. She was such a character, always with a story to tell, and something about the melodically energetic way she spoke made me never want to leave.

During the day when Natalia had to work, I Spent my time strolling through Lisbon’s hilly side streets, observing the cities wildy entertaining art sculptures, and sun bathing on its white sandy beaches. I walked as far up hill as I could to Castelo São Jorge, one of Lisbon’s highest points. As I gazed down at the bustling city landscape, it occurred to me that I could one day live here. I love everything about Lisbon, and I could easily see myself here for a year or two. But that would mean that I need to learn Portuguese, a feat that now seems impossible. But who knows what the future will bring. All I can think about now is where I will go after this-East. Back to Spain, making a pit stop in Zaragoza on my way to Barcelona. My horizon is bright, indeed.

Viva España, Viva la Musica!

After five amazing days at the Nowhere festival in Spain, I decided to head West to spend three wonderful days recuperating at a friend’s house in Madrid. However, the night I got back Spain won the World Cup and the country went absolutely crazy-not really an ideal setting for a weekend of relaxation. I missed the game due to the fact that I returned from the desert only a few hours prior and passed out the second my head hit the pillow. While I’m sure I’ll regret missing that game forever, after going almost five days without sleep, the world could have ended and I would have slept through it. Besides, the days following their triumphant win, the entire country went into 24-hour party mode, so I didn’t totally miss out on the chaos. It didn’t matter where you were: at a café, in the train station, or at the park; you could see smiling faces, Spanish flags waving high, and hear the familiar toots of World Cup horns that sounded strangely like swarming bees buzzing proudly through the warm summer air.

But since my time in Madrid was meant for me to unwind, I chose to avoid the craziness by merely observing the celebration on the streets on my way to the city center -which for most meant drinking until they pass out in an alley. Instead, I spent hours strolling through Madrid’s world renowned Prado Museum-which houses such great Renaissance artists as Goya, Rembrandt, Rafael, Velázquez and Bosch; Got lost in its labyrinth of a botanical garden, and enjoyed a few nights at home for a change, in the company of new wonderful friends.

Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time before I got bored with relaxation and stumbled upon a new festival to partake in. For only 75 euros for three days of music, I couldn’t miss the chance to see Vampire Weekend, Hot Chip, John Butler Trio, Prince, Keane, Spoon and many others rock out at the Super Bock Super Rock festival in Lisbon, Portugal. So I quickly found a group of CouchSurfers going to SBSR, booked my train ticket to Portugal and said hasta luego to Spain for a short while.

Only a few hours after my train arrived we were off to the festival. “We” being my CS host Bruno, and three other CouchSurfers from Portugal, Brazil, and Spain. Even after a ten-hour train ride from Madrid I was full of energy, imagining what a Portuguese music festival would be like and how it would compare to the ones I love back home. It only took 45 minutes to get there from Bruno’s apartment. Still, we had to stop to get groceries and other necessities for three days of camping, and by the time we arrived the campgrounds were already packed with people. Lucky for us, we had four more CouchSurfers saving us uneven patches of uncomfortable campground where we could set up our tents and call home for three nights. Despite the fact that I love to camp and can sleep pretty much anywhere comfortably, these campgrounds were pretty damn awful. But considering the only time we spent there was to rest our weary drunken heads at the end of the night, it never developed into an issue. (Except for the two out of three mornings I woke up with half of my body outside the tent, due to the incredible slant of the ground, with 50% of me all cold and wet from the morning dew.) But hey, no festival is perfect!

Besides, we only ended up sleeping there for two out of the three nights. Since Bruno lives so close we figured it would be easier to pack up before the last shows and just drive home at the end. It ended up being the smartest decision of the weekend. Even in broad daylight we had trouble putting the tent away, in the dark it would have been complete chaos.

Each night of music was better than the last. With only two main stages, even overlapping shows were easy to jump back and forth, so I never had to choose between them! But the last night, though the start times were staggered, Prince played partially during John Butler Trio’s set, and I had to stay for all of John Butler. I love his music and I have never seen him live! I pushed my way to the front row, and was blown away by every minute. By the time the show ended, Prince was just warming up. Unfortunately, the weather was cooling down and I was absolutely freezing. We ended up leaving a little before the show ended because we were all shivering.

SBSR was set up much different than most festivals I’ve been to in the States. Rather than have the music going strong all day and into the night with no considerable breaks in between, the live music didn’t actually start until 7pm every day. So from the time we woke up each morning until the time we got to the festival grounds, we got to soak up the sun at the nearby nude beach while we anticipated the wonderful concerts we would enjoy come nightfall. It was a perfect (hang over cure) way to unwind after a night-full of drinking and dancing, and the beaches were beautiful.

Despite the icy and unforgiving waves at the beach, the sun was just too hot to avoid cooling off in its tide. Ideally, I would have liked to just wade in the water peacefully and let the soothing sound of the ocean take me away. On the contrary, every time I tried to get in the water I ended up being sucked in and spit out at least five or six times before I could escape with a bathing suit full of sand and a mouth full of salt water. Not to mention being laughed at by three or four bronzed and naked 60 something year old men that seemingly get enjoyment out of watching unsuspecting tourists wash up on shore who try to compete with the raw natural power of the Atlantic Ocean. Maybe next time I will just go to a swimming pool.

Overall, the festival was incredibly fun. The shows were amazing and so was the company. I got a wonderful mixture of two of my favorite things: Great music and the Ocean. Although, the ladder treated me unkindly in this scenario, but I think I can forgive it under the circumstances.

...Off in Some Empty Day Dream, Going Nowhere...

It wasn't until we turned the corner of the winding, dusty road leading to the Nowhere Festival that I truly understood what kind of experience I was in for. Gate workers stood happily, half-naked at the entrance, waiting patiently to greet festival goers with hugs and wristbands. Assortments of tents and shade structures both big and small, colorfully dressed people all smiling ear to ear, and a sprinkling of wild art sculptures filled the gaping landscape that made up the Nowhere grounds. There were three of us in the car: Carlos-my CS host in Zaragoza, Dominique-an English girl who needed a ride to the festival, and myself. None of us had ever heard of Nowhere before this week. Yet here we all were, driving into the heart of the Monegros Desert, anticipating some sort of beauty and epic greatness that could only be birthed from a group of like-minded people whose hearts were in the right place at the right time.

For five days in the desert we were a family of a thousand. We hid nothing and shared everything. We laughed and cried; we partied and pondered; we learned how to be decent human beings for once-working together like clockwork to create a community of love and trust, and despite the harsh Spanish sun that mercilessly beat down on us every day, we never stopped smiling. Not for one second.

Nowhere was created in the image of the Burning Man festival in Nevada. Meant to be safe place where money does you no good and self expression is encouraged, Burn festivals are a sanctuary for creative thinkers to be themselves. They can show their art/music/poetry/body with out the fear of being rejected-something that is quite rare in the real world. The only difference between Burning Man and Nowhere, however, is the size. This year, there were maybe 1,000 people at Nowhere. Times that by forty and you generally have the size of Burning Man, and it gets bigger every single year.

But while I've never been to Burning Man, I have a feeling that when I do it won't compare to Nowhere. With such a small crowd, it was possible to meet wonderful people-and then actually be able to find them again the next day. And thanks to Nowhere's diminutive size, I got to walk away with a handful of new friends whom I know I'll keep in touch with and see again.

The minute we got inside the festival grounds we were overwhelmed by the kindness of our fellow burners. As we pitched our tents in the 100 Degree weather, peeling off clothes as the sun rose higher in the cloudless sky, the members of the Swiss camp next to ours brought everyone ice coffee to help beat the heat. Later on, after our camp was set up and there was nothing else to do but explore, we were greeted with hugs by nearly everyone we met, and sometimes with cold beer :). We got unbelievable lucky with our neighbors, an amazing American couple living in Grenada who brought everything one could possibly need to survive for five days in the desert. They fed us every day, served us cold beer and sangria, and cooled us off with there amazing shade structure that they brought from their patio back home. The second night they even made martinis and ribs for anyone with an empty stomach-a meal that our dry tuna and salami sandwiches just couldn't compete with.

Every minute was like a playground for the senses. There was always something to see and something to do. Whether it was getting a massage at the Shhh! tent to unwind after a day in the sun, or erotic art seminars in the Middle of Nowhere tent-which was exactly what it sounds like ;). There was naked body painting, strange and sinister fashion shows, arts and crafts and good conversations to be had everywhere you look. We had Tai Chi and Yoga in the mornings, Reiki seminars and meditation in the afternoons, and hard-hitting DJ sets each night under the vast, twinkling black sky that would last until the sun rose above the Spanish mountains.

It was the best festival I have ever attended, and it is an experience I will never forget. Burn festivals truly give me faith in humanity and our ability to be kind to one another and leave the pettiness of life behind. I hope that wherever I will be next Summer, I will find my way back to Spain to enjoy the benefits of a community that will accept you regardless of where you come from, what you look like or what you believe in.