Is this an M.C. Escher drawing or a real place?  Oh, it is real. I visited the Mezquita or Grand Cathedral and former mosque of Cordoba a few years ago during a month-long visit to Spain.

Built in the year 600, this amazing forest of columns and marble  is often regarded as one of the most accomplished examples of Islamic architecture.

The Mezquita
Cordoba, Spain

Nowadays there are said to be approximately 400 million people speaking Spanish as a native language and a total of 500 million speakersworldwide. Spanish is the second most spoken language in the world, after Mandarin Chinese.   Spanish is one of the six official languages of the United Nations and there are more than 20 Spanish-speaking countries in the world.  Are you getting my point? Oye chicos y chicas! (Warning: Non PC/fun writing coming up) Spanish is the new black. Literally. For about a decade now, Latinos have been the largest minority group in the United States, surpassing African-Americans.

So learning Spanish is a no-brainer and literally can be with a download-able language-learning program I just tried out called Bueno, Entonces. If you’ve wanted to improve your Spanish or learn from scratch…now is really the time. Vamos!

To get a feel for the program, here is a clip for you (if you are reading this in email and the vid doesn’t come through, please go to my site to see full video clip):

Click here if video is not above:

Bueno, Entonces quick info:

• Cost: $147 (for full download)
• 30 Classes = 18+ hours of audio and video to help you retain everything.
• 30,000 vocab words
• Slang dictionary

The Good (the Bueno)

You are not only learning Spanish, but the lessons are fun and quirky.  There are animated hosts that you like and root for: David, the lovable loser from Britain and Jimena, the cute and smart girl from Buenos Aires.

So it not only feels like a lesson, but like a bit of a TV show that you want to watch again to see what happens.  There is even character development.  Will Jimena fall for David’s sense of humor and constant advances? Will she break-up with her boyfriend? Or will David meet another Porteña linda (pretty girl from Buenos Aires) to date?  And often ‘dropping in’ is the oddly British-accented ‘Einstein’ professor who pops on to give us some deeper facts and explanations.

The graphics and animations are cute and well done. The whole thing has an overall fun, whimsical feel.

The program costs just under $150 which is less than half the cost of the popular Rosetta Stone course, which I find very slow moving and tedious. I have tried those too, but because there is so much repetition I get very bored with them very fast.

The Bad (the Malo)

The classes are based in Buenos Aires so there is a little slang and usage that is indigenous to that area. For example they pronounce 2 Ls together like ‘sh’. Whereas in most Spanish-speaking countries, the 2 Ls are pronounced like a ‘Y.’ Either way it would mess up the name of this blog.  In Spanish it would be pronounced ‘SH World Tour’ or ‘YA World Tour’.  That’s just not right.

The class moves along a fast clip…almost a tad too fast for me. As I mentioned, I’ve done some Rosetta Stone courses before and they were way too slow and too repetitive. While I love the quick pacing of Bueno, Entonces, sometimes, when you are trying to follow along and read all the words on the screen, it cuts to the next shot just a tad too quick.

The files to be downloaded are quite large so just keep in mind it will take awhile.  But like me, you can just start it and walk away or do something else in the meantime…like take a quick nap, solve a tricky algorithm,  eat a grilled cheese sandwich…or even better, make a quesadilla! Esta bien?

If you are about to travel or just want to improve your Spanish or even give it as a gift to someone else…Bueno, Entonces is a good idea!

Muchas gracias!

Spain has won the FIFA World Cup title for the very first time in their history. Their extra-time goal claimed a dramatic 1-0 victory over orange-clad Netherlands in Johannesburg.

Congratulations & felicitaciones  to all my friends in Spain who are most likely still celebrating and knowing them, will be for a long time. Not sure if the hombre pictured here is still celebrating, but this modern-day ‘man of La Mancha’ looks like he certainly did some partying of his own back in the day…perhaps he was a drinking buddy of Cervantes.

Modern-Day Don Quixote
Granada, Spain

This is it. We are just days from the decision on which city will host the 2016 Olympic Games. I know it seems a tad early to be talking about something seven years from now, but you know the host city has years of work ahead of it so the time is now.  After a two-year global campaign featuring four world-class cities, one of the closest bid races in Olympic history will be decided Friday in a vote of the International Olympic Committee in Copenhagen.

The bidding process goes back to May 2007 when cities around the world dropped their hat in the ring for a chance to win the Olympic rings.  Four cities were chosen as the final candidates in June 2008: Tokyo, Rio De Janeiro, Madrid, and Chicago. I have visited three out of four of these cities and can say without hesitation that they are all fabulous. But for some reason I am hoping for Chicago.

At stake is international prestige and exposure, billions of dollars in potential investment and economic spinoffs, and the honor of staging the world’s biggest sports extravaganza.

The decision may come down to two key issues: How much will President Barack Obama’s visit to Copenhagen to pitch Chicago’s case in person affect the outcome?  Is the IOC ready to take a bit of a gamble on Rio and send the Olympics to South America for the very first time?

IOC president Jacques Rogge expects the race for the 2016 Olympics to be decided by “a couple of votes” and says Chicago’s chances shouldn’t hinge on President Obama’s personal visit to push his home city’s bid.  Initially Obama announced he would not be able to attend the vote and that First lady Michelle Obama would go in his place. Now it is reported that he will be there.

“I see really no favorite,” Rogge said last week in a telephone interview with The Associated Press. “I think it’s going to be a very close vote. I think the final vote will be decided by a couple of votes only.”

Tokyo

This amazing city of lights and energy was once considered a possible shoe-in for the games. The country has deep pockets to back the huge financial undertaking of hosting an Olympic Games. Tokyo boasts an amazing infrastructure of public transport and a plan to keep most game facilities within an eight kilometer radius.  But the city’s populous seem to think otherwise. Only 55% of the population supports the games returning to Tokyo (they also hosted in 1964). This is the lowest in that category in which Madrid has the highest percentage with 86% of its citizens supporting the games.

Madrid

This is Madrid’s second straight bid. The city finished third behind winner London and Paris in the 2005 vote for the 2012 Olympics. Madrid also was a candidate for the 1972 Games that went to Munich.  The capital city of Spain has about 70 percent of venues completed, a superb transportation system, full financial backing and the overwhelming support of its people – even the King of Spain. Some reports say that Madrid is not the favorite to be chosen for several reasons: partly because Barcelona held the games in 1992, just 20 years ago, while London is to host the 2012 Games and the IOC is unlikely to return to Europe for 2016.

Rio de Janeiro

In this race, Rio – besides its iconic beaches and stunning backdrop – has the strongest emotional pull of the four candidates.  The Olympics have never been held in South America and the time has come to try something new.

“For others it would be just another Olympics, but for Brazil it would be something to raise the self esteem of the people,” Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva said this week. “No other city needs to host an Olympics. Brazil needs it. … Do only rich countries have the right to host the Olympics?”

Rio seemed to pick up the unofficial front-runner’s tag in June when the bid cities made presentations to IOC members in a specially arranged meeting in Lausanne, Switzerland. Rio officials made a splash by unveiling a big world map with dots showing where all the Olympics have been held – and a big empty space for South America.

Chicago

My city….and the adopted hometown of the United States President Barack Obama is expected to a front runner along with Rio. Chicago’s so called ‘front lawn,’ a long stretch of parks and lakefront would give the Games a glittering backdrop, like Rio, and plenty of room for playing venues that would not displace millions of people, as they did in Beijing.

Despite this week’s announcement that Obama will make a special an appearance in Copenhagen, Olympic officials say they are not worried that his presence may sway the vote.  Maybe another “O” will help. Oprah Winfrey is supposed to be there to support Chicago’s bid as well.  Chicago is bidding to bring the Summer Games back to the U.S. for the first time since Atlanta in 1996. The bid, which would bring the games back to the Olympics’ most lucrative market for sponsorships and television rights, is centered on a compact plan putting most athletes within 15 minutes of their venues along picturesque, ocean-like Lake Michigan.  Chicago overcame one of its biggest hurdles when the city council approved all financial guarantees for the games, clearing the way for Mayor Richard M. Daley to sign the host city contract if Chicago wins. That was a major step for a U.S. bid city, which – unlike rival candidates – can’t rely on federal government financial backing.

There is no way I could just be a tourist in the world for 2 ½ years.  I knew I had to mix it up to prevent boredom and burnout. I craved variety in my everyday life, so why would my life on the road be any different? Yes, of course, the constant change of scenery, culture, and people was variety in and of itself, but I knew I couldn’t just keep showing up in a new town each week and essentially continue to ‘walk around the world for a year.’  I needed to do, ya know, stuff. I needed to immerse myself somehow in society and feel like a part of it.  To start this process, I did different things like a Spanish Immersion program in Costa Rica (Spanish lessons in the morning and yes, surfing lessons in the afternoon) or a two-week, several-hundred mile bicycle trip down the length of Vietnam. But I needed even more structure. I needed…a job (cue shrieking horror music).

Now, just the sheer fact that I decided to blog about my trip and also write travel articles to be published elsewhere means that I was already working. I was trying to make time each week to sit and just write – a very hard thing to do when you are sitting in Rome or Cairo or Hong Kong and there are so many things around you vying for your attention.

Besides my new ‘day job’ as travel writer and photographer, I landed a few other actual jobs around the world.

1. Barrista and sandwich maker at a café in Melbourne
2. TV producer and reporter in Chile
3. Private business English tutor in Istanbul
4. Media proofreader in Istanbul
5. Actress in American Feature film in Istanbul
6. Research Assistant at the University of Cologne helping conduct an International survey on Airline/Airport Relationships
7. Writer and proofreader at publishing company in Berlin
8. Publicist for English Immersion company in Madrid
9. Extra in Hollywood
10. Pet Sitter around the world (Istanbul, LA, Chicago)

But many have asked me how did I find all these jobs? Did I look before I went on my trip?  The simple answer is no.  I simply arrived in a new place with the random idea that I could maybe find work there. In Australia, I spoke the language (sort of), so it seemed like a natural place to find a job other than teaching English. In Turkey, it’s all about connections and once I met one person…the ball just started rolling.  Besides that, I used persistence, word-of-mouth, and friends’ connections and a lot of smiles.

So, on this adventure, I worked all over and found it to be another great way to “go local.”  I lived in one place for an extended amount of time. I had a place to live. I took public transport (or a bicycle in Melbourne) to work. I had a schedule. I had a paycheck (well, cash). I truly felt like part of the fabric of society. And I actually gained some new skills, but most importantly I made real friends.

To hear more about my working around the world, listen to this podcast interview I did for Chris Christensen at the Amateur Traveler.

Amateur Traveler Episode 194 – Work and Travel Around the World

I spent a few days in the French Countryside with my friend Caroline at her cousin’s house in the tiny, rural town of Bias (pronounced BEE-ah). It was just what I needed – a quiet place to relax, leave my bag on the floor for several days untouched, catch up on some much needed writing, and just hang out by the crackling fire. The house was warm and cozy with terracotta tiled floors and wood beamed ceilings overhead, and the aforementioned big stone fireplace.  We didn’t do a whole lot and I liked it. We cooked a little, sat by the fire, and met some of the sweet French neighbors who had us over for drinks our very first night. We couldn’t really speak much French, they spoke zero English and yet it was a blast.

One day we rode our bikes through the lush and tranquil (except for the random hunter’s gunshots echoing through the air) forest land that surrounds Bias to the beach – normally packed with oiled-up holiday makers in the summer months, now it was quiet and delightful. We had a wonderful lunch in the warm sun of an outdoor café as the waves of the Atlantic crashed up onto the beach down below.

Another day we took a day trip, two hours south to Spain. I love the fact that in Europe, crossing country borders is like crossing state borders in the US; except that here…everything changes-the people, the culture, (formerly the currency), the language. Well, I guess that’s true too if you are crossing into Texas.  It was a lovely day. In San Sebastian, we met up with a friend of mine that I met last year at Pueblo Ingles.  He gave us a great tour of the city – a place that has been compared to Rio since the city comes right down to the beach. It is also known for its amazing food. We went on a mini pintxos (tapas) and beer crawl-going bar to bar trying some of the local treats. Mmm. Good friends and good food – really a perfect day.

Back home in the States, I’d, of course, heard about bullfighting, but never really realized how big and popular it still is here in modern day Spain. Bullfighting is a traditional spectacle that is still practiced in Spain, Portugal, Southern France, and many Latin American countries. One of the first things I saw in my first city in Spain, Valencia, was the bullring and I have since seen them in basically every city I have visited here. Bullfighting is a centuries-old tradition, but is also a big business. Each year about 24,000 bulls are killed in front of a live audience of more than thirty million people.

As an animal lover, it will not surprise you that I am not thrilled about bull fighting. But, as a journalist I have to tell you that I can’t tell you about it firsthand, because I did not (and could not) go to a fight. Just seeing the postcards on the racks with photos of a bull with banderillas (brightly colored sticks with harpoon points) stuck in his back and blood drenching his fur made me cringe and look away. Now, that being said, I do realize that just because something is different in other countries does not make it wrong. In American thousands of animals suffer every year (especially at our factory farms), and I certainly don’t like this either. But I did learn some more about it…

The fighting bulls are bred specifically for this industry. Supposedly they live a pampered and cushy life before their ‘date with destiny’ in the ring and I’m told that if bullfighting were to become outlawed entirely—there would be no money and therefore no ‘nice’ life for these beasts.

To many, especially in Andalucia, the home of bullfighting, it is a deep cultural ritual—some see it as a form of art—the way ‘man and bull’ perform together. But there is no question to me that the actual fight (no matter how sweet the bull’s life was pre-bull ring) is gruesome and cruel. Often times just before a fight a bull’s horns may be illegal shaved. This affects his balance, but is also a very sensitive and painful thing for the animal. During the fight, men on blindfolded horses drive lances into the bull’s back and neck muscles. The bull’s ability to lift its head is impaired due to severe loss of blood. Then come the banderilleros on foot, who proceed to stab banderillas into the bull’s back to further increase the pain. There are only so many master matadors at the top of their game so also oftentimes it is not a clean kill and the animal is repeatedly stabbed until it’s bloody, painful demise.

There is some opposition to this barbaric sport, but not much here in Spain. Just recently the city of Barcelona outlawed bullfighting, but this maybe more due to the spectacle’s connection to Fascist Spain and former dictator Franco than the bull fighting itself. A 2002 Gallup poll found that nearly 70% of Spaniards express “no interest” in bullfighting while the remaining 30% express “some” or “a lot” of interest. The poll also found significant generational variety, with over 50% of those 65 and older expressing interest, compared with less than a quarter of those 25–34 years of age. Apparently many of the spectators at bullfights are curious tourists who often leave before its over after being overwhelmed by the savage cruelty of it all.

Today’s matadors of Spain are as famous as today’s popstars. One of the most legendary toreros is Manolete, killed by a bull in 1947. Adrien Brody plays him (alongside Penélope Cruz as his lover) in the upcoming movie “Manolete.” Of course, I don’t care really if the matador dies in the ring…because he made the conscious choice to be there. But believe me, no one asked the bull what he wanted.

I celebrated my American Thanksgiving Holiday in Sevilla, Spain. I was lucky enough to be invited by a friend (an Australian friend, no less), Kristy, to the traditional American feast at where else? An Irish Pub, of course. I have found that these are the unofficial meeting spots of expats all over the world. And there seems to be an Irish Pub in just about every city and small town I have visited. Since moving to Sevilla to be with her Spanish boyfriend, Kristy has fallen into a group of American girls who also live there. They call themselves “the Americanitas, and one odd Aussie.” Catchy, isn’t it?

There were about twelve of us on a back heated patio of the Irish bar that was advertising a special scrumptious ‘Thanksgiving’ feast for 20 Euros—not very cheap for what they gave us, but it was worth it to me to be meeting new people and spending the holiday laughing and socializing.

Okay, I’ll admit the food they served looked more like airplane food or the ‘fine cuisine’ we got back in the day under the fluorescent lights of the high school cafeteria. The stuffing and mashed potatoes looked dry and were perfectly round ball shapes probably scooped out of some huge prison-like cooking vessel with an ice cream scooper. But looks can be deceiving, because it actually tasted quite good. And, believe me, it wasn’t because I was missing ‘American food.’ In fact, that brings me to my next point actually. What really is American food? Recently, a Spanish friend asked me to make him some traditional American dishes. He wanted to know, ‘what is American food?’ It took me mere seconds to answer, ‘Mexican, Chinese, Sushi, Indian, Thai, Italian (really what is more American—than pizza?!), Greek, Middle Eastern, Ethiopian, Polish, on and on.’

He was like ‘No, I mean real American food?’

Unfortunately, around the world, for those who haven’t stepped onto our fair shores, many assume we are all chowing down at the ‘Golden Arches’ (McDs) or KFC and eating hamburgers and hot dogs ‘til we explode. Now, for some, I guess there is some truth to this. But, I would say, living in Chicago, I have food from all over the world right out my front door. I guess it’s just like the stereotypes Americans have about some foreign cultures. Well, don’t feel bad ‘my fellow Americans’ because there are many, many negative stereotypes floating around the world about America and Americans especially amongst people who have never traveled to the US, but feel they have because they have seen “Cops” reruns or movies like “Dumb and Dumber” and “Hey Dude, Where’s My Car?” (cinematic excellence I’m sure…but this American hasn’t seen either of these Oscar-worthy films).

“Okay, fine, but what did you eat growing up?”

Well, that was easy—like most people coming from the Northeast—Pizza and Chinese food.

Still not sounding very ‘American’ to him he replied, “Okay, but what foods did your parents or grandparents cook at home?”

Okay. Okay. We had our fair share of meatloaf, chicken with rice, and the occasional spaghetti with meatballs (still sort of Italian I guess—although, I’m sure the Italians would scoff at this 1970s American dish or some horribly lame can of ‘Chef Boyardee,’ a chemical-laden packet of ‘Hamburger Helper,’ or my personal childhood fav: a tasty, comforting box of completely processed, bright yellow Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.) Mmmmmm-mmmm. My mom would always add some onions and an extra slice of plastic-wrapped canary yellow Kraft ‘cheese-food’ for that just-right, gourmet touch. But for many, actually, having their grandma’s cooking, was even more ethnic since the grandparents were often literally just ‘off the boat,’ from some far off land. So what is my point? What is American cooking? I guess I can consult the master chef’s in America: Chicago’s Charlie Trotter and Grant Achatz, NYC’s Mario Batale (before his Food Network fame) and Alfred Portale (Gotham Bar & Grill), and Thomas Keller of the French Laundry who all use a lot of seasonal locally grown and farmed ingredients in their internationally influenced masterpiece fish, meat, and poultry dishes. But I think it is indisputable that American cooking has been influenced by the millions and millions of immigrants that started it all and that now call America home. Buen Provecho!

I spent the last few weeks making my way down around Southern Spain into the Andalucía region—an area that is “Spain” intensified and is said to be the most ‘undiluted’ heart of the country.It is also the original home of tapas, brutal bull fighting, and passionate flamenco dancing. I started in charming Granada which is home to the magical and awe-inspiring former Muslim Palace of Alhambra.I spent a few lazy days soaking up the Mediterranean rays in the ‘tranquilo’ tiny white-washed Costa del Sol town of Nerja. And then spent a few more ‘days doing nothing’ in Cadiz just west of the ‘rock of Gibraltar’ and on the beaches of the Atlantic Ocean. I can’t believe I’ve already reached the shores of the Atlantic. I gazed across toward America blew a kiss and continued to…do nothing. So, keeping with this relaxed theme…I therefore did not write anything (well except this paragraph). So instead, you can also relax and ‘just look at the pictures.’

PS-I’m heading to London for Christmas and New Years. Does anyone know ANYONE I can meet there? Thanks.

So, I was really loving this whole ‘couch surfing’ experience. After I returned to Madrid after my week at “English Camp” I ended up staying at my new friend Alex’s place for a few days. He lived about thirty minutes out of downtown Madrid at the last metro stop. It was in a quieter residential neighborhood pretty far from the hustle of downtown and a bit ‘out of the way’, but it was great. I had my own room and I ended up even having the whole place to myself because Alex went away for the weekend with some friends and he trusted me and just left me the keys. Well, I thought he left me the keys. He left me a spare set that we tested on all doors to his apartment–there is the exterior building door, an interior common door and then finally his apartment door. The problem was the outside door key was not a good copy and therefore it was hard to open. So, being the gentleman he is, Alex switched the key with his master key so I wouldn’t have any problems—or so we thought.

The next day I spent out walking around Madrid didn’t return until about 11pm. This is when I realized, much to my dismay, that now I had two keys for the outside building door and NO key for his apartment door. You see, these keys look very similar…so similar in fact, that when Alex switched the keys (which was supposed to make my life easier) he accidentally gave me two of the same key. So now he had the same two keys for his apartment door and I had the same two keys for the external building door. After trying, in vain, to jam the key in his lock (isn’t it usually the guy trying to do this??), I tried to stay calm and figure out my options. My first option was to just try the key again one more time—maybe somehow I was simply a moron and forgot how to work a key? Nope. It was the wrong key. In this situation, I would have loved to be the moron. Alex was three hours south of here partying with his friends for Halloween. BUT, his parents lived a ten minute walk away…and luckily he had shown me their apartment just two days earlier. They must have a spare key. Did I pay attention when we went there—of course not—Alex was with me. But somehow I had to remember where it was and I knew their last name so hopefully I could ring their apartment and in my best Spanish explain to them through the intercom that I was not a mass murderer or vagabond looking for food…just ‘una amiga de sus hijo.’

So I set out toward their place. All the way there, I was trying to calm myself down and telling myself not to worry because they would be there, just sitting there missing their son and holding tightly onto his spare keys. I also practiced over and over how to explain my predicament in Spanish—I wasn’t too up on the ‘locked out’ vocabulary. But when I got to what I thought was their building, I discovered there were about four different entrances AND the buzzer only had apartment numbers–no names. I was doomed. Okay, stay calm Lisa. Don’t freak out yet. I was starting to panic. I looked through the glass doors to the mailboxes and could make out some last names, but only the people that wrote with markers…the rest were too far and too hard to see. And, yes, of course, there were several Rodriguezes. This is not good. I can’t ring all these people who probably speak no English. Okay, don’t panic. I knew they lived on a higher floor because when we were there, we had ridden the elevator. But that’s all I could remember. I decided to go around the building to two other entrances. We had driven out of their garage on this side entrance, but I could not remember for the life of me if the actual front door was over there. Then miraculously, somehow, while walking up the set of steps to the last entrance I recognized a big crack in the marble. I have no idea how this ‘fissure of hope’ registered in my brain the first time we were here, but it was like a long lost friend. I just somehow remembered looking down at it when we first were here and wondering if the step would be loose. Since I hurt my ankle the first time (remember from the running story??) I have been extra careful to watch my step everywhere. So, I knew this must be their entrance. Finally, there it was–a mailbox with their name and even Alejandro’s name on it. Okay, things are looking up. I practiced the Spanish phrases I would say to explain my sad case. I rang their buzzer. Then I rang it again. And again. Okay, things are looking down now. They are not home. And, probably like the rest of Spain, are away for the holiday weekend. Shit. I don’t have Alex’s number with me (yes, I left it inside his apartment that I was locked out of). And I don’t have a phone to call him on anyway. I don’t have anything except my purse and a gossip magazine I bought at a newsstand…I guess I can sit on the magazine or if it starts raining I can use it as a hat. His parents were the only link I had. Okay, ‘maybe they will be home soon’, I tried to tell myself. ‘After all, it’s only after 11pm and Spaniards stay out late.’ My head started to spin, thinking about where I would sleep. Should I just sit on the steps here? What the hell am I going to do?

I’m all alone in Madrid with no friends, no phone, and all my things are locked inside an apartment and the owner will not be home for four days. Basically, I would have to find a computer somewhere (I would have to ride the train back downtown…and find some late night internet café) where I could look up Alex’s phone number…then call him and hope he has a cell signal wherever he is and hope his phone is even turned on. But then what if he says that his parents have no key to his place…then would he have to cancel his trip and come here—or I’d have to get a hotel for 4 days with no belongings—just the clothes on my back. Now I was starting to get nauseous.

Suddenly, a family of three walked up the steps.

“Hola. Habla Ingles?” I asked desperately.
“Yes, I do,” replied the husband, my savior.

I asked him if he knew the Rodriguezs and, surely by some stroke of coincidental luck or perhaps divine intervention, not only did he know them, he was their next door neighbor. Oh, thank God. And he even had Alex’s cell number on his phone. My luck was changing. He called but got no answer. He then called Alex’s sister. Oh, yes, good idea! Maybe she has a key! It turns out that she was at a bar just a ten minute drive away. So, this amazing prince, Antonio, drove me over to find her. On the way there, we chatted and I thanked him profusely for his kindness. He asked what I was doing in Madrid and I mentioned wanting to find work here possibly teaching English. Well, turns out he wants a private tutor for his son. So now I have no keys, but maybe have found some work in a very convoluted job search method! He dropped me off at the bar and I met Alex’s sister, Esther (who speaks no English), her boyfriend, and their friends. She had already spoken to Alex on the phone and we all headed back over to his apartment because I thought she said a neighbor had a key. I tried to explain that I had two of the same key, but my Spanish vocabulary about keys and locks was strangely still not up to snuff. So, Alex thought I was just some silly girl who could not figure out the lock. So, we went back in vain, and tried the damn key again even though I knew it would not work. If it did—then I truly was a moron. But, we all tried it again and I tried to show them both keys and how they were identical. Finally, they understood the problem and gave me the bad news…that no one had any spares at all. Great.

She called Alex back on his cell phone and now, finally, everyone was on the same page. I was locked out. I had two keys for the OUTSIDE door and none for the INSIDE door. Oh…now we get it. But, then Alex told her that we could break into one of the doors. Alright, I like this plan. So now, Esther had to ring a random neighbor to let us into his apartment and then into an inner courtyard that was only accessible from each apartment. She broke into Alex’s apartment and lo and behold let us all in the front door. Home at last, thank god almighty, home at last (thanks MLK). I was reunited with my belongings and a place to sleep. Hallelujah. Now, we just had to figure out how I can stay here for the next few days with no key to the front door. I had a key to the upper lock, just not the lower…so everyone agreed with my plan to tape the door latch open on the bottom (so it would not lock when closed) and then I could just lock and unlock the top lock.

My nightmare evening actually turned into a fun adventure with new friends and I truly could not believe at first how unlucky I felt and then how incredibly lucky I felt, within an hour’s time, to have found their neighbor Antonio who then found Alex’s sister…who then was able to get me in. It almost seems too random to be true. But it happened. And me and my stuff are reunited (and it feels so good) and here to tell you so. And, believe me, the next day, I was scared to leave, but before I left, I tried my keys in every lock—twice—just to make sure I could get back in.