I had a very lucid dream a few nights ago and I managed to remember some of it!  #gettingold (That could say ‘gettin gold’ and, in a way, also represents getting old.)

I had flown back home to the states in the middle of my Spanish adventure to visit my family.  I barely remember the part about my family now, but I know throughout the dream I was there for them.  I wasn’t in Houston, but the city looked like some kind of metropolis.  Perhaps a place fabricated by equal parts imagination and cinematically induced memories.  I remember it was my last day there and a few friends (also fabricated) accompanied me to this enormous multi-level, futuristic looking airport mall to see me off and do some shopping.  We arrived several hours before my flight was due to leave, so we were just bullshitting around.  I had gone out the day before and bought some art supplies to take back to Spain.  I also was really excited about the opportunity to update my wardrobe for the remaining time abroad.  The overall feel of the dream was pleasant until there were 2 hours to go before takeoff and it suddenly dawned on me I didn’t pack anything I wanted to take back to Spain.  It’s weird because the suitcase was heavy in all that time I lugged it around the airport mall, but when I opened it my fear was confirmed.  The bag was nearly empty.  I flustered and asked my two friends if they could watch my luggage while I took the bus back home super quick to grab some clothes and the art supplies I just purchased.  One of them said she was about to leave and the other was too busy.  He didn’t say why he was busy, but we were sitting in a play area, so I suppose he was busy watching his children.  My final moments in the dream were spent feeling panicked, cursing my friends as I hurried to the bus stop with my baggage. 
I think the symbolism here runs deep, but we’re not going to dwell on that!  This in depth look into my strange psyche is my introduction to: what did I pack for a 4 month stay in Madrid?

Most of the travel blogs I’ve read encourage taking the most minimal of items which is good sense for short trips and backpackers on the move.  We really don’t need as many things as we think we do for basic self-care and I have adhered to the minimalist travel approach myself as much as possible.  Having said that, I opted to pack quite a lot bulkier than the norm for my 4 month stay in Madrid for a few different reasons.  Most importantly; for comfort.  Next importantly; no income.  The best advice I can offer on packing is to really consider what’s important to you.  Less truly is more sometimes, but if you can carry it, then take what makes you happy.

Don’t Leave Home Without It:

• Phone, wallet, keys
• Passport and copies
• Driver’s license
• Money and credit cards
• Travel insurance
• Travel adapter
• Phone charger
• Earbuds
• Lots of earplugs

Toiletries:

• 1 deodorant stick
• 1 travel size shampoo
• 1 travel size purple tinted shampoo (for “natural” blonde hair, of course)
• 1 travel size conditioner
• 1 travel size conditioning hand lotion
• 1 travel size suntan lotion
• 1 full size perfume lotion
• 1 full size B&BW body scrub
• 1 travel size hand sanitizer
• Handful of Q-tips
• 1 pair tweezers
• 1 nailclipper
• 3 disposable nail files
• 1 small nailpolish
• 1 full size toothpaste
• 1 travel size toothpaste
• 1 travel size Listerine
• Floss
• 2 toothbrushes
• 3 months of contact lenses and cleanser
• 1 bar of soap (that turned out to be hand soap, whoops, but! It works beautifully as a shaving cream substitute so I didn’t have to buy any when I got here)
• 3 disposable razors
• 4 travel size perfumes
• 1 small Tide stain remover stick thingy (because I brought a white t-shirt)
• 1 small makeup bag including a few lipsticks, an eyeshadow palette, mascara and such
• 1 small medical bag including Band-Aids, Neosporin, allergy meds and such
• 1 travel sewing kit
• 1 small brush
• 1 full size hair straightener (my travel size straightener’s only temperature choice is ‘burnt to a crisp’)
• A few hairpins and clips, 4 scrunchies and 1 headband

Clothes and Accessories:

• 6 bras*
• 13 pairs of underwear*
• 11 pairs of socks*
• 3 pairs of jeans
• 1 pair of dress pants
• 2 pairs shorts*
• 1 pair gym shorts
• 1 pair winter/pajama pants
• 1 dress
• 1 skirt
• 1 swimsuit
• 7 tank tops (may sound like an absurd number, but they take up so little space and are so versatile)
• 9 t-shirts*
• 3 blouses
• 3 fall/winter tops
• 1 small umbrella
• 1 Trilby
• 1 sweater
• 1 cardigan
• 1 petticoat jacket
• 1 scarf
• 1 winter hat
• 1 pair of mittens
• 2 belts
• 2 pairs sunglasses
• 1 thermal top (so I can wear my t-shirts through fall/winter)
• 2 pairs of tennis shoes*
• 1 pair of nice shoes
• 1 pair of sandals
• 1 pair of boots
• 1 purse
• 1 backpack
• 1 small knapsack
• 1 small waterproof case*
• 1 travel size jewelry case with pieces that mostly coordinate with any outfit

*Starred items in this category make up my La Tomatina outfit and were intended to be thrown away.  Everything but the t-shirt and shoes were salvaged.

Happiness and Personal Essentials for the Trip:

• Holga (has seen more places than my digital camera – the homepage title pictures are Holga shots, btw!)
• Digital camera
• 1 small book for entertainment
• 1 journal
• 1 Tarot journal
• 1 Tarot deck
• 1 small sketchbook
• 1 larger sketchbook
• 1 notebook
• 1 piano lessons book
• 1 Spanish book
• 1 travel tips book (and I’ve since acquired 2 more books… )
• 3 small canvases
• 5 small Winsor and Newton oil paint tubes plus a printout of this (curious to see if they would get confiscated – they didn’t!)
• A small storage case with a set of pastels, watercolor sticks, charcoal sticks, paintbrushes and some oddball pens, pencils and markers
• 1 4 oz. bottle of blue hair dye
• 1 4 oz. bottle of purple hair dye 
• 1 laptop and power adapter
• 1 gaming controller
• 1 jar of peanut butter
• 1 jar of cookie butter

I think that’s everything?! 

You know when you’re watching a movie and the actor’s lips are moving, but the audio doesn’t match the movement?  This is how I feel in my Spanish class.  I can hear fine and I can see the words escaping lips as they’re spoken, but my brain lags behind trying to compute what is being said.  I try to make mental notes of missed words as I scribble down others, but the reality is entire sentences of information become lost.  Friday’s lesson was one of the more familiar things to me; comida!  Except the 50 or so new vocabulary words I noted made me think I don’t know shit.  Good news, though!  Classes are not scheduled every day of the week like I thought.  Whew!  I am relieved for the break this weekend.  I’ve completely neglected all the things I really want to do para libros en Espanol.  Don’t get me wrong – I want to study!  But not for 5 hours after every class then going to bed feeling like I ran a marathon while trying to solve an incalculable math problem.  I hear the slower paced evening classes calling me after this 2-week course ends.  

I’ve been to Carrefour so many times now I should probably sign up for a membership and reap those sweet sale rewards.  Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve made various egg omelets, blueberry pancakes, and “Texas” chili.  Any ideas which seasoning is the most important ingredient for chili?  I learned from the internet, after cooking sans chili powder, that even if I found the seasoning here in Madrid, it likely won’t taste like the one I know from the states.  And then I found a blog written by a kindred Texan who found herself in the same predicament 2 years ago.  Black Pepper & Co has been added to my ‘places of interest’ list.   
The pimenton picante I bought was more or less a successful purchase since it has a really lovely, subtle smoky flavor with a hint of a kick.  My “Texas” chili wasn’t quite right, but it tasted good.  This is how much I spent on the ingredients:

3.50 for thick ass burger patties (thinking ahead; set one aside for an actual burger)
€.50 for a can of tomatoes (chili had to wait a few days after La Tomatina; I couldn’t stomach the sight of this fucking can)
€.55 – 1.00 granulated garlic
€.55 – 1.00 ground cumin
€.55 – 1.00 oregano
€1.00 – 1.75 pimenton picante
I lost the receipt with the seasoning prices, so those are best guess price ranges.  The pimenton was the most expensive while the other 3 spices were less than a euro each.  I had already purchased onion, avocado, pepper and cheese on an earlier grocery trip, so this is all I had to buy!

I happened to be at Mercadona when I was shopping for pancake ingredients, but the baking product arrangements at both grocery stores are so odd to me.  I found flour and leavening agents on the first floor next to produce and frozen desserts.  Sugar was (most logically) stocked near the coffee on the second floor.  Couldn’t find vanilla flavoring or maple syrup.  Didn’t understand the boxed milk concept.  I did, however, find vanilla ice cream, honey and frozen blueberries.  Nothing a little creativity can’t resolve!
I mixed sugar, egg, sunflower oil (courtesy of the Airbnb), a spoonful of vanilla ice cream, flour, salt, baking powder, water and blueberries together to create something more like a pancake than my chili turned out Texan.  While I’ve missed maple syrup since making a few batches of pancakes, the honey does well enough to complete the dish as a sweet topper.  This is how much I spent on pancake ingredients;

€.60 for 6 packets of baking powder
€1.95 for a 12 pack of honey
€.69 for a bag of sugar
€.43 for a bag of flour
€1.35 for ice cream
€1.79 for frozen blueberries

I already had the eggs from my first grocery trip.  By the way!  The pricey Bio Eggs I purchased came from an ecological farm.  I have since found slightly cheaper free-range eggs and this blog which helpfully describes what the egg stamp means.  Despite the odd arrangement of products at the stores, they have the same marketing sense as any American store by making the most expensive choices the easiest to find.

I intend to have a theme in each blog post where I discuss a thing and some other things stemming from it rather than random rambling like I might do in a personal diary.  So much has happened over the past week, however, I’m tossing that ideology out the window for a moment to bring you a compilation of battle wounds abroad.  Oh sure, I could talk about Retiro Park or the museums I’ve visited thus far, but places I like around the city will come soon enough.  Besides, everyone likes to hear a good battle wounds story. 
As my sister likes to say, I’m a clumsy bitch.  La Tomatina, unfortunately, was not my first day of injuries.  From the top!  Ten minutes after landing in the city I cut my hand on a broken buckle strap as I pulled my bag off of the conveyor belt.  Just a few hours later at the Airbnb I walked into the bed frame knees first 3 times (and 1 more good time a few days later to remind myself how much it hurt and to stop doing it). 

By my second night in the bnb, I found 4, what I think were, spider bites on my legs.  I wondered if I had gotten them from the streets, because the apartment was utterly immaculate upon my arrival.  But then a week later I awoke to 3 more bites around my left foot and the allergic reaction I had to that scared me enough to consider visiting a doctor.

My sweet host bombed the shit out of the place after I showed him my foot and I’m happy to announce no bites since!  I can’t, however, get the bug spray smell out of here and I suspect nasal irritation from it.  Last night I was leaving an acquaintance’s flat and missed the last step on my way down the stairs.  If you know me in real life, then this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this story… I have somehow missed the last step of staircases an embarrassing number of times throughout my adult life.  My left foot, which recently recovered from the spider bites, is now swollen from a sprain. 
Sometimes I wonder how I’m still alive.  I ventured out for coffee this morning, but the rest of the day will be spent icing my foot and -you guessed it- estudiando.

Those cute little cafeteria food fights from middle school got nothing on this.  The fruit flinging festival hit my radar maybe a couple of years ago when I was researching events around the world looking for my next getaway.  The internet is full of pictures of happy participants making it all so appealing to join in the more than 70-year long tradition.  I had to go and kick off my Spanish journey proper!  Full immersion into the culture, y’all, and ohhh, boy, I was immersed alright… let me tell you how it went down.  (Useful pro tips at the end of this very long story!)

My La Tomatina experience began with a 3AM departure on a bus with no toilet and zero sleep since the night before.  I was comforted by everyone else in the same predicament.  Honestly, the 3-hour ride wasn’t bad at all and everyone I talked to was super friendly.  As for the toilet worry, we made a pit stop at a convenience store with plenty of them.  We arrived in Buñol on time, but wound up waiting in the parking lot for over half an hour for, well, I don’t know why exactly.  All Around Festivals was a touch disorganized, but I liked the coordinators and, besides freezing my ass off, it wasn’t a big deal once we finally got on festival grounds.  Also, the wait gave us time to pair off, so I found a buddy!  We were greeted by loud party music and swarms of street vendors selling sunglasses, purse pouches, food and the like.  We followed the coordinators downhill through the town for a mile or so until we reached a plateau, I dub ground zero, where the rest of our All Around Festival goers had already gathered with sangria in hand.  The walk down had lovely views, but being alert was paramount.  Townspeople were equipped with hoses and buckets of water straight away.  Luckily, some bus peeps were way ahead of me and my buddy so we watched them get splashed allowing us a chance to safely stow our phones into waterproof cases.  Her and I spent the morning like everyone else at ground zero drinking sangria, talking, and dancing to a line of talented drummers getting us pumped, further enhancing the exciting anticipation of the event.  Pre-tomato throwing of booze commenced as people let loose their inhibitions and sangria cups. 
After a bit I hopped into the porta potty line thinking myself clever while loads others were still distracted dancing to the drummers.  45 minutes later I got to pee.  There was a total of 1 porta potty per gender next to the stage and another set of solo toilets a short walk back up hill.  That’s it.  You can bet there’s more than just tomato juice filling up the streets every year. 
There were a few girls ahead of me when they announced it was time to make our way up to the tomato zones.  My festival buddy found me still waiting and was sweet enough to grab a cup of sangria when I told her how parched I was as I had nothing to drink the whole time I stood in line.  Finally, we got to join the crowd and entered where a banner hung proclaiming Zone 1.  It was madness, like cattle corralling into a narrow, fenced queue.  By Zone 2 there was barely a line moving.  Hordes of people had gathered from every which way procuring their spots while townspeople above dumped buckets of water from windows and sprayed us with hoses.  Giant blue tarps covered the buildings now, completely transforming the charming looking town into what I thought akin to Ninja Warrior.  The obstacle of carving a path through the crowd without getting wet was impossible.  I had already put on my goggles to protect my contact lenses from being washed away when a bro dude suddenly threw a bucket of water at my face.  My goggles lifted upwards when I got hit a second time.  I guess he had two buckets.  He cheered with his other bro dudes before turning around to refill from a spicket jutting out from the side of a building.  I smirked and thanked him and hastily got the fuck away from there. 
Closer to Zone 4 my buddy and I had a great view of the climbing pole.  Tradition says someone has to climb up the slippery pole and reach the ham at the top for the tomato throwing to officially start.  Although, it starts promptly at 11AM with or without this accomplishment.  There were a couple of contenders very close to grabbing it, but I’m sad to report no one claimed el jamon de 2019.  With less than 10 minutes to go, we decided to move away from the center where there was no longer a path, but just people shoving each other to get by.  We planted our feet a bit uphill next to some Europeans who sat atop a window ledge a couple of feet off the ground and partially covered by a tarp.  A gun fired soon after and cheers erupted from the top of Zone 1.  We could see the first truck slowly making its way down and it wasn’t long before tomatoes rained upon us by people tossing them out of the truck.  The smell was overwhelming.  I thought perhaps it was my repulsion of tomatoes that I smelled, but then the Europeans behind me started gagging.  I laughed at them and hoped they’d keep down the sangria. 
People spilled into the street after the truck passed and the fight had officially begun.  I spilled with them collecting fruit from the ground and squishing before chucking them all around me.  Pretty much the only rule was to squish before you throw.  I wasn’t aiming at all, just throwing them as far as I could.  It was fun, every part of it; the squishing and throwing and ducking.  A few minutes later the second truckload was nearing so we had to retreat back along the buildings to allow it to pass.  I was unarmed and obliviously waiting for the truck when my face was struck so hard I saw spots for a split second.  I was stunned wondering what the fuck hit me.  I couldn’t believe a tomato could hurt that much.  I turned to the Europeans to ask them if a bruise was surfacing.  We exchanged ooo’s and oh my’s for 2 seconds before a tomato slammed against the wall between their own faces.  My head whipped around to see a group of dicks directly across the street from us cheering and laughing.  Those party fouling motherfuckers were throwing unsquished tomatoes as hard as they could like baseballs.  The truck started creeping by creating a barrier before I could get too angry. 
I protected my face from the downpour, newly aware of the hurt potential.  The last thing I wanted was to take another to the face.  Took some hits from above before it felt like a brick thudded square on my elbow and leisurely rolled off instead of bouncing away.  After the truck passed, I looked at my arm to see it scraped and bleeding.  I think a rock hit me and that was about the time I tapped out.  I checked on my festival buddy who I had forgotten in all that time and she evidently tapped out much sooner.  The Europeans had snuck away and she was sitting on the window ledge avoiding the onslaught.  I stayed in the street near her, the both of us trying to use the tarp for protection. 
An Australian couple approached us soon after and I showed off my face and elbow to explain why I was hiding.  The guy showed me one side of his face smeared with blood still freshly trickling down from a wound above his hairline.  It looked a lot worse than my boo-boo.  They cowered with us for a hot minute, but testosterone overcame the guy and he eventually ran back out there to pummel. 
A few more trucks passed all the while me and the ladies remained underneath the shelter of the tarp.  I didn’t like that I was missing so much of the fight, but the unabated pain of my injuries kept me from further participation.  I was mid-sentence talking to Aussie when someone from behind us kicked a mass of splattered tomatoes upward in our direction.  Tomato jizz got in my mouth.  It was funny, but fucking gross.  That same someone kept kicking.  Aussie was not having it and ran away yelling at him to stop it.  She was adorable.  My buddy and I decided to vacate shortly after.  We were encumbered by a river of squashed tomatoes and lingering festival goers happily scooping the mess to throw at shower retreaters.  Someone got me good right over my head. 
We evaded down an open alley and stopped to take pictures of ourselves before coming across a fountain where our Aussie friend happened to be cleaning up.  The gun went off again signaling the official end of the festival, hallelujah.  We all helped each other get as clean as possible before parting ways.  My buddy and I needed to change back at the bus where we left our clothes, so we didn’t bother going in the opposite direction to ground zero for showers.  We didn’t know if the wait would be anything like the porta potty situation.  It was a good call as there were plenty of townsfolk willing to hose us down.  We got turned around for a while trying to figure out how to get back to the buses, but finally, the nth person we asked for assistance was able to point us the right way.  The city wasted no time washing away the tomato massacre.  Clean streets unveiled, tarps disappeared and it looked more like the charming town we first encountered. 
We got changed and had an hour to kill before buses departed.  Another member of our group walked with us back into town to a restaurant serving €5 plates of paella.  We danced to the loud entrance music while devouring the paella and it was the best way I could imagine the festival ending. (Because there seemed to be no end in sight when it was raining rotting fruit.)

Would I do this again?  Fuck.  No.  The fight was my worst experience with food ever.  And I fucking love food.  Everything else was a shiny beacon of merriment.  Special shout out to all of the wonderful people I met who truly elevated the experience.  Cheers to you all and safe travels!

Pro tips:

• Wear white, but more importantly, wear an outfit you don’t give a shit about. Extra pro tip: my buddy brought a shower cap which did a pretty good job of protecting her hair.  As you recall, though, she hid through most of the festival.
• Bring water and a snack for the bus ride.  They give you nothing.
• Bring a change of clothes. If you forget a change of shoes, you can buy chonclas from a number of stalls for €8 or just wear your disgusting tomato tennies for a few hours and deal with it like I did.
• Bring a waterproof something to protect your phone, ID and money. I took my driver’s license – some people had copies of their passport.  Either is fine if it’ll fit in the bag.
• Don’t bring anything valuable you can’t carry into the tomato fight in said waterproof protection. Small lockers should be available if you don’t want to leave anything on the bus.
• Wear swim goggles for protection against tomato acids.
• Drink sangria, but beware the toilet situation.
• Dance with the drummers and fellow festival goers.
• Be prepared for buckets of water.
• Beware shirt rippers; wear two tops or one top with a bathing suit underneath.  As far as I know, only one of our bus mates had his shirt ripped off by someone who politely asked him first.  Might have been a fluke.
• Don’t get hit in the face.
• Get dirty.
• Take pictures and videos.
• Don’t eat the tomatoes.