Now, really

I'm going mental. I know I write a lot of bullshit. I only want to write when I'm messed up and when I sit down only nonsense comes out. It's deadline season. This week, one policy brief. I'll be writing on WWF. Maybe I'll publish here an executive summary. Should be fun. Next week another one, on subsidized medicine and an essay on the social function of corruption, based on the discussion of informal exchanges in former socialist countries. Sounds fun? Just getting started, the deadline for a take-home exam is getting closer and I'll still have two papers to go. An essay for ethics and a research paper for rural development. Not much, 3000 words each. It's gonna be fine in the end. I always finish papers by deadline and some are quite nice. This year it's crowded, but I'll be writing two of them at home. Yep, eight days from now, I'm home. Or on the way, at least. Booked my ticket already. Yes, I'm a bit nuts. Hope it all starts making sense when I get everything over with. Because then I have to start thinking of internships and thesis topics and applications and following projects and lots lots of stuff. Real life might be much like this.

Porn chicks try to hard

Desperate women everywhere... what do they reach out for? Why do they keep hoping, why do they sell and torture themselves? I wish I knew what drives us, where from we get the strength to take all the shit every day. I guess it's where we make the biggest mistakes too. Craving was only designed for whatever is forbidden. We sacrifice the most for the most stupid things. The good ones come easy. We just don't want to go easy.

CEU for dummies

It's not that hard to make it at CEU. It's not hard to keep the pace here. But it's stupid to assume it's gonna work out when you're shy, lazy and cognitively challenged. It works when you're a charismatic hard-working witty person. Which I failed to see most students here are. Exams were not hard. They were designed to separate the amoebas from the homo sapiens. It's funny that even when you're not used to being the smartest person in the room or have no elementary self-confidence, you can still be surprised of how defective your upper engine is. However things turn out, I know I don't belong here. But I guess that's easy to tell from my crybaby attitude lately.

Nevermind the little girl blues

How much more can one toughen up? I'm a marshmallow. I hold on too tight to people. I used to think giving in to loving them means losing my grip. Seems like now I have too many strings attached. I'm scared and not funny. You were right. I brought all this on myself. But it's not for being selfish. It's because I'm not strong enough to be selfish. It's because I care so much that even places and objects can hurt me. If one day I'll turn tough, I'll learn how to ask for change. I'll not care and is that really who I'll be?

The Garden of Eartly Delights

It's where I stand alone. With no fear of judgment, with no fear of being wrong. Where I can be undressed and forgo all manners. It just happened that I wasn't alone all the time. But that was a long time ago. And I've learned so much ever since. I've become acquainted with the patterns of my mistakes, the small bugs that make me go wild. So here's learning to be be a good girl. I'm keeping all the wild for myself. I'm keeping it all to myself. I sometimes open some doors. Sometimes, when special people come along. Just when I was about to say the "having you as my friends makes me want to be a better person, I'm grateful you're in my life" speech, it makes sense that I drew back behind those walls. People don't build walls because they want the worthy ones to climb them. We build walls because we want to be left alone.

Gotta love rainy days

God bless the Budapest metro! I'm blessed with the priviledge to sweeten my eyes with pretty guys every morning as I go to the university. But today I had such a ride, it almost gave me a heart attack. The king, his knights and the joker. As soon as I sat down, this royal looking-like tall beauty came strolling along the wagon in a long peacoat and boots. I skipped a breath and didn't have time to rebound. One by one, three knights came in and stopped somewhere around my bench. The young noble kind was just to my left, with his amazing baby skin and blond hair. Then, of course, the lady's favorite, wearing leather gloves and a pair of big black eyes. And the lone-rider, in his leather coat, reading a book while standing, just close enough for me to see a shade of rough beard through his curly locks. I was so intoxicated, I didn't notice the guy in front was looking straight at me. Your regular urban hipster, but just gorgeous enough to make me wonder why it doesn't rain every day. I almost forgot to get off (the metro!) and then, while wondering up the stairs if all the hot guys in Budapest hide in the underground, I almost hit this rasta-looking hunk. I'm still wondering of I was dreaming. Either way, I'm just like a diabetic in a candy shop. Oh, my!

Italians do it better

We had to give in our evaluation forms for the Microeconomics teacher. I just hope they get the point. That is... if you know people in the class have no basis to work with, as in no elementary logic, maths and graph-reading skills, send in a high school teacher. A good university teacher is just wasted on a bunch that will never understand what he's talking about and will continuously interrupt the class. The title is a quote he dropped accidentally. If you can imagine Botticelli meets The Simpsons there you have it. The course was entertaining, the teacher knew what he was teaching, just not what he was doing. It takes a lot of nerve to control such a class. I can see how not everybody has been in the academia the past year, but it's not mandatory to go to master's if you can't handle it and I think that consultation hours are there if you did not get stuff that have already been explained. I just assume. There are many things I didn't get throughout my academic experience. I'm not that shy to ask, but I'd rather use Google before asking stupid questions. No offense.

A time to party and a time to compute standard errors

It's all too fun when you realize some formulas you mastered three years ago somehow go around you and suddenly you're buried in papers. And then the text you were going to read is really great, but you're dead tired and it drives you crazy not to make the best of it. In the end the five minutes of whole sun and smell of leaves is worthevery minute. Little things are the real landmarks in our life here.

Weekend? What's that?

I'm starting to slip on the je m'en fiche side of life. That's because I'm exhausted. Psychotic, even. I haven't gone through half of the readings I planned for these days. I've seen a patch of grass for five minutes. It's very busy and I really like it in some moments. I know it'll get better in time. The schedule is full now and by the time we start writing term papers it'll get ok. I'd rather spend time in the library than get bored in a cafe. And I'm working to get everything done by December, so that I can take a month of holiday, see some piece of mountain, dive in the snow and cook for Christmas. But everybody's telling me I tend to think too far. Right now... I'll just be wasting time for at least half an hour and hope to get through some microeconomics chapters before I go to sleep.

Making sense

There is just as much making sense of things. When everything makes sense and is in its right place and you are constantly making sense of other things, there is a line up to which you have to stop and hide under the sink to deal with things that don't make sense, but are there. They may be tiny bits. But crazy starts when you just put everything aside and go with the flow. But then you put aside all that made sense. And you waste all that work and lose all that comfort.
Doesn't make sense. I know. I'm in a busy week. I've had all these classes and readings. I like it here and wanted to write about stuff but ended up busy making sense of things. Now I'll just stop for a minute. And look at it. I love cities with metros. It's a silly thing, but I enjoy trains and the distance from the university doesn't annoy me. The room is quite large and I'm quite a spartan about keeping it tidy. That sort of gives me a feeling that I can control at least a tiny bit of my life. So far I enjoy courses. And I find my readings enriching. I might become a geek. But that's all nice as long as I'm having fun being one.
That's just general stuff. Just makes me more confident to remember I actually can't complain for anything else than not being with the ones I love. But in a way I am. They are with me anywhere I go.

Pe cand nu aveam youtube...

... astepam ore intregi in fata televizorului videoclipurile preferate. Imi sarea inima din piept la primele acorduri, stiam cadrele ca pe fotografiile de familie. Erau chestii silly de obicei, pe vremea aceea se purtau ochelarii cu lentile colorate... bleumarin, roz, galben. Imi vine sa chicotesc numai la amintirea sclipiciului cu inimioare si stelute cu care ne orbeam inainte sa mergem sa dansam, bluzele cu plasa, platformele. La 14 ani aveam rochite atat de sumare, dar banuiesc ca la varsta aceea aveau sens. Prietenele mele nu ar mai purta acum nici picate cu ceara bluzele acelea transparente cu sutiene de culoare gresita.
Ma invioreaza faptul ca existau multe trupe care ma oripilau si pe vremea aceea, in special fetitele cu haine argintii mulate. Imi pasa mai mult decat astazi de imbracaminte si distractii, si mai ales credeam in dragoste. Probabil ca doar s-a schimbat perspectiva, nu cred ca e un semn de maturitate. Majoritatea fetelor de varsta mea au ramas la aceeasi faza. Diferenta intre Cool Girl si Cosmopolitan e doar abordarea, si nu continutul. Am fost cititor fidel si al uneia, pe vremea cand aveam unghiile verzi, si al celeilalte, pe vremea cand aveam genti minuscule. Dar cred ca nu ai cum sa duci aceeasi viata cand se schimba contextul. Nu poti sa-ti petreci viata asteptand noaptea de sambata sau economisind bani pentru o pereche de pantofi. Mi-e dor de inghesuiala din fata oglinzii si de orele la care ne pierdeam dansand. Poate vara asta ar merita un remember. Hmm :P

That's so gay...

In ultimele zile foarte multi au fost ocupati cu a fi intoleranti. Cu ocazia Gay Parade, cu ocazia unui nou val de sinucideri printre adolescenti. S-a grabit tot romanul sa arunce cu noroi, sa arate ca ei nu aproba nici veselia si culoarea ostentativa, nici negrul depresiv ce se plimba printre noi pe strada. Domnle, sa faca ce vor la ei acasa, dar sa nu dea exemple proaste copiilor nostri. Care exemple proaste? Eu n-as avea nimic impotriva ca fii mei sa vada doua persoane de acelasi sex sarutandu-se pe strada. Exemplul e prost doar daca il facem noi sa fie asa. Copiii vad lucrurile mai simplu, mai firesc. M-as bucura ca ei sa vada ca pot fi tot ceea ce isi doresc sa fie, si nimeni nu va incerca sa-i ignore si nici nu-i va ataca pentru ceea ce sunt. Adolescentii resimt cel mai acut limitele care ne sunt impuse in ceea ce priveste identitatea. Pentru ca ei probeaza pe rand cateva tipare pana cand ajung la persoana care vor fi o vreme de acum incolo. Presiunea e foarte mare si ai nevoie de un caracter foarte puternic sa te exprimi asa cum esti de fapt. Conformismul poate tine de cultura mainstream sau de vreo subcultura. Dar toti ii cedam intr-o anumita masura. Totusi, libertatea de a alege ar trebui sa ne ramana noua. Cei care o limiteaza nu fac altceva decat sa perpetueze secole de violenta si nepasare. Poti alege sa nu-ti placa ceva, si sa manifesti aceasta opinie. Bineinteles. Dar inainte sa faci aceasta alegere, mi se pare normal sa ne relaxam si sa gandim putin problema, ca doar nu suntem animale. De ce intr-o lume in care comunicam atata tinem mortis sa subliniem diferentele care exista intre noi? Si de ce acele diferente sa fie o sursa de conflict? Gen, religie, orientare sexuala, etnie, preferinte vestimentare sau muzicale... de multe ori cei diferiti ni se par penibili, uneori chiar respingatori. Dar sa radem de diferentele astea la noi acasa. Sa lasam diversitatea sa coboare in strada, sa tinem prejudecatile pentru noi insine. Pentru ca toti le avem. Sa fim intoleranti cu saracia, cu violenta, cu lipsa de educatie. Nu cu cei care au mai mult curaj decat noi sa fie ei insisi.

Ziua barbatului

OK, fie. Am inteles cum sta treaba. Barbatii s-au saturat sa-si vada teritoriile invadate de femei. Nu au ce cauta pe stadioane sau la volan, femeia nu trebuia lasata sa se ridice in picioare cand a terminat de spalat pe jos, in genunchi ii sta cel mai bine. Wow, firmele producatoare de bere s-au apucat sa faca beri "masculine" si au proclamat ziua barbatului, facand pana si din consumul de bere o activitate legata de gen. Fetitele poarta roz si beau Redd's, baietii poarta albastru si beau Stejar.
Stiu, s-au saturat de noi. Suntem superficiale, infantile si mai ales drama queens. Da, avem teorii si tipare dupa care ne luam, la fel ca aproape toata lumea, un proces psihic in absenta acestor tipare nu ne-ar ajuta nici sa alegem intre o ligura si o furculita. Cele mai multe dintre noi ne reevaluam constant sabloanele de gandire. Nici o fetita nu viseaza vreodata ca va merge pe strada cu un barbat cu burta si chelie (decat daca e tatal ei), si totusi noi am invatat sa iubim barbatii asa cum sunt. Da, ne plangem, dar asta fac si ei. Daca nu ne-am astepta mereu randul sa vorbim si chiar ne-am opri sa ne ascultam unii pe ceilalti (sau pe noi insine), am ramane uimiti de faptul ca dorim cam aceleasi chestii. Si femeile vor orgasme, si barbatii vor sa-i tina cineva in brate, dar primul care recunoaste asta se trezeste cu o spranceana ridicata right to his face.
M-am saturat sa scriu despre chestiile astea, lumea ma face feminista radicala, fara sa aiba habar ce e ala feminism. Mi se reproseaza ca sunt prea agresiva, plina de sine, egoista. (Nici nu vreau sa intru in subiectul "daca un barbat e asa, mama, ce coaie are... o femeie, in schimb...") Oi fi. Sunt eu de toate, dar nu am timp de atata filosofie. Ma bucur doar ca nu sunt supusa si insipida.

Ne prindem singuri in capcana

"Daca putem ierta ce ni s-a facut...
Daca putem ierta ce le-am facut altora...
Daca putem trece peste povestile noastre. Peste faptul ca am fost raufacatori si victime.
Poate doar atunci am putea salva lumea.
Dar ramanem pe loc, asteptand sa fim salvati. Cat suntem inca victime, sperand sa fim descoperiti in timp ce suferim."

It's tough to be a woman

Wake up at 6 after going to bed after midnight, and then start doing the mainly same things you did yesterday. Cooking, cleaning, brushing, washing, feeding animals and children, watering plants, the basics. Then add a full-time job and/or schooling, plus other extracurricular courses, plus volunteering for different causes, and there you have part of a woman's day. The rest probably includes care-taking, listening to others, having some fun and grooming. How many hours do all these take? Well, more than 18, that's for sure.
The thing is... at the end of the day, we're not even waiting for some thanks. It's enough to hold and make us laugh. But the real world is not like that. In the real world men expect you to wear heels in order to look taller, make-up to be flawless, wax to be silkier, continuously be careful about what you're eating to be thinner, do your hair, nails, dress in a way that is just conservatory and slutty enough, whatever brings you closer to the cover of Cosmopolitan. It's not just women who look up to that. In the mean while, they could be happy with being average-looking, with some pimples and some wrinkles, hairy legs, chest and other annoying body parts, with larger and larger beer bellies, long and dirty nails, their same old T-shirt, basically still themselves.
One thing that makes me grin is that we got to play in their old boys clubs. We drive cars and handle companies, we research and travel and take the big decisions. Merkel was considered to be the most powerful person in the EU according to a late poll. So if we do all this, if we work double and triple shifts, care for others and still look fabulous, it's because it's in our nature. Not to settle for less. It's tough to be a woman, but it sure is fun as hell.

Sex is overrated

photo by Helmut Newton

Nu inteleg frustrarile si laudele legate de sex, povestile despre cum esti tare cand bagi cat mai multe gagici in pat, despre cum e virtuos sa fii virgina pana la casatorie, desi destui vor de fapt sa te rezolve cat mai repede. De unde si pana unde dupa secole de cultura, inca folosim banalitati drept criterii de diferentiere? Poate pe vremea lui Moromete erai bogatan daca mancai saptamanal carne, si in anii '80 erai o lady daca purtai ciorapi lycra, nu stiu. Dar mi se pare extrem de funny sa atasezi asemenea etichete. Curiozitatea, discutiile, imaginile despre sex au pierdut din relevanta cand sexul a devenit mainstream. Hoarde de crestini si neveste Stepford au vazut in expresia sexualitatii ceva mizer, condamnabil, pe cand industria porno creste tocmai impinsa de imaginea de fruct oprit. Dar totusi, oamenii vorbesc mult mai mult despre sex decat il chiar fac. Including me in momentul asta.

One more piece of heaven

Unele zile au talentul de a fi extrem de enervante si plictisitoare pana la un anumit punct. Si de acolo incolo ma uit in jur si ma astept sa-mi pice ceva in cap, pentru ca totul merge cum nu se poate mai bine. Si ca sa fie si o cireasa pe tort, Sex and the City movie o sa apara la sfarsitul lui mai. Bineinteles, o sa ma pun cat de repede in pat, pentru ca tocmai m-am declarat happy, si ceva nasol tot se mai poate intampla.
Mi-am bagat astazi ghearele prin cutia mea cu jurnale si scrisori. Mi-am amintit cu surprindere si groaza ca am scris versuri candva. Inca mai incerc sa reprim o parte din ele. Dar oricum, mi-am dat seama ca poti angaja un copil de generala sa scrie versuri de melodii, cam tot ce aud la radio e mult sub ceea ce scriam. Si in plus, am sute de pagini de jurnal. Multe teme la care ma intorc mereu, si chiar am fost curioasa sa vad cat de mult ma aseaman acum cu ceea ce ma visam sa fiu dupa 20 de ani, dar mai bine nu. Am citate frumoase din carti pe care le-am iubit la nebunie... din Zorba si On the Road si multe altele. Am scrisori pe care le stiam candva pe de rost si mesaje scrise pe coperti de colegii mei din liceu. Mi-am amintit de ce ma simt atat de batrana. Candva, ma simteam de parca traiesc intr-o saptamana mai multe decat altii intr-un an. Mi-am refuzat putine, si atunci am facut-o de dragul altora. E o cutie cu minuni, pe care sper ca nu a citit-o mama cat am fost plecata. E plina cu nopti nedormite, cu indignari absurde, cu povesti frumoase pe care nu le mai stiu spune. Acolo e ceea ce s-a luat pe banda adeziva de fiecare data cand a fost smulsa.
E ironic cum iti ies in cale povestile altora. In timp ce National Geographic difuza un documetar despre locurile sfinte ale crestinilor, evreilor si musulmanilor din Ierusalim, si despre cum, dupa secole de violenta, impart acest oras, pe CNN se discuta conflictul israeliano-palestinian din Gaza. Dincolo de noi este o lume intreaga, in care viata adevarata se desfasoara in timp ce noi ne facem rodul prin rutina de toate zilele.

One down, baby

Macar actele pentru CEU erau bune. Deci am intrat in competitie. In 1 martie voi da testul TOEFL si daca fac macar minimul de puncte, in aprilie astept raspunsul lor. Nu am aplicat pana la urma la nici o alta universitate. Mi-ar fi placut foarte mult sa fac social policy analysis, pentru ca de fapt asta ma intereseaza mai mult, dar pana la urma e ok si programul de la CEU. Mai ales ca incep sa ma gandesc tot mai serios ca oricum numai la nationalism studies am o sansa la bursa, de vreme ce public policies da doar doua burse integrale pe an, iar studentii sunt de peste tot practic. Alte vesti bune... care nu sunt tocmai vesti, pentru ca nu stiu sigur. S-ar putea sa merg la Bucuresti in miezul lui martie, la o conferinta studenteasca de sociologie urbana, asta daca imi accepta Chelcea lucrarea. Bineinteles, si daca o scriu. Ceea ce-mi aminteste ca trebuie sa ma apuc macar de strans textele, pana stiu ceva sigur, si sa-mi fac un plan pentru a continua cercetarea. Si mai ales, da-mi Doamne minte, sa ma apuc de licenta care sta uitata in sertar. Am cate ceva de citit si o idee de ansamblu, dar inca nici nu mi-am scos lista cu firmele pe care incerc sa le includ in teren. Azi am fost la o marire, cred ca m-am descurcat mai bine decat la examen, acum astept sa vad, inca mai visez la bursa... cat de bine era cand ma platea statul sa stau acasa sa invat. Da, sunt ocupata pana peste cap si ma amuza cum pana acum mi-am pierdut vremea lasandu-ma calcata in picioare si visand la zile mai bune. E atat de comod sa ma vaiet si sa ma complac. Intru iarasi intr-una din perioadele acelea in care sunt libera sa mananc inghetata cand si cu cine vreau eu, si cand toate lucrurile se misca atat de repede si nu mai trebuie sa fiu constant furioasa, pentru ca nu mai exista o singura persoana careia trebuie sa-i pese de mine. De fapt, imi mergea rau pentru ca-mi faceam singura rau. E frumos sa cresc in proprii ochi din cand in cand.

Top of the food chain

In timp ce eram ocupata cu viata mea marunta, bar-hopping and waiting by the phone, facandu-mi griji pentru nimicuri si asa mai departe, Pamantul s-a mai invartit de cateva ori si sunt uimita cate s-au intamplat intre timp.
Kosovo si-a declarat independenta, sustinut de SUA si aprobat de marile puteri europene. Din cate am auzit, un grup de maghiari s-a postat in fata Casei Matei ca sa ceara autonomie pentru secuime. La urma urmei, ca cetateni romani, au tot dreptul de a o face. Daca cererile lor vor fi luate in seama e partea a doua.

Si Fidel Castro a avut bunul simt pe care putini i l-ar fi ghicit de a se retrage la timp. Asta ma inclina sa-l privesc asa cum si-l aminteste prietenul sau, Gabito: "He's a man of ironclad discipline, inexhaustible patience, colossal ideas and insatiable illusions". Normal, Cuba ar fi putut sa o duca mult mai bine. Dar americanii care dau vina pe sistemul politic al Cubei pentru nivelul de viata al locuitorilor sai ar trebui sa se gandeasca de doua ori si sa-si aminteasca de embargourile americane inca din anii '60, datorate faptului ca le-ar fi placut sa-i inchida gura lui Fidel, asa cum le-ar placea acum sa i-o inchida lui Chavez. Trebuie sa ne uitam si pe cealalta parte a monedei.
Lectia zilei, asa cum este ea formulata de Sorana dintotdeauna, este: don't take shit from anybody. Cei puternici vor supravietui chiar si cand o lume intreaga e impotriva lor. 'Cause they're top of the food chain.

I love love

Traiesti cu adevarat doar atunci cand esti deschis si darui, cand nu te temi de nimic; esti deschis, vulnerabil, intr-o continua sarbatoare.
Osho

Anul trecut am ales sa ma sarbatoresc singura de Valentine's Day. Intr-un fel sau altul, e ziua din an pe care stiu sigur ca o voi petrece singura, inecata in rauri de ciocolata. Am fost de-a lungul timpului una dintre aceia indignati ca imprumutam sarbatori de la imperialistii aia superficiali. Imi place sa cred ca impacarea cu care m-am trezit de dimineata e un semn de maturitate. Eu zic sa sarbatorim chestia asta. Sa-i lasam pe copii sa se pupe, sa-si ia flori, ciocolata si telefoane, sa se casatoreasca pentru o zi, sa-si declare dragoste eterna, sa-si bea iubirea in baruri roz cu lumina difuza. Daca avem nevoie de ceva acum, in mod sigur avem nevoie de iubire. Iubirea sub toate formele ei. Bineinteles, ne putem sarbatori dragostea zi de zi, dar de ce sa nu-i lasam o singura amarata de zi pe an, in care sa ne oprim din orice facem si sa cumparam flori.
Ma irita intr-adevar miile de inimioare de peste tot... ma irita strategiile de marketing, si mai ales ma irita ca lumea e plina de cei care simt ca nu au ce sarbatori de ziua indragostitilor. Daca tot e o sarbatoare a iubirii, sa fie a iubirii sub toate formele ei. Sa punem o floare pe biroul plin de hartii, sa scoatem capul pe geam, sa ne amintim de cei care ne iubesc.
Sarbatoare de imprumut, se zice. Toate sarbatorile sunt mai mult sau mai putin importate. Crestinismul a fost la inceput un cult parazit, multe din obiceiurile asociate sarbatorilor sale fiind imprumutate si schimbate. In plus, ne-a amintit de Dragobetele nostru. Fara publicitatea de Valentine's Day, ar fi ramas o sarbatoare regionala sau chiar s-ar fi uitat. Avem doua zile ale iubirii in luna in care puhoaiele dinspre munte se umfla de la zapada topita. Ce vreti mai frumos de atata? Scriu prost si nu ajung la ideea cu care am inceput sa scriu. Dar macar de data aceasta, nu ma mai stramb la perechile frumoase care se plimba pe sub nasul meu. La urma urmei, lumea asta cu-o iubire va scapa...

Daisydays Chronicles January 2007

This was 2007, the way it happened to me... my fascinating year of travel and friends and good food.
via

It was a restless month. It all began in the mountains, we went to Baisoara for New Year's Eve. I had already had my exams and was waiting for an answer about my visa from the Portuguese Embassy. I think I spent most of my time before departure watching Sex and the City series for the second time. Packing the bags was very sad, I had panic attacks all the way. I waited for my minibus to Budapest in the rain, it was very sad. I expected it would hurt more to tear myself apart from the things I left behind. The flights went smoothly, the Swiss Air chocolate was very good. I arrived in a cloudy Porto, but from the plane I could see sun rays passing through holes in the sky and practically touching the water. It was so beautiful, I felt the urge to cry for the first time that day. At least my first tears in Porto were tears of joy. I managed to take the subway, the bus and I got help to find the residence. I got my room and went straight to the computers, to let people know I arrived well. Everybody was incredibly welcoming, the Spanish scared me a little, when they kissed me instead of just shaking hands. I spent my first week getting to know how to get around and taking Ibuprofen, I was extremely sick after the long trip. But I had found my place to be for the next months. I can't describe the beach, the smell in the mornings, the waves and the sun and the buildings in Foz and I don't know if a foto can either. It's all too beautiful because it used to be all mine.