[No actual words here... only flails and gestures]

It takes quite a bit for me to realize how spoiled I am.  Most of the traveling I've done has been to countries where I either speak their language, or they speak mine.  It's a rare occassion when I find myself somewhere that I can't understand road signs.  Then again, most of my travels have been in Latin American and English/Spanish-speaking Europe.  

And then there's Germany.  Today's small victory involved a farmer's market and "ein kilo... um... apfel?"  I think everything I say for the next three weeks is going to come out in question form, complete with shoulder shrug and sheepish, wide-eyed "I'm-really-sorry-I-can't-speak-your-language" smile.  After politely asking for meine apfels, it became clear that the nice farmer required additional information from me to fulfill my request.  It seemed like he was asking which type (or color?) of apfel I wanted, which promptly ended with me elbowing past a few fraus to actually point at the appropriate bushel.  One minute and 1.50€ later, my kilo of apples and I scurried back to Annie's apartment, lest I find something else I needed to buy that falls outside of the boundaries of my vocabulary.  

Bevor wir uns näher kennen lernen, muss ich etwas klarstellen. Ich bin Buchhalterin.

"Before this goes any further, I must be upfront. I am an accountant"

-German: Lonely Planet Phrasebook

Count that as my 6th German phrase that I armed and ready to whip out at a moment's notice. The other 5 are Danke (thank you), Bitte (please, you're welcome), entschuldigung (excuse me), Sprekense English (do you speak English), and Ein Rum Mit Cola, Bitte (one rum and cola, please).  I feel as though I'm fully equipped to conquer three weeks in Germany.

Jet lag has actually been kind of fun today. Wittlich is still asleep at this hour, but I've been up since 4am.  Annie, ever the amazing cook, whipped up some amazing homemade apple and walnut pancakes and fruit salad. I've made a little progress on the actual work I've had to do, and I'm looking forward to a study break at a cafe on the adorable cobblestoned square just outside the front door.  

Back to write on and beating back the unbearable urge to take a nap in the sun...

Oink.

So I had this totally jacked up, finals induced dream the other night.  It involved me, the newly minted 2L, my suitcase and passport, and some German frau at Immigration in the Frankfurt Airport.  As I deplaned and followed the herd of people onto German soil, I was stopped, informed that I was dying of Swine Flu, and had to be quarantined.  The only thing I kept thinking in my dream was, "Motherf***er! And I just spent all that time outlining!"

Thankfully, finals have ended, and the Gypsy, sans pig flu, will be departing the Deep South for Beantown in T-minus 30 hours. Everyone, get excited.

One Armed Paper Hanger...

It's Tuesday night.  Friday, I have my last final in Crim.  Saturday, I'm spending sunup to sundown at the Kentucky Derby. Sunday morning, I leave Nashville for the summer.  I'm supposed to put the contents of my apartment in storage before then.  And we neutered the dog today.  So with all the madness going on around me, what am I doing? Reading about pig flu and looking for a place to get a massage when I get to Boston. I'm incorrigible.

What's the Gypsy excited about today that's keeping her from the more pressing issues in life? I realized in the middle of my Con Law final today that I'm ACTUALLY almost done with my first year of law school.  It's been the shortest and longest year of my life.  I feel like I just got to Nashville a couple of months ago.  But I've loved living here so far, minus the initial culture shock of being back in the South.  Things move a little slower, people are a little nicer (to your face), everyone drives 5 miles an hour under the speed limit...  

There are fabulous things like barbeque sauce and sweet potato fries at 3am, sundresses for football games - a tradition I will never, ever get used to, but am happy to facetiously participate in - and enough Jim Beam to float the city.  People are a little more grateful for small blessings, and small children have manners.  There's sweet tea, Sunday church, and country music.  It reminds me a little of where I'm from, but more of where I want to be. 

Nashville, I think I like you just as much as I knew I would.  Thanks for a fabulous year.

Itchy Passport, Must Travel...

After spending the last 8 months landlocked in the middle of the Deep South (random Canadian date weekends not included), my passport is getting itchy for an adventure.  Ever the resourceful girl, this Gypsy has managed to parlay her educational exploits into a 2 month European adventure.  Thanks to the generosity of Cousin Annie (see Week One of Camino '08), I will recover from my first year of law school, slash, knock out the note for journal write-on in the comfort of her delightful German home. After (hopefully!) some gallivanting in Amsterdam and Bruges to celebrate the true end of all things 1L, the Gypsy will be off on her first Italian Adventure - 6 weeks of International Law on the Venitian Grand Canal.  It almost makes outlining for next week's Property exam exciting.  Or not.

Fortunately, I'm busy enough with finals prep not to have time to spend all day mooning over the weekend trips to be taken, new people to meet, and food to consume.  And then there's the apartment I still have to pack up and put into storage...

But I digress.  The Gypsy is currently accepting suggestions of places to go and people to see during Tour de Force '09 (thanks for the name idea, KMC).  Prague, Florence, Positano, Stockholm, and a beach on the Dalmatian Coast are on the current short list of must-sees.  Anywhere EasyJet or RyanAir travels, I am game to go. Even better, I have a totally bitchin' new camera, and will be travelling with the laptop, so inquiring minds won't have to wait until July 4th weekend to see pictures of the Gypsy's exploits.

Only 3 weeks 'til Frankfurt... Until then, pray that I don't lose my mind somewhere in the Coase Theorem.  

The End. For now.

4 weeks hiking across Spain, 1 week in Tunisia, and a few days saying goodbye to Madrid. It really don't get any better than this.

I'm at sort of a strange place in my journey. I spent a couple of years thinking about this trip, several months talking about it, and a few weeks planning it. After all of the lead up, now it's almost over. I'm sad, certainly, that my free time is quickly coming to an end. On my 3 hour drive back to Madrid from Expo 2008 in Zaragoza, it suddenly occurred to me that 10 days from now I'll be sitting in a classroom. It was sort of a jarring thought. There are going to be some melancholy moments on the plane next Tuesday when we take off from the Madrid airport. I miss all of my friends, but I really can't say I'm ready to come home. Shame that one's already been decided for me.

I'll see some of you when I get home Wednesday morning, or very soon after. But buckle up - I'm already considering doing the Camino Primitivo. Camino 2009, anyone?

Camino: The Post Mortum

Well, after a week's worth of recovery and perspective, I can finally wrap my mind around the last month of walking that I did. I was commenting to a friend the other day (and I may have mentioned this in a previous post, but my memory fails me right this second) that I feel like the 4 weeks I spent on the Camino were 4 completely separate, yet equally incredible trips. There was such a broad spectrum of landscapes I saw, people I associated with, and events I experienced that it's incredibly difficult to believe that they were all part of the same adventure.

Two nights before I arrived in Santiago, I stayed in an active monastary in Sobrado dos Monxes in the province of A Coruña. After dinner, I found myself huddled around a small table in a small kitchen with 4 other Spaniards discussing the day. We each had our own reasons for doing the Camino - 3 guys each travelling separately from Madrid are all athletic and were trying it as a creative recreational activity. Carmen, the Latin professor from León had a more spiritual, though not overly religious interest in the Camino. One of the the Madrid boys had started a day or two after I had from Irún. We compared stories about the different places we'd stayed, and agreed that we really were just ready to get to Santiago. Carmen interjected at one point and said that she really didn't care if she made it to Santiago, because the real Camino for her was walking every day. The 3 guys and I exchanged glances, and I told Carmen that while I understood her viewpoint, after walking 730km, I was going to need to get to Santiago if I got there crawling on my hands and knees or I just might not be able to live with myself for awhile. The guys agreed with me, and Carmen sort of smiled and shook her head at us with a knowing look that clearly said we young whippersnappers were missing something. Later that night, two of the Madrid boys and I were rehashing the conversation, and we agreed that it would be impossible for us to just stop right that second and feel like we had done the Camino. We'd set a goal for ourselves of arriving to Santiago, and we'd feel like we had cheated ourselves if we didn't get there.

I didn't get much sleep in Sobrado dos Monxes thanks to a near disaster involving me and a top bunk with no railings at 3am, and wine and philosophy in Arca kept me awake the following night. By Sunday, I was still walking to Santiago, but I wasn't coherant. My shin splints had decided that they hated me, my backpack, and Spain and weren't going to stop complaining until I stopped walking. I had acquired a really attractive hitch in my step because of the pain emitting from my mutilated baby toe. And then I got to Monte do Gozo. I have an emotional attachment to this place dating back to the last Camino. It's a high point 5km from the cathedral, and the end of all of the hard work. From here, it's literally all downhill, but gradually so as not to completely destroy pilgrim's knees. From the highest point of the hill, you can see the spires of the cathedral. I have no words to describe the experience of standing on the top of the hill. By the time I made it there, I felt like I was floating. For the first time in 28 days, I was positive I was going to be able to make it all the way to the cathedral - no small detail, considering the fact that two days earlier I was questioning my ability to finish the last 8km of the day's walk. It was the emotional pinnacle of my trip.

The walk through Santiago to the cathedral is mind numbing. You know the cathedral is RIGHT THERE, but it feels like you just can't get there fast enough. Then you take a right turn around a corner, and you can see one of the towers of the church about 500 meters away. And that's it. You know you've arrived. I thought I was going to be more emotional about actually standing in front of the cathedral again. I was excited, don't get me wrong - excited enough to call my mother and wake her out of a dead sleep at 4am Texas time to tell her that I had just walked across a country. But it wasn't the sort of rush that I had thought I'd get.

And then I remembered my conversation with Carmen two nights earlier, and I realized she was right in a way. Getting to Santiago was amazing and validating and all of the fantastic things I knew it would be. But the Camino itself was better. I had the opportunity to really get to know one of my cousins who was an essential stranger to me a year ago. I had a chance to spend time with an old friend who I don't see enough anymore now that she lives on the other side of the world. I remembered what I'm capable of. My faith was restored in the kindness of absolute strangers, and the beauty of the smallest acts of generosity. I have a special connection with new friends that can only come from getting to know each other during a hard 11 hour hike. I have some REALLY tasteless jokes about the Last Supper. I was reminded of the peace and tranquilty a long walk by the beach can offer.