Okay, somebody better pinch me, cause this wave of competence has been just unreal. Even I don't believe how much stuff I've been getting done.
I mean, it's bad enough that I 1) read the entire Granada chapter of my Andalucía guidebook, 2) re-read my program's "Get Set!" booklet, and 3) skimmed several chapters of my Spanish phrasebook.
What's worse is, I also 4) did a currency exchange for a buncha euros, 5) nailed down my phone plan biz for when I get back, 6) opened a checking account, 7) got myself a debit card, 8) transferred my entire summer earnings to my dad's bank account (necessary? yes. depressing? ALSO YES), 9) officially notified the bank of my travel dates, and 10) stopped at LensCrafters-- only to find out that since my glasses are ancient they would have an 85% chance of snapping in half if tightened, so they remain loose and silly, but still.
I (11) did two loads of laundry! I (12) made photocopies of a whole stack of my official documents! I (13) printed out my flight itinerary! I (14) bought. A friggin'. Planner!
I HAVE ALMOST FINISHED PACKING. (15.)
Who is this girl? When I look at that accomplishy list I feel almost woozy.
I am a capable, responsible adult and I can take care of myself? I guess it just goes to show that even though my dinner tonight may have been a (dry) bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats cereal (that I ate with my hands), you can't let that fool you.
Apparently I'm a lot more prepared than I thought I was. While reading up on Granada, I realized that I knew more than I thought I did. As I was reviewing my travel phrasebook, it became pretty clear that I'm better at Spanish than I usually think I am.
50-ish hours away from airport time and it ain't no thang. I got this... I got this. I'm good.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
It's all in my head (t-9 days)
The other night, I had one of those rude and nagging message-dreams.
It was a couple weeks into the future, and I was on the plane to Málaga. (The plane in question happened to be orange and shaped like a car. You know. How it do.) After landing, I was approached by a gaggle of Spanish airport security officers asking for my visa (in English? with British accents? Sure). Only... I didn't have it. I panicked, of course, and started frantically searching my carry-on and my suitcases and turning out every single one of my friggin' pockets, but my visa was nowhere to be found; I had left it at my parents' house. I could SEE Spain through the windows and I knew I was there, but I was forced to turn myself around and get right back on the plane, because, as the surly Spanish security dudes told me in a dramatic chorus, I "should've packed sooner." Then I woke up.
Uhhhh... Dear subconscious: subtle, you ain't.
I have (sort of) been working on packing. But instead of really, y'know, doing any actual packing, I've been doing what my sister calls "Visualizing the Actualization Process" of packing. It's a handy expression that's code for procrastinating HARD.
I've for sure thought about packing. I've talked about it. I've made some lists, trying to brainstorm a roster of Things I Need (while struggling to keep it separate from the instantly flooding-in ideas for a much longer list of Things I Just Really Want--like my obnoxious keepsakes, or lots and lots of cardigans). But until that morning, when in a frenzy of scary-dream-induced productivity I dragged a suitcase into the middle of the room and started throwing random articles of clothing into it, I had done bupkis.
Since the Dream Scare, I've been trying (with some minor success) to get away from the purely mental and make some steps forward that are more.. solid, shall we say?
For instance! I did something that's sorta been at the back of my mind for months now: I bought a water bottle. I was meandering through a Marshalls and bumped into a shelf full of super cheap name-brand ones, so I picked out one of the fancy detailed aluminum kind. How's that for something solid? Aluminum!
It actually makes me feel ridiculously chic and collegiate and environmentally conscious. (There's also the added bonus that it was the only damn one that wasn't slathered in embarrassing slogans in the "GO GREEN! REDUCE REUSE RECYCLE! I LOVE EARTH MORE THAN YOU DO!" family.) It's shiny and gold and I'm a little obsessed with it, probably because I look at it as a totem of the put-together-prepared-and-ready-for-anything Margaret that I want to be. That I want to pretend I am.
She's on it! She's with it! She has a water bottle! Sure, she hasn't packed or practiced her Spanish or straightened out her finances, but did you not hear about her water bottle? She totally has one! Look at her go!
...don't judge me.
So, I did that! I also bought a three-pack of European plug converters, and took my passport and its enclosed visa back to my place so there's no chance it will get left at the home of my parents, cause damned if I'm going to let my subconscious get away with predicting my mistakes, OH HELL NO.
Let's hear it for productivity! Next up:
1) Getting off my bum and doing my dang laundry, cause otherwise I'll never get packed;
2) Buying a gift for my host family, utilizing the tip I got from my roomie's Spanish mother that they'll probably be into fridge magnets and comestibles;
3) Getting my glasses tightened, cause even though I never wear them they are loose as all get out and have taken on a kind of trapezoidal shape that is beginning to concern me;
4) Takin' care of bidness at the bank, including a) opening a checking account, b) wiring a sad majority of my summer earnings over to my father, and c) trying to up my pathetic credit limit;
5) Actually cracking open my Lonely Planet guidebook to maybe find out a little bit more about what I'm getting myself into;
6) Making at least three photocopies of every highly important document/card I'll have with me in Spain and scattering them across safe locations;
and
7) Finally spending some gahdamn time with my Grandma, because I never do enough of that anyway, and since being home I have been totally negligent on that front.
Seven things. That's not so bad! It's even lucky, right?
Right.
It was a couple weeks into the future, and I was on the plane to Málaga. (The plane in question happened to be orange and shaped like a car. You know. How it do.) After landing, I was approached by a gaggle of Spanish airport security officers asking for my visa (in English? with British accents? Sure). Only... I didn't have it. I panicked, of course, and started frantically searching my carry-on and my suitcases and turning out every single one of my friggin' pockets, but my visa was nowhere to be found; I had left it at my parents' house. I could SEE Spain through the windows and I knew I was there, but I was forced to turn myself around and get right back on the plane, because, as the surly Spanish security dudes told me in a dramatic chorus, I "should've packed sooner." Then I woke up.
Uhhhh... Dear subconscious: subtle, you ain't.
I have (sort of) been working on packing. But instead of really, y'know, doing any actual packing, I've been doing what my sister calls "Visualizing the Actualization Process" of packing. It's a handy expression that's code for procrastinating HARD.
I've for sure thought about packing. I've talked about it. I've made some lists, trying to brainstorm a roster of Things I Need (while struggling to keep it separate from the instantly flooding-in ideas for a much longer list of Things I Just Really Want--like my obnoxious keepsakes, or lots and lots of cardigans). But until that morning, when in a frenzy of scary-dream-induced productivity I dragged a suitcase into the middle of the room and started throwing random articles of clothing into it, I had done bupkis.
Since the Dream Scare, I've been trying (with some minor success) to get away from the purely mental and make some steps forward that are more.. solid, shall we say?
For instance! I did something that's sorta been at the back of my mind for months now: I bought a water bottle. I was meandering through a Marshalls and bumped into a shelf full of super cheap name-brand ones, so I picked out one of the fancy detailed aluminum kind. How's that for something solid? Aluminum!
It actually makes me feel ridiculously chic and collegiate and environmentally conscious. (There's also the added bonus that it was the only damn one that wasn't slathered in embarrassing slogans in the "GO GREEN! REDUCE REUSE RECYCLE! I LOVE EARTH MORE THAN YOU DO!" family.) It's shiny and gold and I'm a little obsessed with it, probably because I look at it as a totem of the put-together-prepared-and-ready-for-anything Margaret that I want to be. That I want to pretend I am.
She's on it! She's with it! She has a water bottle! Sure, she hasn't packed or practiced her Spanish or straightened out her finances, but did you not hear about her water bottle? She totally has one! Look at her go!
...don't judge me.
So, I did that! I also bought a three-pack of European plug converters, and took my passport and its enclosed visa back to my place so there's no chance it will get left at the home of my parents, cause damned if I'm going to let my subconscious get away with predicting my mistakes, OH HELL NO.
Let's hear it for productivity! Next up:
1) Getting off my bum and doing my dang laundry, cause otherwise I'll never get packed;
2) Buying a gift for my host family, utilizing the tip I got from my roomie's Spanish mother that they'll probably be into fridge magnets and comestibles;
3) Getting my glasses tightened, cause even though I never wear them they are loose as all get out and have taken on a kind of trapezoidal shape that is beginning to concern me;
4) Takin' care of bidness at the bank, including a) opening a checking account, b) wiring a sad majority of my summer earnings over to my father, and c) trying to up my pathetic credit limit;
5) Actually cracking open my Lonely Planet guidebook to maybe find out a little bit more about what I'm getting myself into;
6) Making at least three photocopies of every highly important document/card I'll have with me in Spain and scattering them across safe locations;
and
7) Finally spending some gahdamn time with my Grandma, because I never do enough of that anyway, and since being home I have been totally negligent on that front.
Seven things. That's not so bad! It's even lucky, right?
Right.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Maybe I should start preparing, or something? (t-16 days)
It would be a total lie to say I hate packing. I actually secretly love it. (Not a secret: I'm pretty great at it. Being the daughter of a champion Tetris player and a civil engineer, I am ACES at fitting things in boxes.)
I do, however, have a major problem with packing. It's the same problem I have with almost every other rewarding or productive pastime: I can't ever seem to get started.
I could call it laziness or focus deficiency, and I could blame anything from my genetic code to 21st century digital culture, but whichever way you slice it I'm still sitting in my jammies past noon on a Monday guiltily facing the plain fact that I've done virtually nothing to prepare for the biggest trip of my life, which is only two friggin' weeks away.
In a word: EEK.
The big question is, what do I do now?
When I faced with a problem that has no instant solution, I do as any good child of my generation should, and turn to Google.
I now have somewhere between 30 and 40 tabs open, and I'm hoping that somehow having pages upon pages of tips for packing and budgeting and culture-shock-avoidance and language immersion will, by the powers of osmosis, make me somehow more ready. Or at least spur me to start getting myself ready. That's reasonable, right? Osmosis is a... thing, right?
Um.
At any rate, the general consensus of these various online tips lists seems to be 1) read up, and 2) pack light.
Hoooboy. 1) something I haven't done, and 2) something I have a history of being terrible at. Not promising.
Aside from the endless vacuum of tips available in cyberspace, I also have a motley collection of more concrete resources at my disposal.
I just need to.. get.. started.
I do, however, have a major problem with packing. It's the same problem I have with almost every other rewarding or productive pastime: I can't ever seem to get started.
I could call it laziness or focus deficiency, and I could blame anything from my genetic code to 21st century digital culture, but whichever way you slice it I'm still sitting in my jammies past noon on a Monday guiltily facing the plain fact that I've done virtually nothing to prepare for the biggest trip of my life, which is only two friggin' weeks away.
In a word: EEK.
The big question is, what do I do now?
When I faced with a problem that has no instant solution, I do as any good child of my generation should, and turn to Google.
I now have somewhere between 30 and 40 tabs open, and I'm hoping that somehow having pages upon pages of tips for packing and budgeting and culture-shock-avoidance and language immersion will, by the powers of osmosis, make me somehow more ready. Or at least spur me to start getting myself ready. That's reasonable, right? Osmosis is a... thing, right?
Um.
At any rate, the general consensus of these various online tips lists seems to be 1) read up, and 2) pack light.
Hoooboy. 1) something I haven't done, and 2) something I have a history of being terrible at. Not promising.
Aside from the endless vacuum of tips available in cyberspace, I also have a motley collection of more concrete resources at my disposal.
KEY:
1. Some glossy Study Abroad magazine my school gave me. Lots of print-heavy articles that zzzzzz,,,,
2. Relics from a time, at least a decade ago, when my dad thought he was going to teach himself Spanish. Why, yes, that phrasebook DOES come with a companion cassette tape!
3. My sister's old Spanish-English dictionary. I was with her at Walgreens when she bought it. For her 10th grade Spanish class. In 1996. I'm not sure either of us has used it since.
4. A birthday present from my dad this past May. I open gift. "Aweseome! A guidebook to.. Seville! Hey thanks, Dad!" Dad smiles. "You know I'm going to Granada, right? I did, like, tell you that part, right?" Blank but pleasant expression. "I mean, you know I won't be living in Seville... not that this isn't TOTALLY COOL." Nervous laughter. It's his own way of telling me he thinks I need to spend a bunch of time in Seville, apparently. Well arrright then, pops. I'll try.
5. Another, less bewildering birthday present from my father. Lonely Planet's guide to Andalucía. Handy!
6. Spanish language flashchart my grandma gave me. The most elementary language basics that I'd hope I'm in no danger of forgetting... but you never know.
Alright. Okay. I'm here, I'm ready, I've got the calendar marked and the information in front of me.
I just need to.. get.. started.
Go? Go!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Firsts, Fear, and Filler (or, t - 18 days)
Two and a half months ago, I ceased to be a teenager.
I'm not sure if I thought of it as more of a loss or a gain, but I know on some level I figured it would make me feel more like a grown up. Being 'in my twenties' feels a lot less forgiving, like I missed my window for that string of mistakes and irresponsibilities people practically expect from you when your age ends in 'teen (lord knows I was way too square to make any of them at the time, but that's a whole other story).
As it turned out, having passed another arbitrary milestone on my way to adulthood didn't drastically change me; in fact, I think I had more typically teenage firsts this summer than I've had in any previous years.
I took my first ever driving test, and subsequently made my first ever round of next-time-when-I-get-a-DMV-lady-who-is-less-mean-I'll-TOTALLY-pass explanations. I had my first awkward experience being underage in a liquor store. For the first time, I watched so many movies in theaters that I ran out of new ones to go see. I finally got my wisdom teeth removed, and got my first chance to find out what all that Vicodin fuss is about. I cursed the government for gobbling a third of the nominal amount on my biweekly paychecks; I paid rent. I did a bunch of stuff I'd never done before. It was great. I was happy.
With my summer essentially over, I'm back at home and jobless, with only two and a half weeks between me and another, bigger first. You see, I'm about to start my junior year of college, and I'll be spending the fall studying abroad in Granada, Spain.
The thing is, I've never left the country before. (It's funny, when I say that around my classmates, people usually say "Why?!" like I must have made this big conscious decision. Simple truth: I never had the chance before! And now I do.) I've also never lived anywhere but in California. Or spoken Spanish for more than about an hour straight. And now I'm only 18 days away from doing a whooole lot of both of those things.
Let me get this much clear: I'm not scared. I don't scare easily. Whether that's because I'm just a steely tough-as-nails type or because I'm too scatterbrained to sit down and process the big-dealiness of what I'm about to do is beside the point.
This is all a much-too-long long way of saying:
Hello! I am Margaret. This is going to be my travel blog.
Keeping records of this is important to me. Cause of that whole never-ever-done-this-before thing. I might be bad at it; consistency has not always been my strongest suit.
But here we are.
Now: let's do this thing.
I'm not sure if I thought of it as more of a loss or a gain, but I know on some level I figured it would make me feel more like a grown up. Being 'in my twenties' feels a lot less forgiving, like I missed my window for that string of mistakes and irresponsibilities people practically expect from you when your age ends in 'teen (lord knows I was way too square to make any of them at the time, but that's a whole other story).
As it turned out, having passed another arbitrary milestone on my way to adulthood didn't drastically change me; in fact, I think I had more typically teenage firsts this summer than I've had in any previous years.
I took my first ever driving test, and subsequently made my first ever round of next-time-when-I-get-a-DMV-lady-who-is-less-mean-I'll-TOTALLY-pass explanations. I had my first awkward experience being underage in a liquor store. For the first time, I watched so many movies in theaters that I ran out of new ones to go see. I finally got my wisdom teeth removed, and got my first chance to find out what all that Vicodin fuss is about. I cursed the government for gobbling a third of the nominal amount on my biweekly paychecks; I paid rent. I did a bunch of stuff I'd never done before. It was great. I was happy.
With my summer essentially over, I'm back at home and jobless, with only two and a half weeks between me and another, bigger first. You see, I'm about to start my junior year of college, and I'll be spending the fall studying abroad in Granada, Spain.
The thing is, I've never left the country before. (It's funny, when I say that around my classmates, people usually say "Why?!" like I must have made this big conscious decision. Simple truth: I never had the chance before! And now I do.) I've also never lived anywhere but in California. Or spoken Spanish for more than about an hour straight. And now I'm only 18 days away from doing a whooole lot of both of those things.
Let me get this much clear: I'm not scared. I don't scare easily. Whether that's because I'm just a steely tough-as-nails type or because I'm too scatterbrained to sit down and process the big-dealiness of what I'm about to do is beside the point.
This is all a much-too-long long way of saying:
Hello! I am Margaret. This is going to be my travel blog.
Keeping records of this is important to me. Cause of that whole never-ever-done-this-before thing. I might be bad at it; consistency has not always been my strongest suit.
But here we are.
Now: let's do this thing.
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