Call for TLC

A recent flu, a wretched cold, 'that time of the month', blistered hands after painting a 4-bedroom house, a bumped head and twisted ankle from falling and knocking over things whilst painting, not to mention cleaning the puta house afterwards, left me with just about enough energy to put a frozen pizza in the oven and the dire question: where is my share of TLC!?

(Yes, I'm being a prat. I feel like it)

Red Martini...

...is my drink of the year.

For someone (me) who hates gin, I'm quite astonished how much in general I like Martini's, especially with olives; however it was only until recently that I discovered Red Martini - and that's the only thing I have been ordering ever since.

A simple beer drinking girl, I'm quite ignorant when it comes to the composition, brand or image/status of an alcoholic drink (I also don't give a f***), but out of sheer curiosity when I tried to look up Red Martini I found squat.

A bit more probing lead me to discover that it is Italian. Hmmm.

Anyway, it's this sexy red-gold colour and is to drink straight with ice. It is quite strong, but so delicious you won't find it tasting of raw alcohol, and it has this super twist of olive flavour that makes it just spanking.

Yes I'm sold on this drink, so if you haven't had it yet - order one next time you are out. Martini Vermut is apparently one of the best brands of this Martini, but it really doesn't matter; it's a drink that no matter how cheap, it cannot taste bad.

Granada

If I had to describe Granada in one word, enchanting is the first thing that would come to my mind.

Granada, in the Southern province of Andalucia, is everything you expect from a little town that used to be the capital of the Moorish kingdom some 700 years ago. It was the last Muslim town to fall to the Christians in 1492 and used to be one of the only places where the Muslims, Christians and Jews lived together in harmony (well, somewhat).

The town is made of myriad narrow and winding cobble streets where you can loose yourself, but never really get lost. Small, royal and red furnished Arabic tea and sheesha joints are everywhere alongside Moroccan artifact sellers, trying to give you the best bargain.

People are friendly, laid back and always smiling. And the tapas!? Order a beer and you get a free hamburger, half a grilled-chicken, or an entire fried cod-fish; order 3 beers and you won't be going for dinner.

Being a university town, the party scene is pretty hot. The bars are open till about 2, after which you have some time to go home and change, as discos don't seem to pick up until 3-3:30am (!!!).
Yup, that's the life ay.

Last but not the least, justified to be the sole reason you visit Granada, is the Alhambra.
(see pic above)

The Alhambra - is the 'Red Fort' is where the Arabs ruled from, and is based at the bottom of the Sierra Nevada mountain range.

Here you will see the palaces of all the Muslim sultans who reigned. As you can imagine, the humongous palaces, courtyards and gardens are stunning with grand yet intricate Arabic architecture. You will also see the (not so stunning) reformation done by Spanish King Carlos V, who took over the palaces and Granada when the Muslim rule fell.

About 8000 people visit the Alhambra everyday, so you need to book your tickets way in advance. It was up for contest as a new wonder of the world, it's a shame it didn't make it.

Brimming with Muslim, Christian, Jewish - and not to mention Spanish - culture, Granada is a fantastic place to visit.

A much needed blah

The last 2-weeks have flown by way too fast for me to register what happened.

Between teaching double time, visitors, house being painted, writing for Gridskipper, Map Magazine, European Vibe and Written Road, meeting Edelman Madrid, meeting officials at the Indian Embassy, trying to meet lawyers, doing a documentary on the Bangladeshi community, researching Universities, working on my London School of Journalism Course, dancing, going out, and running in vain attempt to feel remotely fit -- blogging and anything else seems to have taken a back-step.

With all this networking, and as the time comes to begin thinking of sorting out paper work to stay longer in Madrid, myriad thoughts have been spinning in my head.

From this, have sprouted many a profound rants waiting to be vomited, but every time I have thought of putting them to blog, I have chosen to put myself to sleep instead.

Have a look at my basic yet convoluted thought process these days, and it might just explain why choosing to sleep has been a saner option:

What am I doing with my life? But I am so happy! Am I really happy? Why am I so happy? I haven't really achieved much. Do I want a stable job? No way! But maybe I should try to see if I can get one. I haven't pitched a single story to any publication since I've come here. I want to be a VJ. I want my own TV show. Maybe I should get back into TV production. But I don't want to be picking up camel shit again. TV show -- that's the answer. But I look crap on video. Video blogging, I need a VLOG! I need to give back to society, I should work for a NGO. I should move to India if I want to work in an NGO. I miss Indian food. I'm so lucky to be in Spain. I want to make this place home. But can I? Legally it's a pain in the ass. Maybe I should look at buying some property here. But I don't have that kind of money. And would I have a future here? I don't want to be a poor English teacher all my life. I should do that masters degree in NY. But I'd have to move, again! But I guess I could move back here. But then would I want to move back after a stint in NY? Look at my brother, he is 18 and has it all figured out. What does that say about me? Will I always be a lost person? But that's what has brought me here, so maybe that's a good thing.....ARGH.

I could go on and on.

I hope my parents don't read this because they will tell me to meditate.

My best friend arrives in 8-hours. So all these thoughts will just have to take a serious halt until he leaves. Can't you just wait to read my next post!?

Social Exhaustion

Two months of continuous visitors, a 30-hour working week, 4 trips away, dancing when I should be sleeping, constantly eating out (aka drinking), has left my blood toxic, me mentally and physically exhausted, and overall feeling like crap.

Although I cannot put a finger on exactly what I have achieved (the story of my life ever since I moved to Spain), I feel it has been a productive two months; feelings are all I go on these days. Loads of highs and no specific lows, so it's all good; it's what 'being young' is all about. Right?

Also, I woke up today and looked at my list of things to do from two-weeks ago. Nothing has been crossed out, so the aim for last few hours of the day is to cross at least two things off - and one of them is blogging :)

So today as I sit to blog -- basically out of sheer guilt of not blogging for a week -- this is about all I can muster for the moment.

Hmmm. Bad excuse huh?

Yeah. I think so too.

Vindaloo Masala

I decided to go eat on my own for a change at my newly discovered Mr India restaurant down the road from my house.

See, when you go and eat Indian food with non-Indians, you don't get the real stuff. Things are modified, especially spice wise, so that customers don't run to the bathroom holding their stomachs or leave with smoke coming out of their ears.

"Namaste Madam," says Ramu the Bangladeshi dude as I enter, and asks me in Hindi if I was expecting anyone to join me.

"How did you know I was Indian and spoke Hindi?," I ask.

"Madam, you come here often, we know our people," he says.

Hmmm.

I order a chicken vindaloo, garlic naan and a King Fisher beer.

"Very good madam, I will make it apna style (our style)," he says.

Yippee. Finally a good authentic meal was on my way, my mouth was watering already.

After watching 6 Best of Aishwarya hits on the telly in the restaurant, my fragrant chicken vindaloo arrived with a steaming garlic naan and chilled beer.

The first bite was heaven. The spicy and hot curry touched my taste buds like they haven't been touched in a while.

Mum, I missed your curry; dad and bro, you would have loved this.

But, it seemed to get spicier by the bite.

The more I ate, the more my mouth burned, the more it blistered my throat, and later my ears began steaming, and shortly after it seemed to start scorching out through my eyes.

My beer was long over, and I couldn't taste the food anymore. I was stung badly by this chilly.

I started to feel dizzy as the spice molecules accumulated and aggravated my palate.

"Madam, are you ok?" asks Ramu.

"This is killing me. What have you put in this!?" I ask.

"Madam, you are one of us. I told Harvindarji (the chef) to make it as if he was making it for himself. Maybe you cannot handle it, let me take it back and add some yogurt and make it mild for you."

What was happening? Where had my taste buds gone? Was I losing them to Madrid? I don't want to turn into those 'firangs' who cannot handle chilly. But how could that be? I am...(well was...) queen of eating chilly.

It was intolerably spicy and I bet even Harvindarji wouldn't have been able to eat it.

Well, that's the story I'm going with anyway.

An uncategorisable relationship...

He doesn't affect my current life in any way, yet I think of him everyday. I would love to see him, yet do not crave it.

I remember vividly every conversation, every chat, every outing I have had with him.

I wake up sometimes and smile because I remembered something he said to me, maybe 5-years ago. I have messages and emails saved from ages ago. Just because.

I take refuge in whatever little time I have spent with him. It has all been pure, expectationless and nurtured little by little.

Not seeing him often has not distanced me - as physically being in his presence has been the least part of the relationship. He has always managed to move me in some way.

I have seen him strong, overpowering, overwhelming; charismatic and fierce.

I have also seen him weak and crawl into his shell.

Although only momentarily, I have seen him discouraged and defeated.

I have seen him exposed as he narrates to me nothing but the naked truth - a vulnerable side, that has only increased my respect for him.

I have learnt from him, been encouraged by him and pushed by him.

I used to be this silly little girl trying to be around him, hungry for guidance, lacking self-confidence.

Today, somehow I cannot recall feeling more like a woman but around him.

I'm not sure what I have with him, yet I don't fear losing it, as I believe I never will.

It's not love, yet somehow it's been unconditional - at least from my end.

It's not an affair - not emotional, or physical. Never has been, never will be.

Perhaps I'm living in my own bubble that will see this relationship in no other way.

I have no fucking clue; that's why I love it.

Book Review: Freakonomics

I was elated when I found this book at the airport in Sweden. A regular reader of their blog, I've had my mind on this book for a while; the one copy left at the shop made me feel like it was meant for me.

As the name suggests, it's about freak(y) economics. It takes the relatively dry subject of economics and sexes it up by using it to explain interesting, most random yet totally valid questions.

For eg: Which is more dangerous, a gun or a swimming pool? Why do drug dealers live with their mums? Does your name effect your success in life? How crime rates and abortion are directly related...What do school teachers and sumo wrestlers have in common? things like this.

It's written by crazy economist Steven Levitt who in his university days hated calculus and wasn't particularly clued onto conventional economic theory. But his attention to detail, ability to ask great questions and analyze data in ways that just didn't occur to others, is what made it all happen. A Harvard graduate and an economics professor at University of Chicago, he was recently listed as one of the '100 People Who Shape Our World' by Time Magazine.

The Freakonomics idea sprouted when Stephen J Dubner, award-winning author and journalist who regularly writes for the NY Times and The New Yorker (and who was first published at the age of 11!), interviewed Levitt for the NY Times. With Levitt's crazy economic thinking ability and Dubner's writing expertise - voila, you have the book Freakonomics.

Written in lay man's language, it's an easy and intriguing read - and made me go 'what?!' more than a few times.

However, the only problem with the book is how it is a bit too disjointed. Filled with lines and lines of fascinating conclusions, as the information intelligently rolls off one after the other, it's not difficult to wonder how when you were reading about onions, how you are now reading about pig's ears (metaphorically speaking, of course).

I read most of the chapters with ease and perpetual curiosity, just wanting to know where he is going with his theories, but there was the odd chapter that dragged on way too much, and the odd chapter I skipped after reading a few pages.

It's written very sincerely though, and its bonus material at the end was my favourite.

The stuff you will read in the book will probably not affect your life in any significant way(as it says); you will not necessarily agree with his analysis, but nor will you be able to challenge it.

But, what it does do, and why it is worth reading, is because it will (as it says) encourage you to challenge conventional wisdom eg what we read every day in newspapers, or hear on the news. It encourages you to use your intuition and instincts to think beyond what you see on the surface, because most of the time what we see or hear, is not necessarily true.

Start off by reading this interview of Levitt by Dubner in the NY Times; it's a super prelude and summary of the concept of Freakonomics. If you enjoy the interview, you will enjoy the book.

Map Madrid

So in my attempt to write as much as possible, and get exposure as much as possible, and network as much as possible, I have started to contribute to Map Madrid - a cool Madrid based cultural, social, political and simply fun website.

I was lucky with my first piece, as they chose to feature something from my blog I had written last year - one of my favourite pieces actually - check it out here.

Friday the 13th

I fly to Paris tomorrow: on Friday the 13th. A detail I only realised a few days ago.

For those who are wondering what the big deal is, Friday the 13th is known to be the most unlucky day in the world. I forget why, and honestly I couldn't care less to find out.

I'm not superstitious at all, but there's something with this date that allows something uncomfortable to linger in your mind.

(Random recollection: many buildings in India don't have a 13th floor because the number is considered so unlucky that real estate agents never manage to sell apartments on that floor! Now how's that for super superstition!)

Anyway, good news is that in Spain it's Tuesday the 13th that is deemed fatal - so I suppose I'm in the clear.

Lot's of posts in the backlog, am back Sunday night - stay tuned.

Movie Review: Cheeni Kum**

So India seems to be in this whole 'let's talk about taboo or unconventional subjects, that'll give us a hit' mood - and voila, we have Cheeni Kum.

{FYI: I've found a little Bollywood video club close to home, and was ecstatic to see that they had the latest (though fake) films, but no problem - as long as it's watchable I don't give a shit about piracy}

Anyway, 64-year old hottie Amitabh Bachchan falls in love with 34-year old Tabu. Big controversy. Tabu's father Paresh Rawal goes on a hunger-strike in protest. That was all of his role, quite an insult to his talent actually. Bachchan gives him some super filmi dialogue. They get married. That's all it was and it was 2-hours 20 minutes long.

Very average film with mediocre script that didn't do much justice to the film's superb actors. The humour was cheesy and the small details in the film were overthought:- e.g. Tabu asks Bachchan to run to the closest tree and back to see if he has stamina to do more than touch her hand. HUH?

I found the side-kick with bad teeth called 'Colgate' the funniest part of the film. Oh and I couldn't keep my eyes off Bachchan's pigtail. It was the ugliest and most distracting pigtail I have ever seen. Why did they have to give him a puny pigtail?

There is a cute little girl in the film called 'sexy'. 9-years old, she plays Bachchan's best friend and is dying of cancer. In the beginning I thought it was a well thought out detail of the film, but it bypassed all the nerves and died (literally) too soon.

The scenes were trying too hard to be funny. Tabu's pet name was Tangdi Kebab, and Bachchan's Ghasspoos. Funny. Bachchan did manage to pull it off gracefully though, and looks good.

Tabu had the corniest dialogues and too many scenes walking as if she was doing a Sunsilk commercial; Zohra Segal who plays Bachchan's mother was typically Zohra Segal so she was a joy to watch.

Thank God there was no kissing scene, I would have barfed.

Oh and I forgot to mention a very important character in the film: Bachchan's umbrella. The movie has more umbrella than song, can you believe it?

Other than the focus on Paresh Rawal being a diabetic, and Tabu finding the rice in Bachchan's restaurant too sweet, I didn't quite get the sence of the film's 'less sugar' name either.

Hmmm. I can't help thinking I missed the plot of the film. The message was interesting and valid, especially for an Indian society, but it's depiction was pretty lame.

Wait for the DVD to come out - and that too only if you fancy some cooking tips (Bachchan is a famous Chef in the film), but otherwise it's quite a waste of time.

I've got the giggles...

...the unacceptable, annoying, need-to-be-slapped type giggles.

Anything anyone says to me: be it about Carlota's new diet plan where she will loose 10 kilos in 5 weeks, or Linus is ill because of inhailing too much smoke from when his house caught fire, or how Maria's day at work was shit because Raul spat in her face, to Stephen's travel plans, or my student explaining to me how to cook duck in wine - I cannot not feel like laughing. If not laughing, I have a perpetual smirk on my face that I feel like slapping myself.

And this has been going on for atleast a month now. Thank goodness for being able to perpetually bite my lips. Pretty pathetic really.

The most problem is with people I know well, especially my flatmates - I'm definitley getting a shouting or a slap from one of them soon.

And the bigger problem is, I don't know what is causing this adolescent behaviour on my part. There is nothing funny about what anyone is saying to me. Infact, the more serious something seems to be, the more I want to fart a laugh.

When they talk, everything turns into a caricature style comic and my imagination starts running wild, and I can't take anything seriously.

This has happened to me before, but never for more than a day or two.

I keep telling myself it's a phase. Whatever it is, it needs to stop. NOW.

Help?

Laugh for the day

This made me laugh out loud this morning as I was reading the IHT.


Check out more here.

Sweden and Denmark

'Blonde and sausages' would be pretty close synonyms for these Scandinavian countries I visited last weekend. Other descriptive words would include: super sophisticated, quiet and vodka.

I land in Malmö and immediatley feel the absence of a city's hustle and bustle, alongside the exposure to language with dots and circles above characters. The airport is spick and span, looks expensive; it smelt of expensive perfume.

People spoke flawless English with a strong American accent (thanks to the undubbed American television rage in the country), and dressed very well.

The bus ride from the airport into the city gave me a good summary of how green the country is. The expanse of land is tremendous and it is all deep, rich, healthy green with perfectly manicured fields - something I gawed at from the plane too.

I was visiting an old friend from Dubai in Sweden - and thanks to him and his silver card, I got to crash with him at the Hilton for free! I had come there for the Midsummer's Day celebrations on Friday, June 22 - which is a national holiday in the country.

Midsummer's Day is the longest day in the year in Sweden and is celebrated with much gusto behind closed doors (ie in people's homes). I suppose that explains why a walk around the city Friday morning felt like walking in a movie set. Beautiful, colourful houses, small quaint streets, churches with pointy oxidised green copper roofs, and not a soul to be seen.

I felt strange even talking loudly, afraid I might wake someone - where was everyone!?

We were lucky to be invited to a Swedish style fiesta for this day - which is when we realised everyone was inside filling glasses of strawberry cider whilst preparing the sausages and flower tiaras.

Soon a small dance in the garden would take place during which a decorated flower cross would be stomped into the soil, promising a rich harvest for the rest of the year. Unfortunately, thanks to the rain - we had to skip this step and begin with the food.

We ate raw herring (which is also a fish by the way), and I don't know how this Sashmi type food entered a sausage and meatball cuisine - but it was the speciality of the evening. During the meal, we stopped every 10 minutes to sing a song in Swedish, after which we had to scull down a shot of Vodka Schnaps. Topped with a huge bowl of strawberries and cream, I felt like a spoilt drunk princess - I wish I had the flower tiarra.

3-shots and two wines later, I was eating raw fish, playing Swedish games and singing Swedish karoke till the wee hours of the morning. After 10 hours of these sacred Swedish Midsummer's day rituals, our contribution to Sweden's good harvest was complete and we set on home.

The next day was bigtime recovering from hangover day. As we head out to get some greasy hangover food - yet again we saw noone on the streets. Where was everyone today? I think the Swedes need to learn to leave their Ikea furniture alone for a while.

The next day we needed to get out of this no-people city so we made a trip to Copenhagen in Denmark. This is where it seemed all the people were.

Similar style to Malmö, yet bigger and busier - Copenhagen had a pleasant and more 'happening' scene. Here you could actually talk at normal volume without fear of waking people, and there were signs of life on the streets.

A long walk with a Danish friend and two hot-dogs later, we were ready to head back to Malmö as we had no Danish money left. I don't understand why they are part of the EU - and don't have Euro yet. Was very inconvenient and the exchange service fee was ridiculous.

All in all, the cities were quite typically Scandinavian -- Hansel and Gretal (yes I know they are German!) is what I was reminded of. As a brown-skinned, black-haired girl I stood out amongst the Swedish barbie dolls, and although I enjoyed experiencing these Nordic countries, I am quite happy to be back in Madrid.

Although totally disorganised, you can check out some photos here.

(Blog photo - shows the dancing around the cross ritual of Midsummers Day in Sweden courtesy: www.sweden.se)

Movie Review: The Namesake ****

Movies like this make me proud of Indian cinema. The life and emotions of an ABCD (American-Born-Confused-Desi), or as a matter of fact, any Indian child brought up abroad, couldn't be captured better.

Parents go abroad to live the 'American Dream' - have children who grow up torn between two radically different cultures - tragedy strikes - realisation dawns - children brought back to their roots - they manage to find a balance between their 'modern' life abroad and the profoundness of their Indian culture.

Although over two hours long, the movie is super fast and cuts straight to the chase, without over-dramatising.

Although I haven't read Jhumpa Lahiri's book, I can't imagine the movie to be a disappointment for those who have.

Phenomenal acting by Tabu, Irfan Khan, and Kal Penn; the music by Nitin Sawney starts and ends the movie with perfect harmony; the colour palette evolves with the story and the shots are asthetically brilliant; there are nudity and kissing shots that seem natural rather than eeky for a change; all-in-all Mira Nair deserves a big round-of-applause.

India has been depicted wonderfully through the colours and craziness of Calcutta alongside the joyful and warm, yet turbulent lives of Indian families. When the film zooms into New York - the radical divergence of lifestyle is bluntly evident, allowing you to not only understand but feel the differences of culture.

I'm not an ABCD, but something quite close. Having moved to England when I was 3, then back to India when I was 10, then Dubai, Australia and now Spain, most of my 'developing years' have been spent outside Mother India.

A 7 year stint in India and regular visits have kept me rather grounded to my roots, yet the frequent confusion in morals and 'sence of belonging' I feel that stems from (perhaps) over-exposure to the western world, is reflected in this film with biting accuracy.

One of the best things in the story of this film was the Indian-dates-American-but-marries-Indian bit.

After being in love with an American blond-hair-blue-eyed girl, a sudden gravitational pull towards his Indian-ness leads him to marry an Indian girl.

This Indian girl has been brought up abroad too and has the perfect mix of western ambition/sex appeal and Indian culture - so all seems hunkydory at first. Then she lands up cheating on her husband with an old French lover, which leads to their separation. A message for all Indian parents who believe that their Indian children MUST marry other Indians: it will not secure a long and happy marriage.

A must watch for all Indians living abroad, and all Indian parents with children living abroad, and anyone else who wants a true peek into the lives of a modern Indian family today.

Una conversación...

...con una niña de 11 años

Ella: Tienes novio?

Yo: Si...

Ella: Como se llama?

Yo: Raúl

Ella: Es guapo?

Yo: Si, guapisimo

Ella: Te gusta mucho?

Yo: Si, claro

Ella: Vas a casar con el?

Yo: No!

Ella: QUE? y si no vas a casarse con el, porque es tu novio?

Yo: Caemos bien, disfrutamos el tiempo juntos, me hace reír...

Ella: Entonces? porque no vais a casar?!

Yo: Somos diferente, no va a funcionar

Ella: Hmmm.

Ella: Has tenido mas novios?

Yo: Si...

Ella: PERO QUE LIGONA ERES!

Yo: Que no! es normal, desafortunadamente no es fácil encontrar alguien que quieres por todo tu vida.

Ella: Mi padre era el primer novio de mi madre, y se enamoran y se casaron.

Yo: Tu madre tiene mucha suerte entonces. Idealmente tiene que ser así.

Ella: Como puedes amar mas que una persona?

Yo: Estos días no salimos solo por amor.

Ella: Que? (con una cara serena y totalmente confundido)

- dejé la conversación aquí.

And there he was...

His salt-&-pepper hair was turning grey, but the cool Richard Gere way. He had the refined look that comes with maturing and understanding more of the world around. His eyes were as blue as ever, he was as fit as ever. He still loved his dessert, and whipped it up like a child. He could still make me laugh.

I have loved two men in my life, and he was one of them. Immature, naive, puppy love perhaps, but stemming from a strong friendship, deep none-the-less. Back in the days, I would have died for him.

Fiercely successful, world-traveller-investment-banker he was today. His arrogance and aggressiveness hated because of envy by most - but an explosive magnet for me - today made him a ruthless yet clean and sharp businessman, with the world at his doorstep.

Working hard. Very hard. But loving every second of it and soaking in all it's rewards. He radiated success.

So did his girlfriend. Perhaps made of the same lust, together they shone.

I could still see the boy I knew 6-years ago though. The clear-cut, go-getter. Crazy yet logical, strong yet vulnerable. Sensible yet spontaneous. Sometimes as cold as ice, but warm as a big blanket when he needed to be.

I never understood why we broke-up. Was part of his painfully practical attitude. Or perhaps I was carried away and mixed-up my feelings with the truth, like I always do. It's a convenient thing to do.

With fond memories that no-one can steal from me - life goes on. And that's just how it is.

Old-times in Paris

Just got back from a super weekend in Paris. Went on a whim to see old friends I went to university with in Australia. Hadn't seen them for 4-years but when we met, it was like we met yesterday. That's the beauty of genuine friendships.

I've been to Paris 3 times before, but going from Madrid to Paris was a whole different ballgame. Made me feel like I went from a humble town (yes, Madrid) to "the" epitome of all clichés a European society stands for.

Flawlessly stylish clothes, families that seem to have walked right out of a catalogue, posh culture, expensive coffee and uhh let uz not forget zi accent.

Far from being tall-blond-hair-blue-eye-porcelain-skinned, I felt like I needed a twirly mustache and French hat to fit in. I also must have been the only one on the street in flip-flops without pedicured feet. But I had the 'get lost I'm from Madrid' attitude going on; my saving grace. And I speak Spanish, oo wantz to zpeak French anyway.

With their conventionally yet perfectly correct lives, everyone seems to have their act together in Paris. Another reason that shook me a little bit. Young, beautiful people, viciously successful, living the upper-class good life.

Call me demented but nope, I wasn't envious. Not the least bit.

The slimy snails, caviar and frogs legs don't go well with me either. I much rather devour a crepe (or 4!) on the street.

I missed Madrid, and glad I chose Spain rather than any other country in Europe.

Don't get me wrong, Paris has it's own charm. It's a beautiful city.

But my bias towards Spain has begun. I'm turning into a Madrileña.

Indulgences and Summer

The sun is out, the wind is warm and pleasant, dresses, shorts and bikini's are out of the closet and I'm on an inexplicable high.

Yet at the same time I feel lost and anxious; perpetually preoccupied about fish knows what.

I have been buying crap. Cheap, disposable summer clothes that I know I won't land up wearing, music that I will listen to only on a whim, and am eating lot's of ice-cream. Must start running.

The Matador boys have gone, I hardly know them but it feels weird and kind of sad that they have gone. Was a pleasure to have them over, who knows if I will ever see them again. They came and went in a snap. Man, there are not enough hours in a day, and it's already June.

So what? I don't know.

Crazy month coming up for me. Am off to France on Thursday for the weekend to see some close friends. *Thank goodness I'm getting paid tomorrow*

Then am here for a while and then I go to Sweden to hangout with another friend. And then June is over!

Sheesh kebab.

Matador Travel in my house!

So the boys from Matador Travel are in Madrid and have been crashing at my house (although they have a crazy schedule and I have only seen them once so far :)

Travel-writing was what got us in contact and we have been in touch since the beginning of the year, but met for the first time a few days ago.

For those who aren't familiar with this site, it's a website with some great written content, aiming to bring travelers together and encouraging people not only to travel, but to make a difference when they do. Pretty cool sentiment I think, do check it out when you get a minute.

Ross(L) and Ben(R) - founders of the site, have quit their day-jobs and are working full-time to make Matador happen. They already have over a 1000 users from everywhere, doing all sorts of things, everywhere. The boys are currently traveling around Europe and Asia marketing their website.

It's been a long time since I met some people with similar ambitions, full of energy and life, working fearlessly with passion - for their passion. Working very hard - but playing hard too; yet down-to-earth and chilled-out gentlemen. It's very refreshing to come across and get the opportunity to hang with people like this.