It Turns Out Accountability Is The Only Real Difference Between A Hobby And A Profession.
Last weekend I had my very first paid photo gig Read the rest of this gem…
And I Traveled Just A Few Steps, At Most, To See The World.
It’s funny.
I spend all of this time daydreaming about travel. About where I would be if I could be anywhere other than here.
And then, out of nowhere, I discover this whole universe that’s been sitting outside my back door for the past 5 1/2 years, and I never even saw it.
Like literally. It’s the Universe.
All it took was a couple of solo glasses of wine, a little bit feeling sorry for myself, a broken electric dog fence, and a chance look up.
The metaphor, this whole time, was in my own back yard.
Look up, my friends, instead of down. Look up, or you might miss it.
Street Walkin’ in Annapolis.
Erin.
I have a secret.
No, I’m not a street-walkin’, stick-legged, glowy-eyed hooker, as evidenced by that last photo.
It’s worse.
Shameful.
Here goes.
I don’t always love to carry my DSLR camera everywhere.
It’s bulky. It’s heavy. I have to mess with lens switching and cleaning and worrying about breaking something or expensive equipment getting stolen.
So sometimes, sometimes I just use my phone’s camera.
And you know, it’s not so bad.
It’s grainy. And gritty. And dark and unfocused.
But there’s something… raw, you know?
Imperfect.
It’s what I used while wandering the streets of Annapolis.
Not hookin’.
Um… It’s muy, not moi.
On my Facebook status the other day, I described the Spanish wine we’ve been getting as “moi barato,” which is French for “me barato” and Spanish for “moi cheap.” I realize now, through the miracle of a little internet research, that what I meant to say was, “muy barato,” which is very inexpensive.
But it’s okay. I can’t be blamed for these things because I took German in college and no one corrected me.
My friends are too polite.
Anyway.
Here are some things I like about Europe (and I’ve been to this continent all of twice now, so I feel it’s fair to generalize):
1. Language. No matter the country, I’m always surrounded by foreign languages. Often several. And while this is frequently the cause for discomfort and/or mild irritation, I find that when I sit down with a glass of wine and bowl of olives at an outdoor cafe, hide behind my sunglasses on a plaza bench, or type here at my computer in my sister-in-law’s basement apartment and just listen as strangers converse while they pass by (and it’s not eavesdropping if you can’t understand a word they’re saying), it really is quite intoxicating.
Bar snacks in Malaga.
2. Food. What can I say? There’s nothing I don’t like about food. Even food I don’t like. Whether I’m sitting down in front of a tiny bowl of seasoned olives with wine at a swanky cafe, a steady stream of tapas and beer at a pub, an empanada or falafel procured from a street vendor, fried churros served at a tiny alleyway table with chocolate dipping sauce and a very strong café con leche (ie. couple shots of espresso with steamed milk), or a giant pan of paella cooked right out of the chef’s childhood home, I’m pretty sure I’m the happiest woman in the world.
Paella on Ibiza.
3. Exercise. When we want to go somewhere, we walk. When we want to go farther, we walk to the public transportation, take a train, then walk again. When we’re on the island of Formentera and have no car, we bike. When we’re on the island of Formentera and decide we want to see the one thing that requires getting to the top of a very large hill (*cough*mountain*cough*), we ride our bikes, walk our bikes, and ride our bikes again — over 13 km, both ways, up hill, in the snow just to get there.
(All of that’s true. Except for the snow.)
Southeastern lighthouse on Formentera.
Oh, and sometimes these old cities have stairs. Lots, and lots of stairs.
But whether you bike it or hike it, it’s always worth it when you get to the top.
Ibiza City.
4. There are like a billion ways to flush the toilets.
Need I say more?