Beyond The Grasp of Reason

It occurred to me this morning that it might be a good idea to update a little more frequently during my time in Salamanca, if only because I'm in the technologically advantageous position of having free, speedy internet for as long as I need it every afternoon. Actually, I've (more or less) been in this position for the last couple of months, and yet it seems that my initial blogging vitality of last August (A staggering 11 posts) has gotten lost somewhere along the way.

This is fair for neither me nor you, because it leads to vast tracts of senseless rambling about whatever happens to be closest to the surface of my mental soup at the time. The normal upshot is that I get a headache from spending too much time in front of the monitor, and you have to sift through deranged jabbering about prehistoric alligators -- which most likely gives you a headache as well. Entonces, I'll try to make this a little less painful in the coming weeks for all parties involved. So, to recap, or precap, as the case may be...

Things that have transpired since I last attempted to hack out something coherent in the Annals of Me:

1. Expectoration.
A veritable Everest of tissues and a lot of enthusiastic hemming and hawking. A large theme (logically) following the situation outlined in my last installemnt, which has been lovingly referred to as "The Snot Post" by members of my immediate family. It should be noted that, although I established this blog to assure them I have not been eaten by sloths or other slow-moving predators whilst on my many and varied travels, I understand that you may not all want to hear about the gory details of my health and safety. In short: I solemnly promise to stop writing about my sinuses (Or any other bodily functions) after this. Really.

2. Multilingualism.
15 days of eating, breathing, hearing, and speaking Spanish have finally taken their toll -- in a good way. Although I'm still frustratingly incapable of speaking eloquently, I'm at least speaking frequently. This is a Good Thing. Yesterday, with much mangling of syntax, I managed to completely lose track of time talking to one of my housemates, Paula, for at least 5 hours. I find that I've become accustomed to the sound of the Spanish lisp, and have far less trouble understanding people than I did when I first arrived. We discussed family members and travel and global citizenry and the varied glories of the "raving mad, but exceedingly happy" lifestyle of which we are both devotees. Wanting to practice her conversational English, she asked me to tell her about San Fransisco. I obliged as much as I could, given that most of what I know about it has to do with the aquatic side of things, in English -- which made it rather difficult.

Reason being, it had been 5 days since a word of the language had passed my lips, which could be considered a feat by some considering the staggering amounts of American students here who insist on speaking it. All the time. Which rather defeats the purpose of coming here to learn another language, no?

They also seem to have brought with them -- in the same way tarantulas may be found in imported bunches of bananas -- their love of beer pong. I don't think I need to say anything else.

However, on the whole, my classmates have been a charming and intelligent bunch. A slew of South Koreans, one Greek, two Brazillians, a three-woman New Zeland contingent, a smattering of Brits, the rare Canadian, two Italians, and one of whatever it is I've turned into. I've given up trying to figure it out. The other night a few of us went out for dinner, and I arrived back home filled with pleasant surprise at the realization that we had spent an enjoyable evening entirely in another language. The human brain is an astonishing thing.

3. Mail.
I got a letter! Well, a card. But still! Thrilling! I have also requested to be reunited with my beloved sandals which are, I hope, headed my way via the nefarious passageways of the international postal system this very moment. My feet are singing joyous hymns of praise in their little cotton socks.

4. Chopping.
I cut off my Turk's Head yesterday. For those readers who are not of the tall ship sailing variety, and therefore find this sentence alarming, allow me to explain. A Turk's Head (Also frequently referred to as Nantucket Sailor's Bracelets on that other coast) is a decorative knot of myriad uses, commonly worn by tall ship sailors wherever tall ship sailors can attach them -- which is mostly everywhere. Instead of being tied on, their are built around a cylindrical base, in this case a wrist/ankle/waist etc, and left there. It is often possible to tell the saltiness of any given sailor by the shade of his or her Turk's Head, as the tar of the seine twine tends to wear away over time. Therefore, if the fellow next to you with the blackened left wrist starts casting off lifts for no apparent reason, do not follow suit.

This particular Turk's Head had been on my wrist since late June. As with anything one wears for such an extended period of time, it had simply become a part of me in much the same way that tall ship sailing became a part of me -- stealthily, but firmly. Unfortunately, for some reason, it started to turn my skin an odd colour which was not the normal colour of tar being transferred to skin. As there's no handy clasp, (It seems impossible for one to distance oneself from the siren song of the sea so easily...) I was forced to take a knife to it. If there had been any other option I would've gladly pursued it, but it was not to be. I feel strangely incomplete now, but thoughtfully brought a nip of twine in case of just such an emergency and so, as soon as I'm dermatalogically stable, I'll have a new one.

5. The Booking High.
This last point is arguably the most important, simply because it contains the very essence of what I love (And occasionally hate) about my life at present. Traveling alone allows one the ultimate freedom of deciding all the who's, what's, when's, and where's without necessarily needing to explain the why's. Generally a simple "Because I can" is sufficient. This always leaves me feeling a little giddy when I decide to actually cement the next step of the journey (most recently, I booked myself a flight to Rome, so my thoughts are already skimming ahead to the future of February 5th, when I will move on once more), and leads to much twiddling of fingers and tapping of toes and cavorting and grinning and other signs of ill-contained glee and excitement.

I'll elaborate on this theme when I next find time to write because:

a) We're straying dangerously close to prehistoric alligator territory.

b) This is more than long enough already.

c) Rome is just the tip of the iceberg.