Chapter 2: In Which Everything is Overwelming and I Lose My Mind But in a Good Way

21688163_130984047636455_2539152691532689769_oY’all, I’m tiiiiiired. Or at least I was a few days ago. My jet lag set in after 5 days, which was later than I’d expected. It sucks. I think it’s gone now, as I’ve been here for 8 days and my sleep schedule is finally back to normal.

I’ll tell you this for free, though: it’s awkward realizing you did not try hard enough in your college Spanish classes, and winning the foreign language award for your high school’s graduating class in 2011 does not a fluent Spanish speaker make.

So yep. I’m tired. And I like the food but it’s also so strange? And they eat so much of it at lunch, which is at 2:30 in the afternoon…so I suddenly understand why siestas are a thing. After eating ninety potatoes, who wouldn’t need to rest? Can I just have a permanent beach siesta, please? I don’t want to walk. I don’t even want to breathe. I just want to lay here and listen to the little Spanish children running around in the street saying things I don’t understand. I like doing this, because I don’t have to try to understand them. Their words just float through one ear and land gently in my brain before floating out the other.

But honestly, I’m having a good time. I get to see the ocean every day, and I can actually swim in it. I’m taking a break from being vegetarian so I can try new foods, and I’m accidentally remembering how much I like chicken. Oops. I’ve always kinda hated palm trees, but they look nice here, and some of them are super short and squat and it’s adorable. There are old, beautiful, colorful tiles on some of the buildings and in the parks, and even the pigeons look different here. The dogs here are goofy, sometimes — I saw one man walking 8 chihuahuas at once the other night and took a photo because I’m the biggest tourist ever. I had the song California Dreamin’ stuck in my head all morning, and this afternoon someone drove by blasting it. A few days ago, some random woman was holding a bunny in her arms and yelling across the street at her friends. God knows why, but now I want to move here and start a bunny commune with my friends. This morning, I watched a man hardcore reel in a fish off the pier whilst smoking a cigar. All the flies in this entire country have decided they love me and want to make little fly houses in my hair, on my arms, and in my water glasses. Every. Single. Fly. Yesterday, one day after I’d mentioned I’d never been pooped on by a bird, a little tiny one decided to make my left arm its toilet. I guess I’ll try anything once, but I’d rate the experience 2/10, would not recommend.



Every time I feel down, a bunny hops out of a bush. And I’m not exaggerating that much.

Okay, I’m exaggerating a little.

A few weeks ago, I was having a really rough day and was walking home kind of late, when a bunny hopped out from a bush. I got really close to it (trying to take pictures with a cell phone requires you to be really close) when an airplane flew overhead and that rabbit jumped about three feet in the air, its limbs splayed every which way. I can’t lie, it was probably the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen…Anyway, it eventually came out of it’s hiding place  and sniffed around for a bit before running off again, at which point I headed home.

Well, today was pretty rough too. I’d been running in about nine directions for the past 14 hours (mainly covering an event for the newspaper while at the same time trying to write a geology paper and then go to lab) and was finally walking home at night when I came by the same spot I’d seen the bunny before.

“I remember that time I felt really bad and then I saw a bunny and felt better,” I thought to myself.

AND THEN A BUNNY HOPPED OUT OF THE BUSHES. I must’ve looked like a grinning idiot. Then another came out and I practically split my face in half…and then another hopped after the second one.

And then there were four. Four little bunnies scampering around like…scampering things. It was like Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail and Peter were out to play right before my eyes while I basically  had a heart attack at age 18. I watched them for a few minutes before they bopped down a hill and out of sight and I set home and called my boyfriend.

I was kind of incoherent, honestly. “FOUR BUNNIES! FOUR BUNNIES FOUR. FOUR BUNNIES.” I probably sounded like that fish from Finding Nemo who’s obsessed with bubbles and yells, “BUBBLESSSS! My bubbles.” That was me. Bunnies! Bunnies!

But honestly, what could possibly make you happier than four little bunnies? Just Google “bunny pile” and you’ll know what I’m talking about.