(#8) Radio City: Where It All Begins

When a hush falls on the crowd, the burn from the celestial stage lights sets in, and the adrenaline pumps through my veins, that's when I know that performing music is what I was born to do. I came to Valencia with a travel-sized Mitchell guitar. It's not the best of guitars, especially when performing to an audience, but it allows me to do what I love to do most in this world, and for that reason, it's all that I need.

If there's one regret I have about my time here in Valencia, it's that I didn't take advantage of the music opportunities around the city. If I had an excuse, I'd attribute it to the fact that school comes first and I spent my extra time with friends and exploring the city. Playing guitar was a bedroom activity. Jam sessions would take place in the apartments of different friends, and we'd sing the night away. However, it never really left the four walls of the FSU study center.

I remember hearing about this open mic at a bar called Radio City last semester. (Sarcasm alert!) Of course, the name reminded me of this small theater/performance area in New York City, so it peaked my interest. However, I fell into the trap of extended stay-complacency. The typical case of I-have-all-semester-to-do-it-I'll-get-to-it-later-itis struck me hard. (Same goes with climbing the Torres de Serrano right outside our door, but that's another story–yes, I've done that too by now.) But as the old saying goes, "but late than never, amirite?"

With the approaching end of the program, I started to look at my bucket list of things to do here in Valencia. And sure enough, performing music somewhere was at the top of that list. I remembered Radio City, and after some encouragement from friend, I decided to test the Spanish waters. And damn, it was one of the greatest experiences ever.

I remember arriving to venue right at 11:25 pm, 5 minutes before the show was supposed to start. There, my friend Annachiara was waiting for me. I approached a man who seemed to be in charge of organizing the open mic. He told me his name was Karlos. His presence smelled like alcohol and sweat, but his way of speaking was very show business-like. I felt like I was living my own version of Rock of Ages. Except I made sure to let him know that I was feeling pretty anxious beforehand. He was badgered with questions about how many songs should be played, whether or not the performance was recorded, and when I should go up. In the same way, I was badgering myself with questions: what do I say? Should I speak in Spanish? Is my zipper undone? (Nope, I made myself look.)

Before I had much time to think, I heard Karlos come on the mic. 

"This is perhaps the most international open mic in all of Valencia. Our next performer comes from across the Atlantic Ocean, and even across the United States. All the way from California, a round of applause for Christian Camacho!"

Normally, one's stomach would drop at that sentence. To be faced with the fact that it was time to confront a whole new audience in a whole new country would be difficult to most. But for some reason, it had no affect on me. That's the beauty of having a lot of performance experience before.

When I heard my name, the adrenaline kicked in. Intuition took over me. I knew exactly what I had to do. Never mind the language barrier. I'll speak whatever comes out first (which happened to be Spanish, y lo maté! and I killed it!) My heart raced with joy and familiarity. I jumped on stage, smiling from cheek to cheek before I strummed a single note and I ascended to cloud nine. 

After my first song, Karlos looked at me and approached me saying, "would you like to play a guitar that's as beautiful as your voice? You don't need to be playing that little toy." (I kid you not, that's what he said.) I have to admit the tinsel-sound of my acoustic was rather, tiny. Normally, I would have defended my guitar, but my adrenaline was high and was directed towards the stage. So I agreed. The remaining songs sounded amazing, and the energy from the crowd was fantastic. When I walked off stage, I was greeted with handshakes and high fives from audience members. One man even came up to me and offered me his business card for an online European Talent agency. It was a surreal moment.

I couldn't believe that I had done it. And couldn't be happier that I was able to live my dream, even for a moment, in Spain.

'Til our roads meet,

Christian Camacho

The Traveling 'Nole

(#7) A Beautiful Escape through Nature: Anna

When we came back from Barcelona, there was nobody left in our apartment other than Colin and I. In total there might have been 10-15 people out of a program of 120 students that came home. After a loud weekend in Barça, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little excited to see some quiet in our apartment. 

This was the plan:

• Homework
• Plan out the rest of my life
• Appreciate Valencia before leaving

That seems simple enough, right? Well, I didn't have too much luck with the first two at the start of the weekend. I had a full weekend to do homework (don't worry mom, I did it) and I couldn't plan out the entirety of my life just yet, so I started with my schedule for classes in the Fall. But, as Valencia has them, an opportunity came up to do the third.

"Hey, we're checking out new places to take students to for future day trips. There's a seat open. It's yours if you want it," said Colin.

... Why not?

One day and one friendly invitation later, I was in a car with two FSU administrators, Colin (our PA), and my friend, Brittney, headed towards the small town of Anna. Anna is about a 45 minute drive Southwest of Valencia. It's a town that isn't very well known, but those who have stumbled upon it are NOT disappointed by what they find.

When we arrived, we drove around for about 10-15 minutes looking for the tourist information building. In all honesty, I was surprised to hear that one even existed in such a tiny own. In the 10-15 minutes it took to find the building, we must have seen the majority of the city. We found it by the roundabout where we first entered, hidden beneath the shade of a large tree. 

From there, we figured out our game plan:

• Lake and Campgrounds
• Two different springs 
• A natural pool

And in between each, came a new adventure.

First, we had a brunch at the lake and campground. Alicia was kind enough to bring bocadillos con jamón o atun (Spansh sandwiches with ham or tuna), salchichas de pascua (Easter sausages), and beverages for everyone. While we enjoyed the scenery and our food, some rather aggressive ducks wanted to get a taste of what we were eating. I have never seen a more persistent (and, admittedly, intimidating) group of park ducks. Despite the ducks, we enjoyed our meal with a nice cup of Cafe con leche (Coffee with milk. Valley girl translation: Cafè latte) at the end: a very Spanish way to conclude lunch.

We made our way to the first spring, as seen in the picture of the lake with the red and blue water. Never before had I seen two different hues in a body of water. I felt like I could have taken a hardboiled egg, dipped it in, and, when I removed it, revealed a beautifully painted Easter egg. The water looked great, and cold; well, at least that's what Colin told us.

What really struck me was the beauty of the path that we were walking. Looking out into the distance, the mountains looked like a humongous, painted backdrop to movie set. There was no way the those mountains were real. The sun shone down on us, and its foil character, the breeze, made the weather seem like the perfect temperature. 

Next on the list, we were headed to another spring at the bottom of a huge set of stairs. The woman at the tourist info office told us there were about 136 steps between the top and bottom of the staircase. So what does every snarky student do when they something like that? We counted each step.

At the bottom, we found more beautiful clear springs. Only this time, further down the spring was a huge drop off for a water fall. 

Don't let the picture fool you: there's a reason my back is against the wall. Heights and I haven't always gotten along, but I decided to be a little more adventurous today. The view was incredible and well worth the edge. (And hey, I don't think it's a bad profile picture either.)

After finding an awesome natural pool (and a quite hysterical encounter with a herd of sheep), we made it to our last stop...

A beautiful Oasis that we almost didn't even bother going to. But, as I've said, when an opportunity arises, take advantage, do it, and never look back.

'Til our roads meet,

Christian Camacho

The Traveling 'Nole

(#6) Barcelona: the City and the Dream

I don't think I slept that night. If there's one thing that college can mess up, other than the checking amount in your bank account, it's your sleep schedule. My friends and I had finished a really late night poker game, that finished at a time that wasn't even worth batting an eyelash for. But these are the college nights, right? All I knew was that in the next few hours, I'd be on a bus bound for Barcelona, the city by the sea. In comparative conversations, I had often heard that Barcelona's sights and streets were even better than the ones in Madrid (we're talking about better than the capital of Spain here, people). Expectations were high, but energy levels were low. By the time 9:30 am sluggishly crawled up, our trip to Barcelona was underway.

Within the first few minutes on the highway, as John Mayer's Born and Raised album played through my earbuds, my heavy eyelids finally fell fast asleep as Valencia's coastal scenery faded to black.

When I woke up, I could have sworn the sequence of sceneries that I woke up to was still part of my dream. The bus glided down the cornerless streets, where the buildings stood back to back, decorated with mosaic tiles. People walked on the center dividers of every street which were big enough to fit vendor stands and plenty of walking space. It was a short drive to our hotel, where I long awaited to get acquainted with the bed.

After a well needed nap, we got to exploring. Our first stop was Park Guell, which was built by Antoni Gaudi, a famous architect in Barcelona. Being in an elevated area of the city, brisk breezes caressed our faces and gently tugged our hair as we took in Gaudi's architectural playground. The benches, walls, buildings and statues were, of course, decorated and animated by his signature mosaic motif– the same ones that I had seen around the city on the way in. That's when the thought came to me: Barcelona belonged to Gaudi, and Gaudi belonged to Barcelona.

There's a general truth that not many people will openly admit to others: after seeing 8 months' worth of European cathedrals, basilicas, and churches, their differences start to fade in homogeneity. In other words, they all start to look the same. However, what we saw in the Sagrada Familia was unlike anything I have ever seen in my life.

When I walked through the whimsical willows of the cathedral entrance, I was immediately taken aback. Was I still dreaming? The inside of the Sagrada Familia was a room of natural light created by stain-glass windows that danced on the forest of tree-like columns. It was a scene of pastoral, man-made beauty. The soft blues hues cooled the left side of the church while the bright, warm reds and oranges gave a celestial glow to the right half. Symbols infiltrated every crevice of the gargantuan structure, and through the windows, its austerity gleamed through the sun rays of the Barcelona sun.

It had been a long, but worthwhile tour, after which I came home to sleep a little while longer.

After waking up and changing some plans, I decided that being in the city of one of the world's best soccer teams, I should go see check out their battlefield. Being from Los Angeles, I knew that public transportation was the way to go. However, Barça's system was a little more confusing (and longer) than I expected. Connecting platforms took 5 to 10 minutes to get through, instead of a short 2 minute walk. But I digress.

When we got to Camp Nou, I was breath taken by its sheer size and design. Unfortunately by the time we got there, we had just missed the last stadium tour.  But I wasn't about to let that stop me from seeing the stadium up close. We walked up to the stadium, where a beautiful ceremony commemorating Johan Cruyff (a late Barcelona football player) was being held. Colorful bouquets spelled his names and many fans were there to pay their respects. This is the way that Soccer is in Spain. The sport is revered and honored, and the players are respected and cherished. Though we didn't know who he was, we grabbed a drink right outside the stadium entrance and toasted to Johan's career and life. For life is like a dream: we were are placed under the illusion that years have passed, but in reality, when we wake up, we're only wishing for the few extra minutes of peace and tranquility.

'Til our roads meet,
Christian Camacho
The Traveling 'Nole

P.S. I helped my friend Nahee with a Cheetah Girls video that she wanted to do while we were in Barcelona. Click here to see the video!

(#5) 19: Birthday Abroad

In recent years, my feelings about birthdays have been up in the air. On one hand, it's just another day of the year, and you're one year older; who says you need only one day out of the year to celebrate your life? But on the other hand, it's the celebration of an entire completed year of life with friends and family. 

This year's birthday was going to be something interesting: my first time celebrating away from home. In my family, everything is done together: Christmas, birthdays, New Year's, Fourth of July, you name it. So to spend the day without my family was going to be something new. In the days leading up to my birthday, I made sure not to make a big deal about it. I'm not one to go around and provide a weekly reminder that my birthday is approaching. No pre-made plans were set in place, and I waited to see what the day would bring.

I was sitting at my desk on the night before my birthday, exploring the world of Facebook when I looked at the time. It was eleven-fifty pm. With the start of the ten-minute countdown, I had a thought: do I really want to remember the midnight-start of my nineteenth birthday in Valencia, Spain as the night that I sat at my computer, doing absolutely nothing? Hell no. I thought about what I would want to be doing, and without hesitation, I picked up my guitar and ran out of my room. I crossed the street right front of the Torres, and ran to the first opening in the bridge. Eleven-fifty eight. My fingers warmed up. 

Midnight. 

Immediately, I began singing the original I had written about Los Angeles. I sang to the beautiful, Spanish full moon and to the city of Valencia. (This is the stuff of fairytales, man.) As soon as I finished, I heard clapping right behind me. A woman had pulled her bike over to stop and listen to me. I was slightly embarrassed but thanked her anyway. We talked for a bit, before she asked me to walk with her. I paused to think. This is a stranger asking me to walk with her in the middle of the night in Spain after listening to my song...

... Why not? 

We walked through the various plazas in the Carmen district of Valencia. I stopped in various places to play a song, and continued walking. We passed the group of homeless drunk men playing guitar who invited me to play guitar with them...

... Why not?

All of us danced and sang to "La Bamba" and "Come Together." We continued walking until we passed my favorite Irish Pub. She invited me in for a drink for my birthday...

... Why not? 

We talked for at least another half an hour before I realized what time it was. One-thirty. The time had flown by. We walked back to the Torres, where she would pick up her bike and we'd say goodbye. When we arrived, she requested one more song...

... Why not?

After my final song, we said our goodbyes and said that we'd hang out again soon. I'll never forget the amazing start to my nineteenth birthday. 

The day time did not disappoint either. I spent the remainder of the day with my friends. Elizabeth took me to Costa Coffee. Jericho hooked me up with a great haircut. I went to mass for Holy Thursday. Fed the hungry. And the night ended with Colombian food and Poker with the gang. My nineteenth was definitely a night to remember. And just when I thought my birthdays couldn't be just as good as the ones back home...

... Why not?

'Til our roads meet,

Christian Camacho

The Traveling 'Nole

P.S. Thank you to Nahee and Sammy C. for the amazing cake and the wine! 

P.P.S. Thank you to everyone for their birthday wishes!

P.P.P.S. Thank you to Annachiara for a great start to my birthday!

(#4) Crossing the Language Bridge at the Castillo de Alaquas

Tuesday night was a little hectic. Okay, I was swamped. With an essay and project for my Festivals class, on top of a Biology lab exam to study for and a journal due the next day, I knew that it'd be a busy night. (Don't worry, mom. This just builds duress for the readers before explaining the next part. I passed all the assignments with flying colors!) However, I saw the opportunity to take part in a language exchange at the Castle of Alaquas on Tuesday evening... I'm sorry, but how do you refuse that? ("I passed all the assignments with flying colors!")

The bus dropped us off at the curb closest to the castle in Alaquas. If we are being honest here, I had never heard of Alaquas prior to this little excursion. The castle was tucked away in a plaza behind a few alley ways. It appeared small on the outside; not much to it other than the typical castle design. When we entered, however, a different story was told. The castle had been renovated and given a few modern enhancements. It was certainly not as bland as it appeared to be coming from the outside. 

This and more was explained to us in presentations given by Spanish students learning to speak English. Of course, they struggled in certain aspects, but then again, how different are we from them when it comes to speaking Spanish? I was reminded that American students were not the only ones who struggled with communication, and that Spaniards can be just as nervous to speak to us as we are to speak to them. Even with their nervousness, though, they do manage to show that Spaniards are significantly better at speaking English than Americans are at speaking Spanish. (Trust me, this is the same case with just about any other language in any other country.)

After our grand tour of the older rooms with various geometric ceilings and preserved tiles, we moved towards the more modern, renovated portion of the castle. At this point, I was still surprised by how much we had yet to see. Our guide explained many new walls were added and/or reinforced to meet safety precautions. So of course, why not make it look awesome? We reached the rooftop of the castle and were captured by the quaintness and the beautiful simplicity of the lighting and architecture. 

It was here that a man named Javier gave a speech about the impact of the English-school he was attending within the Castle of Alaquas on his life. As he spoke, his hands trembled. Javier's speech was very well written and I was thoroughly impressed with how well the components of his speech were tied together; I could have sworn he was a writer. Afterwards, we were taken into one of the classrooms and partook in our intercambio (language exchange). I was fortunate enough to get to sit and talk with Javier. To my surprise he wasn't a writer, but working on his engineering degree. He stressed the importance of learning English for an engineer and that he was taking his English classes very seriously. Javier and I became good friends, and I was beyond delighted that I came, despite the horrid mountain of work that waited for me on my desk at home.

The moral of the story is this: your inability to speak another language should not discourage you from trying to interact and learn about someone else's culture. Oh, and if someone offers to take you to a castle, you better do it. No questions asked.

'Til our roads meet,

Christian Camacho

The Traveling 'Nole

(#3) Fallas: Festival of Fire

Waiting at the airport in Bologna, we dreaded the hundreds of thousands of people that would swarm the streets and the endless parties that would go on right outside our windows. Our beds sounded so inviting, and unpacking, for once, was something I couldn’t wait to do. If I’m being honest, although the upcoming two weeks were the most anticipated weeks of our entire year abroad, I was not excited for them… at the time.

Despite our tired thoughts, the thought of Valencia––the thought of being home and being warm–– put smiles on our faces. We got off the plane from Italy. Valencia, Spain. Damn it’s good to be home. However, though we returned home after a tiresome trip, our time of day-to-day excitement and unexpected traveling were far from over: Fallas was waiting for us. When our taxi dropped us off in front of our beautiful Torres de Serrano, we were greeted with a marching band, mini-fireworks, and a newly decorated city. It was already in full swing.

Fallas is a huge Valencian festival that starts on March 1st and lasts all the way to March 19th, the day of St. Joseph the Carpenter. It is a festival unlike anything I've ever experienced. From the Mascletàs, the firework shows that took place in the city hall plaza everyday at 2:00 pm, to la Cremà, the burnings of the Fallas on the 19th. People from all walks of life come to Valencia, nearly tripling Valencia's population, to bask in the glory of the fires from the burning, gargantuan, paper machè monuments called "Fallas." The festival's underlying meaning is to pay homage to the "Valencian Woman." 

I wanted to make sure that I didn't spend too much time eating the things that I could normally eat when Fallas wasn't around. That certainly did not leave me without any food. Food and sweets galore were placed in stands all over city. Among my favorite Fallas sweets were Buñuelos and Rellenos (Chocolate coated, chocolate stuffed churros. A.K.A. It was coated, filled, and essentially was a physical representation of Diabetes). Of course, Paella is a must. Street grillers and barbecues would line the street curbs or inside smaller alleyways; here one could indulge in sausage bocadillos or some expensive (but worthwhile) ribs. Food trucks were featured behind the Central Market, and were frequented by many FSU students on a daily basis. 

While decorative lights are sprawled all along the walls of buildings and over archways between the streets, no lighting display compares to the district of Ruzafa. It was an incredible feat to see. People stood shoulder to shoulder to see the award winning lighting show every night. I saw it about two or three times, myself. This physical closeness was just like the Cremà. All in all, there is nothing in this world like the experience of Fallas.

Sitting in my Spanish Festivals, Satire, and Fire class, my professor explained that Fallas is an experience that cannot be put into words. At first, I had no idea what this guy was talking about, primarily because I had just returned from a long trip in Italy and the idea of two weeks of endless partying just exhausted me even more. But coming out of these two unforgettable weeks, I know what he means. I feel like this blog post isn't the most accurate one I've written, because while I can explain Fallas to you, you (the reader) haven't experienced Fallas. No two experiences are the same. I'm so sad to see perhaps one of the greatest times of my life come to an end, but rest assured, this will not be my last Fallas.

'Til our roads meet,

Christian Camacho

The Traveling 'Nole

(#2) Spring in Italy: Spring Break 2016

This video was made by me and is about my Spring Break in Italy.

(Note: I do not own the rights to Chocolate by the 1975.)

While reading an article on the train during our week of traveling, I read a word that caught my attention and has stuck with me since: Wanderlust. Wanderlust, according to Merriam-Webster’s reliable (and seemingly always quoted) dictionary, is defined as “a strong desire to travel.” I never knew there was a word for such a powerful feeling. “The travel bug” is what I always referred to it as. But it makes so much sense.

...............

The top of the Duomo in Florence.

For the entirety of the ten days I had for Spring break, I embarked on one of the biggest adventures of my life: seeing twelve different cities in Northern Italy. To be honest, I wasn’t sure just how much traveling would go into this trip. The thousands of counted steps and endless train rides were worth all the tired days and nights (though my lower body would strongly disagree), as we traveled through a country whose vibrant green beauty seems yet to be appreciated. To shed some light on just how much traveling my friends and I got ourselves into, here’s a list of the cities we were so blessed to see:

            -Bergamo

            *(Train transfer in Milan)*

            -Genoa

            -La Spezia

            -Riomaggiore

            -Vernazza

            *(Train transfer in Pisa)*

            -Florence

            -San Gimignamo

            -Chianti Wine Region

            -Siena

            -Monteriggioni

            -Venice

            -Bologna

Twelve. Twelve cities. And in between the spaces of the list above are hundreds of kilometers of traveling, countless hours spent on regional and private trains, and an overwhelming amount of stress. But despite our complex schedule, the stories we can bring back and tell friends and family will travel so much farther with us down the road.

Florence.

One thing I’ve noticed about Europe in general is how drastically the scenery changes in such a short distance. Each city, though only a short train ride away, provide its own unique character or persona. No two cities were akin to the other. The flavors changed. The people changed. The adventures changed. And we had to change along with it.

Chianti wine Region.

Genoa provided some of the best pesto sauce in the entire world and is where I met the newest love of my life: Focaccia (an Italian cheese bread). Florence, where the pesto definitely not like Genoa’s, was a historical powerhouse unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The house, cliffs, and quiet landscape of the Cinque Terre region (Riomaggiore and Vernazza) were perhaps among the most beautiful things these adventurous eyes will ever see.

Wine tasting in the hills of the Chianti wine region with the Italian sun hanging high and dry behind blue skies and green pastures is one of the coolest things that I can say that I have done. I feel so blessed to have been able to go on such an amazing adventure and see the things I have seen.

Monteriggioni 

Wanderlust. It’s a guilty, irresistible temptation in the best way imaginable. A burning passion and desire to want to see the world in all it’s glory. To stop sitting on one’s ass and find oneself out of his or her comfort zone. To find something unexpected, confront a challenge, or face a path that seems uncertain, and just say “**** it, why not?” That’s what this trip has taught me. Because, honestly, saying “why not?” and doing the things you never could have imagine you would do can take you to some of the most exciting places and experiences in your lifetime.

Wanderlust took me to twelve gorgeous cities in Northern Italy for Spring break, and with that, I’ve had the time of my life.

'TIl our roads meet,

Christian Camacho

The Traveling 'Nole