(#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

(#1) Desde Casa a Casa: Los Angeles, California to Valencia, Spain

“One never reaches home, but wherever friendly paths intersect, the whole world looks like home for a time”

            ~Hermann Hesse

The City of Arts and Sciences

To the student traveler, no place on Earth can compare to the peace and tranquility experienced during our short twenty-eight day break in the states. Freshman year in Europe as opposed to a normal Freshman year on campus can really confuse the hell out of anyone. It can bring out the best of us (and certainly the worst). We live in close quarters with people we’ve never met before and learn to get along. We learn to survive on our own, but in a country so unlike the one we grew up in. And, perhaps the most intimidating of all, we have to learn how to navigate the world and bring back memories to tell back home.

But I think Hermann Hesse has a point.

The country we spent four months in–– the one so unlike our own–– has truly become home. The people we live with, who were as foreign as the people who actually live in Europe, have become family members. Survival skills have become second nature, as if we had been doing it our whole lives. (Albeit, not everyone has learned.) And the world that we grew up studying in textbooks or looking up online has become as accessible as walking out into our own backyards or looking out our balcony windows. This whole traveling thing has really been a blessing, and I couldn’t be more excited to be back home for another semester.

La Mestalla- Valencia's Soccer field

If there’s one thing that I wish I could have done differently last semester, it’s that I should have been more involved in Spanish culture. And what can be more Spanish than going Valencia Fútbol games? (Note: “fútbol” will be used in its European context and is used interchangeably with “soccer”.)

In Spain, however, the myriad of Baseball parks has been replaced by an overwhelming number of Soccer fields. In passing the riverbed in Valencia–– which has been converted into a three-mile long recreational park filled with various sporting fields, but primarily for fútbol–– an hour doesn’t go by where one cannot find a group of Spaniards kicking a soccer ball. Many American kids grow up with a baseball mitt and ball to play catch with their parents; Spaniards, however, grow up with fútbol frenzy.

So, as the saying goes, if you can’t beat ‘em–– join ‘em.

In the span of one week, I attended two different fútbol matches, due in part to the fact that the tickets were so cheap. (In total, for both games, I spent thirty euros on tickets. Not complaining.) Both games were great, but nothing compared to the experience of sitting so close for the second game against Las Palmas. For twenty euros, I sat maybe 10 yards away from the field. Although we tied, to be able to sit that close felt like a once in a lifetime experience. I had never even sat that close for a Dodger game!

Me, Elizabeth, and Beth. Two of my great friends here.

Since attending these matches, I feel as though I’ve been more immersed in Spanish culture. On top of attending games, I participate in school-sponsored recreational soccer every Tuesday afternoon. Aside from sports, I try to attend as many intercambios–– language exchanges between Spaniards and native-English speakers to practice the opposite language–– as possible. Spanish music has become crucial, but Spanish Spanish music: more like Latin American music.

Living here has really brought out a great appreciation for my roots and my culture, and I really look forward to seeing what I’ll learn next. But I guess I’ll have to see where new roads take me next.

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

Scholar of the Semester

Dear Reader,

At the start of the semester, a new opportunity presented itself to me and many other writers in the FSU Study Abroad program. During our first meeting as a whole in Valencia, administration posited the idea for their first annual Scholar of the Semester competition. The general premise is to write a blog (or any form of personal expression/reflection) that creatively reflects on our time here in Spain.

How could I say no?

Thankfully, this will serve as motivation for me to write constantly, posting blog excerpts as much as possible (well, the maximum is ten posts, so as much as 10 posts will allow me). The prize at the end, while a good incentive, means nothing. It really is about the reflection, and creating a memoir of what will undoubtably be in the top best experiences of my lifetime.

The purpose of this post is to let my readers know that the following ten posts, while still pertaining my Spanish experience, will be aimed at this particular event.

I look forward to writing about my experiences and sharing them with world even more. Wish me luck, and good luck to all the other participating bloggers, as well.

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

P.S. This post is not to be regarded as one of the ten posts.

A Quick Reflection Before 2nd Semester...

First of all, I'm honestly sorry for my complete lack of attention to this blog. With the craziness of first semester's adventures, I've hardly had time to write, or myself for that matter. (Okay, I came home and did nothing, but 28 lazy days at home was exactly what I needed!). But anyway, better late than never.

Second of all, I will try to squeeze in a post regarding last semester's adventures, but I will try to focus on what's going on now. I will try to the best of my abilities to make write more often, but that is, as all things are, subject to change.

Third of all, this post takes place on a plane headed from JFK to Paris. I had been dying to write for so long on that plane, so I took out my laptop and started writing my next Traveling 'Nole post.
This is that post...

Saturday, January 9th, 2015

During the last few days of my visit in my hometown of Los Angeles, I was once again stupefied and slightly angered at how fast the time had gone (though it should come as no surprise that a mere 28 days would come and go a lot faster than 4 months abroad). While time had accelerated at unprecedented pace, I think what has bothered me the most is that saying “see yah later” a second time seemed significantly harder than the first time. I couldn’t place my finger on the reason as to why this was the case. Most people said that it was the 8 months ahead that separated the next time we would see each other. Of course, this makes perfect sense. But even so, I felt that something more was the cause for such an agonizing second goodbye.

The answer didn’t come to me until we were parked in a parking garage at LAX airport. It jumped at me in a way that contrasted my still, uneager motion sitting in the car. The reason as to why this goodbye––this seemingly familiar goodbye–– was even harder to do a second time is because we are returning to normalcy. This time, there is no adrenaline of going to a brand new place. The understandable (albeit, selfish) eagerness to start a new life was reserved for that very first time; yes, the “see you later’s” were still sad, but we had a new life waiting for us on the end of our long journey’s for home. Now, we return to a life that we’ve already started. There’s not much new to distract us, save for a few new faces coming in from Tally.

The sad truth is that we are now “visitors” in our own homes. Of course, we will (or at least, we should) always be welcomed in our homes. But our hometowns are now tokens of the past. The rooms we grew up in will always be our rooms, but at the same time, those have moved on like us: it isn’t just our room anymore. While I was home, my parents would always correct me when I casually (though absent mindfully) referred to Valencia as “home:”

“You are home,” they would tell me.

And they’re absolutely right. I am home. Only now, I visit that home on holidays after the semester is over. I was not wrong either. I have accepted Valencia, Spain as a home away from home; it is still home nonetheless. Perhaps it is this shift in normalcy that makes this goodbye so hard: the realization and affirmation that comfort has shifted. Maybe it is the length of time that will be gone. It could be that growing up and living life as an adult is becoming all too real. No matter what it is, please, do not misunderstand me. I am beyond excited to return to Valencia. To my FSU family, who have helped make the transition so much easier. To the town that bears the origin of my family name (oh yeah, the name Camacho originates in Valencia… so there’s that). To the land of stones left unturned, the cobblestone streets of Europe. To a life, while still so extraordinary, has become as ordinary as saying, “I am going home.”

‘Til Our Roads Meet,

Christian Camacho

The Traveling Nole