"I'm so happy here... How do I make myself feel this in America?"

I say this to Stella in my happiest of happy places, besides an empty movie theater or under a tree: the subway. 

Selfie-happy after I found
my lost hat last week.
Not so much re: my scarf

Paul A Young hot chocolate #obsession

We get back to London in time for Thai noodle lunch at Churchill Arms. (Thaiordie!) I make one last run into Central London to try and track down my favorite scarf that I lost on Fast & Furious Day. It's gone forever, so I grab a hot chocolate that I'm obsessed with (Paul A Young on Wardour St, don't miss it!) in consolation. Cashmere scarf tragedy notwithstanding, I feel great. Running around a city in the cold snap air charges me like those emergency room heart paddles. It feels like a great crush. I'm really going to miss London. 

Stella and I meet for Indian food at Dishoom in King's Cross. Family style, small plates, we order many, many, many dishes and do ourselves proud. We've elevated cleaning our plates from childhood compulsion to a skilled art. 

We have to say good-bye before she goes to bed because of her early work pick up. We agree my leaving is a stupid idea and hug. I love my best friend. 

Dishoom dinner. All the dishes wouldn't fi

Arriving at the airport early is becoming my thing, apparently. I've been killing so much time in airports lately, I don't even get bored anymore. A lentil and spinach pie, two pints of cider, and a tipsy candy raid of the airport store later, and my flight is ready to board. 

This bag is big enough to cover
both my knees.

My flight is relatively painless. I watch a few movies (ten minutes of American Women before I realize I want to watch it with my mom, 15 minutes of Passengers before I realize life is too short to watch a boring, insulting, misogynistic nightmare, The Girl on the Train, Why Him?, and the first half of Free Fire), misgauge my Ambien sleep window (hence all the movies), and finally drift off. 

I was going to do a list of things I've learned, like I sometimes do after a trip, but I've been pretty thorough in my writing. I did forget to mention the time I used the toilet in Harrod's and was so sweaty I blotted my face with toilet paper. When I exited the stall to wash my hands, my face was covered in a layer of toilet paper and I looked like a mummy. When you quickly try to roll toilet paper off your sticky face, it all ends up in your hair. What I learned: take your time when rolling wet TP off your face. 

Arriving in LA is bittersweet. It's not entirely home, but then when I fly to Austin in a few days that also isn't entirely home. Honestly, the last three weeks in Stella's flat, with my own space and my own schedule has felt like the closest thing to home that I've felt in months. It's no big deal, it's just the way life is playing out right now. 

Sometimes you have to admit, it's a beautiful world

One of the books I read in London was "Go Set a Watchman" by Harper Lee. It was a fascinating book to read right now, both with regard to the concept of home and what's happening in America. Basically, Jean Louise (Scout) is now in her mid 20s and returns home after living in New York to discover the home she understood doesn't exist anymore, not in her family, in her love, or in her town. 

This book takes place pre-Civil Rights, and the nationalism it portrays could be in any news story on any given day in the last year. Like Scout, every concept I had of home, be it personal, the country I thought I knew, my place in my family, has completely changed within the past year. The changes were traumatic because all growth is traumatic; but, if we don’t grow, we die.

Ready to cuddle with this mob

The book and my trip contextualized my state of mind. I logically and reasonably know through articles, therapy, logic, etc. that the last year (years? Decade?? Ugh, ok, all of life...) has been growing pain after growing pain however, I finally found my cathartic understanding through art and travel. In this moment, I’ve never felt more necessary as an artist and more thrilled to be a traveler. And that's nice.

Especially ready to hold this sour puss

I don’t know what comes next. This trip has been my finish line for the last five months, so I’m having a bit of the post-Christmas bummers. In a couple days, I’ll go back to Austin and curl up with our herd of cats and keep growing my voice and finding new experiences. 

Until my next trip... Thai or die! 

"I need to take off my pants and lie on this cold floor..."

...I say to Stella at dawn in the Madrid airport because I'm so tired that I'm nauseous and sweating. 

Bianca's dream home

Sunday: I have another chocolate breakfast. Dafne takes me and Stella on a walk to another nearby village while her parents and Luís pack up and close the house. 

Dafne is just like her parents in that she's a perfect guide, full of fascinating information about the area. She shows us the house I want to live in forever- it's built into the ground to look like a cresting wave of grass. One side and the roof is grass and the opposite side is all windows.  It's got gardens, a guest house and stables and a corral which means when I move in, I'll be able to have horses!

Dungeon door

Before we head to Madrid, Dafne shows us their dungeon. Their house is actually a mill from the 15th century and it still contains all the ancient hardware which extends down into the cellar. Of course, I fall in love with the dungeon. 

Inner dungeon

As we drive out of Sigüenza, we have to stop for the Easter procession as the town carries a resurrected Christ in reverence. No pictures, but I'm really happy we got to see the end of the story. 

The family drops Stella and me off at the Prado so we can squeeze in some art before we have to leave tomorrow. It's amazing, because world renowned art is, particularly Goya's Black Period and the Rubens. However, I don’t know if its because its Easter, but it seems like every other work of art is a crucifixion. Thank God Jesus had resurrection talents. 

Stella waits for me outside the Prado

I also notice a lot of torture and killing of women. I have an “Aha!” moment when I see maybe the fifteenth Adam & Eve representation, and I burst out to Stella, “That’s why men hate women! Because they blame us for everything bad because of Adam and Eve!” Stella’s reply was along the lines of, “Yeah. Duh…” I continue: “But I bet they made it all up because they were scared and jealous of what women could do with their bodies, so they had to minimize us to try and control us!” This earns another, “Yeah, duh.” type confirmation from Stella.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Or why this finally hits home right now. I’m not a total moron, I’ve been a living female for over forty one years - and by the way, my dislike of writing my age in print makes me want to vomit, thanks society, thanks Patriarchy, and fuck you both - but lately I feel like I’m seeing the world for the first time. So I guess I’m woke…? Which is also a phrase that makes me want to puke, less because of the millennial-ness of it all and more because I’m privileged enough to have been sleeping in denial, complacency, and ignorance. Which reminds me, I haven’t had my Lexapro today. 

A breath-taking sculpture of
mother & child by Maria

All my wokeness, plus the holiday crowds and being exhausted means we leave the Prado early to walk back to Maria & Will's flat. The city is much busier than I thought it would be on Easter. I'd imagined Madrid would be completely shut down in recognition of the holiday, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Because they also observe Easter Monday, Easter Sunday in the city feels like a big party. 

We make it to Will & Maria's flat without getting lost once, and I fall in love. I love Maria's taste and their home is my dream. What's incredible about spending time with Will, Maria and Dafne is they are a family of artists. Not only actors and Director's, but artists. Art is their life and it's expressed in how they live their lives, as well. It feels like home to be in an environment that values the things I value most in my life: reading, discovery, expression, creativity, beauty, space. 

Finally, paella!

Maria has arranged a flamenco show for dinner so we take a quick tour around their neighborhood on the way to the restaurant. Stella and I linger before a closed shoe shop with windows full of beautiful espadrilles. Maria casually mentions that store makes the best espadrilles in the country and it’s too bad we fly out before they open tomorrow. Stella and I agree. If we didn't have a good reason to return to Madrid, we have the perfect one now. We love a good espadrille. 

Nefi & Nefi-colored nails

In two different spots on our way to dinner, I step into a plaza and it feels so familiar. Then I find a landmark and each time realize I stood in the exact spot 18 years ago on my first trip to Europe. My recall sucks, but it's nice to know Spain burned itself into my soul enough for my body to remember until my brain catches up. 

Nefi kisses. I win. 

Now, flamenco. I bow to flamenco. I saw it years ago, but I've never seen it like this. I take no pictures. Every step, every snap echoes in my synapses and jams my mind so I can't do anything but feel these dancers pound out their individual rhythms and ride the Spanish guitar. I insist you fly to Madrid and go to Las Carboneras to experience God for yourself. Until then, here's a YouTube video- especially after 1:45 watch and have your mind blown. 

Spain Starbucks ftw

Maria says the best time to experience flamenco is after the restaurants and shows close when all the musicians and dancers meet at an after hours bar to jam together. Right then, I promise myself that we really will be back and we’ll be there.

Nefi finally sleeps with me - and not only because I locked her in with me - and give me cuddles. We only get a few hours of sleep before we have to leave Will and Maria’s for the airport. Once we check in (again, WE ARE SO EARLY), the fatigue hits and I can’t wait to get London-home. 

Creek POV of the dungeon...

When I move to Spain, I definitely want a wall & door combo. They're my favorite. 

Stella strolls past Lady Art

I love her.

"We're going to feed on Sigüenza people tonight..."

...says Dafne as Maria dresses down a belligerent Sigüenza restaurant manager.  

Us as cave drawings

Saturday: Nefi, Dafne's gorgeous kitten, is the only one  of us who manages to get out of bed before 11a. I love this cat. And if it's the last thing I do, she will love me too. 

Nefi watches me on the toilet

After a leisurely breakfast featuring many chocolate treats (biscuits, cocoa, bread) Stella and I join Will on a run into town for picnic supplies. Their village is too small for even a corner store (Dafne says a man drives through once a week to sell bread) so we go to Següenza. A stop at the butcher's for cheese, a stop at the produce stand for fruits and vegetables, and a stop at a tiny bodega that features pigs legs hanging on the wall for Jamón Iberico. (This is love, pork-style. Dry ham that can be cured for up to 48 months.)

WWII bullet marks

Every exchange includes pleasantries and catching up. At the produce stand there's a bit of a wait so when one of the salesmen notices me & Stella ogling tangerines he catches our eyes and tosses each of us one to enjoy. As we eat the juicy tangerines in the warm sun, Will, Stella and I recognize how the chit-chat would drive us bats in the city, but here in the country's leisurely pace it's makes us want to move here full time. 

By the church once again, Will points out the bullet holes around the church's windows. In WWII soldiers hid out inside the church and therefore the windows were prime targets. I remember when I traveled in Berlin (pre-9/11) and saw the WWII pockmarks all over the city, it was the first time any war felt real to me, more than a chapter in a history book. The previous evening Maria told me the US has been involved in 25 wars since WWII. I double-check and she's right. It's unfathomable to me that the US President is needlessly flirting with nuclear war with N Korea along with playing war with Russia, Syria and whoever else is around. I scan the plaza to see if there's anyone I can quickly marry, but no luck.

I told Will "sometimes when you visit friends you sit in a bar all day.
I like this better." He said, "Yes, we make you work for your bar time."

That afternoon we drive a short distance to a another nearby mountain. We hike a trail to the top and eat our picnic on rocks overlooking the valley. This hike is longer and the topography reminds me a lot of California hiking. On our way down the mountain's brow, Dafne finds our shadows on the canyon wall and we do a photo shoot. 

Sunset in the village

Master & subject

I'm feeling not terrific from the wine I drank yesterday so when Maria & Will decide we'll stay in tonight rather than going out to another dinner, I'm thrilled. It's not a proper hangover, it feels more like an allergy or my body recovering from a supertoxin. I'm exhausted and eating gives me body cramps. I KNOW, it sounds like a hangover. But trust me, it's not. Regardless, we try calling the restaurant four different times to cancel our reservation and no one ever picks up and there is no machine. 

Near 11p, as we're about to sit down to a dinner Will's prepared for us, we get a screaming phone call from the restaurant manager. My favorite line is, of course, Maria's: "If I can't get a hold of you to tell you we're canceling, what am I supposed to do, use magic? Telepathy? Osmosis?" The manager keeps calling her a liar, so Maria emails him the screen shots of their phone log and effectively terminates their relationship. She is amazing. 

"Papa, potatoes, prunes and prisms..."

... is what Will's grandmother taught her girls to say out loud to prepare themselves to enter a room of society with the proper mouth placement. Enter each room only after the full sentence. Which Stella and I do religiously now. But let's talk instead about...

My friends, on top of the world in Spain

Madrid day!

It's Easter weekend so Stella and I decide to leave the house at 6 for our 915am flight out of Heathrow. We're through security by 645a. To quote the security line info display: "Waits may be as long as 2 minutes."

Neither of us packed shorts or skirts to accommodate Madrid's summer temperatures so we shop for £400 summer dresses of Heathrow's de facto High Street while we wait to board. LOL, just kidding, we eat the whole time. 

Clotted cream sighting!

Because Stella is a genius at human nature, we score our row of seats to ourselves. Ahhhhh, vay-cay-shun...

Zombie-empty at
baggage claim in Madrid

We're staying with Stella's (now my!) friends Will, Maria & Dafne at their country home. Will picks us up from the airport and drives us to a tiny village at the base of a mountain called Ures. 

The village has one main paved road that supports a handful of stone and dirt passages off it where everyone lives. There is a little plaza type area that serves as a community living room/playground where families convene in the evenings to visit. The kids, ranging from toddler to teenager, run around and play, skateboard, scooter, shoot hoops, play futbal together. I don't see a phone out anywhere. I feel like this could be hundreds of years ago but for the clothes and the toys. 

All of Ures

Lunch is outside by their creek and a lovely spread of meats, cheeses and salad. I listen to my new favorite "Love at first sight" epic, told in different parts by Will, Maria, Dafne and Maria's brother Luis, and we laugh our way through the meal. 

After, we go on a hike to the summit of the mountain we're under. The hike is a spectacular climb, sometimes Spider-Man style, through moss and lichen covered rocks and trees. At the top, we celebrate with a pound of chocolate we share. 

Gorgeous Spanish mountain view

One of the things I love about hanging out with our new family is the stories. Will, Maria & Dafne are superb story tellers and you can tell they love where they live because they know it well enough to pepper conversation with stories about history, the community, the culture and the legends. 

post-beer, Good Friday procession

Because it's Good Friday, there have been processions all day marking the phases of Christ's death. We drive into nearby Sigüenza for the evening procession which includes bringing Christ's body down from the cross and marching it through town for burial. We grab a beer in the plaza during the sermon (I know, I know) and join the town at the church exit to watch the procession. 

if this makes you super uncomfortable,
you're not the only one

What's with the Klan hoods? That is, obviously, the first question you ask when you notice that it looks like the KKK is leading the procession. I do some research: The second iteration of the Ku Klux Klan that began in 1915 was specifically anti-Catholic. It's believed they bastardized the Catholic garb as a tee-hee-funny nod to restrictions made against Catholic Mardi Gras celebrations in the 1800s. Bonus: the hood hides their hateful faces so they can play domestic terrorist anonymously and continue to live their worthless lives while they threaten and kill people who frighten them with their religious beliefs and skin color! Fuck the KKK, then and now. 

Mary always follows Jesus in the procession. I love that.

Church of San Vicente, Siguenza

Now why do Catholics use a hood because, KKK disgusting association notwithstanding, wearing a hood immediately makes me feel like you're hiding something. The Catholic hood  serves to cover the face in penitence and grief at Christ's death on Good Friday. On Sunday, hoods are raised to reveal faces of jubilation at Christ's resurrection. There is a bunch more history about the hood that goes into the Spanish Inquisition and all that, so if you're interested Google away. 

Dafne, Maria & Stella stroll to dinner

The procession moves me like anything organized and even remotely candle lit moves me. I was raised Catholic, but I am consciously not religious, however this reminds me of my childhood and my family so I have a little moment with the energy of the event and do the sign of the cross. 

After the procession we have dinner. So, my Spanish is rusty. It's not rusted shut, but it's sticky. Before I got to Spain, I'd have told you I can understand 70% and speak 10%. At dinner, my percentages lower significantly. I'm a little heart broken to need Will to read the menu to me. My ego is forcing me to disclose, a tortilla in Spain is not the same as a tortilla in Mexico, so even words I know, I can't understand. (Spanish tortilla is an omelette. Shocking!!)

Dinner is rich (I was stuffed after my starter) and desert is richer. It's rice pudding, but like a creme brûlée rice pudding. It leaves me speechless. And. So. Full. 

Dafne waits for us to catch up as per usual

The plaza in Siguenza

picture worthy rice pudding

"How will I know it happened if I don't get a picture of it?"

Stella's flat!

...I'm a smartass about the non-disclosure agreement I have to sign today. But yesterday...

Do or be. Today I be. I be gardening, I be cleaning, and I be listening to new age self help all the while. WHY am I listening to two hours of self help videos on vacation? 

I don't really ask myself this question until a couple of hours later when I'm feeling restless, lost and pissy. It's not only because I'm literally lost for the hundredth time, but the self help hoo hah has me in my head. I force myself to process instead of eating chocolate because Self Help. 

gardening: after

My conclusion: I'm compulsive about clicking on self help videos because I can always be better. But really? There's not much better than Vacation Bianca, so screw self help. 

gardening: before

I'm sorry Vacation B, that was a dumb thing to do to us today. We have tea, scones, and clotted cream with a family friend at Harrod's and feel much better. Harrod's, by the way? Go. I'm not a shopper and I still found it to be a badass spectacle. And their tea is served on beautiful china sets, so all the better. 

Wicked stage, pre-show

Harrod's tea loveliness

And for tonight, Wicked. I bought the ticket on a whim. I've already seen it and have the soundtrack memorized, but I got myself a ticket anyway and I'm so happy I did. 

The two sides of the same coin relationship dynamic is my favorite favorite and one that really moves me. The first time I saw Wicked I was so overcome by the ladies' relationship, I wanted to cry throughout but I was watching it with a crush and I didn't want to be weird. That night I held in everything I was feeling. (Bad Bianca!) Tonight I let myself cry. And cry and cry. Racking body sobs is closer to what was happening. It was WONDERFUL. 

Wicked Elixir Bar in the Apollo!!

I find out during intermission that I've been cleared to go to set with Stella the early following morning, so I don't blog. Which bring us to...Today! (Thursday)

Have I mentioned Stella is on a Star Wars movie? She is. It's incredible and I'm so proud of her. 

Her driver (!) picks us up and gets us to set before 7am. I take my picture for my temporary ID and sign a non-disclosure agreement. I don't read it, but I'm assuming I can't talk about anything and I certainly don't take any pictures. I think generals are okay, though. 

best hot chocolate I've
EVER had at Paul A Young

Generally, I'm BLOWN AWAY to be on a Star Wars set. The crew is lovely, the directors are awesome, Stella is obviously amazing and everything about it makes me miss being on set. Still, I take off around lunchtime to run some errands to prepare for our Madrid trip. 

OUR MADRID TRIP! It feels like fiction to think that we'll be in Madrid in less than 24 hours. 

One of my errands is watching Fast & Furious 8, as they're calling it here in London. I don't know why they're not using "The Fate of the Furious" other than it's a terrible title, but that's probably not the reason. I love everything about F&F8, from top to bottom, inside and out. I laugh, I cry, I dance in my seat to the soundtrack and I bob and weave as Michelle Rodriguez drives because I IDOLIZE HER AND WOULD FREAKY FRIDAY WITH HER ANYTIME. My only complaint is I wish MR had more fight scenes. My love for the F&F franchise isn't a guilty pleasure, it's a shameless joy I cherish. 

Next stop, Madrid!!!

such a badass

"Shane, don't jump on the ancient monuments, please..."

...says Father to Shane as he runs and jumps on the Stonehenge Cursus (a long enclosure of parallel banks) within my earshot. I snort.

Stonehenge and tiny ant people

Stonehenge Day! I honestly don't know what to expect. I'm curious but not necessary drawn to see it. Stella's friend went and said it was not to be missed so we decided to go last weekend but Stella had to work both days and that's the downside of having a job. That's why I try not to. I'M KIDDING. But it's true. 

The first thing I find is getting to Stonehenge is more expensive than I anticipated. My preferred way to go would have been taking the train to Salisbury and then catching a bus from there. This way I could play in Salisbury, visit their farmers market, see their church, be in charge of my own timetable and NOT take a (roll of the eyes) Tour Bus from London where I get none of the above. After pricing my way, I decide independence is overrated and opt for the Tour Bus. 

810a You know what challenges the directionally challenged? Construction. It encircles my tube stop like a moat. I'm happy I left early. I check in and join the back of the line. I wonder what kind of seat I'll get. I don't have to worry because in a COMPLETE REVERSAL the check in lady leads the back of the line into a bus behind us. Lines matter to me. I respect them. I also respect authority and things working out on my favor, and I'm making way too big of a deal about getting to be the third person on the bus instead of the thirteenth. 

God, that single girl sucks.

825a By the time the stragglers join and fill the bus I'm feeling pretty smug. You know what rules about traveling alone? Spreading out across two seats. I'm just saying. I love space. 

830a The boss lady who engineered the line reversal climbs on board and calls my name. I'm on the wrong bus. The right bus is "over there". I run to find my correct bus. I Am The Last Person In Line. Because I'm actually writing this in real time, I'm hyper aware of what a child I am. But I still get my own seat, so there. 

905a No, I do not still get my own seat. There is a second passenger pick up. The last person in that line chooses my open seat instead of the open seat across the aisle. And her arm is rubbing against mine. Right. Now.

1110a We arrive and you have the choice to take another shuttle or walk across nearly a mile of grass pastures to get to Stonehenge. The walk is perfect: quiet, solitary and beautiful. A friend of Stella's was able to beat the glut of people waiting for the shuttle to get a peaceful view of Stonehenge. I was hoping to be able to do the same, but with all the kids being out of school on holiday until Easter, the place was packed. Which made the walk to and fro that much more necessary. 

Gorgeous walk to Stonehenge

My Buster

Great Bustard

Near the pedestrian gate to Stonehenge proper, I see a radical bird. Let's call him Buster. I'm excited because I've never seen anything like Buster before and I'm hoping to get a picture of him for my dad. I do! I drop to the ground to get a better angle and Buster seems to look at me. Then, it looks like Buster is walking in my direction. Then, I'm not enhancing this story in any way, Buster walks straight at me and does a mating display. It's the most attention from a boy I've received in at least a year, if not five. It was too good not to video, so click here to meet Buster, the best flirt I've ever encountered. 

A photographer nearby tells me this is a Great Bustard. They are being reintroduced to the

area, and Buster is likely a wild (uh, yeah) offspring of parents that were reintroduced to Salisbury last year, because he's not tagged. Great Bustards would have been a native bird back when Stonehenge was built. I think I understood the photographer correctly, but I'm not fact checking anything so if I'm wrong, sorry. 

Finally, finally I'm at Stonehenge. I take the opposite route around the monument to try and avoid the bulk of the crowd. (Can you detect a theme for my life?) It doesn't really work (Another theme. Jesus, this isn't about me, sorry, I'll shut up.) but it works enough for me to get some people-free pictures. I listen to my audio tour and it's super interesting! 

Stonehenge & people panorama

The fact I'm most interested in is Stonehenge started out as a burial ground. Because I do the tour backwards, I don't find this part out until I'm walking away. To pay tribute to the souls buried here, I walk back to have a quiet moment with the monument. It is nearly

Barrows like this are all over the place here.
They are old school crypts, sort of.

impossible, especially when a lady asks me to scoot over because I'm in her shot even though I've been standing in the same spot for at least five minutes. I have a moment of real disgust for all of society, I'm not gonna lie. I reel my brain in and really try to connect with the history and the spirituality of Stonehenge and every thing it has been witness to and every thing it will be witness to. I achieve a glimpse of perspective and I'm able to turn away with my heart at peace. Five seconds later a father and son lumber at a snail's pace in front of me and my brain says move, and I'm back in the world. BUT I HAD THOSE FIVE SECONDS, Y'ALL. 

Honestly, I feel good. That was a groovy connection moment. I highly recommend it. 

Someone didn't wash her hair to pay her respects to the ancients...

The greatest

The day I got to London, I was hauling all my crap through the

Eeeeeee!

Underground when I saw a poster for Edward Albee's The Goat, or Who Is Sylvia? and I gasped out loud. Not only is this one of my favorite plays of all time but Stevie is my dream role. I would do anything to play that part. (Universe, let's do this please!) Tonight, I watch Damian Lewis and Sophie Okonedo KILL IT. I'm seated in theater's version of Coach, touching and breathing all the people around me, but I'm transfixed by both of them so that I'm between them onstage, not in my seat, thank God. Shout outs to Jason Hughes & Archie Madekwe for also being wonderful. Man, I love theater!