Morta

“People underestimate the value of a good bad experience.” - The Good People by Sarah Conn

I’ve always thought this way - that bad things make us what we are as much as good things. Which is why there are some bad things I’ve always wanted to experience. Some that I put on my list of 100 things, like have my heart broken. Probably inspired by my love of Savage Garden and the line from Affirmation, “I believe you can’t appreciate real love till you’ve been burned.”

I’m not asking for bad things to happen to me (in fact, I’m knocking on wood, lifting my feet and holding my breath right now to prevent it) but I truly think that to understand the enormity of human experience and human emotion, you have experience both the bad and the good. But I’ve been lucky. Nothing truly bad has ever happened to me.

This is the most unbelievable thing that has ever happened to me:

I went to Spain to visit my friend Chris, who was, in turn, visiting her parents. Though I flew into Malaga, we spent the two nights in Algeciras since it was right next to Gibraltar, our plan for Saturday. We were staying in a “hostal” which I think translates to hostel, but was more like a budget hotel. It was ridiculously cold in the room, but we were trying desperately to sleep. Until 2am when we were woken up by extremely loud screaming. At first we thought it was kids outside, drunk or high. It was Carnivale that week in Spain, so it wasn’t terribly surprising that people might be partying too hard. Then we realized that it wasn’t outside, it was only two floors down. They were SCREAMING. I’ve never actually heard someone scream like that before. We had no idea what they were saying, because we don’t speak (much) Spanish. There was a lot of crying, the sounds of someone throwing up and a bunch of different voices, one of which sounded like a child.

The screaming continued for two hours, and finally we got back to sleep around 4am. We didn’t venture out to see what was happening, because we were scared and we wouldn’t have been any help anyway, as we don’t speak the language. But when we went downstairs to the lobby the next morning, we asked the man what had happened. He didn’t speak any English, but we asked via charades what had happened. Chris held up two fingers, then four and did some screaming. He got it and started to explain, with his own charades. We gathered from this and a few key words (like “morta”) that someone had died! Apparently a woman had a heart attack. I don’t think I will ever forget that screaming. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days after wards.

The true definition of thoughtful

I am a thoughtful person.

Let me rephrase that…. I am a person full of thoughts. Interesting that Thesaurus.com lists “anxious” as a synonym for thoughtful. That’s my kind of thoughtful. The kind where my head is so full of thoughts that there simply isn’t space to breathe, and my only option for a moment’s peace is watching mind numbing television shows.

I just sent Fae a really long email, to which she replied:

“It’s sort of funny you rambled about overthinking and that was one huge orgasm of overthinking.”

You’re telling me.

The one with all the monkeys

Gibraltar is an interesting little place. I’ve often heard people say that they’re going on vacation to “Spain and Gibraltar.” But until my friend Chris asked me if I wanted to go to Gibraltar with her, I had no idea what (or where) Gibraltar was. Presumably, near Spain.

Well, I was right about that. It is near Spain. In fact, it’s practically in Spain (in a purely spatial sense). It’s not part of Spain, though. It is its own little country. Sort of. It’s actually a “British overseas territory.” So it’s British. Mostly.

Confused yet?

They use the pound. They speak English. They love being British. They fly the Union Jack proudly. They love them some football. They serve fish and chips and jacket potatoes in pubs. They have a Marks & Spencer’s!

It’s an entire country in one city. The airport runway (yes, it has an airport!) can be walked or driven across. There are four bus lines. There are about 30,000 people. You can’t take a bus in from Spain. You have to get off outside of Gibraltar, walk over the border and show them your passport (sadly no stamp though!).

And they have monkeys. The only monkeys in Europe! There are over 200 of them, and they live on top of the Rock of Gibraltar, mostly. They’re tagged, fed and kept by a vet and the government. Apparently they’re like the Tower of London ravens. The legend goes that if the monkeys ever disappear from Gibraltar, it will signal the end of British rule over the area. This greatly concerns the British, so much so that Winston Churchill had their stocks replenished after the Second World War.

From the top of the Rock of Gibraltar you can see the Pillars of Hercules, also know as the Strait of Gibraltar. The smallest passage between Europe and Africa. You can see the south most point in Europe on one side and Morocco on the other.

On one side of Gibraltar is the Atlantic. On the other is the Mediterranean.

Because of this geography, Gibraltar was an important place historically. That’s why the British own it. That’s why they want to keep it. That’s why the Spanish want it back.

But it’s a beautiful place. It’s a friendly, multicultural city that draws it’s population from Spain, Britain, Africa and all of the world. It has a mosques, a temple, a synagogue, a cathedral and some churches. It’s pretty cool.

And if you’re like me and can’t speak any Spanish, Italian, Greek or Arabic… it’s a city on the Mediterranean where the principle language is English!

Also, they have monkeys.

Postcards

I write more postcards than hooks,
I read more maps than books.
Feel like every chance to leave
is another chance I should have took.
Every minute is a mile.

I measure minutes in bus stops, train stations and flight times. Two hours early to wait around. Through blurry eyes I watch the miles fade into memory and blur into one another.

I add to my list: What countries have you been to? Spain. Gibraltar. I was in Amsterdam for two hours, Paris for three. I went to Devon for the first time and the rolling hills looked beautiful from behind the terminal glass. I mark the time with pieces of a Galaxy bar and sips of weak tea.

A template for writing postcards. Hello from  insert country here . Interesting fact goes here. Made me think of you. Wish you were here/miss you/see you soon. Love, Heather. As I write I imagine the fridges and bulletin boards the cards will grace, the homes and the people they will see before me.

It seems like everything I write now could be from a chapter titled “Trains, planes and automobiles.” A few lines in a travelling song. A few words in monologue about leaving and arriving and the spaces in between.

I’m crossing things off lists and counting flights on two hands worth of cold fingers. My passport is smeared with black ink and bending at the corners. I need new walking shoes.

Miles

Short videos I made, from my trips to Rome and Egypt.

Footage by myself and Chandra. Photos mostly by Chandra. So Many Miles by Sarah Slean. Many the Miles by Sara Bareilles. Videos by me!