Ok, a little more in sequence: Valencia is a four hour bus ride east of Madrid. This trip was suggested by my fellow American Katrina, who had a free weekend from work and wanted a travel buddy. Everything was closed or on hold for Semana Santa, so I gladly accepted the invitation!

The two of us made reservations at the Red Nest Hostel, which was very trendy, neat and full of friendly people. It was certainly less boisterous than the hostel in Vancouver! Katrina was waiting for me when I arrived (she came a day earlier) and we immediately went in search of lunch, which meant trekking down to Plaza del la Reina, which was full of other out-of-towners. Men lined the sidewalks, hawking fedoras, sunglasses, jewelry, dvds and other mass-produced trinkets.

In the plaza where we ate, there was a large ornate church called Catedral de Santa Maria de Valencia. For 2 euros, you can climb up a winding stone staircase to the top of a bell tower in the Catedral! Just like the tower of El Alcazar in Segovia! When we reached the top of the tower, we could see the entire city. It was so windy, I was positively quaking while I took pictures, but it was totally worth the view!

We walked all over that afternoon, and for dinner we went searching for Paella, which is a very typical Spanish dish consisting of rice and seafood or chicken. Although it’s typical in Spanish homes, you can’t find paella in most restaurants because it’s considered a tourist dish. The  Spanish restaurants I’ve visited seem to consider traditional foods passe and prefer to serve international foods. My paella Valenciana was delicious, even with the presence of a whole chicken head on my plate. I did not eat the head, I just pushed it to the side and tried to avoid eye contact with it.

After dinner, we went in search of crepes. We split a fresh crepe filled with chocolate, bananas and nata (whipped cream). So delicious! While we waited for it to cook, we were approached by a young couple looking for an Easter procession and discovered, after conversing in Spanish for a bit, that the girl was American and they both spoke English! Funny ol’ world, isn’t it?

Our power breakfast the next morning was churros con chocolate taza and “illy” coffee. Yummmmm. In the plaza the bells were clamoring and pealing in honor of Easter. There was to be a procession later, but our plan was to use our last few hours touring the city on bicycles!  On our leisurely walk to the bike shop, we found an open air market, which was so awesome! There were vendors selling everything imaginable, and I was able to purchase a few unique gifts that you couldn’t find in any store!

We finally got to the bike shop, my purse sagging with weight, at about 1 pm, which gave us roughly 5 hours to ride. The nice man gave us 2 bikes with baskets and the half-day price, which meant saving 5 euros each (thanks guy!). There are gardens lining the main roads, only one level lower, so when you’re in the garden there’s the sensation that the city is far, far away. We pedaled happily along the dirt paths, passing families on picnics, children flying kites and other people out enjoying the sunny day.

The highlight of the ride, for me, was seeing the beautifully designed buildings which comprise El Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias. I highly recommend googling images of these buildings, they’re all arches and stripes and curves; the first one we saw strongly resembles the Rocketeer’s helmet. One building had a harp-like piece reaching 10 stories high! The glowing white shapes, in combination with the blue sky and crystal azure pools, made for a breathtaking experience.

After a bit of searching and a lot of pedaling, we found the beach! The water was blue and cold, the sand was soft and toasty, and the shoreline was teeming with people! We took our pictures and reveled for a bit, then went searching for food. I’m afraid we broke every possible rule of international travel by ordering hamburgers, but they sounded so good at the time! And they were delicious! After we ate, we cruised back to our hostel on Calle de Paz to pick up our luggage and ride to the bike shop. The ride back was so nice, it seemed almost effortless to glide over the paved bike path while the sun peeked over the buildings!

After returning the bikes, we had time to rest in a grassy, sunny spot, get horchata and ice cream at the mall & rest stop before finding our bus home. We both collapsed into our seats and dozed for most of the trip. It was a full weekend and a wonderful experience! I feel so privileged to have seen Valencia while I’m here in Spain!

Before I came to Spain, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what “cross-cultural missions” really means. My impression of Missions (capital “M”) has been evolving since I was in grade school, so I thought I had a good grasp on the concept. When I was a youngster and Mrs. McLay read stories about people like Adoniram Judson, Hudson Taylor and Mary Slessor, they seemed to possess superhuman amounts of faith and courage. They lived such amazing lives, they were considered special enough to be commemorated on large color cardboard pages for the delight of awestruck children. They were like….characters from the Bible, which to me meant that they lived a long time ago and their like was not to be found today. Did anyone else feel that awe-filled detachment from “the mission field”? It wasn’t until I was in junior high and heard Andy Byrd share about a missions trip to the Philippines that it hit me: “People TODAY are living for Christ in a big way. People like ME are missionaries!” Boom! Lightening struck my brain!

Fast forward to post-high school. I’m auditing classes at ABI, taking a “Missions” class from Steve Napier. The definition naturally comes into question: “What is a missionary? How would you define a missionary?” As people give their answers, I have to revisit those old preconceived notions: “Are missionaries the long-dead men and women who lived in strange foreign lands? Are the students who spend Spring Break building houses in Mexico missionaries? Am I a missionary in my own hometown?” I settled on something along these lines: a missionary is a person who shares their faith and who often has surreal experiences as a result of their obedience (this was to cover the paranormal stories my friends would bring back from short-term trips. It’s just part of the territory, things are different “in the field”).

So, now I’m in Spain, learning sooooo much more than Spanish. I’ve learned that if you want to be a productive member of the community here, you have to A. know Spanish, B. understand the culture and C. have patience. The last one is hard for me because I’m a firm believer in “act now while you’re enthusiastic”. I can’t help it, I’m an “I”! (that’s a joke for those of you from Glacierview, or anyone who’s taken the DISC test. I joke.) The value of flexibility has been made clear during my time here. The schedule is different, the mindset is different; there’s very little about my own culture that carries into the Spanish. I’m very willing to give my time, but what can I do as an outsider? The people from church and my own Maria Jesus have been very generous and welcoming. I honestly feel like I’ve made some good friends in the last month, which is evidence of God’s direction! He knew who would be here when He first started guiding me toward Madrid last year!

How can I explain what I’ve been doing since I arrived? I’ve been trying to keep you all updated on my comings and goings, but as far as what I DO, I’d have to say: nothing out of the ordinary, aka, nothing worth commemorating in a flip book. I attend youth group on Fridays (which is awesome!), church on Sunday and every other Saturday I attend Bible study with the most patient group of people ever. I went to Prayer Group this week, where I sat silently listening to heartfelt supplication on behalf of believers being martyred. I spend time with Maria Jesus and her family, who have adopted me and extended every kindness possible. Twice a week I practice basic Spanish alongside 11 other eager students from all over the globe. I go to the supermarket, the library, the metro station, anywhere I can humiliate myself by speaking pidgin Spanish. Most importantly, in my opinion, I spend time getting to know the other Americans who have waved goodbye to country and familiarity to come live here. They are the ones who give me a better idea of what “cross-cultural” means. What brings them to Spain? The real question is “What KEEPS them in Spain?”. They don’t stay for the emotional high of “surreal experiences”, that’s for sure, nor for the hope of being immortalized by Sunday School teachers world-wide. Every one of them were called to Spain, whether literally (God made it clear from the get-go) or by chains of events and circumstance. It’s not an easy place to harvest; there isn’t much fruit. It’s emotionally and mentally tiring to put yourself out there day after day and receive very little in return. I’m learning that a missionary has to be a servant as well. If any one of these people were self-serving, they’d be halfway across the Pacific on a plane headed home.

So I have to examine my own heart and mind: what would bring me back overseas for the long-term? My enthusiasm for new places and people would last about a month, on its own. 30 days makes a habit, so they say. Nothing exciting about a habit, is there? Would friendships bring me back? Well, I have some absolutely drop-dead fantastic friends back home too. The food…let’s not go there. I still don’t know, which is inconvenient because my time-line clearly indicates that by age 25, I should have God’s plan for my life figured out. Silly optimistic time-line.

This is becoming the Behemoth of all blog posts, let me explain…no, there is too much. Let me sum up. (I’m tired and quoting Princess Bride)

While I am here in Madrid, I may not be able to lead revival meetings or small groups, or even share my testimony without the help of a Spanish-English dictionary, but I can come alongside as a helper, I can encourage, I can bridge the cultural gap with kindness and that light inside me that I talked about a few weeks ago. And you know what? It feels…right. It feels right to be using whatever resources I have to make someone else’s burden lighter. It feels right to do things like babysit or carry groceries and call it ministry. I’m not a saint and I’m not superhuman. I’m just a displaced Alaskan in a foreign land, bumbling her way though the learning process and trying to be a helper. What I have done here isn’t going to wow the crowd or amaze friends back home. It’s not the kind of experience I would have determined “typical Missions” in years gone by. But it’s the place and the people and the friends and the experiences that God called me to. My cup runneth over!

This morning was a bit hectic, I tried to pack and return library books and update my blog and return messages and upload pictures all before lunch. Most of it got done, and I was able to grab some lunch and relax before Javier, Eva and Josue picked us up in the minivan (or whatever it is.) Their car uses an ignition card! So cool!

We left Madrid at about 4 pm, and stopped only for gas and for a beverage stop at a sweet stone cervecas in la montanas! It looked so cool as we drove away, the building is built into the hill and is much taller than it seems, from the necessity of building on the side of a mountain. I posted a blurry picture on Facebook, which gives you the general idea of a stone building plopped amongst the trees.

Villa del Rio (village by the river) is small but has tiendas, churches and schools like everywhere else. Most of the houses, MJ’s included, are like  double story apartments, with similar casas lined up in one uniform building. I like the house itself, it has many rooms and a back porch area partially roofed, which would be great fun for barbeques and whatnot! And the only cockroach spotted this weekend was already dead so, that’s a plus!

We visited the local olive oil factory, the employees of which didn’t seem to mind us walking around the equipment. Javier showed me where they pour the olives in to be crushed and the conveyor belt that piles the chopped pits in the courtyard (picture on Facebook). The olives are very dark indigo, nearly black, and the juice inside stained Javier’s fingers purple.

After a large family lunch, nosotros (sin Josue) drove to Cordoba, the big historical city nearby. We went to Mezquita Cordoba Mosque, a Moroccan style teteria (delicious teas of different styles and flavors are served, along with sweet North African pasteries) and many souvenir tiendas. We crossed a long bridge where I took about 120 pictures and saw an ultra light touring vehicle soar overhead. It was a good day, full of walking, pictures and browsing.

Youth Group was fun tonight, that’s a high energy bunch of kids! They love to dance, which is new for me! I’ve never worked with a youth group where the teens spontaneously dance during musical chairs or during a Wii championship battle. They are also big on games (of course! Who isn’t?) Next week I’m planning games; so far I’m thinking: Winkum (not bloody), Psychiatrist, Spoons….what else? They know 4 on the Couch…if we’re allowed all over the church we could play Alien vs. Weapon or Mafia (shout-out to TBC & GBC!) That’s the best part about this experience thus far, there’s not much difference between discipleship in Spain and discipleship in America (of course, I’m not in charge, so my responsibility level is much lighter! I don’t even have to bring snacks, which is good because my first experiment making chocolate chip cookies here was…..less than delicious.)

After the service, Gina, Bill, Theresa of Avila and I scuttled out in search of a restaurant. We stopped at MJ’s, where she, Eva, Javier and Josue were getting ready for lunch. Eva said Sol would have the most variety, so that’s where we went. We ended up choosing a place simply because the waiter opened the door to talk to us while we were reading the menu! There was a “meal of the day” special for 11.90, which included an appetizer, main dish, drink and dessert/coffee. After all of my complaining about fish, I ended up getting the fish plate, being too flustered to examine the rest of the menu. My own fault. OH! The first thing I saw when I sat down was a huge dead cucaracha next to my chair! UGH! It had big feelers and its legs were all curled up…at least as big as my pinky from the knuckle up. Gross. However, as Bill said, “welcome to the city” and it’s not likely that this would be the only restaurant with cockroaches and the rest would be roach free, there’s so jammed together. So, after making the rest of the group aware of my seatmate, I tucked my purse up off the floor and concentrated on enjoying lunch. Which I did, I’m glad to say!

After lunch, we went to Bill and Gina’s apartment, which is GORGEOUS! It’s HUGE, has 2 hallways, 3 bedrooms, 2 baths (both with tubs!) and a laundry room! One of the bedrooms is an office, the living room is so cool and has a half French door thing, the colors throughout are fantastic! The guest bathroom has aqua tile, the kitchen has black marble tile floors (and maybe countertops) and there are all these cool nooks and crannies! I really like it, lots of personality already and they haven’t even finished decorating.

Bill and Gina shared some of their thoughts about being far from home, the emotional support from people in the U.S. and the whole idea of “being where God wants you to be”. It was so good to get their insight. They prayed and planned for 9 years before coming to Spain. For them, making the decision to come was the result of A LOT of seeking God’s will. I’m so glad they ended up here!

It seems like we all have a hesitancy to do something good…without knowing if it’s what God wants. I mean, God said “make disciples” but sometimes I hesitate and say, “But which ones are my disciples? Should I go here? There? What if I make the wrong choice, choose the wrong place?” Plus, sometimes it takes years to build the friendships necessary to even begin the evangelism process without being rebuffed. It’s a tough decision to commit, say, 5 years of your life to a city or people group, without a specific call that lets you know “This is where I want you to work” (God speaking) However, the alternative to acting before feeling absolutely sure is…not acting at all. Waiting to act can lead to forgetting, being distracted or convincing yourself that you’re not the right one for the job. It’s very easy for me to convince myself that I’m not suited. My gut, my emotions, my experience all shout in unison “You’re not ready for this! This is not your area of expertise! Turn back!” And sometimes I do. Not knowing what I am capable of is torturous. Every time I turn back from a challenge, I stay in my comfort zone. I don’t change, I don’t grow; I am not challenged, honed or strengthened by turning away from an opportunity. I am swaddled and atrophy a little bit more each time, so that it becomes easier and easier to close my eyes, shift my gaze, let my mind wander away from the dangerous territory of “Should I?”

These are just things I’m thinking about, maybe it’s just me but I doubt it. And I’m not just talking about deciding to go to another country! I’m faced with personal, relational and spiritual challenges all the time, no matter where I am. It’s doing what I know what is right, even my whole being is rebelling against it. I’m talking about the reaction to do what is safe & comfortable, instead of having faith that the outcome outweighs the immediate cost. Being uncomfortable, rebuffed, sacrificing something you want or need: how are these “costs” in the long run really? Better to call them “inconveniences”.

When I got home, MJ had already started on mi gorro amarillo! (my yellow beret) I tried on her red version to get an idea of what I’m in for and it’s cute but I looked like a character from Strawberry Shortcake! Oh well, it’ll be a fun thing for us to work on together. She’s teaching me how to crochet that type of hat. The question is: who will I give it to? Ohhh, mystery! See how I try to draw people into reading my updates, with these twists and turns? “Will Joelene ever make chocolate chip cookies? Is there another post office in her future? WHO will get her poorly made beret? Tune in next time…”

MJ’s friend Consuela came over to knit today. The two ladies used to work together at a daycare center. They either said they worked together for 20+ years or it had been 20+ years ago since they had worked together. Either way, Consuela is originally from Equatorial Guinea, has 5 kids, 5 grandkids and the best recipe for pollo con peanut butter sauce that I’ve ever tasted. Lunch today was staggeringly delicious. But most of the lunches I record in my journal are epic!

I found a closer post office! It’s in El Carmen, which is about 15 min distance by foot. Maria Jesus set me on the right street, and from there I just walked and asked, walked and asked again. The shortest distance, I think, will be to walk to the church, go dereche up the hill until I reach the playground park, take the street on the left after walking through the park and then it’s near there. I can’t remember the street name (Almada-something-something?) and it’s not printed on the receipt. The way home is easy: there’s a line of golden tan identical apartment buildings, curving downhill towards La Elipa. Life is so interesting when you don’t speak the language! It turns even the mundane task of finding a post office into an adventure!

Other than the post office, we also visited a cafeteria called Faborit, which has a large bistro-type menu and delicious espresso! After Faborit, we walked to Retiro, the largest park in Madrid. Though the trees and flowers haven’t started blooming, the park is beautiful! It’s aptly named; Retiro is a wonderful place to sit, relax, talk or just look around. When the weather gets a bit warmer, I might trek down there with my sketch pad and see what kind of ludicrousness I can conjure up.

I’ve discovered something else about the library: they have shelves and shelves of movies (which will play on my computer!) Woohoo! I can watch all the Spanish dvds I want. I have Por Siempre Jamas (Ever After) and Quiero Ser Como Beckham (Bend it Like Beckham) for the next 3 days. I also checked out 3 libros para jovenes: Don Quixote (illustrated version) Gilgamesh (as in, “Epic of”?) and Memorias de Una Vaca (Memories of a Cow). Spending almost every moment immersed in Spanish can be tough, but spending time with my new American friends is like a holiday of English and comprehension!

Manana: clase de Espanol! TO SLEEP! (I’ve gotten into the bad habit of waiting to record the day until I’m drooping with exhaustion, which explains the content of some of these entries.)

I’m going to start a weekly list called “And what have we learned from this?” Or maybe, “Cultural Lessons from a Slow Learner”. (Alternative titles will be considered if anyone would like to make a suggestion) Although I technically arrived in Madrid on Wed the 24^th, I don’t really count that as a day in Spain since I spent the morning in Washington and had dinner with Americans. So….

What have I learned this week? I’ve learned that:

1. the name I used on our Mexico mission trips: Jolena (ho-lay-na) in Spain is a type of mild profanity, used by grandmothers when the store is out of their favorite snack (“No mas galletas? Ah ho-layn!”)
2. people in Spain do not eat tacos. They have Mariachi bands, but just for the tourists. Their favorite food is jamon (ham) and their typical music is pop, though many radios stations play American music (I’ve listened to Jack Johnson, U2 and Cher since I’ve been here).
3. in Spain, they drive on the right side of the road. Literally the right side, I’m not being ethnocentric.
4. having a European adapter on your computer cord is wishful thinking. Good rule of thumb: if there’s a chance you might blow all the circuits and emabarass yourself/inconvenience a large amount of people, you WILL. (for those of you who saw “Leap Year”, I pretty much re-enacted Amy Adams and the blackberry fiasco on my first night here.)
5. conversing with the nice slow-speaking Spanish lady in the juice aisle of the supermercado is much different than conversing with the impatient gravel-voiced man in the bank.
6. not looking into people’s eyes is hard! But looking strange men in the face here is like wearing a Spanish sign that says “I’m American! Flirt with me in a way that is demeaning and makes me uncomfortable!”
7. sardonic comments should be kept to one’s self until the language has been properly mastered. No matter how much English you use, no one gets the joke. (sigh)

Today I saw the Madrid of postcard legend, the Madrid that looks the way I’ve always imagined Rome & Paris. The streets, the buildings, plazas, the Palace for Pete’s sake! There’s a good reason all of the tourists go to areas like this one; it was romantic and picturesque. La Elipa is sweet and very Spanish and the other places I’ve seen are nice, but today I saw pigeons flying over tables in the plaza, with the café signs and the sun shining through olive trees in the Palace garden….ahhh! I can’t wait to go again!