It’s time for a bit of thanks to all those little things that made my semester away possible. Nothing too special, just a small nod to unsung heroes of Bilbao. So let’s begin:

Super BM. Boy’s got to eat, and Super BM was my supermarket of choice. Why? Well, my father is a doctor and he was given a keychain that endorsed some obscure laxative sometime during the early nineties. The copy read, “Take Taximil in the AM for a BM in the PM.” Since then, BM has always meant Bowel Movement, and maybe it’s better that way. Consequently, Super BM not only is an amazing place for food, but it’s also a description of a superb number two. But honestly, Super BM supplied me with all the Doritos and Vinos Jovenes I ever needed. I am grateful.

Euskaltel. Telefonica was the state-supported telecom company for Spain practically since the invention of the phone. It was privatized a little while ago, but very few ventures wanted to take on a company that had a 100% of the market share. Yet Euskaltel did anyhow and had a bit of success too, earning itself a nice piece of the pie. In my attempt to stick it to the man, I signed up for Euskaltel cell service and also Euskaltel Banda Ancha, or Broadband. It wasn’t cheap, but I was über-connected to both people at home and with people in Bilbao. Had it not been for Euskaltel, I surely would have gone into content-widthdrawal.

Personally Packaged Flan. There were many common dishes in the Lando household, but none quite so essential as personally packaged flan. Yes, bean soups and fried chicken would come and go, but the flan… the flan was dependable. After every meal, Veronica would look over at me and inquire, “Flan?” I’d simply say “Hombre,” and that was all the answer she needed. She’d grab a plate, spoon and the flan and place ‘em right in front of me. The flan looks just like a snack pack; the package is plastic with a removable top. The only catch is that there is a second removable strip on the bottom as well! You take the flan, remove the top, turn it upside down and place it on the plate and then remove the second strip, at which point the flan falls out perfectly onto the plate. Then you eat it. Honestly, if there was one thing I wish was available in the States, personal flan would be it.

The Bilbao Metro. Subways, as a rule, are usually somewhat gross. Madrid’s is downright disgusting. When I heard I was supposed to take the Metro everyday to school, the prospect of so much public touching made me cringe. But then I got there and I saw I had little to worry about. Although it’s ten years old, the Bilbao Metro is amazingly modern and clean-I would have thought it was much more young. The trains were on time and frequent, except for after hours, which was a huge pain on occasion. With a mensual, or monthly pass, you could go anywhere in the city. It was like a pass to Bilbao for 30 euro a month. Not too shabby. It was the one experience that almost everyone had in common. Just like any public transportation should be, the Bilbao Metro was so convenient and enjoyable it became necessary.

H&M. I am not a big man by any means. Though I am not short, I do run a little small around the waist, or at least I did before flan became a daily affair. Because of my peculiar size, finding clothes can be troublesome, though rarely difficult. In the States, I have found a few retailers who make clothes for my body type-GAP and American Eagle to name a few. Places like Abercrombie and Fitch have nothing that would ever fit me, though I am not complaining. H&M fit. Ultimately, I spent a little too much there, mostly on blazers, but it was well worth it. The prices were good, even in euros.

Veronica and Friends Yes, Checho the little dog loved the ladies, and in the absence of ladies, Checho “loved” the sofa cushions. Yes, Higuer was an old husky, one whose incontinence was matched only by his size. Yes, Veronica smoked and Jose opened his first beer before noon. Yes, they were not an ordinary group but they were my life and I loved them in a special way. It was the kind of love that just happens when living in such small spaces. They were there at the beginning of the day and its end. They were always there. While their antics could be a bit much, they made my life in Bilbao full and I seldom felt alone in that house, for better or worse. I am also sure that I was at times a bit much for them as well, though they never let on. They were my life and my family for three and a half months and I wouldn’t change anything about my time with them.

Bit Torrent and Skype. There are two essential tools for all travelers. It’s not some travel alarm clock or Camelpak or any of that crap. Nope, it’s Skype and Bit Torrent. There you are, far away from home on foreign soil. The only things that you want are your friends and family and honestly, some good ol’ American programming. But both are so far away, it seems impossible. Not anymore. Skype is extraordinarily cheap and easy to use. I spent a semester a talking to Emily and my family from computer to computer, for free. This isn’t to say it’s flawless; it’s a very weird feeling to have an entire conversation in front of a computer. But it is amazing. While Skype may bring you closer to friends and family, Bit Torrent brings you closer to episodes of The Simpsons and Futurama, it brings you back to the content you love and miss. I can’t tell you how many days I came home from class exhausted, tired of Spanish, and all I wanted to do was to check in at home and then tune out to Homer J.

Quite the list, huh? It may seem a little pointless, this list of mine. I mean, Skype and Flan and Super BM. What about the people? The teachers and my fellow students, aren’t they worthy of a listing? Undoubtedly what I am most appreciative of are the people that I met, but I would have too hard a time putting that appreciation into words. So I’ve busied myself with finer points of my semester, hoping that in one way or another, people know how I feel. I think they do.

This marks the closing of the Paella Factory. I am posting in the photo section pictures of both my last days in Bilbao and, when time allows, my first week back in Portland, so people can see what it’s like in this amazing city as well. The site will continue to be up so that people can access the photo gallery mostly, and if you want any big copies of any of my pictures, just drop me a line. I’d be more than happy.

I hope that you’ve enjoyed this little site of mine, and I will continue to work after this with some different kind of web project, but nothing with as much writing as the Factory required. It’d be something smaller. I am discontinuing my previous web work at TitanAV and moving on, though, as I said, I don’t know where. Stay tuned to find out I suppose. As a boy without Facebook, sites like these are the only way I can stay connected.

On a final note, I am extremely happy to be home and after a week of being here it’s almost as if I never left. But I did, and I am all the better for it. I have little moments every day that remind me of something back in Bilbao, and every Christmas party that I have been to has been gladly accompanied by the obligatory “How was Spain” conversation. Which is to say, in a completely cliched way, you can’t leave Bilbao behind. Nor would I want to.

Hasta Pronto,
Andy

The photo above is not from this year because this year my sister has abandoned us all for Mexico. It’s a long story, but suffice it to say, we were a Skogrand short this year.

The part of Alicia was played by Phoebe this year, and everyone felt that the transition was almost seamless. Our ol’ pug went Santa hunting with us, helped us open our presents and even fell asleep during the festivities. All just like Alicia would have done. It was uncanny.

Nonetheless, it was a beautiful Christmas, and it was amazing to come back from Spain, after being away from my family for so long, and do something that was completely family-centric. It’s like binge drinking, only instead of alcohol, it’s family.

What’s the point of this post? Nothing really. I suppose it’s just to say that everything is great here, and also to bait you along a little bit because I promise my final post is coming, and when I finally do post it, I can close The Paella Factory with a clear conscience. It’s going to be kind of a list of sponsors of my trip. You know, what things made it all possible.

Who knows? You could even be on it. Zorionak

And here I am. Back in Portland. Back at my house.

It’s amazing. I am still somewhat in awe of everything. Three months and change I was away, which is a chunk of time. Now, that leg of the journey is over, and for time being I can sit here in my nicely heated house, with Phoebe breathing heavily next to me, waiting for my mom to make me some sandwiches with a San Pellegrino to boot.

I got back yesterday at noon. My yesterday, however, was really three days. The first day was my Saturday in Bilbao. I packed and said my last goodbyes, especially to Checho, and then took a one hour nap around two o’clock in the morning, waking up around three to get ready to go the airport at four, thus starting day number two.

4:30 whips around and I am expecting to take a taxi with Jamina to the airport and blow that popsicle stand, but instead she shows up with two guys in two hatchbacks. She tells me that these guys offered to drive us for free. At this point, I have no idea who they are or how she knows them, but it was free, so I got in the nice man’s car. They actually turned out to be really cool guys and in addition to driving us to the airport, they treated us to some hot chocolate at the airport café. We said our goodbyes and boarded a flight to Frankfurt.

Frankfurt. We arrive at Frankfurt at just pass nine. We have to deplane onto the tarmac and be bussed into Terminal B. From Terminal B I have to get to Terminal A, then get through European Union Controls, then go down Terminal A to the International Wing, and then when I get there I have to go through another security check where they scan your bags and frisk you completely, which is really what you are looking for on a cold, German morning, then finally I’ve got to run the last stretch to my gate. I’ve got to do all this, all in the short span of thirty minutes. It was no small feat, but I did it.

Good to their word, Lufthansa got me to Portland in a slim ten hours and twenty-five minutes. Movies were fine, food was okay, and the bathrooms were terrible, but hardly anything you wouldn’t expect. While I got into Portland at 11:45, I got out of the Airport itself at one o’clock because, while my first bag made the flight with me, my second bag was sitting in the Frankfurt airport. Seems I can switch flights more effectively than my baggage can. So at the beginning of my third day, I had to wait at the baggage claim, then wait to file a missing bag report, then wait to get the bus from the international terminal to the airport itself. But after all that, I got to see Emily, which was amazing and more than a little surreal.

She drove me home and as we were making good time down I-205 South (It’s a Portland thing) snow started falling. First it looked like a little freezing rain, but by the time we hit Johnson Creek, the stuff was coming down and the streets were getting covered. Five minutes away from home, we have to head up the last little incline to get into my neighborhood. Emily turns onto the street and fishtails, which freaks her out but she regains control like a pro. Midway up the hill, however, she changes gears and we are dead in our tracks. We’ve lost all traction and are just sitting there in the middle of the road with our emergency lights on.

We call my brother for an emergency rescue, him having a kamikaze like knowledge of stick shifts, and he gets the sucker up the hill and back home, where I finally get to see the house I’ve been missing so much. My mom had completely set the scene; the fire was going, the Christmas music was on and lights were strewn everywhere, all glimmering and stuff. It was something else.

I went to bed last night at a reasonable hour, for the first time in over thirty some hours. It had been an unbearably long day, starting in Bilbao and ending here in Portland, but it went as well as it could. I’ve never lost a bag before, which was weird and truly inconvenient, but it snowed when I got here, which was even more unlikely and completely welcomed. So it seems that while I may be a bag short, God has made up for it with a little outdoor holiday decorating.

Stay tuned for special thanks and some final comments. Should be a blast.

Last night, the CIDE course officially came to a close. At 6:15 the entire group met in front of the vending machines and were then escorted to a presentation room where we had a little graduation thing. The program director talked for a moment, making mention of the amazing season played by Equipo America and the phenomenal goal that Amy did so valiantly score. The director also put Jamina on the spot, knowing that she was in the choir, and after a little bit of decision making and an overcoming of nerves, we all got some Silent Night.

From there the whole program went over to a bar nearby, where everyone, professors and all, had a little drink and a last little moment together. Pictures were taken, usually according to class or clique, and eventually people had to go. So, as some very melodramatic tunes played overhead, people said farewell until they saw one another again, whenever that might be. It was tough, especially saying goodbye to teachers, such as JoseRa or Bego, people who are not so accessible by AIM or the infamous Facebook, but people you want to keep in contact with all the same.

I traditionally say that I am pretty bad at making friends, but I suppose there isn’t too much truth to that. Last night was the end to a pretty amazing semester, and it was weird to say goodbye to a group of people you basically saw everyday and whom you thoroughly enjoyed. But yet those are the vistas. To be a touch melodramatic myself, these were people who were a big chunk of your life these past few months, and seeing them leave was hard because you certainly didn’t want that part to just up and leave.

There is part of you that acknowledges the trip is over, but there is this other part that simply expects to go to school on Monday and see them all again, just as you always have.

It isn’t like the rest of college. Come two months from now, you might be sitting in class back at home and some kid makes a ridiculous comment to the teacher, and all you want to do is go “Waaaaa!!!,” and mime push your nerd glasses up your nose, but alas, Esteban isn’t there, nor is any other person who would understand such a delicate maneuver.

Or the next time you eat Oreos, you might think of the the public gorging in Plentzia, where Amy certainly couldn’t get enough of the little treats. Or the next time you play soccer, there will be this image in your head of Aaron Becker, aka “Teddy,” taking the field in the last Equipo America game in his long-underwear and his torn shirt that looked convincingly like some type of crop top.

But it was just one semester, and the people you’ve experienced these things with are now off doing other things. Which is to say that in any of the situations above, you can’t easily turn to someone and have them remember that time too, which, honestly, would be nice. It’d be a lot easier to say goodbye if I knew we had that.

Bilbao was amazing, mostly because we all came here to experience something that was pretty removed, if only for a moment, from our regular lives and gain whatever we could from doing that. The only problem now is, we want the people we’ve met to be part of our regular lives, which, sadly, is something of a tall order.

So from here, I have a little family lunch today, then I pack, and at about four o’clock Sunday morning, less than 24 hours from this moment, I get on a plane and head back home, a home that I have been missing immensely. The next few days will be filled with hard goodbyes, but also amazing and long-overdue hellos.

I had an amazing time and I will not soon forget this trip, nor anyone that I have met here, and while the chances seem unlikely, I would like nothing more than to see everyone again. It would make all those “Hasta Luegos” seem less silly.

Thank you, and I hope all your homecomings will be as sweet as mine.