Six months of Spain, Sangria, Tapas and Patas: Ohh you mooove my soul

Things to never travel without:

A nail clipper

Ferbreeze (you never know when you'll have a homeless man living in your hostel, or when you non-smoking room is a previously smoking room)

Ear plugs (you never know when the homeless man will want to dig through his bags at four am for a snack)

A pocket-knife

A pen and paper

A good book

An apple

Okay that's just the list I wanted to make speedy quick so that I don't forget to write it down for the future.

Yesterday I went to Burgos, which is in Old Catille and Leon (a region to the south of Cantabria.) When I woke up, I went on a mad search for my passport, since I was not quite as prepared as I thought and didn't pack it Thursday night. Normally, my passport stays in its grey zipper pouch right on the bottom shelf of my night stand. When I say normally I actually mean ALL THE TIME. Which for me is a huge accomplishment because organization is not my strong point in life. Thus, when it wasn't there, I immediately went into a state of total panic. After searching my undies, my jeans, the boxes of the boots I just got, the trash, my six drawers, under my bed and in my bathroom bag, I gave up. I really don't have very many places to lose things here. It isn't like at home when it could be: at work, in my car, at home, at school, let alone all the places at home it could be, like my room, bathroom, living room, kitchen, etc. Tete came in at 9:30 to tell me I was going to be late for the bus, at which point she asked why I was laying on the floor with my arm under my bed. It is fairly embarrassing to have to admit that you might have lost the one document that is vital to your status as a resident of a nation. She progressed to get a long broom and sweep under the other bed in my room, producing none other than my passport in its little pouch. At which point I got my first Spanish mother spanking.

I did manage to make the bus, and 11,45 euro later I was headed to Burgos. Returning to somewhere cold, with sleet snow reminded me that I am going to probably have hypothermia constantly when I go home. Burgos has a legendarily horrible afternoon wind, and mixed with the snow it was a fairly miserable afternoon. But I managed to find the hostel on my own, which really just involved wandering around for a bit and then climbing the stairs in a place I'd have picked to use for the orphanage in Annie. It was about as nice as that... I'd have given quite a lot of bravas for a Daddy Warbucks to save me last night as I listened to an army of pigeons have a yelling match over which ledge to sleep on, which nearly suffocating in a non-smoking room that should have been labeled "non-smoking for you because you are a non-smoker." However, there was no homeless man in my room, so life is improving on the hostel front.

After dropping my things off at the hostel I went to the Cathedral, which is spectacular. In a typically bright move, I forgot my camera in my backpack at the front locker, so I won't be able to show you want it looks like. But there are lots of important tombs of kings and queens and bishops. Behind it, the old castle is up on a hill in the park. The only issue with that is it got the life bombed out of it during the Civil War, so now it is mostly just a pretty park with the walls of an old castle.

My guide book was selected due to its reference to the most famous patatas bravas in town, which I tried to have at around four but the kitchen was closed, so I waited till seven and returned and it was absolutely worth it. Other than that I survived most the day on coffee and pastries and chocolate.

This weekend is Carnaval, which I have deduced to be about equivalent to Halloween, with all the kids dressed as dogs or Belle or firemen, and all the girls dressed as French Maids, home wreckers, or Britney Spears. There was a band of bees on stilts playing, and some huge floating head balloons; other than that I'm not entirely sure what was going on. Lots of drums and loud music and things like that.

This morning I got churros and chocolate for breakfast, continuing on my health streak for the weekend. Then I walked around the plaza for a bit before heading back to the station for my bus back to Santander. On the bus ride back we were going through eastern Cantabria, which is virtually nothing aside from countless small houses with their green fields full of... cows! So of course I spent the whole ride leaning over the kid who got the window seat trying to see the Spanish baby cows. They are the really furry caramel brown colored ones. And the dairy baby cows are so precious. All around, I was thrilled. Some people get really happy about certain things, like my dad about skiing or fish. That thing for me is baby cows and ducks. I literally feel immense joy like my heart is going to pop and I have to squeeze them and love them in my mind because they are so cute. Which makes me possibly certifiably weird, but it's just the truth. What is cuter than a baby cow, plus, it will grow up to taste so good. What could be more perfect? So the overall highlight of my entire weekend was the soul touching baby cows walking along the side of the road with their farmer smacking them with a stick so they didn't turn into a baby cow pancake under the bus. There's nothing cuter than that. (Except my future kids.)