Home Again

It has been a while since I have taken the time to write you. The benefits of working and going to school via the internet sometimes results in the negative aspects of "being sick of the computer"; thus, the BLOGing gets put to the back burner.

But I am back.

For the past few months I have been living between Spain and Nashville Tennessee; traveling to Kentucky, New Orleans, Colorado, Wyoming; continuing school in Colorado; working via the internet for a job that I love. Many things have happen, my thoughts are evolving, I am experiencing new things, and the best thing is that I have discovered how good it is to be home............

I remember a BLOG that I wrote about a year and a half ago. I shared about the awkward feeling of not feeling “at home” anywhere, except when I was riding my bike. The familiar seat, the ache of my leg muscles, the same sound of my lungs searching for breath, the feeling of air chilling the sweat of my effort was the only familiar I had when floating between Wyoming, Tennessee, Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Scotland. All that I previously associated with home, I had given up. A husband, a job, a home, my pets, my friends, most of my things...all except for my bicycle. So you see, the only “thing” I thought I had left, that felt familiar, was me on my bicycle.

Two years have past and I have not accumulated “things” that make me feel at home at one place over another. When I am in one place I do not wish to be in another. I am never sad to leave or good to be home. I am lucky to be where I am, at the moment, never wishing things any other way. I have come to realize a bicycle, having things in one place, or doing any one thing will never make me feel at home.

Because I can do all these things anywhere….
Like finding beautiful places to climb in Kentucky.

Playing tourist with my family and Ruben in Tennessee.

Having a dinner party with friends in Chattanooga.

Being goofy in Wartburg, Kentucky

or at the Hillbilly Lounge in Swannee Tennessee.

Riding up mountains with Mary in Mt Evans Colorado.

Seeing snow in Spain.

Mountain biking with friends in Nashville Tennessee
Having Thai food with Andrea in Colorado

Seeing a sunset in Slade Kentucky

.
Going for a hike with Jodi in Laramie Wyoming.

Going for a walk with Michelle and Camden in Golden Colorado.

I am different now because what makes me feel at home is when I am with the people that "I do all these things with".
My “home is where my heart is” and my heart is with all of you.

So it is good to finally feel at home..again.

I forgot...again, Monistroll to Mura to Tarrassa 50 miles & Bisaurin, Pirineos

If you go back and read though some of my BLOGS, you may notice a common theme. I have a tendency to lose, forget, or break things. My bike in Scotland, prescription sun glasses in Portugal, helmet at the Philadelphia airport, shoes on the train in Italy, another pair of shoes at a seafood restaurant in Spain, etc.

When I was a little girl, I always just blamed it (losing things) on the little leporcons that lived in my room and seemed to take my socks. Now, the leaporcons have followed me to Spain and now like Ruben’s socks.

Ruben’s mother makes it a point to now ask me if I have everything, because I seem to leave something behind every time we visit her.

A pair of pants last December, my Spanish book in May, and now my hiking tennis shoes that maybe have had their last adventure up a mountain, that is until I hopefully return again some day and find them again.

But if this time never comes, my tennis shoes made a great last assent up one of the highest peaks in the Pirineos, Bisaurin

with great company.

Accompanied by Ruben’s mother and Amador,

I found a earth heaven that was most vibrant because of the piercing blue of the Spanish sky.

The rock and dirt camino starting at the refuge,

extended well beyond what the eye could actually see,

winding up through scarce forest and past the breath taking lilly scattered valleys,

which actually inspired me to try a Katelyn version of the Sound of Music, “Hills Are Alive” that then lead to a grinning Spanish man.

We walk for over two hours up towards the white, until it was time, insisted by Slyvia, to leave her and Amadore at the base of the mountain.

They watched us through binoculars walk another 1.5 hrs on sometimes unstable rock that was no problem for the Spanish mountain goats,

and well, not really any problem for my favorite Spanish mountain goat.

We past memorials to the dead that must have died there from the hard winters in the past, overlooking a horizon of colors

continuing toward what is atop all mountains in Spain.

A reminder to me that all this beauty must of came from someone that has a different name to all the people of this world.

So my story continues, because now I have no shoes, and there is nothing I like more than an excuse and a mission that includes my bicycle. I could of waited until Ruben returned from work and was able to drive me 20 minutes to the sports store, however all was aligned that day. The arriving fall dulled the heat of the sun, my projects for work were complete, all my friends in the village were on Holiday, and the mural of my favorite rock “elephant” of Montserratt)

needed to dry.

Also, I wanted to accomplish my goal of exploring all the “little” beautiful roads in the Bages region. http://www.property-net-spain.com/provinces/barcelona/bages.html. Moreover, I wanted to explore the roads of Sant Llorenç i l'Obac Natural Park.

http://www.diba.es/parcsn/parcs/plana.asp?parc=4&m=198&o=2 that are situated approximately 15-20 miles from Monistrol de Montserratt

and around-about on the way to a major city, Tarrassa, where I could purchase some new shoes.

My adventure began with a plan to get shoes, and shortly evolved into also purchasing a new helmet, because I realized “I forgot” my helmet in the car of Ruben that was now parked at the train station. Hesitantly, I borrowed the 1980’s fast looking helmet of Ruben

and began the 50 mile journey through Spanish forest that was more dense than Montserratt, because the fires of the past left the land how God intended it to be. Winding up and down the mountains

passing cobbled villages of Rockafort and Mura

,

on roads that for a moment I pretended were made just for me and my bicycle.

Reaching the rock of Sant Llorenç i l'Obac Natural Park, similar in form and substance to the conglomerate rock of my now home, I was positive, and it was later confirmed, this was also a great place to climb.

Finally reaching the city, I now had the task to find the sports store that could be described as a “Wal-mart” of sporting goods. It seemed that two young policia had there eye on me as I was braving the traffic and stopping every 5 minutes to ask for directions while utilizing my spanglish. Yes, I was “lost”, but not for long, because they then insisted I follow them.

My 10 minute police escort lead me to my final destination to purchase my new shoes that would make it home by bicycle

Moreover, I had a more safe return with a new helmet that will now become Ruben’s new helmet, because I cannot bare to see him wear that thing again in any more countries.

Spanish Sun

I now understand where the Spanish Siesta comes from….. before, I just assumed “taking naps” after lunch was an expression of their laid back culture; however as I now live in Spain, in July, I fully appreciate and absolutely agree with the need for a Spanish siesta…the product of a cultures adaptation.

It actually took me a “long while” to get use to the fact that in the small villages almost all closes down from 1pm-5pm. No post office, no grocery store..or any store, most tourist information centers- closed, no pharmacy or doctors appointments, the streets become barren, the crowds leave the beach-(well except for the tourists)…all seemingly frozen in time-except for the local bar and maybe a restaurant serving a cooling coffee with ice; Spanish cold gazpacho soup made from tomatoes, peppers, onion; or my favorite “Clara” , a lemonade soda/ beer combo that is more lemon than beer and tastes even better if served in a perron, a traditional, yet messy way to share a beer.

I made my first mistake the other day, when planning an afternoon bike ride. I remember the rational behind my timing.. “I will go after lunch when everyone is at home eating lunch and taking a siesta…less cars on the road.” I planned on 60km, within 15 minutes my plans changed and it became 40km.

Another hour and a half later, I still had not made the first 20km to my first destination city, both of my water bottles were empty, and you can say I was not enjoying my bicycle. Two hours after I first started, I found myself only cycling 25k in two hours (did I mention it was up and down a mountain), a route previously done in almost half the time. I then found myself on the train not on my bicycle, returning to the village.

Did I mention the climbers of this village do not even attempt a climb in the sun? Well..that is unless you count the other day.

Ruben and I’s dilly dallying/ poor planning resulted in a 3 ½ climb up a 120 meter wall,

in the sun, that resulted in unwanted obstacles such as sweating slippery rocks, my burning feet due to black climbing shoes absorbing the rays of the sun, lack of water leaving me with pickled looking lips, and I got to see a“real Spanish drama” about how hot it actually was.

Actually, I am told this summer is unusual. Rain brings a fresh breeze and keeps the land near the mountains of Montesrratt a green hugh

that is always re-realized as I reach another top

and the vallys of the Peryness are full of spring flours.

The river fed pozas or swimming-holes are filled with running water that pools to cool the local inhabitants that would rather not pay to enter the village swimming pool.

Then there is the other extreme of "fresh" snow melt rivers that bring pain to the body

and besides my feet, out of all ruben's family and friends; he was the only one "brave" enough after a hike to try a swim at the destination waterfall. This place is where we visit his father and brother;

at the same summer camp in the Peryness where Ruben as a child spent weeks out of a summer forming a love of the mountains.

Then, there are times it even seems I could be living in a jungle,

or living in a film about some northern european country that was more about yodoling and not flamingo.

The same rain that brings Spain color, almost spoiled an afternoon walk with Ruben’s mother, Slyvia and Amadore.

Neverthless, even with the unusually fresh and wet summer; there are always moments you need to escape the Spanish sun and enjoy a fresh glass of Gazpacho or clara, or a after lunch siesta when you want to do nothing else... but lay around in front of a fan.

Amor xoxoxoxo

My grandmother recently said that she was surprised I have not written many BLOGS since my departure two months ago. I look back and it seems I write when inspired, and usually this is brought on by a new landscape, unique food, unpredictability of people, or just the fact my eyes are more open and looking..

I can look up and see remains of roman aquaducts before my gaze focuses on the distant horizon of rock formations that were once spiritual grounds of pagans.

Cobbled narrow paths wind as a puzzle through my “now’ home.
Yes, as I walk down the streets of Monistrol de Montserratt, to pick up groceries at all four separate tiendas of fruit, bread, meat, and a special store for fresh eggs; I am still amazed at the ancient beauty of this village, yet not surprised anymore.

But I guess this association of “home” is the reason for my lack of inspiration. A home; for most takes on a form of comfort and predictability, perhaps the same with the regular routine of work, or possible relationships with friends and family. With this, I think we forget to see what we have, because we already “know” what we have, and we know what to expect; thus our eyes, our minds, and our spirit becomes dull and perhaps not inspired anymore.

Kafka says it best, “Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old”.

I think this is true and the easiest during Holiday or Vacation, but I think most importantly the ability to live this in our normal, comfort-filled, predictable grind of everyday life, is most important…being if it is in Spain, Nashville, in a office, on a mountain, with family, or a stranger.

So as I am led by my guide



up multi-pitch peaks of Montserratt National Forest, my "now" home,



climbing for hours, and resting just a little as we dangle or crouch

struggling to overcome my fear and make it to the top

to only turn around and climb down, seemingly a more dangerous route

I am reminded that all in life should be just as beautuful and inspiring as the first time you see it.
Amor,
Katelyn

Language:Brittany/Bretagne France

Obviously, by now you think I have come to fully appreciate the importance of language. I thought my last trip to Spain was enough motivation to start to learning Spanish…but after one-on- one tutoring, hours of self study, and getting up the nerve to locate any Spanish speaking people in Nashville to practice with, I find myself in Spain speaking English. Yes, there are times where I get on a Spanish speaking kick; Ruben giggles and everyone else still does not know what I am talking about. It was not until I found myself at another dinner…. going back and forth from forcing myself to be involved in the conversation, to daydreaming…again; that it hit me when remembering a comment of Ruben..the importance of language.

I looked at this loving family, friends of Rubens, have welcomed me into their house for 5 days as Ruben and I Holiday in the Brittany/Bretagne France http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brittany

This land famous for crepes and cider has beautiful seaside land for bike rides and hikes.

Reaching from the south near Lorient,

to the villages of Carnac and Quiberton where Neolithic prehistoric (2000 bc) dolmen http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolmen can be explored


to the Northern pink granite cost of Perros-Guirec

and the western tip of Crozon where the beautiful sea side cliffs hide Natzi War bunkers.



Lou, a Spanish women,

met and fell in love with Tom, a French man,

moved from Africa, where they met, to raise their son Joyulie.

Tom, a true Bretagne in view, with his striking features and spirit, is proud of his celtic costal land that still displays their ancient language on all signs.

Able to communicate with Ruben, because Ruben is fluent in French, but unable to communicate with me; Tom does not speak English and understands Spanish as much as I do. Lou, speaks Catalan (a dialect of Spanish), Spanish, French, and a little English. Their son, ( 2 years old) understands French, Catalan, Spanish, and now because of me says a perfect “American” HI!

So many languages at one time, at one table, in one moment, in 5 days; were being communicated repeatedly in all languages so everyone knew what was being said. For what I could not say; I tried to make up by showing my appreciation for their hospitality with a smile, a thank you with my eyes, an attempt to commuicate, and by making food and cleaning the kitchen.

On one of out bike rides, Rueben the master translator wisely said…. “You are lucky that in your country that you can travel to visit friends.. you know, you can go to another state where the food and cluture is different like in Europe; but you are lucky that you all speak english. I never thought of it this way; the “knowledge” of the importance of language was always there, but I took for granted what in America is so common- a common Language.

Amor,
Katelyn

I love when the French strike: Manorca, Spain

The words just popped out of my mouth, “Today we need to “do” like an American”. What I was communicating to Ruben, that yes, it is allot to plan a 5 day Holiday in a 12 hrs period, find and purchase flight tickets, pack our bags and bicycles, go to the bike shop, clean the house, and finish running the errands…. but this is what was needed if we were going to take advantage of the French transportation strike that has resulted is Ruben’s work train being stuck in France… and Ruben “forced” not to go to work.

I am pro- and I think our culture is gifted at doing too much in a short period of time. I think of all that we accomplish and I am amazed. Honestly I think most of what we strive for is unimportant and just leads to stress, always wanting more, and being unable to enjoy the moment. I have tried to stray away from this habit, but today it paid off; because doing to much in a short period of time lead me to Manorca, a breathtaking Mediterranean Balearic island http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minorca that is only a 30 minute flight from Barcelona.

45km in length, once a British territory, now Spanish possession, land where mayonnaises was invented, and for some reason has the highest suicide rate in Spain; this island is a ecological heaven that has only slightly been touched by the tourism industry.

Yes, the Brits Holiday here, buy up land and build massive houses with in ground swimming pools. Hotels are situated on natural crystal blue pools with rock carved steps.

You can have an English breakfast here, pizza, hamburgers, and of course the traditional fish and chips; but with very little effort you can find yourself far away from commercialism.

Luckly for us, Ruben has a childhood friend that lives on the island. Cookie, that is honestly one of my favorite of Ruben’s friends, was our tour guide and host during another one of our adventures. We spent the days seeing the many different beaches with Rubens childhood friends and my new found friends….or as Cookie would say “family”.

Other days were spend walking the vastly different beaches

as Ruben seemed to prefer to take on his mountain goat characteristic

and scale the rock formations.

I followed when I felt comfortable, but most of the time found alternate routes.

We traveled by bicycle when the Mediterranean weather was agreeable. Perfect little bicycle friendly roads

lined with stone walls

in every direction that lead to dozens of beaches that were never alike,

stone so different that made if feel you were not even in the same part of the world.

We past typical Mediterranean modern houses

the houses of the past

and the protection from past blood shed.

We rode to beautiful sea side villages, each with culture from far off lands,

and comfort of the typical regional beauty.


So today, as I write this I am thankful for what the French strike has brought, the kindness of friends, and yes even my nature to "do" to much...for all this is worth one day of a little stress......

Amor

Happy Birthday to Me

I like to label these days of my life as… the good ol days of acne and wrinkles. I do not know wich is worse, but nevertheless I would rather do without both.



Doing without… I think most would say that approaching the age of 30-leaving the youth of the 20’s is something one would prefer to do without. However, as I was having one of those realization moments last night…with the feeling of the base trembling my insides, the unfamiliar scent of sweat mixed with cigarettes and alcohol, lights giving glimpses of colored shadows of Spanish smiles, and yes two kisses, one on each cheek followed by feliz cumpleanous….. a moment of awwwww… came over me. I had a complete awareness that nothing bad comes with getting older-well anything that reall matters.

Actually the exact opposite is true.


With age..time has brought me to a place where I have the job, financial security, the education to make a life that is based on freedom. Freedom that allows me to implement excellent project management skills, utilize my growing knowledge of the latest telecommunication technology; so I can take a four hour hike in the Les Agulles area of the Montserratt National Forest. All before my 8-5 central time zone office hours that I keep everyday as my mind and body convert to the Spanish way of life.







Age also has brought me the best friends. My eyes became filled with moisture, my nose started to sting, as I tried to hold back the tears. I looked around my mothers’s garden and living room.



Everything perfect, vases full of irises, the most delicate china, bite size deserts that were made from the loving hands of my mother and grandmother;




but the people staring back at me is what touched me the most. Almost all the special women in my life, the women that have been there for me when life seemed unbearable, women who have shared their wisdom, women to emulate, to respect, women that give me life; where there in all their beauty to celebrate a early birthday tea party.





So today, as I am reminded of what time has brought me, there is nothing I fear of what the next 10 years may bring