Haircuts!

Guess what guys. I just got my hair cut for the first time in over two years. Wow! For reference, on the left is me in college, and on the right is me a little more recently.

ignore the time stamp, this is from Hursday

Me, cerca 2010

All through college and much of high school, I had my hair pretty short and life was good. A little wash, a little gel and I was fit to be seen in public. No getting my scalp ripped off by the boom vang either. 

But now, living in inland Spain, I've had the opportunity to experiment with long hair. It turns out that, like make up and fashion, I seem to have missed the part of my childhood where you learn about these things. I was reading Ender's Game instead. What I've learned from this long hair experiment: 

1. Ponytails are tricky but easier than holding your hair out of your face with your hands.
2. Braids are nearly impossible, requiring superhuman endurance, dexterity and patience. It's not the under-over pattern, (Heck, I can bust out one of these bad boys in less time than it takes to braid that mess) but keeping the clumps of hair separate from the other clumps of hair; that is difficult. Curse you, hair clumps!
3. Washing every day is a bad idea. This goes against everything I learned in health class, but I just don't have two hours every morning to blow dry my hair. In Galicia, you must blow dry or it will never dry.
4. "Looking nice" is as easy as doing nothing. Just leave the ponytail thingy at home and spend the evening holding your hair out of your face with your hands! You're beautiful!

But Meghan! It sounds like you don't like long hair at all! Haha, me. You're wrong. I just like to complain.

And speaking of complaining, let's talk about getting haircuts. 

In college, I averaged about one cut every three months or so. If I wasn't forced to get a new cut while visiting the padres, I pretty exclusively went to this little hair salon next to the Fred Meyer that was run by this little old woman who I think was Greek, or maybe Italian. One of those countries whose civilization peaked a couple thousand years ago.

My Greek lady wasn't the best stylist, and I'm sure there were cheaper options, but she did have the benefit of not speaking English very well. I would say "shorter" and she would go to work. No asking if I want "layers" or "feathering" or "magic waxy goop that'll make me look great for ten minutes and then leave me feeling inadequate until the next haircut". No small talk with someone whose life revolves around hair and fashion (It appears we are both wearing clothes. How interesting. And hair. I have hair, and you have hair as well. Isn't that a coincidence?)

I thought that getting a haircut in Spain would be a similar experience--getting out of the small talk thanks to language barriers. And, since there is a barber school at my high school (which is more like a combination high school/community college) I figured I would just drop in one day after class. 

Which I did on Thursday. And I remembered the other reasons I don't like getting haircuts. Mainly it's the whole "strangers touching my head and pulling my hair" thing. I've come a long way since I was younger, but still I'm thinking "I don't know you, what're you doing near my face with scissors?" It doesn't help that the scissors are the only thing close enough to my cummy eyes (see reading) for me to see.

It turned out that I had forgotten all about the questions part of the ordeal. And while my Spanish is good enough to understand what you're asking me, I still don't know what I want you to do. You're the stylist! Just do some styling, I dunno. Shorter? Yes. Layers? Okay. ¿más liso o más volumen? ¿...Sí? The one question that really threw me for a loop was "how do you comb your hair?" Is... is there more than one way? I thought down was the only option, but now I'm questioning myself. Have I been combing my hair the wrong way my whole life? What else have I been doing wrong this whole time!?

All in all it wasn't that bad. Not the best haircut ever, but for three euros (about four bucks) it was worth it. Even the minor existential crisis.

The BEST VACATION EVER (part II: on friends, family, pianos and pets)

Before I start, I want to say oops. I started writing this post like two weeks ago, and promptly forgot about it until just now when I wanted to start a post on haircuts. (New post coming soon! Haircuts!)

I honestly don't have that much more to share about my winter break as it was fairly uneventful. I already told you about the couch and the dorky card games. Well, I guess I did visit one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world, but that was second to spending the weekend with some long time college friends.

Because it's hard to take pictures of emotions and all that junk, here's some pictures of some of the things I did over my winter break.

Visited with my family. Honestly, I spent most the break doing this, and as a result forgot to take any sort of group photo. Here's the best I can do without photoshop. Photo credit goes to my sister.

Went hiking in the mountains with these lovely people in Mt Rainier National Park. Actually, we didn't so much go hiking as take a couple short walks, but there were sick people present, and for me at least, the hiking really wasn't the point. 

 (Emma, Paul, Angela, Ashley, Jake, Andrew)

The mountain! (actually it's a volcano)

Played my piano. Okay, technically it isn't mine, but I am the one who plays... Wait, that's not my piano, that's the piano in the small house inside my parent's house. My mom has a doll house which is decorated to look something like our big house, complete with yellow sofas, pianos and Christmas trees. I forgot to take a picture of the real piano.

Photo credit: Celeste

Went to Seattle multiple times for various reasons. It's a nice city, and I shouldn't hate on it too much since I'm probably going to end up living there at some point. 

gazing nostalgically at the Smith Tower

Went hiking by the lake where I worked for two (three? I don't remember) years with the friends I have who are still in the college town. Oh, Bellingham. I miss making solidarity eye contact with the other cyclists in the rain. I feel your pain, man, but it's what we get for being a healthier, greener, better class of people.

Harassed cats. Not only my parents' cat, but my friends' cats too. Did you guys know that string is the most exciting and the most terrifying thing? It's not alive, and yet it moves through the air like a snake! KILL IT.

[picture not available. cuteness overload.]

Anyway, as a whole it was really nice to be back and see everyone. I got to see this little snapshot into everyone's lives--what they're doing, how they're feeling, who they're seeing... It was a little tough too, since I'd been away so long. Things have changed, and it would be silly of me not to admit it. But if my own life can serve as any kind of example, change is almost always good. Let's say 97% of the time (puberty wasn't so fun). I can only hope things don't change so much between now and when I go back for good, but barring an alien invasion or massive lahar and ash flow, I don't see that happening.

The BEST VACATION EVER (Part I: the flight)

For me, the BEST VACATION EVER consisted mostly of sitting on the couch in my parents' living room and playing Magic the Gathering^®  with my brothers. Maybe that speaks to my laziness, or maybe to the awesomeness of Magic, or the luxuriousness of the little yellow loveseat, but really I was just glad to be back with the people I know and love. ^{wow that sounds cheesy} 

If you've been reading this blog, you'll probably know already that it had been well over a year and closer to a year and a half since I had been back to the North American continent. Which really isn't all that unreasonable when you realize that there are five thousand miles (8.000 km), nine time zones, an ocean and a continent between my hometown and my adopted country. 

The flight between the Santiago airport and SeaTac made me remember exactly why I had put off making the trek home. 

Leg 1: My apartment to Madrid

5:00 am, I get up, get dressed, lug my suitcase down 6 flights of stairs and across the street to the bus station. An hour or so later I'm going through security at the little airport here in Santiago and enjoying a 4-euro croissant. Catch the plane and watch the sunrise over Galicia. 

Leg 2: Madrid to Philly

I get off the plane in the Madrid Barajas airport and muddle my way to the right terminal after picking up and re-checking my luggage. I sit and wait to board, checking my itinerary every couple minutes just because I'm anxious like that. I've got two hours to make my next connection in Philly, but the plane, in regular Spanish style, is late. Half an hour, forty-five minutes... We take off an hour and a half after the original departure time, never given a reason as to why we left so late.

The plane ride itself is kinda miserable. I get to sit next to a weird old Spanish man for nine hours who tells me maybe a dozen times about how he doesn't speak English. (Good story bro.) I'm one row back from the bulkhead, where a family of four is sitting. As we land the little girl (maybe 3 or 4 years old) cries so much she makes herself vomit. I'm sure the Chicken-or-Pasta was just as good coming up as going down.

Leg 3: Philly to Seattle Phoenix Denver

I was definitely not the only one doomed to miss a connection in Philadelphia that day. About half the plane seemed to be on their way elsewhere and very few of them accepted this fate with quiet resolve.

As we land, the captain announces that anyone who is making a connection needs to stop by the US Airways table to pick up replacement tickets should they not make their flights. There's a mad rush to get off the plane, and harried airline employees shout us along to the table where a single overwhelmed woman is asking "WHAT'S YOUR NAME? WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" and handing out the new boarding passes. I snatch up my own and follow the crowd to pick up my bag. 

We rush through customs and I compare my new ticket with a girl headed for California. Apparently I'm going to Seattle via Phoenix, leaving tomorrow afternoon. 

Look how far out of the way that is.

The customs guy asks me some questions--what have you been doing, do you have anything to declare... then stamps my passport and says, "Welcome back." I just about start crying. God knows why. Maybe it's the stress or the fact that I've been awake and on planes for about 20 hours so far, or maybe I'm just really happy to be in Philadelphia. 

I rush along, still with my fellow connection missers. I've got about ten minutes before my original flight takes off, a bag to check and an entire airport to cross. After a minute I come to a crossroads. I can either follow the signs to the gates, or go outside to the busses that will take me to my US Airways-subsidized hotel room. A security guard sees dancing back and forth, and asks me where I'm going. I tell him and show him my new boarding pass for tomorrow.

"No, no no," he says. "That's really shitty. You're not gonna catch this one tonight. You're gonna go down that hallway and talk to the lady in the window. Tell her you want to go to Denver. Denver, got it?"

I say okay, and go to talk to the lady in the window. It takes a little explaining, a little finagling, but eventually she gets me on a United flight to Denver at 8:00 am the next day with a connection to Seattle that will get me there early in the afternoon. More than anything I am super relieved that I do not have to have this conversation in Spanish given my loopy mental state.

I take the shuttle bus to the hotel, check in and go to have dinner at the hotel's restaurant. By this point I am super out of it and everything is absolutely hilarious.

Look at this toilet! There's so much water in there! And what's with that little lever? Why is there no button on top?

There are some guys at the bar, talking pretty loudly, and I keep sitting up and looking their way, thinking, "English? I hear English! Is it people I know? Probably! I should go talk to them." and then remembering that oh yeah, I'm in the States. Most everyone speaks English.

Leg 4: Denver to Port Townsend

This last little bit wasn't too bad. I flew out in the morning, had breakfast kind of in Denver, and met my mom at the baggage claim in SeaTac. We stopped for phở in Poulsbo or someplace and oh my goodness it was spicy and salty and amazing. It wasn't too much longer before I was in P-Town once again.

It was a longer trip time-wise than I had been expecting (over 48 hours transit time) but at least it wasn't as though I had work or any other real obligations waiting for me.

It's Port Townsend