What did you do today Cel?

Well thanks for asking title, I went shopping in Milan and bought some cool knock off raybands from a questionable vendor on the street and an awesome leather jacket that I dont feel nearly guilty enough for the goat that died to make it.

Is it just me or are all italians unreasonably sexy?

Why go overseas if not to experience new things? Experience new things I most certainly did!

Last night I went to a water nightclub. whats a water nightclub? thats exactly what I wanted to know. all I knew was that I needed to wear my bathers and my big girls pants because we were going to stay out far later than the regular appointment I have with my bed. just by the by, I have had to employ the use of my big girl pants so frequently that they are practically tattooed on me.*

So Sabry and I rock up at this Aquaworld place and say we are with Stefanos party, which gets us a free drink wristband and a self perceived air of importance. We make our way to the biggest changerooms I have ever seen in my life, this was the wegmans of all changerooms. This place had actual hairdryers, not just those boxes on the walls (which they also had). we used a magnetic bracelet that we were given to open and close our personal lockers and at the end of one of the aisles there was a scanner that you could find the number of your locker in case you forgot it. so we get into our bathing suits, which brings about the first thing that I am slightly uncomfortable about. You see, my body and I have a surprisingly good relationship for me being a 19 year old girl. (woman? Do I get to count as a woman yet? boobs, I think yes), well, as I was saying, We get along. BUT, put my pasty arse next to 100 drop dead gorgeous brown italian women and I start to feel a tad ...luminous. and not in a good way.  So I was thinking all of this when Sabry and I were standing under the fluorescent lights of the changeroom in front of the mirror and she said "uffa! I feel so fat wearing just my bathers." now, I would like to point out that she looked like a goddess. So I have decided that every single person in that changeroom saw an ugly them and sexy everybody else. So maybe only I could see my harsh shade of white.

next challenge, actually going out into the public area wearing a bikini. 

When we walked out all my worries were removed and promptly replaced by a brand new set which I didnt have time to address. 

this place was incredible! imagine a cross between a nightclub, Taylor Vaughn's beach party in she's all that and a Miss Italia swimsuit pageant after party.

there was a DJ on a platform above the main pool and about 100 people waistdeep in water all splashing and dancing and yelling "ooooohhhaaahhooohaahooahoohaoha BARBARA STREISAND!" It was really dim which was great because even though everyone could still see each other it was much easier to pretend I was invisible. Or fully clothed. You see, I dont seek out places of alcohol and dancing very often, and when I do I am always wearing enough clothes for 5 of the girls there. Here, I was in a bikini. but, as luck would have it, I was still the most clothed out of anyone because I was wearing board short as well. 

We met up with Sabrinas friends and went upstairs to go and cash in our free drink wristband. Poor me didnt have a clue what to order when it transpired that Italians dont know what a lemon lime and bitters is. So we hung out in the far too brightly lit eating area for awhile drinking our drinks and having more language issues than helen keller.

When we went back and entered to water/dancefloor for a bit of boogying I was again put in a situation I  have never been in. Dancing In water, not wearing very much with literally hundred of people I didnt know. Most of whom were hot italian boys. But I will talk about the italian boys later. did you know that I is hard to dance in water? its kind of like slowmotion.  I tell you who didnt have trouble dancing, the impossibly beautiful sexily clad women who were being paid to dance on the edge of the pool. I have always been fairly opposed to women dancing sexily for men for reasons that I think are fairly obvious but this was the first time that I had actually been to a place where it happens (other than american high school dances with the right people in attendance). So, I am comfortable in my sexuality and I dont think that women should dance for men like that but all these things in play I couldnt take my eyes off them. They were mesmorising, which i guess means they are doing their job well. When I took a step back it was actually a really amusing scene. There are three girls dancing on the edge of the pool, two security guards either side, posing intimidatingly but with faces that clearly read they were still trying to figure out how they got a job so good. just below the girls dancing was a hoard of italian boys literally drooling and and pawing at their feet. throughout the rest of the pool there were groups of people dancing but every single male was focused on the dancing girls and every single attached female was trying desperately to divert his attention to herself. When the girls went away for break there was a collective groan of disappointment and sigh of relief and the mosh pit of desperation dispersed and everyone went back to dancing with/ eating each other.

so, these italian boys. I know what your thinking, a pool full of hot italian guys, are we going to get a great/niece nephew/ grandchild/baby friend? I hope you werent thinking that actually, im not really like that. you know what was really really sad about these impossibly beautiful italian men? (yep, theyre men now).  They are exactly like australian guys. If you put them in a big group together they are far more interested in each other than all the scantily clad women who want their attention. and they all seem to be  a bunch of boof-heads. *sigh* oh well, they were cute, even if i suspect they couldnt string a sentence together.

so then next thing to happen! there we are dancing away when an italian guy comes over to shake my hand and introduce himself. when I took his hand as per handshaking rule he took it and kissed it, exclaiming lots of things that I can only imagine in italian. I tried in vain to tell them I hadnt a clue what they were saying and physically imposed the shadow of some personal space. Sabrina took my other hand and pulled me away from them and started dancing with my whilst pissing herself laughing. 

later when I was sitting on a louge at the edge trying not to die of exhaustion a guy, and it may or may not have been the same guy but he looked familiar, asked me if I would like to have a drink with him. the girl who I was sitting with, who hadnt said a word to me all night, Just subtly wagged her finger at me indicating that I should say words to the effect of Hell no mister! a few moments of hope for him and language barrier frustions me later and I had successfully told him that I didnt in fact want a drink. Actually thats not entirely true, This girls boyfriend also said something to him. I suspect it was "she doesnt speak italian, but trust me, she doesnt want a drink. please go away."

after all the shananigans were over sabrina and I went back to the changeroom to brave our own self esteem and get changed. as we were leaving the changeroom there was a tonne of girls standing and drying their hair with the provided hairdryer or carefully applying make-up. the scene we were met with when we entered the waiting room outside the changeroom was approxiamtely the same number of guys sitting fully clothed looking bored and hopeful every time a girl exited the changeroom.

so, that was the aquaworld. 

Its worth mentioning that this photo was taken when they were kicking everyone out so it is very empty.

*just for the record, Im not entirely sure how my big girl pants are supposed to manifest themselves so the tattooing might not make sense.

the playlist sabrina is playing only goes to further prove that she is my gemella.

okay, im going to publish this junkyard of a first draft which ordinarily wouldnt see the light of day. why? just on the off chance you guys prefer to get the gist of what im saying rather than a well set, organised and grammared piece of writing (which i probably dont offer half the time anyway).

hey guess what, im in italy! go ahead, put on a foot-a-scray accent and say it aloud with passion- ITAALIAAA!! i love italy. there is hot boys, loving family, hilarious friends, gorgeous villages and to top it all off, silvio berlusconi is no longer prime minister! when i got to sabrinas house i instinctively relaxed and felt at home. the main reason i know i felt comfortable and relaxed is because i now have post travelling cold and i havent finished travelling yet!
so im going to talk about Ulysse for a little bit. for those of you who dont know him, and i sincerely hope that there is at least some people who read this who arent my dear family and friends. Ulysse is my little host brother, when i first came to italy he was three years old and we had a rather explosive relationship. he would yell at me in incomprehensible italian so i would yell at him in english. he would sword fight my legs and i would take his rightfully deserved youngest atention. our relationship was basically summed up when when mamma yelled "ulysse! smetti la!" i felt smug until she followed it up with "Cel! anche tu smetti la!" thats right, i got yelled at the same as the three year old stnading next to me.
there was only two things that united us without any debate. pirates of the carribean and harry potter. i dont know if you are familiar with three year olds, but some of tyem like to watch a film and then when it is over, watch it again straight away. so we would get to the end of the harry potter "con la spada" (with the sword)(the second one)  and he would say ANCORA! (AGAIN!)  i would heartily agree and start it all over again until eventually mamma would crack and yell "basta! watch another film!" which is when we would switch to pirates of the carribean ("con la spada!")
now that im coming back and ullysse is six i am interested to see if ulysse would remember me  an if he would like me. first thing he did when i got there was show me his complete collection of the harry potter movies.
 we are going to get along very well..

Dear Cecelia, SAVE YOUR EFFING BLOG POSTS!!!!

I want you to imagine a witty and poignant blog post about home and androgynous europeans, because you cant read it because I cant get my head around clicking the save button.
Ok, I have to go and fly to Italy now. one parting word of advice, look up microwave in german- best word ever!

Pimiento means Pepper.

"Cel is having a blast over in spain!" I hear you all say to the pleasant enquires about my health and whereabouts. But I also hear the whispers. "does anyone know what is she actually DOING?"
Well, i've decided to show you. You see, the reason why I am having such a good time here is because I am spending literally all day everyday doing what I love. For example, today I hiked up a mountain, had a bit of a wander around and then spent the rest of the day editing photos and practising my swearwords at photoshop.
Pure bliss.

supper is ready!

Wow! This course is perfect. After the hellish evening I had last night I got picked up by Simon and driven to the cortijada Los gasquez, where there was Donna, and two other couples all sitting around post dinner having a laugh and a bottle (OK a few bottles) of wine. It was a lovely familiar kind of a situation so i slipped on in with them and socialise for two hours longer than I meant to be awake for. You know me, more tired than toddler after christmas,  but as soon as there was company and raucaus laughter i wouldnt have gone to bed if you'd dragged me. It was my fomo* playing up again. Simon and Donna are so chilled, I am the only person on the course which means that Simon and I can decide when, where and how we do things. Luckily, apart from taking pictures of myself, food photography is something that I really enjoy doing. Arranging things perfectly and shooting macro- ocd dream.

This morning me went to the market. If spanish markets aren't the greatest things in the world, then I dont know what is. I was still fairly back of the camera shy so i didn't get as many photos as I could/should've.  At the market we got churros. Mmmm churros! The way you make churros is you get a bit of heart attack and a bit of heaven and you mix them together until they form a pancake like consistency. Then you deep fry it.

Tonight is new years eve, and everyone seems to think I shouldnt help prepare because im paying to be here. I finally managed to get my hand on a knife and help chop vegetables. Did you know, this years new years means that in the last 5 years I have spent new years in four different countries. Whaaat? Not a bad record, I'd say. So, Scotland next year anyone? I hear they have a massive bonfire.

I'm gonna go and see when dinner is ready. I have had enough hypoglycemia in the last three days to last a lifetime.

*fear of missing out.

Hola! Language barriers suck!

Oh my goodness. I am almost there!

I feel like a right fool because I just spent a lot of money on a taxi and everyone thinks I should have taken the bus. Well, that's what I gather, they were all just yelling in Spanish. Everyone is allowed to make mistakes and yet I felt like such a fool. Right now I am in Velez rubio at a hotel waiting for Simon to pick me up. It has been such a long day I just want to cry.

After the hellish landing at Frankfurt the flight to madrid was really smooth and perfect. When I got to the airport in Madrid I had what could only be described as a foreign hypoglycemic meltdown, ( they are worse than the local variety, because there is the language barrier element.)

I felt so sick that I couldnt do the strap up on my pack without wanting to throw up. I knew I was hungry, which was making things worse but when I tried to eat I really nearly did throw up. You now when you are so tired that you feel ill from sheer tiredness.

So i had no choice but to pull myself together. I was by myself and nothing was going to get done if I didn't do it. I took baby steps. Firstly, get a taxi to the bus station-  I did that but I'm fairly certain that I got ripped off, oh well. Then I got there and sat still for a good half an hour wallowing in self pity. Uh, I don't want to relive this. It was unpleasant the first time.

*the rest of the story after food and sleep*

...then I bought a ticket to murcia and had to find my way to the right bus, which involved walking up and down the bus station three times with my pack on and asking random people "habla ingles?" When they said no I would point to my ticket and then shrug my shoulders whilst looking terribly confused. They would say something in Spanish and I would Try and pick up as many non verbal cues as a hypoglycemic person can. Once I got on the bus i thought I was good. Ohhh no! You see, I sat right up the front because I was feeling so I'll but then a woman kicked me out because apparently it was here seat. So i slid into the front seat across the aisle. For awhile i thought I would get away with it but just before they bus left another woman demanded her seat. So i got sent to my assigned seat which was THE VERY BACK SEAT! Uhh! There was a nice old lady up there who would have been totally keen for a chat but the language difference meant that it was just too much for our mental capacities. So i slept. And slept. A slept. And by divine intervention I managed to not get sick.

Cool. So i made it to murcia. The next step was catching a taxi. I made the mistake of reading the travel fine print in Frankfurt instead of Australia and the fine print said that you should pre book the taxi. Oopsies. I was really nervous because I had already discovered that I was struggling to communicate. So i went- oh and, just for the record, bus stations at night are super fricken creepy- so i went into a cafe and held out some money and said agua and made bottle like motions until the lady procured a bottle of water for me. Then I went through my hundreds of travel papers and circled where on the Spanish map I wanted to go, what the address was and where it said how much it cost. Then I went to every taxi window except the hot taxi driver and asked "habla ingles?" None of them did. So i went back to the one that looked most like a grandpa and started to non verbally explain my request. Taxi driver decided to elicit the help of every single other driver and they all 6 of them stood around yelling at each other about the details of the job and passionately tapping my papers to make their point. The young hot taxi driver (my goodness I didn't know taxi drivers could be so Fiine!) Stood with his iPhone and text translated to me where I wanted to go and how much it would cost. We all agreed on a price and the other taxi drivers went back to the angry customers who were waiting on taxis while grandpa and I started our road trip to murcia.

When we got to Velez rubio we stopped at a hotel and the taxi driver asked how to get to cortijada los gaszquez (sp). The people in the hotel said that the road was too difficult and we would surely get lost so after much much much confusion they made me call Simon and ask to be picked up. I thought this would be huge inconvinience  so i felt really bad but it turns out it was fine. Then I paid the taxi driver and he went on his merry way while I sat in the lobby waiting for Simon. Approximately three seconds after Simon picked me up all my muscles, which had been clenched since about Germany, began to relax. Then we walked into the house and were greeted by a bunch of tipsy Brits and I realised I had made it!

I love sleep friendly airports

I am so tired right now. I'm currently sitting in Frankfurt airport, about 15 minutes away from boarding. Oh, the time on my tablet is telling me that its 2 am in the morning in houghton, that kinda explains my tiredness. I swear yesterday it was Tuesday, I don't even know what day it is anymore, I'm gonna take a stab and say Friday morning.

The landing in Frankfurt was absolutely brutal, the kind that feels like you are running out of petrol so the plane is just chugging its way down, spluterring and dropping metres at a time. When we landed everyone clapped, except me- I was clutching my miraculously empty sick bag and telling myself not to throw up now that we had landed. Also, I don't know if its a panic related thing because it has only ever happened to me once before, when I DID throw up on a descent, but my whole body seized up. My stomach was knotted so tight that I couldn't sit up straight, my hand were spasming and curling in on themselves, my mouth was twisted and taut and my eyelids kept qwivering. It was super weird and unpleasant, if it hadnt happened before I would have Ben totally freaking out. It looks like there a storm a brewing outside and I am so nervous about more turbulence that I really don't want to fly again.

Its bizzare,  they made us go out of the security and through customs and I got my passport stamped (first stamp! America slacked off), but then we just had to come straight back in again. When I went through security I got rubbed down fairly thoroughly and my shoes got scanned separately, then a security guy called me over so he could look through my bag. He confiscated my jar of nutella, which wouldn't have bothered me except then he and the other guard guys laughed at my expense  in german about the nutella  ( from all that I could gather).