Beach Days are the Best Days

I'm sorry for not write-typing enough to you (wow I actually have readers to apologize too! Is this what fame feels like?) But the more time I spend here, the better it gets and the more adventures I have. Every so I often I find moments to do a little typing but it's happening, I'm truly becoming a Spaniard... I take naps! Before I just couldn't-- so much to do, so much to see and night time is for sleeping, right? Not in Spain. Naps are the pre-workouts for plenty of after-hour mischief yet to come. Which only further better/worsens my Spain clock, late nights and still early mornings, but can you blame me when the curfew is "Cuando tu quieres." > "When you feel like." I've realize now why there are no Starbucks here, people need the real stuff, espresso cups to punch you awake! Though I have yet to get karate chopped by one of those caffeine ninjas, it has appealed to me. Especially this morning because guess where we're off to (yes, you and me!) We're going to the beach!



As the sun rose at each turn, the world got a little greener.

Picture Perfect Route

As we made our way to the French boarder, over the river and through the mountains, I wouldn't let myself blink (ok maybe once or twice) I just could not miss a moment of the movie-screen worthy scenery rolling out around me. The green green glorious green! I just wanted to hike up the mountainsides and get lost in the trees (sorry Twilight, Navarra has got you beat) While my eyes watered to lack of blinking the car filled with a mix of Spanish rock, French pop and a finale of- philosophical talk? (In French might I add) But I didn't die of boredom, nor of not understanding a word of French (strike that I know "oui, bonjour and croissant")at that point I was already =envisioning the sandy surf that waited just beyond these trees.

He did kindly slow down for a very snapshots, just for you readers!

 

Though I know nothing about European highways I distinctly remember seeing signs posting 80km in big read numbers and our speedometer holding fairly steady at a little orange 110. Did I say anything? Certainly no! My dad asked if I'd like to stop and take some pictures but when someone says that you can be in France, on a beach in 45 minutes if we hurry, you turn into Forrest and RUN RUN RUN! (My movie references are just so on point today!)

 

Host dad checking out the surf before we suit up.
 

A Surf of Countries

I have only been surfing twice in my life, both times with baby waves. So I was literally knocked off my feet when I saw the waves we'd be catching (or in my case fighting) this morning. Never the less I charged the incoming tide with determination and was quickly beat down to the sandy bottom. I'd been attacked by waves before, but once again never like this. In moments I was ball kicked and hit, punch and passed as the ocean simply played with me. "SUN-SURFACE-AIR!" Despite moments of fear that I still don't like to admit to, I always resurfaced, spit up water and plunged into the next one. And this year, this life will be worth it, with each crash. (Like the trillion metaphors I have on life, surfing makes the top ten.) Only after we trudged up to the sand did my dad say "No hemos hecho tampoco, demasiado duros." > We couldn't do it either, too hard." so I wasn't the only one struggling!


And where, might you ask, were all the cute Spanish/French guys to help me rise from my salty struggle? Doing what hot Spanish/French surfer guys are supposed to do, actually ride the waves, not drown in them. I still managed to get a whistle from one (you know after I had chocked up a liter of salt water and called it a day) Oh how hard it is to flirt here- no, in another language- no, in Pamplona- no... I'll find another time to write on this subject and I will specifically title GIRLS ONLY.

The sea tried to beat me. I conquered! P.S. I don't know why my ribs are popping out here?

 Tomorrow is a day of soccer up early for the game, and then spending the whole day bonding in Irun with the team. The things I love, soccer and friendship. Am I cheese ball for saying that? (yes) Well I'll leave you with this anything but sweet video of our city's team Osasuna chanting profanity that, as always being foreign, I just went with. OS-SA-SUNA NUNCA SE DICE!!