Breaking In

Toto, we´re not in Kansas anymore. I was reminded of this before I even arrived in Spain when the charming flight attendant gave me two bottles of wine, one red and one white, as he was unsure of which flavor I would prefer. How thoughtful. I quickly gathered that this meant I would have two more presents to give to my host family. However I didn´t quite make it through London security since silly me forgot to place them in three ounce containers and seal them in a plastic bag. At least I´ll keep that in mind next time I try and smuggle wine into a foreign country. The flights themselves were perfect, enough time for me to read one of my Spanish books cover to cover. Not enough time for tame my anxious nerves.

Once I arrived in Bilbao, I found it quite accessible and easily navigable. I had the option of taking a bus, the metro, or a taxi to my house. I opted for the taxi simply due to the luggage factor. My taxi driver, turned out to be quite a nifty tour guide as well, pointing out all sorts of places for me to visit. So if finding the house was indeed the hardest part of my trip, as I believed it would be before I left, well I am home free. My Spanish improves with every meal. Speaking of meals, I am rather unsure of how the Europeans stay so slim, as it seems that the focal points in their days´are their meals. Not that I´ll complain, because hey, who doesn´t like to eat?

My host family is quite amicable and comical. It consists of Reme, mi señora, and her two sons, Jouandar y Daniel. They are quite entertaining, though rather timid. The mother does have an "amigo" whom has not left the house since I have been here. He is from Argentina and is the one whom I have talked to the most. He does all the cooking, which gives the food a bit of an Argentinian spice. No pun intended. However, I am off to explore the city, so I will return with a metro pass and more stories soon. Ciao.