The only English-speaking town in Spain

Tucked into the Soria region of Spain is a little mountain village is Valdelavilla — a place completely isolated from the rest of the world, where Spaniards trek to learn English through intensive language immersion programs. It’s the only place in Spain where English is the first language.

Other than people participating in the program and the few staff on hand to take care of the property, there is nothing.

There are no stores. There is no cell phone service. The restaurant is located in an old villa. The bar has no stools and doubles as the “internet cafe.” So does the bench outside reception. And, the wifi is about as speedy as an old-school dial-up connection. The more people pow-wowing online at Valdelavilla, the slower it goes.

Despite these things, I fell in love with the town at first sight.

The first Valdelavilla friends

Anthony and I were sitting next to each other on the bus. I really wanted nothing more than to just turn on my music, watch the Spanish countryside pass by and eventually close my eyes and sleep.

But, that wasn’t going to happen.

We needed to sit next to one of the Spanish-speaking people and converse with them in English.

I grudgingly surrendered the seat next to Anthony and surveyed the bus for a seat next to someone who did not speak English as their native langugage.

Most of the seats were taken, save one or two.

One empty seat was next to a girl with a head full of massive curls and a smile that spread across her entire face. She looked friendly. And likely easy to talk to.

I walked up to her, sitting alone in the window seat (damn).

“This seat taken?” I asked her, having a “Forrest Gump” moment and vividly recalling the poor boy in his youth trying to sit next to someone on the bus only to be turned down.

An introduction to Valdelavilla

By the time Marisa was done explaining our jobs for the six days, I began to question exactly what I had gotten myself into. When I had applied to the program, I thought it was a cool idea, but more than anything else, thought it was a great way to extend my travels an additional week (room and food were covered) and learn about the Spanish culture.

The upside of Irish locks

I stood at the door of the house in Galway where I was staying, fumbling desperately with the lock I just couldn’t get to open. “It’s an Irish lock,” Abbey explained on the phone, “You just have to mess with it.” And mess with it I did. Only, nothing worked. I put the key in,Continue reading “The upside of Irish locks”

The time my liver hated me

I arrived in Dublin in the early afternoon, Abbey (that’s @ahesser on Twitter and the author behind the fabulous site, A Chick with Baggage) and her friend Brian greeted me at the aiport.

That was the last time in five days there was absolutely no alcohol coursing through my blood (sorry, Mom and Dad).

The following is an excerpt from my liver’s journal …

Sorry, mate

I’m pretty sure I fell in love with Notting Hill and Portobello Market — the winding streets of row homes all painted different colors, the little vintage shops and the pubs made me feel warm and fuzzy. It was easy for me to spend a day just walking around the area.

But it was the last day with Pat, his girlfriend and their friend that was my best day in London.

Backpacker chic

I looked in the mirror before we headed out to celebrate Shaun’s flatmate’s birthday. Messy hair back in a low pony styled by Shaun: hot. Smokey eyes: sexy Graypink vintage shirt, dark jeans: Not too bad. Then, I looked to my feet. Backpacker black flats: Ugh. I’m not the most stylish person, but I don’tContinue reading “Backpacker chic”

A bit of Croatia in London

I nearly peed my pants on the way to Shaun’s flat. No, really, I nearly peed my pants. After having two rather large glasses of Peroni with Tim, I headed back to the tube. I was half way into Bank’s massive station when it hit me how urgently I needed to use the loo. “Sorry,” I saidContinue reading “A bit of Croatia in London”

Naptime interruptus

I closed my eyes on the black leather sofa.
Ahhhh. It felt so good to just lay there. Backpack off. Messenger bag off. Both piled in a heap on the floor next to me.

As soon as I had found the key to Shaun’s, placed under a bench outside her flat, I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a wave of thankfulness sweep over me.

Finally.

The non-stop travel from America and the loss of my night and sleep had started to wear on me and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and just be.

But it didn’t last long.