flashback // Thoughts on Germany

So I was looking through my "notes" section on my facebook page (does anyone even use that feature anymore?), and when I came across my "Thoughts on Germany" note, I happily re-read it with nostalgia. And renewed wanderlust. I am so itching to travel somewhere. Anywhere.

Anyway, I thought I would post it here. I wrote this right after a trip to southern Germany in 2010 with my better half, while it was all still fresh in my head (at the time, I was still living in Spain).

1. Turns out we were exactly one credit card short of being able to have a Porsche 911 as a rental car. In Germany. Where they have no-speed-limit autobahns. Damn all the luck!

2. However, our Opel Astra rental was surprisingly nimble on curvy country roads.

3. Whenever I heard a German person speak perfect English without so much as a stutter, I immediately felt hopelessly American and silently cursed my non-existent flair for languages. I can barely spit out Spanish, while this woman sitting next to me at Oktoberfest is laughingly saying "I haven't used my English in years!" while of course speaking perfect English.

4. The Mister does a funny thing when he's with someone who's speaking with an accent; he will start to unknowingly mimic that person's accent after about a minute or so of conversation. I pointed this out to him several times, but he insisted that was crazy talk.

5. I may have picked up an addiction to Weißwurst. Not entirely sure yet. Will have to eat more Weißwurst and experiment with different mustards. Stay tuned.

6. Despite hearing my husband's stories from last year's Oktoberfest, and despite my affection for beer, I was still not prepared for the level of drinking that goes on in those giant tents. I used to think Spaniards were the kings of social drinking. I was wrong. Oh so wrong.

7. Everywhere I went, I saw people riding bicycles. And I'm not talking about people wearing spandex, biking furiously with their heads lowered. These were normal people wearing paddy caps and slacks, taking a leisurely bicycle ride with their wives or girlfriends. Several of these bicycles had baskets. It was refreshing to see. And thus, my faith in the human race has been restored.

8. German men are generally nicer to look at than Spanish men. Sorry Spain. Just sayin.

9. King Ludwig II of Bavaria is my new favorite famous dead guy. He was an eccentric, had a palace built that was modeled after the Palace of Versailles, he hated attending public social functions, and he had pretty awesome hair.

10. They had me at Kartoffel soup. 

11. If you can say Prost! and count to three in German, you've at least nailed one of their many Oktoberfest drinking songs.

12. Every time I saw a cornfield (which was about 845 times), I wanted to run through it with the wind in my hair and a Paulaner in my hand. Maybe I should've been a farmer.

13. Ladies, beware of drunk Italians. Octopus Hands.

And photos! This wouldn't be a decent travel post without some photos right?

 Neuschwanstein Castle in the distance. This is the place where asian tourist groups (or ATG's) ran rampant. They really like their castles.

 Just a quaint summer home for Ludwig II. Nothing fancy.

 Helpful Germans were abundant.

A ferry boat ride to a palace on an island? Don't mind if I do.

 Germany, you're just way too pretty.

An Irish bar in Germany. Naturally.

Oktoberfest: like going to a party with a few thousand of your closest drinking buddies.

Prosting our little hearts out.

Germany, I miss you :(

flashback // Spanish feria

Sometime last week, a friend on my facebook feed who still lives in Spain mentioned going to the local feria, and bam....I started missing Spain again. I know at some point, I'm going to have to stop with all the España posts, because obviously, I live here now, and the whole point of this blog is to share my new adventures in California, but dang, it's hard sometimes.

Back to feria though. It's basically the country's week-long party held a couple weeks after their Easter Holy Week, and in my humble opinion, it's full of the best parts of Spanish culture: Sevillana dancing, sherry, tapas, friends, huge jugs of rebujitos, dancing your little butts off, and those delicious chocolate buñuelos.

Here are some photos I took at last year's feria in Puerto de Santa Maria (taken with my Diana Mini film camera).

The Spanish women get dolled up in the most gorgeous Sevillana dresses, and for them, it's a huge deal. Many will get them custom-made like, months in advance. Even pushing a stroller, that woman looks super classy. In fact, I barely even notice the stroller.

The best part of feria? A delicious pitcher of rebujito (a dry sherry mixed with Sprite). There I am, holding my prize. The second best part of feria? Walking anywhere you want with your pitcher of rebujito, because this isn't America where they section off a drinking-only zone because they think we can't handle ourselves (I'm looking at you, Cinco de Mayo festival in Old Town).

Pardon the blurriness, but I do love this photo. It's a group of little girls (and maybe a boy or two) dancing a traditional Sevillana dance. Yep. They get in on the feria action too, and they kill it.

Feria's motto should be: "You won't leave hungry." And if you come to feria on a full stomach, you're an idiot, cause sometimes things just taste better served fried and under a tent.

Amigos buying tickets for a ride. Adult-friendly rides. Rides that were set up within a day. Perfectly safe.

No, it's not a Tron movie. Just that perfectly safe ride I was talking about.

Speaking of rides, here's what several seconds of bumper cars looks like to a camera lens.

Do you like cheap shopping? I do. And feria has cheap shopping. Mostly clothes and bags and jewelry. Lots of jewelry. Granted, every bracelet I bought from feria broke after about a year, but that's okay, cause it was only 2 euros.

Double-exposure/blurry goodness. But I actually love it like that, cause it kind of embodies what feria was like for me. Chaotic, crowded, dusty, bright lights, and just damn FUN.

flashback // Camden Town, London

I can't believe it was only a year ago that I was in merrie London town! I was traveling there with my good friend Latella, and while I was there primarily for a photography workshop, we were also there to attend the London Lomography Store launch party. Good, good times.

Anyway, I feel like reminiscing. So let's reminisce together, shall we?

We spent a lot of time in Camden Town. Probably because of all the sensory overload, which we both thrive off of. Everywhere you look, there's something to see, smell, taste, touch, and take a photo of. And scooter seats. You can't beat a good scooter seat.

And food. So much food. So many street food vendors packed into one place, it's fantastic. Indian food? Check. Thai? Mexican? Spanish? It's all there.

I reallly regret not packing an extra suitcase for that trip. Once you got past the usual touristy merchandise, there were some really great vintage and antique shops that I easily could've spent hours poring through.

Jamie Oliver's restaurant! Okay, this wasn't in Camden Town, but I'm adding it anyway.

You know why I love big cities? People-watching. And in this case, baby-on-a-traffic-light-pole-watching. Even though I was well across the street when I shot this, I'm positive that kid was staring right at my soul. Look how hard he's mean-mugging me. I forgave him though, he had cool shoes.

Speaking of people-watching, one of my favorite parts of Camden Town was going up to perfect strangers and asking if I could take their photo. I had never done this before, and I was kinda nervous at first, but everyone I asked happily obliged. It has since sparked a desire to keep on with the 'stranger portrait' series now that I'm in San Diego. Must. Do this.

Here's some of my film photos from the trip, taken with my Diana Mini.

/reminiscing. Sigh.

Merry Christmas! (and a look back!)

I guess I ended up doing a holiday portrait with the hubby after all. I call this the Ugly-Sweaters-Faux-Facial-Hair-And-Disgruntled-Cat holiday edition! How ridiculous are we. And kitty's face makes me laugh so hard. She couldn't have timed that any better.

This year has been phenomenal. Here are some of my favorite events/trips/moments that I was fortunate enough to experience this year.

My first photography fashion shoot in London.

An alternative Easter Sunday.

Photographing a beautiful family in a wheat field.

Wandering the Juderia in Córdoba, Spain.

Coffee dates and beach days with a fellow photografriend.

An ode to summer. And good friends.

And of course, sharing it all with the man you see above, wearing his fake beard and fake mustache, and holding a cranky cat. He is my rock.

Happy Holidays everyone! (actually, more like 'Happy Holidays to the two people who read this blog!') Let's get excited for 2012, shall we?

an ode to spain

I've only been in San Diego for one month, so I guess it's natural that the place from which I left is still in my thoughts, in a happy and bittersweet way. I do miss Spain. I wrote the following a few months ago, while we were getting ready to move, and even though I have shared this in a few other places, I feel that it's only appropriate to share it here as well.

photo by LTCO

In approximately thirty days, I will be leaving Spain, this beautiful country I've called home for the past three years and four months, and journeying back to the nation of American-style football, multiple-lane freeways, 7-Eleven's on every corner, and 24-hour customer service. I don't write this with sarcasm or a snarky tone; I'm actually quite looking forward to it. Maybe not the football part, but America in general, heck yes. I can't wait to be able to shop on Sundays, walk into a restaurant at three in the afternoon and have it be open for business, and listen in on a stranger's conversation and know exactly what they're saying.

I have mixed emotions though.

 Last night the husband and I went out for some dinner in the little fisherman/beach town of Rota, which is literally a stone's throw from the naval base gate. The town is so small and so close to where we live, that to consider anything but walking to your destination is laughable (I remember three years ago, when we first arrived and wanted to venture into this small town, I felt that the opposite was true; the only "walking" I was used to was from the parking lot to the store). On this night, however, we decided to take a cab in case we wanted to drink anything stronger than an orange fanta with dinner.

Our restaurant of choice is a place we've been to many times before, serving Spanish-Mexican style food and killer margaritas. We sit outside on the patio in true Spanish form, because if there's anything I've learned while living here, it's that the Spanish love to eat/drink/socialize outdoors, and will do so at every opportunity. And on this night, it would be a crime not to; the sun is going down, the weather is mild, and since we're right next to a busy sidewalk, it's the perfect place to people-watch.

 I give my order to the waitress in Spanish with no hesitation or self-consciousness, and I am proud of this fact, even though I am nowhere near fluent in the language. Despite the fact that I studied Spanish for several years in school, it is quite something else to actually go to a country where that language is spoken and attempt to converse with the locals. My first year here, I was afraid to try out my broken Spanish. They speak so fast. They have a different accent. Surely, they'll laugh at me. In my own experience, the Spanish are so generous and forgiving when I have made at least an attempt to speak their language. Eventually, my self-consciousness waned. It's a small victory, but I'll take it.

 We watch locals and tourists walk by as we eat; some are walking their dogs, others have beach chairs in tow as they head away from no doubt an all-day beach excursion. Some people are on bicycles, and some have shopping bags in their hands. Everyone looks tan and happy. I jokingly remark that I don't see any shirtless old men watching the street from their apartment balcony, something Vince and I are used to seeing every time we go into Rota. It's a little joke between us that that will be me some day (minus the shirtless part), spying on my neighbors from a vantage point. I can't really argue. I'm a watcher, a thinker, the one who's much more comfortable contemplating and observing.

 Vince is the complete opposite in this respect. He's a doer, a talker, a charmer. This has worked so well in his favor during our time in Spain. When I was too shy to try my muddled Spanish on a store clerk, he would step up, and using a combination of sign language and sheepish laughter, get the job done. While I would silently sit in the back of a taxi, pondering the evening ahead, he would casually ask the driver about the fútbol game that was on the radio, and within two minutes, be laughing and talking with the driver in Spanish as if they were old friends. I am in awe of this. I still don't really know how he does it, but it is one of the many things I love and admire about him.

On this night, however, both our attentions are on each other. Our dinner date was originally supposed to be a double date with friends, but due to a last-minute mishap, it's just us. But it's okay. I relish the one-on-one time with him. Even if it's just to talk about my disappointment in the Sookie-Eric relationship in the current season of Trueblood, and debating whether that dog on the street was a french bulldog or boston terrier. We're keeping it light. Light is good sometimes.

 Our bellies are full, but we could use one more drink. I tell him about the little bar I went to with some girlfriends recently, that served a pretty mean mojito. He's game. We make our way there and sit at a little two-top table that's sort of half in, half outside the bar. Again, with a prime people-watching view. The entire town seems to be out and about, and it strikes me how much more active Spain is at night. Everyone's walking, shopping, herding their children across the street, standing around outdoor tables with a beer in their hands. I love that everyone's mixed in with each other; families with the young singles, old married couples with the young parents pushing strollers, Spanish locals with U.S. military sailors. We're all out, we're here, we're present.

 

 After our mojito dessert, we hit up an ATM to get some cab fare and then onward to a little furniture shop that I'd been eyeing for weeks (but was always closed due to my stumbling upon it in the afternoons, aka siesta time). But on our way there, we get sidetracked. And I absolutely love getting sidetracked. Especially when it's Spanish hippies selling their handmade jewelry in the middle of a plaza. "Gifts for friends and family!" I exclaim to Vince as a way to entice him to stick around long enough for me to peruse the goods. And, true to my word, I do pick out some things for our friends and family back home, as well as one for myself. This is such a happy surprise, seeing these vendors out and about selling their neat little things, and produces feelings in me of the "god-I'm-going-to-miss-this-place" variety. It's a happy and sad feeling, and I've been getting it a lot lately.

 My jewelry hoarding comes with a price though, as we find out that the furniture shop closed not ten minutes ago. But no worries, we'll hit it up another night. We make our way to the taxi stand, and lo and behold, we get in the exact same cab that brought us there. The driver even remembers our address (whether that's due to a good memory or a slow night, who knows). We both sit quietly in the back, with my hand over his, both of us looking forward to a good night's sleep. I am happy and peaceful in this moment.

If there's one thing I'm grateful for, it's that living in Spain has taught me not to take any place I happen to live for granted. There's always some place to explore, some hidden gem of a neighborhood to see, interesting characters to meet and talk to. Maybe it comes with being older, but I now see that I used to be quite selfish in my own pursuits before moving here, to the point where I didn't even really know my own city, how much it had to offer, and how many hidden surprises I probably missed. I never really took advantage of that. And I deeply regret it.

 But that's also why I can't really be too sad about leaving here. My adventure with Spain will end, but a new adventure with San Diego will begin. It's weird to say, but I think I'm more excited about this move to California than I was about moving to Spain; not because I didn't want to move across the Atlantic Ocean to a foreign country, but because I didn't have the outlook then that I have now. One that's more hopeful, open, and accepting of the unknown. And for that, Spain, I thank you.

my name is Lisa, and I'm starting a blog

I have no idea what I'm doing, or how long I will keep this up, but here's to starting fresh. I've been wanting to get away from using my tumblr page, and to start using a more, how shall we say, long-written-post-friendly format. Nothing against you, tumblr gods, but I'm starting to feel like you're just not for me. So here goes.

Also, I feel like this would be a nice way for my close friends and family to read about/catch up/voyeur-ize the goings-on in my life now that I'm in a brand new city. I am so absolutely stoked to be living here....I feel like a kid in a candy store, except that the candy is good weather, awesome food, more local beers than I can shake a stick at, and a vibrant artistic community to fuel my creativity. What more could I ask for?

This has basically been my mood ever since I got here. Wheee!

 Firstly, a little background info on me. That's me up there at the very top of the page (as well as the photo above), standing in the yard of my cute new casa. I took that photo, as well as many others that you will no doubt see throughout this blog. I am half Korean. I'm a sucker for pretty packaging, clever and silly web comics like this one and this one, and hand-written letters. I'm better one-on-one than in large groups, except when I'm hosting a party. Then it's on like this:

 (taken at Oktoberfest in Munich last year. such a good time.)

This is my husband, aka the Mister.

 

He is charming and generous and a friend to everyone he meets. And he is utterly patient with me, such as in this photo, where I made him stand in an overgrown field so I could test the light for the photo I was about to take of us. He helps me lug around camera equipment, he insists on holding hands in public, and he is obviously way too good for me. 

 He even puts up with my crazy feline.

 

Her name is Cleo, but my husband likes to call her Bitch Cat. Which isn't totally untrue. This isn't even a recent photo of her, but it epitomizes her personality so well that I couldn't help myself. She is neurotic, attention-hungry, spastic, evil incarnate, and loves to snuggle on my lap. So basically your standard cat.

 So the Mister, Bitch Cat, and I have recently journeyed from the land of Spain to here, San Diego, California. From the land of bullfighting, jamon iberico, and afternoon siestas to a city of Chargers fans, more IPA beers than I knew existed, and blessed sunny weather for most of the year. From this:

 

to this:

 

(image above is a print you can get here)

And where do we live on that map of typographic awesomeness? In the lovely little town of La Mesa. I'm not gonna lie, I still feel quite overwhelmed with everything, and it's going to be a long time before I don't feel like a tourist here. This is the biggest city I've ever lived in, so I'm going to take my time getting to know it.

San Diego, nice to meet you :]