It was a Sunday we took a trip to Escorial & Avila, two small cities in Spain, with our school. It was the Sunday after we’d had a crazy weekend in Madrid; we saw the Arctic Monkeys in concert, I got my phone stolen, and didn’t sleep all night. I was upset and frustrated, and I got drunk Saturday night to forget about it. This Sunday I woke up late, Mara and I took a cab to the wrong place and got lost. We eventually found out where to go by asking people in broken Spanish & almost missed the bus. We ran to the bus and got on right before it left. It was cold and rainy, I was tired, hungover, hungry, and feeling a million other emotions.
That day I still managed to laugh hysterically with my very best friends. I still managed to be amazed by the very beauty of that country; and to be thankful that I was living out a dream I’d had for so long. This picture says so much about how happy I was to be there, but what it doesn’t say is that I was happy regardless of all those shitty things that happened that weekend. That was the thing about Spain. You could be upset, but you wouldn’t be for long because someone would offer you a drink, and a dance, and you’d walk down the cobblestone streets gazing, in awe of the architecture, at the beautiful people, the bluest sky in the world, and you’d forget why you were even upset in the first place.