Onto our next adventure!
As a result of my mid-midlife crisis at age 25, we decided to move to the southern coast of Spain. Join Mason and I as we spend two years in the beachy paradise of Málaga!
One of the many things about Wrocław that came to us as a surprise was the existence of a rather quirky little creature that fills the streets of the city- the Wrocław dwarf. You're as likely to find one of these little guys as you are to trip over a loose cobblestone. Maybe even more likely if you have any awareness of your surroundings (aka not me). Why a dwarf? you might ask. Well thanks to the free walking tour we took after our arrival (Mason always insists), I can correctly answer this question. The dwarf history was the part I paid very close attention to. Although at first they seem like a simple tourist gimmick, the dwarves play a much more important role than that. Following World War II the Soviet Union took control of Poland and after many years under this regime, an anti-Soviet movement called The Orange Alternative was born in the city of Wrocław. It was an underground movement that protested in an innocent and rather weird manner. When police would cover up anti-communist messages that were spray painted on the walls of buildings, The Orange Alternative would respond by painting mischievous little gnomes (usually bright orange) on top of the censorship to represent the message hidden underneath the layers of paint. It was a peaceful (and super cute) way to protest communism. In 2001, ten years after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the very first dwarf was placed in Wrocław- 'Papa Dwarf,' or 'Big Daddy Dwarf' as Mason, Kendra, and I like to call him. Not long after his instalment, the gnome population started grow, and soon they became a symbol of Wrocław. Now there are 636 merry munchkins inhabiting the streets of the city, and each year this number grows. It makes for an absolutely whimsical experience. Each wee man has his own style and personality and is permanently frozen in one specific pose. This varies from reading the newspaper, to washing a hippo, to drinking a pint with a bulldog. Of course it would be almost impossible to find all 636 of them, so as we're in the year 2020- there is an app for that. You can download Wroclaw Dwarves Go and scroll through a long list of little photos detailing each dwarf's name and location. But the best advice I can give is to stay alert at all times, and keep a special eye on all the little corners and alleyways- they make great homes for these funny little creatures. Happy hunting!
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On the last day of 2019 we ventured out in search of a mythical creature that one only reads about in storybooks- the mysterious Lamplighter of Wrocław. Igniting gas street lamps at dusk and putting them out again at dawn, the Wrocław Lamp Man (not his given title, but seems appropriate) works quickly and patiently to turn on and off the torches lining the streets of a nearby neighborhood. It came to us as a surprise that this charmingly old-fashioned occupation still exists in Wrocław. Maybe even more of a surprise was learning that it is one of only two cities in Europe that still employs lamplighters. Although the expanse of gas lamps has diminished quite a bit since the 19th century, a few streets neighboring the city center have survived the age of Edison and still use these antiquated forms of light. In the matter of about an hour, The Lamp Man illuminates each remaining old torch, giving us just 60 minutes to discover his whereabouts before he disappears. 3600 seconds may seem like more than enough time, but we had unsuccessfully tried to find The Wrocław Lamp Man the previous two nights, so our confidence quickly began to dwindle as sunset approached. This man was proving more mysterious and difficult to find than we had thought. With our hope faltering, we meandered back through the streets which had previously provided us with a generous (some might say too generous) helping of piwo (beer). Dusk had just begun to set, casting an eerie glow over the neighborhood. As we passed under the cover of an old brick tower, a large man clad in a cloak and black top hat emerged from out of the shadows. He held a long black stick against his shoulder that gently swayed as he crossed the street in front of us. His gait was slow, but purposeful, as if he had taken this path before. We held our breath as the stick slowly lifted towards the sky until it reached the height of the street lamps. We heard a soft click and watched as the once dark lamp filled with warm yellow light. The stick gently lowered, glistening under the flickering torch. We stood in silence as the man adjusted his top hat with a gloved hand and slowly disappeared back into the shadows. It's hard to describe how I felt in this moment. It was almost as if we accidentally walked into a field of grazing unicorns. Or had captured a glimpse of the Loch Ness Monster. Or followed footprints to a house where we found Big Foot enjoying a cup of tea. I guess surreal would be the best way to put it. It almost felt too perfectly magical to be real. After gathering our composure we strolled toward the edge of the island, but stopped before making it to the end. There we stood together on a space of about six cobblestones and looked out into the storybook that lay before us. Everything was dark except the warm yellow light illuminating the nearby cathedral, turning its mass into a blur of soft oranges that bounced off every detail. Rows of trees twinkled beneath it, harmonizing with the sounds of a woman playing the flute nearby. Soon the lamp man came into view again and began to follow the trees' glowing path, lighting the street lamps as his cloak billowed around his frame. We all stood on these same six cobblestones for quite some time, despite the piercing cold air. It was simply just too magical of a moment, and the perfect way to end 2019. When planning this Christmas holiday getaway we knew from the beginning that Berlin and Prague were on the table, but we wanted to add just one more stop before making a final itinerary. We didn't have much of a preference other than its location on the map, which is how we found the perfect spot nestled between Prague and Berlin- a mysterious and unpronounceable city in Poland called Wrocław (Vrohtz-swav). You know how I'm always saying, "We never research anything when we travel. Blah blah blah." Well this time I say it with no exaggeration. We did absolutely zero research into Wrocław. I don't think I even looked up a picture. Besides its convenient location, we knew exactly nothing about this place. Which now that I'm writing this down, it seems a little (or a lot) crazier than it did in our heads. Our extreme lack of research became quite evident upon our arrival. When we hopped off the bus in Wrocław, night had already set. It was a cold, gloomy, and quiet walk to our Airbnb. The houses were dark and the street lamps scarce. We couldn't see much past the few feet of sidewalk in front of us, but the few spots that the dimly lit street lights could reach definitely did the city no favors. Old, concrete buildings rose up from bare dirt ground, their windows shattered and their walls crumbling. Tall spindly trees creaked in the wind around us and dogs barked in the distance. It was a more than unwelcoming first impression, and had us all a little concerned for what the next 5 days would hold. Our pace quickened as we progressed through the maze of the soviet block. It was quite clear we had left Prague. The next day we cautiously headed into the city center and were pleasantly surprised by how different the streets looked in the daylight. The trees remained bare, but had more of a lifelike quality to them under the cloudy sky. The streets were dabbled with people in puffy coats and knit hats (not so unlike Spain when it's under 70 degrees) and dogs bounced about freely in the parks. When we finally reached the main square our shivering jaws immediately hit the floor. We were faced with the most unexpectedly beautiful scene. Twinkling pine trees adorned with red baubles and silver tinsel filled the square, surrounded by small cedar huts and glowing lights. Brightly painted buildings rose up in the background, each one boasting its own unique color and shape. The smell of warm pastries spilled out of the little houses and cheerful Christmas diddies reverberated all around us. We simply couldn't believe our eyes. It had to be one of the most beautiful squares we had ever seen. We walked circles (well, I guess squares) around the Market Square, gawking at the beauty around us and trying to grasp just how lucky we were to choose such a place. I think we were equal parts impressed and relieved that Wrocław had more to offer than what we had experienced the night before. Our five days in Poland were as close to a dream as any. We indulged in cheap, creamy beer and heavy polish food, and frequented the square more times than I can count, which did nothing to take away from its initial impressiveness. If anything, the square grew more magnificent each time we passed through. The entire city was brimming with surprises. From beautiful canals to hidden art markets and tiny alley-inhabiting dwarves, it was more than anything we could have ever imagined. To top it all off, we spent New Year's Eve here, and boy was it a show stopper. The square turned into a giant concert with an incredible light show and acrobatic acts, ending with an explosion of colored streamers and confetti. Without a single shred of doubt, Wrocław made it to the very tippy top of my list. Despite our severe lack of research, it turned out to be our favorite stop of the entire trip and blew our nonexistent expectations clear out of the water. Which sure makes it tempting to keep the blind traveling streak alive. I'm sure this ill-advised tactic will end poorly someday, but until then we'll keep riding the wave!
The five hour bus ride to Prague was sprinkled with sightings of snow covered villages and winding country roads. It had been a while since we had been on a bus for so long and the sun had set a mere hour after we loaded on, so the darkness swiftly consumed our energy. However, stepping out into the cold night air of Prague quickly awakened our groggy senses and gave us a little pep in our step as we meandered through the city. We arrived in Prague a couple days before Christmas and the atmosphere was like no other. Mouthwatering smells of a cinnamon encrusted pastry called trdelnick wafted through the streets, leading us to an elaborate Christmas market in the main square. A massive tree decorated to the nines rose up from the middle of the plaza, glimmering in the sunlight. Hundreds of people milled about, enjoying cheese and goodies as they navigated the cozy square. Small wooden shops surrounded the tree, their windows brimming with holiday treats and decorations. The buildings on each side of the square looked like little gingerbread houses expertly dipped in pastel colors. They were so perfect that it just didn't feel real. It's the closest thing I've felt to walking through a movie set. After the first few days in Prague we realized that the city's mascot was a mole. In almost every shop window there was a book, a sculpture, a stuffed animal, or a beer glass with a little cartoon mole on it. We were all a little perplexed as to why they crowned this chubby little creature as the representative of the city. Until the last day, that is. Our final day in Prague was colder than all the rest, but because of the Airbnb, bus schedule, and things that are too boring to explain, we spent a full day in the outdoors. We meandered around quite quickly to keep our bodies warm and eventually made it to the opposite side of the city. We reached a river where people were gathered around enjoying the view. Our legs seemed to need a rest, so we joined the other onlookers and peered over the railing into the murky water below. It was exactly what you would expect to see out of a river. Mud, ducks, and the occasional candy wrapper slowly floated their way down the stream. My eyes were following the little waves melting into the shore when suddenly I heard a splash. Kendra, Mason, and I instinctively whipped our heads in the direction of the sound. We saw a brown little lump bobbing in and out of the water. I leaned over the railing as far as I could to get a better look. It was in this exact moment that the brown lump reached the shore. It revealed its beady black eyes first, and then hoisted its round rump onto a log and slugged its way to the edge of the water. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. It looked like a mix between a beaver, a rat, and a wet sock. It had a tail, so it couldn't be a mole, but its pink toes and fat belly were so similar to the cartoon animal all over town that I could see where they found their inspiration. Soon enough these strange tubby creatures were all over the river. They seemed to emerge from nothing, and slowly congregated together on a few logs, as if in an important meeting. For the life of us we couldn't figure out what these animals were, so we fondly dubbed them "river moles." A few hours later when our hands had defrosted and we had WiFi, we were able to consult the internets about our new friends. It turned out that the label we came up with wasn't so far off from their very scientific name of swamp rats. Prague was a memorable city for more than just its impressive population of swamp rats. It is a dreamy place filled with never-ending landscapes of colorful, baroque styled buildings and a solid population of tourists. Every street was decorated with rich architecture, each building gilded with intricate designs spiraling throughout the stone facades. Twinkling Christmas lights and feathery wreaths rested just above the romantic patterns, which made just seeing them a magical treat. Cozy pivovars sat on every corner, the warm, yellow light oozing from the cracks in their old wooden doors. Just beyond each creaky entrance always sat a room of weathered old booths, grumpy Czech waiters, and beer smooth as butter. The food was hearty, warm, and provided a nice refuge from the sharp, cold air. It is a pure delight of a city and was just the most wonderful spot to spend the holidays. photosThis year we stayed in Europe for the Christmas holidays. Partly by choice, but mostly by the Spanish government (the bureaucratic system is una mierda). Because of the state of our residency cards, we had to remain in the Schengen Zone, limiting our travel choices to a mere 26 countries. Tough break, huh? Initially we were a little overwhelmed with the options, but after scrolling through flight prices, it didn't take us long to narrow down our choices. We found an unbelievably cheap flight to Berlin, and from there we put our heads together (with our friend Kendra) to fill in the gaps. In a span of time much shorter than we expected, we had created a cold little tour of Eastern Europe for ourselves. The stops on our list including: Berlin, Prague, a city in Poland, and back to Berlin. The weeks leading up to our departure (but more realistically the week... I'm a procrastinator) Mason and I went shopping for proper gear to combat the impending cold. When we moved to Málaga I got rid of all of my warm clothes, leaving myself with two thick-ish pairs of socks, one hat, old crumbling gloves, and a sad excuse for a coat. Needless to say, I desperately needed to invest in a few dozen more layers. Mason was very on top of the shopping list, and was constantly reminding me to get myself to the stores. Looking back, I think it was because he didn't want to hear me complain about how cold I was for two weeks. Smart guy. To start off the trip we had about 18 hours in Berlin. We spent most of these sleeping through the night in squeaky hostel bunkbeds and then set off to explore before our next leg of the trip. Mason, Kendra, and I marched through the streets of Berlin clad in backpacks, scarves, boots, coats, hats, and two layers of pants. The change in temperature was especially a shock for Mason and I, as we were coming from the balmy weather of our beachy Málaga paradise. Luckily Germany is a country of great beer, and the cold was a good excuse to fill our bellies with a few pints. Because nothing warms you up better than an ice cold glass of bier, right? We filled the hours with a self-guided walking tour of the Christmas markets and old buildings, stopping every hour or so for a glass of the good stuff. Outside one of the bars where we set up shop, there was a bright yellow telephone booth filled with books. With our extremely limited (some might say nonexistent) German, we were able to deduce that it was a free library. Throughout the hour or so that we were at the bar, a steady stream of people trickled in and out of this little yellow box, taking books and replacing them with others on their way out. It was a happy little scene to watch and paired great with our beverages. When we had our fill of drinks and treats we walked over to the bus station and hopped on the bus to Prague. As we settled into the surprisingly comfy seats, Mason nudged my shoulder. I lifted my eyes to see his huge smile and my eyes followed the direction of his pointed finger. In the front of the bus above the driver's seat was a handwritten sign reading, 'Water 2€. Soda 3€. Beer 1€.' Mason's grin seemed permanently drawn on his face as he rustled in his pockets for change. Not a bad way to spend a five hour bus ride. una mierda - sh*t For our third year here in España we decided we wanted a little change of scenery, so a couple months ago we packed up our entire lives (and our friend Kendra) into a little European rental and drove nine hours south to the coast of Spain. Back in January we applied for this beachy little city called Málaga. Why? you may ask. The answer is simple really- with over 300 sunny days a year and one of the warmest winters in Europe, it seemed like an opportunity we just couldn't pass up. And to our pleasant surprise the landscapes, food, and people that greeted us have knocked our expectations clear out of the fútbol stadium. Before officially moving to Málaga, Mason had made a goal of living 30 minutes from the beach. He had it set in his head that he would wake up every morning before school and swim in the Mediterranean for an hour or so with the other old Spanish men. He even made plans to buy a neon colored safety float to tie to his waist while he splashed around. However, with each day that passed, his number of minutes to the beach got lower. When we finally went house-hunting the time was down to a measly 10 minutes. Try as we might, we surprisingly found that we didn't have the budget for a beach house getaway. Instead we had to settle on a newly renovated apartment with a huge rooftop terrace 30 minutes from the coast. Tough break for Mason perhaps, but I'd say that'll do just fine, Donkey. Now here we are, a little over two months after we made the big move, and I can confidently say we finally feel settled. For the first month or so it just seemed like we were renting an Airbnb and taking a prolonged vacation, but now this place has really started to feel like home. We have begun exploring more of this southernmost region of Spain and fall more and more in love with it every day. It is so different from Logroño and the north that it almost feels like a different country entirely. The dry, coastal landscape vastly contrasts with the lush green hills of northern Spain, but meshes just swimmingly (ha ha) with the abundance of seafood here. Even the accent is distinct. Coming from the clear, articulate acento of La Rioja, the fast, and often garbled, Spanish of the south is definitely something we have had to get used to, but it's now an accent I've come to love. There is so much history, culture, food, and good weather here in the south. I have a feeling one year might be just the beginning.
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