We’ve been home now for about a week.

Our flight from Amsterdam was long and the airport was a nightmare of lines. Our homecoming felt earned as we touched down in San Diego.

My mom and step dad picked us up from the airport and we made a beeline to the In n’ Out near our house. A burger has never tasted so fucking good.

Walking into our home felt like a fever dream. Everything looked the same but our dog Kona, looked a little older.

I ate my food and quickly fell into a sweaty sleep. I slept until 8 AM the next day and my internal clock was reset, no jet lag!

Since being home we’ve seen some family and friends, cooked some great dinners, and planted a garden in my moms backyard. Everything is so fucking quiet and the only sound I hear right now is the dryer and the wind chimes outside of the kitchen window.

It feels like we’ve been through a tornado that whipped us all across Europe and then naturally spit us back out into our normal lives. I already miss so much about our time there.

More than anything, cliche as it may be, I miss the feeling of unavoidable adventure that we faced every day before we opened the door. There would be times when I would wake up and forget where I was, expecting to jump into some sort of normalcy. Instead, I would gather my thoughts, attempt to make a plan, remember what language I’m supposed to speak, and out we would go.

I couldn't have thought of a better way to spend the first months of a new marriage. I fell in love with Sara over and over again. Through walking together, struggling together, lifting heavy bags, running to trains or boats or planes or taxis, trying new food, speaking new languages, we learned so much together! It laid a great foundation for us to build our lives on.

Personally, I feel like the trip changed me. I’m less afraid of people than I was before. I’m more open to trying new things and accepting that what I have come to know, isn’t always the way it should be. It forced me to look at my home country and although it’s no secret that America is a bit fucked up at the moment, things are tough all over. There is no escape from the destructive decisions of human beings, no matter what plane ticket you buy. And besides that, there is so much love and learning to be had when you open yourself up to someone else’s culture. In sharing a drink, on a plate of food, on the coffee table of someone else’s home, or words from the mouth of the person sitting next to you on the train, there’s a lot of love to be shared.

I’m so lucky to have received any of it.

Thanks for being a part of this,

Mikey

I have never understood Paris.

I’ve been in this monster of a city three times now, and it has never struck me as the romantic haven that the rest of the world seems to think it is! I’ve always found it to be cold, bland, and classically rude. It has the attitude of a big city who knows that it’s shit don’t stink. But stink it does. Or so I thought…

I can now proudly say that after this recent visit to the City of Lights, I recognize that I have been oblivious. For the first time, Paris makes sense to me. And it is fucking beautiful.

After landing at Charles de Gaulle (a shit fuck of an airport that I will never be in favor of, no matter how my feelings change towards Paris), we caught a taxi to our air bnb which was in the neighborhood of Le Marais, a hip corner of the city with lots of vintage clothing stores and noodle shops. On our ride to the apartment, the taxi driver was classically snobby and I prepared myself for what I figured would be five days worth of this traditional Parisian treatment. Luckily, our cabbie was the only asshole we met in our entire stay.

Our air bnb was nice and cozy, and it had one of those bathtubs that you have to sit down in while you hose yourself off with the shower head. This everyday process inspired me to start stretching in the morning, as I found that I could barely touch my toes when I was sitting in the tub. Embarrassing.

We started our exploring off with a visit to the Notre Dame, which was about a ten minute walk. Since the fire in 2019, it has been fenced off to visitors but you can still admire it from the front courtyard. We took a couple quick photos and then crossed the river where we ran into Shakespeare and Company, one of the most famous bookstores in the world! We saw that there was a line out the door to get in and I assumed that meant it was a tourist trap. I’m telling you now though, if you are in Paris, you got to check this store out. It’s fucking beautiful and the collection of books is really something to nerd out about. It feels like you stepped into something out of Harry Potter. I’m twenty-eight years old and Harry Potter is still a useful reference point for me. Fuck you.

Anyway, we bought a couple of books and went to sit at a nearby cafe for a bottle of wine. Immediately after ordering, I craved a cigarette. I went to go find some and was flabbergasted (yes, flabbergasted) by how difficult it was to find cigarettes in a town where literally everyone smokes. I circled the block for about fifteen minutes before I sadly gave up and settled instead for the lingering smell of the table next to us.

I think this was the first moment where Paris started to endear itself to me. We sat on the patio, drinking wine and eating crackers, the smell of smoke and carbon monoxide floating by, and the faint sound of a standup piano coming from inside the bar. I mean come on, its cliche. But fuck, it’s good.

We finished our drink and made the walk back home. We were tired from the travel day, so we called it a night.

The following day we had tickets for the Louvre. Now THIS is more than enough reason for anyone to hate Paris. The Louvre might I say, is a complete and total clusterfuck, conjured up by some sort of sadistic piece of shit who must have the diabolical fantasy of watching ignorant and sweaty tourists cram themselves into a death warehouse with one goal in mind: to take a picture of the Mona Lisa. It’s an endless maze of massive staircases and rooms with no A/C, full of some of the most amazing art in the world. I couldn’t have given a fuck if they told me Jesus Christ himself was in one of those rooms. We saw the Mona Lisa and hauled our asses out of there, sweaty and shaken. Don’t go to the Louvre. You can see the Mona Lisa online.

After climbing out from the depths of hell, we went and had a drink at Harry’s Bar. This is also a kind of touristy thing to do, but it’s worth the time to have a Bloody Mary at the place that claims to have invented them. Ernest Hemingway used to hang out here, so that’s part of the draw. It’s an old American style bar with the flags of most U.S. universities hanging from the walls. The cocktails are great, the vibe is fun, I recommend it!

Later that night, we went across the street and fought for a table at the busiest noodle place. We got some dumplings and three bowls of their spicy pork noodles. It was a perfect comfort food for the end of our very stressful day. We swore off any more museums after this.

The following day we spent walking around the Latin quarter while it lightly drizzled. I had found my cigarettes and we smoked them as we went. We had a big lunch and a bottle of wine near the river and then we sat down on a park bench and read. I remember sitting there and thinking that I had found the meaning of Paris. Walk, eat, smoke, drink, read, sleep, have sex, repeat. Avoid the lines, the crowds, the cabaret. Just relax. It’s one of the few big cities I know of that really inspires laziness.

After our lazy day though, there was something I knew we had to try! Absinthe! I found an Absinthe bar called La Fee Verte (the green fairy) and we sat down for a couple glasses of the famous drink. 75% alcohol and diluted to your liking by slowly dripping water over a sugar cube, this shit will get you drunk. But these days, it’s more about the process of enjoying a drink slowly with some friends and less about going blind. It was a bucket list item of mine and I’m glad we did it. Twice actually, we went back the next night too.

We surprisingly woke up the next morning with no hangover! Our days in Paris were growing to a close and we knew we had one more thing to see. That big fucking tower they have. You’ve probably heard of it. It’s big, it’s beautiful…The Eiffel Tower. We didn’t go up to the top or anything, we sat under it in the giant lawn and read our books with a bottle of champagne. I’m realizing how hard it is to not be a cliche while in Paris. I’m fine with being a cliche.

That night we had an amazing dinner at Les Closerie Des Lilas, a favorite of Salvador Dali. We came straight from the Eiffel Tower and continued our drinking but now it was accompanied by steak and fish. We got a platter of crab, prawns and oysters. Sara ordered a filet mignon with a delicious sauce of cognac, butter and creme fraiche. Julia ordered sweetbreads and I ordered the dish that made Julia Child fall in love with cooking, Sole Meunière.

Everything was fucking delicious and I still am thinking about the fish. Say what you want about the French, but no one cooks like they do.

On our last day in town, Sara aunt joined us. She’s a pilot for a major commercial airline and she just so happened to be in town for a day. We got a couple bottles of wine and some dinner while we shared some stories from this trip. It was a nice way to end our stay in Paris.

Our time here in Europe is coming to a close and I can feel it. I’m sitting here typing this in Amsterdam and although I’m ready to go home, it makes me very sad to leave.

I’m hungry,

Mikey

Lisbon is an absolutely stunning and unique city. And yet, it seems to strangely familiar.

Could it be that they have an almost exact replica of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge? Or maybe it’s the looming giant statue of Jesus Christ that overlooks the bay, like in Rio de Janeiro? Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the constant stream of hip young kids in beanies and Animal Collective shirts that make me feel close to some version of home?

Whatever it may be, Lisbon is really fucking cool.

We got there in the evening and coming from the hot desert of Madrid, the sea breeze coming through the alleyways of our little corner in Lisbon was refreshing and cold. For the first time in months, we had to put on a sweater!

Our street was perched on one of the many hills of Lisbon and had a great multicultural vibe. The first restaurant we sat down at, was directly outside of our door and served North African food. And it was fucking delicious! We had lamb shank that was served in a chili sauce and it fell right off the bone. Sara and Julia shared a seafood curry that was mostly good except that the fish ended up a bit dry. Good flavor in the curry though!

It was also here that I started my habit of drinking Caipirinhas. Actually, it technically began in Barcelona. But Lisbon was where I really put that baby into second gear. If you haven’t had one, I highly encourage you to try it. Its a very simple Brazilian cocktail and they go down like a motherfucker!

Dinner was good.

After taking a quick stroll around our neighborhood, which consisted of Pakistani food, Indian food, African food, and a couple bars serving tapas, we went to bed with full stomachs.

The following day we woke up and made our way down the hill to what the citizens of Lisbon call “The Grid”. Basically it’s just the more touristy part of the downtown district. There are shops selling bullshit souvenirs, cafes offering overpriced pastries and liquors, street performers doing nothing interesting, etc. It was hot so we walked towards the water, past the dancers and magicians.

It’s worth stating how fucking beautiful Lisbon is! Sitting by the sea, I truly felt as though I were looking at a mirrored version of San Francisco’s bay. Sail boats lazily floated by, white caps highlighted the surface of the sunny water, cars zoomed over the bridge to whatever Lisbon’s version of Sausalito is, it felt like we were home. What shattered the illusion of familiarity though, was of course the people. They seemed happier, or at least more comfortable. At night we took a tuk-tuk (small three wheeled golf cart, seen mostly in India), up to a view point of the city, and all around us were young people, smoking and drinking with seemingly not a care in the world. This is not to say that Lisbon is a utopia, but it sure seems like a nice place to be when you’re in your twenties.

I learned an interesting thing about Lisbon one day while walking around. Twice in the span of ten minutes, two guys with fanny packs tried selling me weed. They whispered “marrriiijjuuuaaannnaaa” in my ear as I walked by and then tried to get me to buy some “marrrriiijjjuuuaannnaaa” for about a block. He asked me where I was from and ignorantly, I said I was from California. That excited him since EVERYONE from California smokes weed and I HAVE to try his. For the record, I do smoke weed sometimes, but I wasn't going to buy this bullshit. Anyways, I later found out that from a citizen of Lisbon that what those half ass dealers sell you, is actually just compressed chicken stock and bay leaves! How sick is that? Does that even smell relatively like weed when you smoke it?! It inspired me to get home quick and try to roll a top ramen blunt and just see what happens! Just kidding, but kinda interesting!

On our last full day in Lisbon, we caught a forty minute train ride to Sintra. You’ve probably seen some photos of this place before and I’m here to tell you that the photos do not do it justice. Sintra, as far as I understand, was the destination for the royals of Portugal. It’s a collection of rolling hills that are completely covered in tropical vegetation. The trees and plants were all imported and planted to grow this heavenly little piece of paradise where the rich and famous could escape to and live like literal kings. The buildings are colorful and as you round the corners in a tuk tuk at breakneck speeds, you expect monkeys to come flying out of the woods, to rip your face off and eat your kidneys.

We took a tour of the main attraction, which was Pena Place. It is perched at the highest point in the town and the views are truly breathtaking. The castle is brightly colored yellow and red, and it sits on a property of eighty-five hectares. I have no idea how big a hectare is, look that shit up. (It’s big).

While Sintra was beautiful, if we were to do it again, I would stay for a night. There’s so much to see that the day trip made it seem a bit rushed. Also, Pena Palace was a bit over rated and I would much rather spend my time at one of the lesser know attractions.

Our time in Lisbon ended with more African food and more caipirinhas. The one downside of our time in this city, is that on the food side of things, it didn’t really stand out. The African place was by far the best food we had (which is obviously why we went twice) and outside of that, the restaurants were nothing to write home about. This could be because we came from Spain which at the moment is the modern culinary capital of Europe. Or maybe we just missed the good shit! I don’t know, someone tell me why I’m being an idiot about this.

I would go back to this city again and again. It feels young, despite the almost ancient history. I can understand why people are moving here in hoards. It’s a colorful city with beautiful people. Go see it!

buh bye,

Mikey

Madrid took advantage 

of the sunrise and

By time we were up,

The heat was angry

and acidic.

The streets walked sleepily

Past the bodies of slow standing Spaniards. 

No one spoke of movement 

And nothing happened, ever.

The food was homestyle

And painted into plates

On checkered tables.

It fell into me

From the ash hands of 

Old cigarette waiters.

Snails, pigs, guts, hearts, vegetables.

We saw flamenco. 

A shock of emotion. 

A really beautiful thing,

That I’ve always been too dumb to appreciate.

Dancing is not something I’m good at.

Or know nothing about.

But, it’s easier to appreciate

A great art, when your cheeks are full

Of meat, sauce and whisky. 

My god, I saw it.

Taxis zoomed quietly to the big museum.

Full of paintings that we had heard of.

Someone did that!

Someone important!

God damn!

Let’s leave! 

I turned 28 in Madrid.

I turned 28 in Madrid.

I turned 28. 

Somehow, I’m 28 now. 

And it rolls on.

If Barcelona was fire,

Madrid was the cooled ashes.

We didn’t do much in Madrid, and it was fucking great. 

Alright, I’m going to need everyone to calm down! Right now! I know we’re all very excited about how amazing Spain is but frankly, I’ve had it up to here with this country. It is just too fucking cool for school! Hey Spain! You’re making everybody look bad! Calm down!

Barcelona is tight, guys.

We arrived on a Friday. We were supposed to arrive on a Thursday but Vueling airlines decided to take a giant shit on our chests and cancel our flight. Don’t fly Vueling unless you enjoy getting shat on. Which if you do, I’m not shaming. Do your thing, girl.

When we arrived to our air bnb in Barcelona, Julia (Saras mom) was waiting for us! She had gotten in the day before and had already checked into the air bnb. We were so stoked to see some family and it gave us a new lease on this trip. It’s been a long time and the little piece of home was a welcome relief. We quickly got cleaned up and changed, then went out to explore our neighborhood.

We were staying in the neighborhood of Gracia and it just so happened that were staying there during the FESTIVAL of Gracia. As far as we came to understand it, Gracia is a weeklong festival where every individual barrio of this neighborhood has a contest to see who can throw the best party. I’m sure there’s a lot more lore and symbolism to it than that, but to our dumb American eyes, this is how we perceived it. Basically, every day from sunset to three AM there was a raging party going on in the 5 mile radius surrounding us. Drumlines, makeshift bars selling two dollar cups of Vermut on tap, giant parades of paper mache dragons that light on fire and explode, bands covering Oasis and Queen un-ironically, the spectacle never ended. We took advantage of the party every night we were there. Sara and I stayed out late one night and joined the crowded streets, drinking and singing. Everybody seemed so happy to be apart of something and we came to realize that this was the first Gracia since COVID! So this party was really a long time coming for these people. That much was clear.

Outside of the neighborhood, we spent a lot of time eating tapas of all sorts. We had patatas bravas, anchovies, grilled octopus, Iberian ham, pates, etc. The food culture of tapas is fucking great. I don’t know why it isn’t more popular in America. Americans LOVE APPETEASERS! Why do you think Chilis still exists? It’s because of the fucking triple dipper, of course! Ok, I don’t know if that’s truly what’s keeping Chilis alive, but you get the point. People love small plates in high quantities. Me, especially!

We also spent a fair amount of time admiring the architecture of Gaudi across the city. We saw the Sagrada Familia, and it was extremely impressive. I’d seen pictures and I did not expect to be so blown away by its massiveness. It’s been a work in progress for over a hundred years and is expected to be finally finished in 2028. What an amazing concept and I felt very humbled, knowing that we live in a time where we may see it finally completed.

We also took a walk through Guell park and took a photo of the famous landmarks that you can skate on in Tony Hawks Underground 2! I’m sure Gaudi is rolling in his grave as I say that, but those are core memories for me. Sorry. Honestly, the park was gorgeous and the buildings are something out of an acid trip.

Sara and I also got tattooed in Barcelona! I hadn't been tattooed in a long time and I’m always surprised with how bad it hurts. I stay as still as a board and don’t take breaks because I just want to get the fuck out of there. People who say that they “like the feeling of getting tattooed” need to take a fucking seat. You know who says that kind of shit? It’s always a person with one wrist tattoo in the shape of an infinity sign and their baby’s birthdate who’s like: “honestlyyyyy, I think tattoos kinda feel go0o0ood haha lol!!”

What was I talking about?

Barcelona was our favorite stop up to that point, and we would go back over and over again. On our last night there, it was the final night of Gracia. We had dinner and went to watch Jordan Peele’s new movie “Nope” at the theater down the street from us. When we emerged from the darkness of the movie theater, we were surrounded by what initially, sounded like gunshots. After a couple moments of panic, we realized the final parade was beginning and this time with an extreme amount of fireworks.

For the next three hours, hordes of people marched down the street with giant sparklers that screamed through the alleyways and then exploded with one deafening bang. Drums pounded, fireworks exploded. We stood on our balcony watching the people dance in the rain of fire and I took my camera down the the street for a few photos. I haven’t developed them yet but I hope they turn out well! Our time in this great city ended in a cloud of smoke and we we carried on to Madrid.

Adios,

Mikey

P.S. the wifi sucks in the current apartment I’m in, hence the lack of photos in this post. Sorry about that.