Dear Daddy…I am going to Europe by myself…don’t worry!

Dear Daddy,

 I am going to Europe by myself. Don’t worry. Now, by the time you have sat yourself down and propped your forehead against the palm of your hand to read this letter I will be hitchin’ a ride to LAX. I know that every time we talked about this trip before that you were confused and didn’t understand why I would leave you alone while you have cancer. I’ll tell you dad that making the choice to take this trip has been hard. That it was a journey to even purchase the plane ticket. Let me tell you a little bit about that journey and maybe it will better explain why I am taking this one.

This week as I have been packing up my apartment to move out I have gotten a lot of calls from you being stressed about the weather in Europe, the terrorist attacks, the fact that I will be a woman alone. I felt a lot of fear from you dad. I have found in my short life that fear is crippling. It was fear that I battled to take this trip. Fear of what the nurses at Hoag would think about me leaving you. Fear that something would happen to you while I was gone and I wouldn’t be able to ever forgive myself. Fear of the image of you being sick and alone. The thing I have realized dad is I can’t let fear control my life. That I can’t be a daughter, nurse, confidant, buddy and fully me all at once. That trying to do that for the past 4 years has forced me to neglect myself. At times I would feel so ashamed that I wasn’t strong enough to do it all. I felt like you, the nurses and God were disappointed in me. Through some soul searching this year I have found that that’s not the case. That I’m not a bad person for not being able to do it all. That I can no longer take on every roll of the people who fill your life because in doing so I neglect myself. I need this trip to spend time with myself and see who and what I have become.

Why so far away to Europe you ask? Well, growing up in the fast pace of Orange County has had me going much to fast a pace. There is something odd about the patterns of our lives out here. We grow up, we get our education, and we get married, have kids and repeat the cycle. A few years ago dad I almost got myself into a very bad situation due to that cycle. I was getting done with college and was dating this guy Alex, (you met him remember? Dark hair? Good listener?) Well what you don’t know is that Alex and I were planning on getting married. At the time I thought he was perfect, actually scratch that, “He is perfect” we just aren’t perfect for each other.. What I realized through our relationship was that I loved him more than I loved myself. That I was scared, fearful of being without him so I chose to be someone else so I could be with him. Thank fully who I truly am is not a fearful or scared person, I am strong, confident person and God let that person come through and break things off with Alex. Going through that breakup was painful, long and hard. However, there was consolation prize to the game being over.  While we were planning on getting married I saved a good chunk of change for our projected wedding in 2007. Well 2007 is here and we’re definitely not getting married, but my savings account has just enough money to travel around Europe for a little bit. Amazing how things work out. Coincidence? I think not.

Alright daddy, one last thing. Safety. You are scared that I am going alone. Well, I’ll have you know that I am taking with myself a very smart, strong and caring man with me to Europe. You actually may have heard of him. His name is God……

If you are reading the rest of this letter it means that you have uncrumppled the paper and have flattened it out on the table to read it. (Smart man dad J I know you don’t believe in God. I know you think that it’s a fairy story. I know that me telling you that God is real means just as much as me telling you that I rode on a unicorn at the beach yesterday and ate an entire wedding cake by myself. I believe without a doubt in my heart that God is real. That He is in charge of the breaths that come from my lungs and that I will travel the earth as long as He see’s fit. It’s knowing this that my life is fuller, joyful and peaceful. I have a good life dad. I am better woman for having you as a father and I thank God for choosing you for the job everyday.

So, I’m off. Actually I’m probably still sitting with my brother in-laws truck in traffic soaking up the last bit of California sun on my body. I’ll see you soon dad. Make sure you change your shirts everyday. Stay away from P.H.O. Drink plenty of water, (graperfruit juice doesn’t count.) Keep it real by calling the beautiful woman in Newport, “Sir.” Tell Sunset Sam I can’t wait to see his pictures from the Fall.  Tell Cheryl I say, “Thank you bella.” And be proud that you have a daughter who is courageous, strong and smart. Just like you!

Love you “George”(Dad)!

“Uncle Fred” (Irvina )

xoxoxxoxoxoxoxox

Dear Aunt Bebe…Sometimes you know you are going in the right direction…

Dear Aunt Bebe,

Sometimes you know you´re going in the right direction. I learned that after 2 movies, 3 pages out of a book, a chit chat with a Vegan, 8 Brit´s serving me yucky plane food (*Virgin airlines has totaly down graded since I last flew with them. The food isn´t as good and last time everyone got backpacks full of socks, eyepads, ear plugs, gum, pens….this time we got toothpaste, eyepad and pen in a little zip lock baggy. Its the little things that count to me)  I landed at London, Heathrow. Caught the bus to Oxford and was just in full grin the entire bus ride to Oxford (well I´m sure I grin while I´m asleep too) The ride was so beautiful covering the British country side. There were tons and tons of trees and green green, horseys, cows, ponies and pretty pretty landscape. Sometimes the trees got so thick you could just barely see the sun crack through the branches . We´re talking thick, kind of like the way you would look for the sun would be like looking for the price tag on a rounder of clothes at TJ Maxx.

So I made sure I checked out the map of how to get to my hostel from the train station. Just like the Let´s go travel guide said I went under the bridge and I was there. In my hostel I met this gal Juliet.  A totally ambitious gal who was in Oxford because she was graduating from the Oxford business school. She double majored in Business and Accounting and is currently working in Switzerland for Capital Group….(I think that´s supposed to be a big deal) She wanted to cruise all the colleges that were filmed for the Harry Potter movie, have dinner and drinks. So I was down. She was a cool girl, very confident and straight forward. She straight up told me that she thought Orange County was beautiful but she would never live there because it´s so superficial. Then a little later told me that if I want a boyfriend in Europe I should look for a guy who owns a big dog. I guess since the houses are so small here everyone has small dogs. According to her if the dude is walking a big dog that means he has a huge house. Intuitive girl eh? The interesting thing about this girl was as different as we are we were also very similar.  She too once thought that she would marry someone and found that that wasn´t the route for her. She said that even though she felt stupid for almost making such a big mistake she thought that it´s those mistakes that excell us farther ahead at a faster speed. She said when you mess up at something big you learn faster. I thought that was pretty accurate. Cause I know now whats lagit and what´s not lagit in relationships. Meeting Juliet at the beginning of my trip has give me a sense of peace about it. Realizing that some people do share my experiences and that makes me not feel so alone. Off to Belgium.

Ciao Tia!

Besitos!

Irvina

Dear Sessa, backpacking is bloody hard….

Dear Sessa,

Backpacking is bloody hard! I got to to Brussels and was greeted by a shaddy dude outside the bus station who I got a bad vibe from. He said, ¨Is it okay if I talk to you?¨ He sketeched me out so I decided not to walk in the dark to my hostel. I opted for a cab ride. A rip off later I was at the Van Gogh Youth Hostel in Brussels, Belgium. Don´t ever stay here. This is how my night went there.

1:30 am Arrive

1:35 am Get key and Go accross street to open hostel door, key doesn´t work. Go back accross street for new key

1:40 am open door walk up 5 flights of stairs (with the 4th grader sized back pack on my back) and get to room where 8 other people are sleeping. I turn on the light to have them all wake up. I turn the light off.

1:45 unpack in the dark. No bathroom in room so I have to go down the hall.

1:50 Forgot toothbrush go back

2:00 Go to get on top bunk of bunk bed and realize that there is no ladder and someone on the bottom bunk. So I have to climb on the latter on the bunkbed accross from me then jump from the opposite ladder on to my bed. The latter isn´t fully attached so it slams against the bed startling the person sleeping in it. (you know how i like to make a bangin´first impression.)

2:05 sleep

2:07 Forgot I left wallet in my bag. Hop down get wallet. Monkey climb leap back on bed and put wallet under pillow.

2;08 sleep

2:09 Cold. Get down shut window. Monkey climb back on bed.

2:10 Chick accross from me starts coughing up a lung. Coughing. Hacking. Coughing. Hacking. I pray to God for a shield of antibacterial armor to come over me

2:15 I really have to use the bathroom. Hop down. Search for room key. Go across hall. Show off Victorias secrets. Monkey Climb back on bed

2:30 Still cold. Hop down,  get another blanket. Monkey swing back up bed.

2:45  Thirsty. Tell  myself, ¨Look here princess this could be freakin´Egypt in July. You´re not getting off this bed!)

3:00 Thirsty

3:30 Coughing

4:00 am Thirsty

6:00 Praying

6:30 Think. I should have drank instead of slept.

So I´m up at 7:00 am get dressed and book it on out of there. I go to get the free breakfast and see that the free breakfast includes rice crispies and toast and you know I don´t do rice crispies since the rice crispy incident. So now I´m pissy and don´t really want to talk to anyone so I try to go see the city and find some Belgium waffles and beer. Note, dont go explore a city without a city map with every single street on it. I had the map out of my travel book and its soooooooooooooooooooooooooo not the same thing. I saw some really big dome thing in the distance and think that looks important. Lets cruise. My ¨cruise¨turned into a 3 mile stretch by foot. By the time I got there I was dead. It ended up being a very beautiful cathedral with a Da Vince exhibit going on inside so I decided might as well.

 As I waited I questioned myself. Am I cut out for this? I dont´know if I can handle being lost for 4 months straight. This isn´t what I expected. Why do I always give up. I don´t get it. Can I handle anything. I decided to give those emotions to God for the moment and go see the exhibit. Which was really cool. Da Vinci was such a Renaissance man. Talented on all spectrums of art, math and sciences. The thing that stuck out the most was how they emphasized that it was Da Vincis passion ¨to teach others what he knew.¨ All the sudden the pain in my legs, the crick in my neck and the tears that were forming in my eyes were calmed. I have a passion for telling people the lessons I´ve learned (example uh this blog.) The fact that I could relate a passion such an abstract passion with a man who passed me so long ago gave me peace.

The thing I have been looking for the most in the past few years has been people to realte to. As much as we all say ¨be yourself¨when you don´t have people who really ¨get you¨its tough. I think the thing I might find on this trip is that my thoughts and ideas as original as they are might be part of bigger whole. Knowing that makes me feel not so alone.

So after the realization, some delicious Turkish food of falaffel and salad on the way home, (by the way their is a full blown Turkish enclave in Brussels. Warning to all Armo´s. Sorry I had to eat their food, but I was starving and it was honestly delicious) got directions from a nice Belgium boy to use the metro and not walk 3 more miles. I packed up at the hostel and decided I´m out of here. Took a major detour and decided to head on out to Spain. Unfortunately by the time I got to the airport I realized that this is Belgium where things (including flights out of the country) close at 10 pm not LAX where things go round the clock. So I ended up having a slumber party in the airport in Brussels. It was chill I went to the bathroom and just pretended that this filthy tile box was a gorgeous marble palace. When I went to get a water bottle at the vending machines I needed change so I went up to Fernando and friend from Portugal and made a friend. He was very interested in California and said his favorite band was the Killers and he wants to drive accross the 50 states on route 66. He gave me his number and if I plan on going to Portugal I can stay with him and his family. Sweeet! So after chit chattin I went to sleep around 4 am in the posh sleeping bag the Roussets loaned me. I laughed looking at the 300 thread count sheet lined sleeper with the embroidered gold rope. This sleeping bag is probably one they use for their boat. I doubt it ever thought it would end up on the floor of an airport only 20 feet away from a vending machine, bathroom and woman in head dress who who is always staring at me every time I wake up in Charloi, Belgium.

Love,

Irvina

Dear Erin…I found Kefir…

Dear Erin,

I found Kefir! By the way, thank you guys for helping me move all my boxes to my sisters house. You and Ryan are amazing friends! I was so glad I got to see you guys before I left. I loved my card. I loved the inscription on the front, “The sun does not shine on us, it shines from within us.” That was just what I needed before my trip. I love it! glued it into my travel book.

Oh yes I was writing to tell you about the Kefir I found. I was walking down Deputacio Street in Barcelona just whistling to the ba beat beat of the sun and I saw some very attractive looking apples in a gourment type store window. I was really quite hungry and headed back to my hostel so I thought might as well stop and over pay for one apple. As always “looks are decieving” this store was actually very well priced. And what do you know standing right next to the most beautiful red apples was some gorgeously packaged Kefir! Complete with the class jar, gingam printed cap and fruit at the bottom of the jar! Heaven!

So I go to pay for my apples, kefir, lemons and water and the boy who rings me up is just too cute to forget so I ask him in Spanish, ¨Sacar un photo con mi kefir?” His boss laughs as I set up the photo session from the other end of the counter, moving the bags on the counter and the items around.

I have been so impressed by how many fresh open fruit and vegetable stands there are here. One on just about every other block. It´s like their fruit stands are the equivalent to our gas stations. You would love it! So there you have it I have Spain, the sun and probiotics. Life and travels are good!

Love you!

Irvina

Dear LifeGroup…

Dear LifeGroup,

I´m so sorry I haven´t written until now. It was a crazy week finishing up everything in the U.S. and starting off my travels, but alas I´m here! Thank you all for such an awesome going away soiree. The affirmations of, “I love Irvina because….” were my favorite (Tyler and Kerstin you left early so I´ll be picking mine up from you later j/k) Really though thank you all so much for helping me get “here” giving me spirit, strength, advice and helping me move my boxes last minute, (cough cough to the Aday´s) Pretty much just being the amazing people you are. I can´t tell you how many times I have felt totally at peace in the chaos, just from simply knowing that I am cared for (while my sub-conscious very well knows that I should simply be freaking the frick out.) I know that is only due to your prayers. So thanks for the shouts out to the big ¨JC¨on my behalf.

I am in Barcelona, Spain right now. Crazy big city man! I didn´t wake up until about 4 in the afternoon, but I still made it to church. Just like RockHarbor the Barcelona Cathedral has a late service for the, ”Saturday night saints.”  I had just enough time to grab a super yummy fallaffel salad before mass and join a crowd of tourists listening to a man playing the flute in the middle of a wide alley way.  When he finished playing he came up to me and asked me, something with the word, “Musica” in it. I said, “Si me gusta musica.” He went on and on and to my own dismay I didn´t know a word of what he was saying. They all speak Catalan here so I´m like super confused.  As much as I enjoyed my flute playing, amigo and could totally see our friendship developing over my constant head nodding I had to tell him, ¨Me voy a la cathedral. Donde es la cathedral?” Again he said something and touched his shoulders and looked at my shoulders to which I said in English, “No worries I´m Latin I don´t need sunblock.”

We parted ways with two smiles and 20 paces later I found a Spanish woman at the steps of the cathedral touching her shoulders and looking at mine. This is where I found out unlike RockHarbor, The Barcelona Cathedral has a dress code. No spaghetti strap showin shoulders in our 18th Century church. (They must not want anyone to show up the naked cherubs. You know people come all the way around the world to see that stuff.)

All I can think is, “Nooooooooooooo!” I don´t want to buy a sweater! I over packed too many as it is. Just goes to show, listen to your mother and always, “Take a sweater.” So I see a bunch of vendors outside the church. One of them has those lacy wraps the sexy senoritas used to wear with their red rose behind their ear, waving a fan like, “Yeah you wish you were married to a bull fighting latin don´t you.” So I think pefecto! I´ll buy one of these as a souvenir for my mom and just “break it in” by wearing it in the church. A big wave and a big smile later I ask the vendor, “cuantos senora?” She gives me a very gentle smile and says, “Do you speak English.” I´m all, “Why yes.” She goes on to explain that this is a handmade shall from the 18th century, its a collectors item and costs over 150€. I´m all yeah, I think I´ll stick with buying my mom some good wine.

Now, what am I gonna do? I simply refuse to buy a tacky screen-printed shirt with a bull on it that say, Barcelona in papyrus script. I walk around for 15 minutes contemplating when all the sudden flute playing man from the alley walks by. I point to my shoulders and give a sad face. He motions for me to go with him and we go up to one of the vendors on the street. He says something to one of them and she hands me one of the shawls she is selling. In broken English she says, “Please bring it back.” So what do you know, the old phrase rings true. “It´s not, what you know it´s who you know.”

I go into the Cathedral looking like the Hunchback of Nortedame with my shall over my backpack and me. The Cathedral is amazing!!! The ceiling is made of several very high domes, sculptures of saints are kept behind large gates, the walls are adorned with gold, there are red and white prayer candles all over the floor in front of each saint and there is a chapel in the cathedral! This place is massive!  I go into the chapel and get on my knees to pray. I say my prayers and get up to go into the service.

As I sit at the service I notice the carvings on the walls of Christ me hung on the cross. Now I was raised Catholic, I know about the feelings of guilt. However this carved image of Christ being nailed on the cross shocked me. It showed one man on a latter nailing his right hand on one side. Another man was on all fours holding up Christs feet. Like I said I found it all pretty graphic.

Then I started to consider how different I am as a Christian adult compared to how I was a Catholic child. I remember being shocked attending a Christian Church in Hight School. St.Andrews Church in high school. I couldn´t believe this was church. People were drinking coffee, screaming “Great Pie last night Mrs. Smith” and “Morning Pastor” to people across the room. The very sophisticated, 16 year old Catholic raised chick I was thought, “What blasphemy.” Never the less I am now the girl who climbs over chairs at RockHarbor to make sure you heard me say, “Have a great week!”

I didn´t understand anything the Priest said during mass except for one word, ¨hermano”…brother. I thought about that word a lot. Along with my previous thoughts and the awe I was in over such a grand cathedral I was sitting in. I thought about the people who built this cathedral. I wonder what their faith looked like. A person who takes the time and precision to create such a master piece to worship the creator of the earth in. Simultaneously someone in another place thinks that this God worshiping person is a fool. “Brother.” Brother is the word. No matter what faith or sect we are all brothers on earth and just like two brothers in a family can be very different they still need to treat each other with respect and love because the way they interact with each other affects an entire family. Having said ALL THAT. I very much love you my LifeGroup family.

 Love,

 Irvina

Dear Patrick… I have a golf ball stuck in my calf…

Dear Patrick,

I have a golf ball stuck in my calf. Not just any golf ball either. My calf is so twisted and knotted right now that it feels like Tiger Woods himself drove one of his winning golf balls going a gagillion miles an hour into my left calf and now it´s stuck there, on me,  in Spain.

Needless to say sign me up for your biggest, baddest, I totally dig humming and meditating at all hours of the day yoga packages. When I get home I am going to need some serious yoga to recoop from this trip. Besides my calf my right hip feels like it is trying to run away from my pelvic bone. I don´t get it. No one ever tells you about all the pain that goes with backpacking. I mean I feel like I should have been conditioning for this type of thing. I feel like I showed up for the Iron man race wearing a mini skirt and high heels. (Actually I´ll have you know that my Steve Madden, ballet slippper with the leapord print are the most comfortable shoes I brought. All the hardcore backpackers who wear Teva sandals, sleep in campsites and take showers once a week say I look like Barbie´s kid sister Bridget ATTEMPTS to go backpacking. Whatever.)

Anyways, thank goodness I took your classes. I don´t know what I would do if I wasn´t for your swan dive down, downward dog, cobra and tree pose combintation. I do it every morning before I go out. It has totally relaxed me and helped me to chill my body out.  You are wonderful!

Namaste!

 Irvina

How to: Stay awake in a train station

There are times when as exhilarating as it is to be going to a new city and as fascinating as impressionist art is, a traveler can get a bit sleepy. Blame it on the Sangria, the late nights, the low lighting in the museums that preserve the paintings, but something has been getting me ready for a pillow-top mattress and some sweet dreams of George Clooney at around 2 o clock everyday….I don’t know, but never-the-less we get sleepy! So I have come up with these tactics to keep my unmentinonables out of a resale boutique in Madrid and my eyes focused on Goyas masterpieces.

1.) Dance baby dance! Bailar chica bailar! Practice your ballet pirouettes that is. It helps that ballet slippers are all in style right now. I was dozing off at the Picasso museum and started doing pirouettes across the floor. Yes, I looked like the crazy American, but that’s no different than at home right? So the Europeans might think we are ignorant, cause we cant speak 5 languages, don’t know the capital of Morocco and eat too fast, but baby… we can dance!

2.) Sing! Cantar! Yup…just imagine your favorite Irvina (in the whole wide world) singing in the middle of bus station to herself. I started out with the classic, “You are my sunshine…” then moved on to “Amazing grace” and then did the classic, “Do the Locomotion with me!” made up a couple songs, wrote a poem or two in my head. As long as you keep the wheels in your head turning the eyes will be opening!

3.) Balance your wallet on your head! Balancia su bolsa en tu cabeza! I did this one in a museum in Madrid. I really love art. I swear! They are good enough to write “Smoking kills” on the cigarette boxes out here you think they would write, “Wine makes you wobbly in a museum” on the bottles. Whateves. Anyway, yeah when you are balancing your wallet with your passport, credit-cards, ID, hostal key and phone number of the boy from lunch you are way focused not to drop it. (Besides its a good posture exercise.)

Alright ladies and gents I’m outtie here. I’m not very sleepy right now so I am headed back to my hostal to see whats up for the evening. Off to see the Alhambra in Granada tomorrow! I cant wait! xoxoxo

Tasty- Hicuri, C Santa Escolastica 12. Granada, Spain. Awesome vegetarian dishes. Best Ratatouui I have ever had!

Pretty- I am staying in the Albaicin district. It over by the Alhambra. Beautiful winding roads that go into an area where people are living in caves. Gorgeous!

Sleepy- Rambutan Guesthouse, Granada….Awesome hostel. Small only like 20 people. Everyone is way chill and it has a view of the Alhambra that is breathtaking!

Dear Dana…I think I get it….

Dear Dana,

I think I get it now. I must say though getting, “it” took a quite a few people actually. Including, a shy secretary and a long haired, suave motorcycle rider from Barcelona. Two bubbly, gabby, happy girls form London who would make me look, goodness forbid, “reserved,” a vibrant grandma from San Sebastian, a Kiwi (A New Zelander) and (can you believe this?) even a local boy from Newport. Of course it all went along with the moon, some live music, paella, 50 cent beer, a shot of tequila, getting locked in a porta potty and refusing to buy cocaine. But lets, start with the local boy from Newport.

I arrived at my hostel, Center Point in Barcelona. Of course I got lost for 45 minutes trying to find it. (*Note: If you want to go backpacking be prepared for being lost, ALOT.) Circling the block over and over again until a nice receptionist used some sign language to tell me, “its on the corner.” So I check in, chit chat with my Australian dude roommates and my Canadian chick roommates. Then I move it up stairs to the, “social room.” I get to the room and realize this hostel is a prime spot. I have a birds eye view of the entire city, theres a bar in here, games, free internet access, cable TV and snacks. So I decide to go to the bar and get a drink when the bartender tells me I need a ticket. Huh? What you have to do in this joint is pay for your drink through a vending machine that dispenses a ticket for whatever you want to drink. It will say, “Mojito” “Margarita” “Water” “Coffee” or “Blood” j/k. So I get my ticket, get my beverage and sit it when a boy from accross the room says, “I did the same thing my first day. Im Jeremy. This is my buddy Kyle. You are?” “Irvina” “Crazy name where you from?” “Orange County, CA.” “No way Im from OC what part. “ “Well I was raised in Newport.” “No way so was I!”

From there we find out that even though Jeremy is only one year older than me we grew up in the same beach town. He went to all private schools from elementary through high school. I went to all public schools in Newport. Which in “local terms”pretty much means that I spend my 4th of July down at the beach on a bike, he spends his on a yacht, docked in Emerald Bay. Nevertheless we are both, “Locals.”

Jeremy and Kyle invite me out for the night to cruise in Barcelona in search of some Paella and Sangria. We park it right on Las Ramblas where people are eating, drinking, dancing, painting, shopping etc.. Kyle tells me he is from New Zealand, hes a musician and does alot of his travels by being part of a band that performs on a cruise ships. Hes been all over the US west and east coast with this gig. He loves it, he might consider living in Canada one day, but he could never stay permanently. He loves New Zealand. I say, “I love your Apples. Their my fave!”

Jeremy tells me that after he graduated from Mater Dei he went to college at San Francisco State. Then moved to New York City to train at an acting academy. While in New York he dated, clothed, fed and all but flossed the teeth of a girl from Kansas City for 2 years. She also was an aspiring actress. He always told her she should be a model, but her insecurities held her back from pursuing it. Their breakup supposively was so dramatic that it stopped Time Square stone cold silent as the two of them wrestled each other to the floor kicking and calling eachother names you are not allowed to use in a elementary school. Six months after that incident Jeremy walked in to Dolce and Gabana in South Coast Plaza and found out his ex was the new model for D&G. He appeared as bitter as a lemon peel. But, maybe he was just being, “dramatic.” He actually has plans to move back to OC to run his dads business for him.

I laugh at this point and point out to Kyle the Kiwi that this is “Typical OC.” Youare 18, go to college, have your fun, drink what you must, smoke what you must, do whomever you must, but just dont do too much that you end up in rehab killing the family name. If you do all of this “properly” the family business will be waiting for you with a red eye latte, powerbar and a corner office that has the most breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean that would make Trump himself jealous.

Jeremy laughs my summary off and says that his moves to San Francisco and New York were his pursuit to try and “de-program” himself of Newport. Our kiwi friend Kyle doesnt get it. So I try to explain again. I say Orange County is like those doll houses that Playskool makes with the plastic dolls and cars that come with it. The ones you have in preschool. All the houses look the same. Every body looks the same. Most people interests are the same. Mostly because everyone is trying to look better than everyone else, but that only leads them all to looking the same. There isnt any real depth. No culture. No excitement. Its shallow like a bird bath. So I turn to Jeremy. So whats the story? Eight years out of the birdbath? Have you grown into an albatross yet? Are you deprogrammed? Have you removed the computer chip? He smiles and says, “I tried, I tried, I tried. But, its impossible to reprogram something that has been put in you since you were that big. (He puts the palm of his hand very close to the cobble stone ground.) But, I really think its impossible.”

All the sudden. I feel like I am sitting with the enemy. How dare he say that! You are not what you are born into. You make a choice man! I´m disappointed. Another power hungry Newport mafia member. At least he can admit to it. That calls for a refill.

We see a girl sitting by herself during dinner and invite her to come along and cruise with us. We head out. We walk on Las Ramblas buying 50 cent beers on the street and from Kyles instructions we end up at a club listening to some very chill reggae-meets-jazz music. I end up feeling kind of bad about thinking Jeremy was one of “them” He actually is a nice guy. He shoos all the guys away from me who keep offering me coke (by the way the phrases here is “Quieres coke?”) And when he uses the”pay for use” Porto potties and it accidentally goes on its automatic cleaning cycle while he uses it. He laughs it off.

After the reggae-jazz bongos we end up going to a bar, taking shots and shooting pool with some locals. Its me and Jeremy against Fernando the motorcycles stud and his girlfriend Vanessa. Minus Vanessa. She doesn’t want to play. So Fernando takes both of their shots. I go and sit next to her and try and chit chat with her. She is a mellow girl, a secretary at a advertising company, went to school in Madrid has 3 sisters and 1 brother. She crosses me as “A good girl.” Definitely the balance to Fernandos loud charisma. I ask her, “Of all the cities in Spain which one is your favorite.” She doesn’t move her eyes from me when she says with a smile, “Barcelona.” I say, “But, we are in Barcelona. You grew up in Barcelona. Pick another one.” She says, “But this is my favorite city. My parents are here, my sisters are here, my boyfriend is here, my friends are here. Everything I love is here. That is why it is my favorite city.” I try and mellow up the moment by saying, “And you guys sure can party too.” She smiles.

I said bye to Jeremy that night, he was headed to Germany the next morning. I met some girls from London the next day who were bubbling over with freakin spunk like you have never seen it. I loved how when they described how much they loved a club, my jeans or Abercrombie T-shirts they would say “Oh its HECTIC” the same way I would say “Oh its knarly.” When I asked those very well traveled girls what their favorite city in Europe was (mind you they said that it takes at least a MONTH to travel Italy PROPERLY) they said their favorite city was London. (Again the same dialogue) “But, you are from London!” They went on to explain that London has so many diverse cultures, places to eat, a crazy night life, colleges, its close proximity to European countries (did I not mention they were on a 5 day “holiday” in Barcelona then back to college life that’s get this…. in a castle.) So I accepted their answer.

Then on my way to San Sebastian from Barcelona I met a very nice little old grandma of a lady who sat next to me on the bus. She gave me cookies and candies, couldn’t speak a word of English, but knew to nudge my leg when the bus stopped for a lunch break and wake me from my dead asleep. I asked her, “De donde eres” Where are you from? Shes was from San Sebastian and visiting her daughter who just had a baby in Barcelona. I asked her what her favorite city was and what do you know? San Sebastian it was.

It was then, looking at the little old Grandma in the red suit all tidy and perfect and well lived that I understood why you (and I even) love Orange County. Over the years I know we have had family move away and mock the OC for its traffic, its morals, its craziness (heck I just did it.) But, something keeps us here. Its the friends and family that make this crazy ridiculous place a little piece of heaven on earth. I understand now why a ton of land, dollar signs, boats and a more closet space (not that you need it) don’t appeal to you. Its who is around not whats around you that matter to you. It makes the essence of who you are and what you stand for. Now, I think I get it alot more than I did before.

O.C. ain’t that bad, it has me! (Dude, we should make that into a TShirt. Super cute!)

Love you sis,

Irvina

xoxoxo

What city do you belong in?

You Belong in Milan

Stylish and sophisticated, you want to enjoy a truly European life – away from tourists! Milan fits you perfectly. Great shopping, high quality food, lots of culture… with very little hype.

What European City Do You Belong In?

Italian Restaurant in Newport Beach is impressivo!

The Scene: Visiting Giorgio’s is the closest thing to dining in Italy next to the country itself. This Italian

 

owned restaurant is the locals secret. Nestled away between boutiques and cafe’s on Balboa Island in Newport Beach. Dimly lit candles cover the white table cloths accompanied by fresh yellow and white daisies. The voice of Pavarotti accompanies the aroma of marinara that fills the air from the ceiling down to the wooden floors. The experience would be nil without the “boss” Giorgio himself. Giorgio, a soft-spoken Italian, greets his customers and knows many by name. He is either relaxing with his head back chatting at a booth or behind the kitchen curtain finger tasting the sauces. One of my favorite memories from my childhood is my mom taking us out to dinner on a week night to Giorgio’s. Uppity as my mother is she would ask about how a recipe is prepared and Giorgio would take her to the kitchen where he and his chefs would show her. From where we sat I could see the kitchen and the patient chefs answering my mother who was still dressed in a power suit and heels, questions. Only at Giorgio’s!
The Food: The dedication to purity and simplicity is seen at Giorgio’s. The “Quattro Formaggio” better known as the “Four Cheese Rigatoni” is a best seller. Combining the Italian imported bleu, parmesan, Romano and cream cheeses make this a dish you won’t have once in your life. The Chicken Parmesan is a classic favorite that never disappoints. Assortments of red and white wines are available to accompany your feast. For dessert, try the Tiramisu. A delectable combination of coffee, chocolate, marzipan cheese and lady fingers.

 

Insider Tips: Try to make a reservation. Seating is limited.

 

Parking: Depending on the time or day you visit, Balboa Island parking is sparse. Bring a long a light jacket and enjoy the walk and the ocean air while you window shop at the fine boutiques.

 

Where to sit: Any spot at Giorgio’s is VIP. If you prefer privacy request a booth. Otherwise enjoy sitting at one of the tables comfortably next to other diners. There are several Italian pieces of art and novelty’ to admire that your eyes are never neglected.

 

Know before you go: Giorgio’s is all about quality. Be prepared to wait a good half 25 to 30 minutes for your cuisine. Ciao bella’s and bello’s!

Giorgio’s

305 Marine Ave
Newport Beach, CA 92663

(949) 675-6193