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 to do in New Mexico?

 

Most people know New Mexico as a place to stop over for some tacos on a cross country trip. I wouldprobably agree had my sister and her husband not giddy-uped there 10 years ago. As a ADD raised California girl keeping me entertained on visits is quite the feat. My visits out there over the years have allowed me to see that there really is beauty 800 miles away from the beach.

These are as my favorite things to do in New Mexico, but first a few tips…

#1.) Go from late August – November. If you do so choose to pass through during the sweltering heat of summer you’ll end up looking like this dude. May God and a slurpee be with you.

#2.) There are Indian reservations on the way. If you like tourquoise jewelry you are going to be one happy shopper.

#3.) The road on the way there looks like this. A lot of flat dry land. Some of those good question books that say, “Would you rather have 10 tongues or 1 eye and why” is very appropriate on this kind of road trip.

So! My favorite places… You definitely need to stop by the hot springs! Big and little kids love these natural hot springs. Explore caves with bubbling brooks, streams and rivers. You could stay there all day! Jumping off cliffs into the water or playing in the springs. I suggest you bring a cooler of lunch and brew cause it’s way up in the mountains style.

In Ocotober you can check out the annual Hot Air Balloon Festival. Hot air Balloons from around the world gather to give rides and show off their creative balloons.

For a very cool national monument check out the white sands. These montainous looking wonders are made up of sand! Can you believe it? You have to go see it for yourself!

For more shopping and historical sites go down town to Santa Fe. Purchase a dream catcher. It’s Indian Legend that the dream catcher catches bad dreams before they get to you while you sleep. They come in all sorts of cool motifes of amimal hair, beads and awesome craftmanship.

For chow time go to Rudy’s barbeque on Coor’s Avenue. An authentic barbeque using the fork and knives God gave you :Your bare hands! Saddle up cowboys! It may sound wierd at first but, one you try the best brisket in the world you’ll forget all about your white shirt.

For ambience, check out El Pinto. “The Bean.”

For a authentic SouthWestern mexican food try Sadie’s. This is the place to be. Every thing is a little different than traditional Western Mexica food. A lot more corn is used and a lot more chipolte sauces. Bonuelos are a little different from Western Mexico bonuelos with cinnamon and sugar. These are made of soft flour and you dip them in honey. Very good! Also a bowl of Pazole is a popular dish. Not the “Usu” here so try somethin’ different.

Make sure you also stop by the Albuquerque, New Mexico Fire Department and say Hi to my brother in-law and his buddies. Those boys in uniform are quite a site as well! Just don’t forget to bring a gallon of ice cream and cake…Fireman protocal Adios!

A night in L.A….Macaroni and Cheese, pink champagne and sweater vests

 
What do Orange County women do when their sick of Orange County? They take off their flip flops, put dresses on and head north for clubbin’ in L.A. Of course drinking and dancing till’ dawn is not for amateurs. A real dame knows to get some nourishment and EATS AT: The Cat and the Fiddle on Sunset Blvd. for dinner, where the ambiance is “Grade A”- AMAZING! The entire restaurant is outside beneath the starry L.A. sky, huge trees, strung white Christmas lights and candles. The specialty is Macaroni and Cheese and as odd as it sounds to order that at a happenin’ restaurant like this it is indeed well worth it. Best Mac and Cheese on the planet! If you are “carb shy” you might want to give a punch to the “Bangers and Mash.” AKA Sausage and Mash Potatoes. The service is stellar, ask for Chloe from New Zealand. She turns right around when you (or I ) holler her name from across the restaurant. After you finish up your dinner go back to your hotel to “freshen up” AKA pop open some champagne

where you are STAYing AT: The Grafton Hotel .A super posh hotel on Sunset. Recommended it on the same level as Patty’s chocolate soufflé ….highly! Then CLUB AT: The Sky Bar where you’ll sip pink champagne, lounge by a pool and talk to men wearing sweater vests.

If that’s too mellow for you then go check out the cabana on the second floor where the music is bangin’! The next morning do some SHOPPING AT: The Fashion District

where hundreds of stores with thousands of fabrics and materials are at your disposal. But, don’t forget to soak up some rays by the pool because every California girl needs plenty of sun to grow J Ciao! Irvina xoxoxo

Weekend trip to San Francisco…Art, Hamburgers and Scrabble

A weekend vacation in San Francisco that includes modern art, the best hamburgers in North America and competitive scrabble is what I call a balanced vacation. I must say this article would not be in such good shape if it were not for the help of a local named Walesa, my sister. She was my guide around the city this weekend. We started out at the San Francisco Museum of Contemporary Art. The place had amazing exhibitions by some very young artists…we’re talking like age 24. There was a series of photo exhibits on linen paper by a Japanese photographer that I really digged. Check out the photograph of 1,000 babies. There was also some art drawn on the actual museum wall by an artist who allegedly created it while hanging upside down from the ceiling…..very cool vibe…I was so inspired by the art that I took this picture of my sister….can you see the metaphor? Now, maintaining “museum viewing etiquette” by standing 15 feet away from the art will work you up an appetite. I suggest you high tail it down Haight Street if you want “THE WORLDS BEST” hamburgers. Go into, Sliders where you will meet a super cute Vietnamese gal who runs the joint. She’ll say, “you go girl” after every item you order. I liked the Avocado, Mushroom burger. About $6 a burger. After we were done with our hamburgers we went to meet up with my sisters boyfriend Aaron for a competitive game of Scrabble. Maybe it’s cause I’m from Orange County or maybe it’s because I just don’t hang out with the right crowd, but never have I ever had friends chillin’ at a coffee shop at 5 o’clock on a Friday night with “Travel Scrabble” all fired up to go. I had so much fun that it didn’t even bother me that Aaron, the genius, handsome and humble man-friend of my sister kicked our Arses by 63 points. Other sites I enjoyed over the weekend were the San Francisco Farmers Market. Where I bought some homemade hummus and pita from an Indian man with a turban on his head….I was totally feeling the vibe! Get the cilantro hummus and some Jalapeno pita if you’re there. Don’t get the croissants! They aren’t warm and nobody likes a cold croissant. If you want to go out to dinner go across the bridge to Oliveto in Oakland for dinner. A very cool “table cloth” restaurant. Lit with candles, a piano player and large bouquets of flowers. I suggest “the chicken” and the “white wine”… I wish I could be a little more descriptive, but I left Oliveto a little buzzed. I do remember my closing thoughts thought’s were phenomenal….followed by a deep sleep with my curls in my face. I’m telling you, I’ve never had a weekend in San Francisco that wasn’t amazing all around. Every where you go there is something unique to see or eat. From the dude dancing the be bop down the street with a large pizza box in hand or the two fathers playing with their baby in a coffee shop. It’s a place of freedom and love and every time I leave there it is all too soon.

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