Day Two Part Dos - The Worst Case Scenario (Malaga, Spain)

​Holy fucking fuck. I'm sure everyone is familiar with a self-fulfilling prophecy? Or perhaps even, be careful what you wish for? well mother fuckin' fuck if I didn't make sure to include that quote in my last blog post, only for me to be beyond tested in implementing it into my daily life! and did i pass? you know I fuckin' didn't! holy fucking shit fuck.

"When things fall apart and we're on the verge of we know not what, the test of each of us is to stay on that brink and not concretize. "
-Pema Chodron from "When Things Fall Apart"

​that's a lot of curse words, even for me, so my semi-apologies and I'll back up to where we last left off.
​
Que Dia Fue.. oy.

I landed safely in Malaga, so there's that. After much searching and some very impatient airport employees, I was reunited with my massive, purple suitcase, which also landed safely in Malaga. So I'm two for two, doing good! But recall that terrible pizza that I shouldn't have eaten most of, or more specifically, shouldn't have ordered at all..? Somewhere between Wolfgang Fuck ripping me off, and my arrival in Spain, my debit card - aka, the only card I cleared for europe and therefore the only card I foolishly chose to bring along with me - decided it was meant for bigger and better things, and did NOT land safely in Malaga with me.

And just in case it DID get here, and was just hanging out somewhere in the depths of my nine carry on's, my bank decided to cancel my card without my explicit consent after I called, saying I thought that I had lost my card. This leaves me, 20 minutes into an 18 day, four country, 9 city tour of Europe, with roughly $180.

How's that for things falling apart!! And, like I said, I handled it like a total pro. A semi-loopy, super sweaty, tiny white gurl with the worlds heaviest luggage and copious tears, total professional. I'll skip ahead past the drama, albeit there will be some video I'll be sharing soon enough, and mention that the universe led me to something really special.

And, of course, it was exactly where I needed to be.

Coming down the steps at my hostel later, having spent 1/5 of my now total budget for this trip on a taxi, I made a wrong turn and came across a rack of local business cards. For no particular reason at all, I was drawn to it, and came across a card for a local spa featuring "baths and massage." I thought it sounded amazing, but it also seemed far away and not a smart thing to do for a gal with less than 100 euros to her name. But when I went out in search of food, my heart just wasn't in it., and I found myself lamenting my way through a maze of shops and noise and fucking seafood. (Ughk.)

With no clear direction on where I was heading at all, this wandering somehow led me right to the doors of El Hammam, the spa who's card I still had, and a life-changing three hours in a traditional Turkish Bath. I spent the majority of my time in the marble, tiered rooms in just a towel, crying, stretching, sweating, soaking, and ultimately massaging all my fears away.

My dear assistant in LA was going to wire me money once he woke up (it wasn't without a million of it's own hiccups, of course, but it was in the end a success!) so what the fuck was I worrying about? Yes I spent money on feeling good, but what's the point of having a higher number on a computer screen - signifying JACK SHIT to me - if I'm mentally and physically unhappy? And didn't my incredible fans, friends, and family come together just so that I COULD come out here and FEEL HAPPY??? Ultimately, it was >$30 I wouldn't trade for the world.

​The woman at the front was so sweet, and my just TERRible spanish left me feeling like a child, as she walked me through every step of the process, from the silly undies, to the different marble platforms and the basins of cascading water of varying heats, all the way to the euphoric tea on the fifth floor balcony at the end, overlooking the city, listening to the gulls and the markets and the bells of the old stone cathedrals that littered the landscape.

​I kissed her goodbye (nothing dramatic - it's cultural!), and told her she'd made a new woman of me. I also had a gift for her; a ring, given to me by a friend who had once received it from a fiance-to-be turned unfaithful ex-lover. My dear friend couldn't bring herself to give it away or sell it or gift it herself, and asked that I would. I told her that I was about to meet someone who it really belonged to - and I believe I did. Hopefully, my new Spanish Spa Darling understood my terrible recounting of the ring's history.

It wasn't until after all of this that I was finally able to go out, and be a part of this incredible, BUSY ASS city (it's currently one in the morning and my typing is drowned by the laughter, scooters, and CHILDREN still adorning the streets below as well as the bar upstairs). I found a seafood-less dinner and a Gin & Tonic the size of my head, before a two hour adventure to acquire the money my assistant had wired to me.

Earlier this evening, I headed down the hostel steps the same as earlier, and took a right into what I *thought* was the same small area where the card for El Hammam had caught my eye. The universe is again at work to make sure I have what I need, when I need it, because shit you not, that room wasn't fucking there anymore.

Then again, I am exhausted.
Hasta Manana Carinos,
XoXo
​JNT