pick-pocketing is REAL

Okay. Story time.

Let me start you off with a little background info. A couple weeks ago, my friend Dana was on the train, holding her clutch by her body- not being stupid. Once the train got pretty crowded she noticed some guy kept bumping into her, and thought to herself, "That's weird." A couple stops later, the train jerked, and she felt his hand in her clutch (which was touching her body, by the way). She quickly pulled away, and nothing was taken. Turns out, he had his jacket slung over his arm, got so close to Dana he could put the jacket over her bag, unzip it, and reach in unnoticed. Scary.

So today. There were 5 of us on the metro, a little scattered, and just chatting when about 3 creepy-looking (normal Spaniards, I guess) guys get on the train. My friend Mallory had her bag slung over her shoulder, and a little behind her- a normal position for a bag in the states (apparently, not a good idea in Spain). One of the 3 creepsters attempted the same "jacket-slung-over-his-arm-reach-into-her-purse" kind of move. Dana, who was standing right behind Mallory (and knows a thing or two about pick-pocketers), sees it and immediately slams Mallory's bag into her body. The creepster pulls away quickly, obviously caught red-handed, tries to speak english, and says, "Wot? Wot?"

As a witness of it all, I'd say it was pretty bad ass. Note to self: pick-pocketing is REAL.

i know, i know. this is late.

So I realize I should've started this 3 weeks ago, but I've definitely honed my procrastination skills. Hence the birth of this blog. I should be writing una carta right now (that's a letter for all of you non-spanish-speaking kids), but this seemed a more appealing option. I will make it short though, as I should really get some work done.

Cuenca... I was in Cuenca this past weekend. Never heard of it? Neither had I. It's a little town about 2 or 3 hours southeast of Madrid. Most of the town was built on the side of cliffs- certainly a sight to see. The highlight of the trip though was Sunday afternoon when myself, and about 40 other brave souls went cliff jumping. Yes. Cliff jumping. Despite the colder-than-60-degree water, it was an experience I would never take back. Plummeting 40-plus feet into freezing cold water may not sound like fun to you, but believe it or not, it was. From afar, the jumps looked so easy, not so high, but as soon as I was standing on that cliff, looking straight down into the water, the fear set in: fear of heights, fear of free-falling, without restraints, with nothing but my wet suit and a helmet to save me. The feeling is indescribable; freeing, yet terrifying at the same time. I wish there was another way to put it, but I am so glad I did it.