At 11 o'clock on Thursday morning, stepped onto the Hendaye-bound Euskotren and waved
agur to beautiful Donostia. That was the first step of my 10 day journey home. It was time for me to leave San Sebastian. It had been a hectic month, and I wanted to end my year abroad with one last journey of self discovery, to Scotland, where half of my roots lie.
This isn't to say tha

t my last month in San Sebastian was pure stress - not at all! I have plenty of wonderful memories - daily escapes to Cafe Bat to avoid the responsibilities of work; dance parties on the beach; abandoning the beach for the stage; day trips to Bordeaux, failed day-trips elsewhere. My mom visited for one week of gastronomic discovery, then Jessie and I met our dad in Barcelona for a day of father-daughter strolls along the beach. I was surprised with tickets to Mama Mia, and I watched Jessie power through a surf lesson, my heart bursting with maternal pride as I lived vicariously through her. Good times were had... but I'm never one to stay in one place for too long.
So here I am in Glasgow. After a train to Hendaye, a bus to Biarritz,

a delayed flight to London, and wander through London town with my friend Ben and a night bus to Glasgow, I've made it. I couldn't be happier to be here. Glasgow is more or less what I expected it to be. Sophisticated yet grungy. It's appearance is at first unimpressive, but the closer you look, the more intriguing it becomes. Glasgow is a city of contrast. The city's architecture provides a refined background to the bad-ass Scots that exist in the foreground. The perfect example of this was my walk through Kelvingrove Park, with the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum shooting through the trees while the local
neds (non-educated delinquents) went about their days, fashioning off their tartan, tattoos and mullets that would make Basque separatists proud. If I've learned anything after living in the Basque Region, it's that where there are mullets, there are good times. Glasgow will not disappoint.
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