Looking forward

In twelve days:

o   Mom

o   Curling iron

o   Big breakfasts

o   Being a travel tour guide (look out, Samantha Brown)

o   No school

In twenty-four days:

o   Family, especially meeting Brock soon

o   Friends

o   Peanut butter

o   Yogurt and granola

o   Driving, although I will apparently go bankrupt doing so the way the price of gas is rising

o   Oatmeal

o   Crossing the street at the intersection

o   Caribou

o   My bed!

o   My pillow!

o   Cooking

o   Doing my own laundry

o   Not cornflakes

o   Having an income

o   Taking pictures of my nieces and nephews

o   Fresh milk

o   Grilling out

o   Not getting weird stares at cafes when I talk into my computer

o   Not being stared at like a freak when I go for a run (or at least not as often)

o   Not wearing shoes all around the house (I am such a Midwesterner.)

o   Carpet/rugs

o   Chocolate chip cookies

o   A full keyboard on my phone

o   Shoes that come in my size

o   Petite clothes

o   PBS

o   What Not to Wear

o   Target

o   Walgreens

o   Baseball—usually I think it’s boring unless I’m watching it at the ballpark, but I’ve been dying to watch a Twins game!

o   Consistent nutrition labeling (not that I’m happy with you, FDA, but here they lack more)

o   Bookstore with Dad (hint hint!)

Spring Break 1 Part 5: La Tele

Since I did not have much to do outside during Semana Santa, I had no problem spending my evenings in with Charo and Lourdes. Now, although they had a stack of DVDs sitting right next to the television, they only seemed to be interested in whatever nightly movie the television channels provided. It seems that they will settle for anything.

For example, on the first night we watched an awfully mediocre film called El manuscrito secreto, in Enlgish, The Bible Code. It was a terrible Davinci-Code spinoff that was so drawn-out and painful that I could not bring myself to finish it. Another night we watched Streetfighter: The Legend of Chun-Li. Remember that these are all dubbed in Spanish. It was unclear to me why Charo and Lourdes wanted to watch these movies over the other ones they had brought. Perhaps they had already viewed the others twenty times each. I don’t know.

One show that I did enjoy watching with them was "Atrapar un millón", a trivia game show that goes through several rounds of questions, each round requiring the contestants to place money on whatever answer they think is correct. They may split the money among multiple answers if they are not sure which is the right one. Money placed next to wrong answers falls away into a bin underneath the platform the contestants stand upon, and money on the right answer is used for the next round. Eventually the contestants reach the final round and can keep the money that hasn’t been trapped by the wrong answers.

I like trivia, but I’ve decided that I should definitely not try out for this show because I did not know the answers to most of the questions due to popular culture differences. I did, however, answer correctly that Shrek was the monster who made candles out of his own earwax and that people from New Zealand are nicknamed Kiwis after the flightless bird native to their land. Neither Charo nor Lourdes knew those ones.

Spring Break 1 Part 4: The Worst Coffee Date Ever

Upon returning to Puerto de Santa María, I had to take a city bus from the train station back to the apartment complex. After getting off at my stop, I was approached by a guy who had also gotten off at that point who asked me if I spoke English. I said that I did, and he replied that he thought so, that I looked different, like I was from the UK or something. I told him I was from the States. He asked if I was vacationing here because he was. I said yes, and he said that he wasn’t usually so bold, but he had seen me on the bus and thought I was beautiful and asked if I wanted to grab a beer or a coffee.

My first reaction was no, like it always is. I started making up excuses about lunch or having work to do, but he wasn’t really having any of it. Then I thought, well, it takes a lot of guts to do what he’s doing, we are in a very open and public place with lots of people, and it’s clearly way too early for lunch despite my lame excuse. So, I said yes.

It turns out that he was from Turkey but has lived all over the place and was currently living in Madrid. He bought me coffee, we continued chatting, and everything seemed to be going well...until he started talking about EVERY ex-girlfriend he’s ever had. Awkward. I really don’t care. Then he started asking me about ex-boyfriends. Um, hi, none of your business! Also, I just met you thirty minutes ago. Twice during all of that I tried to switch the topic to the weather, and twice I failed. Fortunately, the conversation eventually turned around to more normal topics.

After finishing coffee he asked if I’d like to take a walk, and since it was actually somewhat nice out and there is a nice walkway along the beach, I said yes. While we were walking he tried to hold my hand and put his arm around me. Again, awkward. Remember how we just met? He asked me what kind of music I liked, and I said that I liked almost any kind—rock, acoustic, rap, hip hop, whatever—it just depends on who’s singing and what it’s about. Apparently my open-minded attitude to music meant that I also like Turkish music, because that is what he started singing to me. I kind of blame myself for that one.

Once the song was wrapped up he told  me that I was unlike other girls my age, that I was very mature, that I seemed to care very much about other people, that I was beautiful and that he liked my green eyes. Well, I mean, I’m not going to disagree with you, man. But, then he said that he really wanted me to be in his future, that I should come to Madrid soon. Excuse me? Are you nuts? I said that I had to go, and he told me that he knew that this seemed strange because he knew my personality but that I shouldn’t feel that way. Oh really? You know my personality? Then you should have known that I would be super creeped out by all of this and that I would be enraged that you would think that you could know everything about me within one hour of meeting me. NOT okay.

That’s not the last of it. As I started to turn away, he tried to kiss me—tongue first. Are you fricking kidding me? I said thanks for the coffee and adios, but he said that we should meet up tomorrow, that he’d wait for me right there at noon. I told him he shouldn’t do that. He asked why not. I replied that I was not coming, so he should not waste his time. Even as I was halfway back to the apartment he asked if he could get my number or look me up on messenger. NO! It’s better that I look you up anyway, dude. What name will you be under? Crazy McCrazersons? I am glad that I have met nice, non-crazy guys here so that I do not take back that stereotypical image of the much-too-forward European guy.

For those who will ask me out for coffee in the future, good news: I can assure you that it will never be worse than this.

Spring Break 1 Part 3: No Pasos

On Tuesday of Semana Santa, I woke up early to a seaside view in order to catch a train to Sevilla for the day. I was hoping to see some of the processions in Sevilla, and the weather forecast had said that Tuesday was looking like the best bet for a day without rain.

Wrong. It rained almost all day, but I still walked around for a few hours taking in the toned-down yet still festive atmosphere. I also bought Annie and me an Easter egg to share on Sunday. Easter eggs here are not the same as at home. They are usually made of chocolate and can be the size of your hand or bigger than your head. The tradition is that godparents give their godchildren these eggs for Easter. No Easter bunnies around here!

I don't even think that one front row center would fit into my Easter basket. Good luck hiding that bad boy.

The trip back was not a total loss. Plus, I had not packed any cold-weather clothes because it had been so hot in Sevilla the previous week, and I did not take into account that the wind would make temperatures feel much chillier than what the actual forecast was. Way to go, chief. I swapped out my shorts and dresses for jeans and sweaters, spent the night at my normal apartment (internet functioning all the while), and caught a train back to Puerto de Santa María the following morning.

I wish that I had been able to see a paso (procession), but at least I was able to experience the atmosphere. Processions from other cities in Spain were also broadcast on live television throughout the week if they were able to get out onto the streets without rain interference. The reason that rain ruins these processions is that the statues and details on the pasos are so old and subject to damage caused by rain. People wait all year for these processions, and when they can’t leave, many people ranging from small children to grown men openly cry. It’s a big deal to them.

This is the mantel of one of the Virgin Mary pasos being restored. You can see why the rain would be a disaster for such a paso.

One of the depictions of the Crucifixion that had yet to be placed on its paso.

Spring Break 1 Part 2: Passing the Time

While the thought of spending seven days at the beach sounded like just the relaxing break I needed, Mother Nature had her own opinion on the matter. In fact, it seems she had it out for the entire country over Semana Santa. It rained almost every day in Puerto de Santa María as well as in Sevilla, not to mention that high winds provided a constant chill. (I know, Wisconsinites, I’m ungrateful; it wasn’t really cold, just not warm enough to be at the beach.) The wind was so strong most days that it almost knocked me over and once took my t-shirt halfway off. I know, I don’t understand how that worked either, but it happened.

I tried to be a trooper that Sunday and make it out to the beach after the clouds gave way to afternoon sunshine, but that turned out to be a foolish ambition. Though the sun came out, the wind did not die down. Sand was flying everywhere, including all over me. After about fifteen minutes of trying to tan and read, I decided to get up and take a walk along the shore. I though that would at least keep the sand out of my face. Turns out that was a false assumption. Plus, when the wind picked up it would whip sand so forcefully against my legs that my skin hurt and turned red. I gave up and walked back to the apartment to shower off the sand that was all over my body. Some of it remained until the next shower, though. It’s a stubborn, fine breed of sand they have there.

So, what does one do at the coast when the weather is inclement? Perhaps peruse the internet? A nice idea, assuming there is internet in the apartment. There was not. Homework? Only for about the first three days before motivation had been tapped. Knocking off some school work still took a great amount of stress off of this week, though. Clean out all of the files on one’s laptop and actually organize the remaining ones into folders for the first time in three years? Check. It definitely took a while, but now I know where everything is. Hey, so it’s not the most exciting thing to do on Spring Break, but I like when my environment is organized. On the flip side, I seem to have rather talented clothes, papers, and electronic files that will breed until it looks like an explosion of said articles has overtaken my life. So, I’m just trying to set myself up for success. Other than that I spent most of my time completing job applications and getting hooked on Jillian Michaels podcasts.

I won’t pretend like I didn’t have any internet; I was able to go to cafes with Wi-Fi nearby for as long as my laptop battery would last. It would have been nice to have had an outlet for my charger, but those can be few and far between in many Spanish buildings. At the start of the week I frequented The King of Paella, a paella and pizza parlor with outdoor tent seating and virtually no patrons. It was the perfect quiet setting for me to sip coffee while I talked to family and friends over Gmail and continued my summer job search. I would take a break from homework every once in a while to study the little brown sparrows hopping across the floor or to take in the seaside view.

Much to my dismay, the King’s Wi-Fi network stopped functioning midweek, forcing me to seek other internet sanctuaries. The other cafes were more popular, and couples enjoying cocktails would stare at the American weirdo who was talking into her computer with no one else at her table. Come on people, cut me a break! It’s not like you have never heard of people having voice conversations over computers before, and I clearly look like a foreigner who would need café internet to communicate with others. I dislike how much my life here depends upon internet connection. Without it I cannot call my family, make travel plans, do research for homework (at least not very efficiently), or keep up with job applications. I am not used to being so in love with and dependent upon my laptop. I cannot wait until my Mac and I get back to the States and spend some much-needed time apart.

Spring Break 1 Part 1: Family Road Trip

During Semana Santa, my study abroad program shuts down for our first "spring break." My señora has a beach house (apartment, really) that she planned to go to during Semana Santa, and since I had no other travel plans, she graciously invited me along. Had I stayed in Sevilla she would have had to stay with me anyway, so it was a win-win.

Charo’s good friend and neighbor, Lourdes, also came with us. We took Charo’s car, a little silver Ford Focus, to the beach in Puerto de Santa María, about an hour and a half’s drive from Sevilla to the Atlantic coast. Now, not only did we have to fit Charo, Lourdes, me, and all of our luggage into the car, but Charo also had to bring a new kitchenette table for us to eat on. Squeezing all of that into a Focus is not easy.

We managed to figure it out in the end, but we had some struggles with the configuration at first. You should have seen Charo and me trying to figure out how to fold down part of the back seat in order for the table to fit. It would fold down about 80% of the way and then just stop. We tried several arrangements but did not succeed. We accepted the 80% for what it was and fit in all of the supplies, even the table.

After picking Lourdes up from a nearby restaurant, we set off down the highway to Puerto de Santa María. I was ecstatic to finally be in a car for a long ride. Other than short trips in taxis, I have not ridden very long in a car since mid-January. What’s better, we did so in my style: windows down, music up. Please imagine me rocking out with two women in their fifties to the likes of Katy Perry, Puff Daddy, and David Guetta, with them attempting to sing along more than I did. Hey, I wasn’t in control of the radio. I just wonder if they understood the songs at all.

Once we arrived in Puerto de Santa María, we dropped our things off at the apartment and then drove directly to the grocery store. On Saturday afternoon, at least that Saturday, and every Sunday, the stores are closed. One had better stock up before then. Charo poked fun at Lourdes as she pondered over which red wine to select while I wished that I could take charge of the shopping. Seriously, it’s been so strange to not control what I have to eat even though I usually enjoy what is put in front of me. Much to my dismay Charo picked up 2% milk--I’m all about the skim, and let’s face it, I certainly don’t need any extra calories when I’m here--as well as THREE packages of hot dogs. For one week. I thought, “Dear Lord, please help me. Please don’t let all of those be for me.” Unfortunately, most of them were.

Upon returning to the apartment complex to drop off groceries, Charo announced that the kitchen was closed and that we would be eating out for lunch. No complaints here. The first place we went to she grabbed each of us a beer, letting me know that I should be very comfortable because we were, after all, on vacation, and on vacation there are less rules. As we drank the last of our beers and rose from the table, I managed to knock over a glass that fell to the ground and shattered. Man, I’m smooth.

When we walked into our second stop on the lunch tour, Charo asked if I wanted another beer. Now, sad as it may be, I was already feeling a little buzz from the last one and really did not feel like getting tipsy in front of those two ladies. I opted for the Coca-Cola Light (aka Diet Coke). We split a platter of langostinos, one of my favorite things to eat now. I am not sure whether they are prawns, squat lobster, or something else, but in any case they are darn tasty. At our third stop, I was offered yet another drink but again opted for the Coke. There we shared a real, fresh paella.

Many restaurants in Spain advertise paella, but most of the time it is pre-packaged stuff that simply must be warmed up before serving. Our paella was no impostor. This bad boy was the real deal in a big old pan, fresh from the kitchen. Paella is another one of my favorites here, but I had not had one like this before. There were all sorts of seafood in it, and I slurped things from shells having no idea what they were. Keep in mind that I never slurp things from shells or even come close to doing so. It was absolutely delicious. I did managed to spill some rice trying to pry a piece of something from a shell, though. Again, so smooth. No matter how much education I receive, I never fail to look like an idiot.

That afternoon was a great way to begin my vacation. I certainly loved being on a break, but on the other hand I had to pay close attention at all times because everything was in Spanish. If I had been zoning out or daydreaming (not unusual) and Charo or Lourdes had spoken to me without using my name, I would not have had a clue that anyone was even speaking to me. It makes me aware that I still have a ton of work to do regarding my Spanish skills, but a week with those two talking to me simultaneously and at a speed faster than the Road Runner employs when escaping Wile E. Coyote was excellent practice. You know me; I’m always learning.

Besitos

Last week as I chatted with some friends after class in the sunny courtyard, I ran into my intercambio and her friend whom I had previously met. As is customary in Spain, I exchanged a kiss on each cheek with both girls as a greeting. As we began to discuss possible plans for meeting up the following week, two more of their friends showed up. I was introduced to them, and we all exchanged kisses on the cheek. As my intercambio had to go to her class, we did not have much time to talk. We agreed to email each other and then exchanged kisses on the cheek. 

After saying goodbye to my intercambio, the two friends who had showed up second also had to head to their class. We expressed how nice it was to have met each other and gave kisses on the cheek. We talked for one more minute with my intercambio's friend, and then she too had to go. We exchanged kisses on the cheek and wishes to see each other soon.

Ready for the tally? For me, that was sixteen kisses given and sixteen kisses received in a span of just over two minutes. I think we all spent more time exchanging kisses than actually making plans for meeting up later on. Oh well! I suppose it's still faster than same intricate handshake that ends in exploding knucks.

When my room is clean

When my room is clean, when no stray papers conceal my desk, when clothing is not strewn across every furniture surface, and my sheets are not crumpled in a ball but are safely tucked under the comforter, you may assume that one of two scenarios is playing out. The first is that things are going very well in my life and that I am not suffering from lots of stress. The second situation is that I am pretending I am in the first scenario by completely ignoring an impending deadline for an important project or obligation.

Well, my room looks fantastic, so which is it now? Number one or number two? In a sense, it is both. Should I be working on homework right now? Probably. Should I be continuing to tirelessly apply to every job for which I am qualified since I have no means of making money yet this summer? More than probably.

I can tell you, though, that I have not regretted one minute of how I have spent my day. Some things have not been going as expected this spring (though I should be used to such things after almost 21 one years), and it has been stressful time. Nonetheless, I am pushing that out of my mind as much as is responsible. I have just over a month left in Europe. I have traveled to many parts of Spain, to Portugal, and to Morocco. I improve my Spanish skills every day. I have met wonderful new people from my program and from Sevilla. How can I let anything get in the way from simply soaking this all up and being grateful for what I've experienced and for what is to come in the next few weeks?

Pushing through the next two days will be tough, but after that I have a long break over Holy Week. Charo has graciously invited me to stay at her beach house about an hour from Sevilla with her and our neighbor, Lourdes, a good friend of Charo's who has been known to liven up a few meals in this apartment. Most other students that I know are doing a whirlwind tour of other parts of Spain or other countries during the break, but I am excited to have a week of no obligations or structure. I will certainly frequent the beach, book in hand. Viewing some of Semana Santa in Sevilla is on the list, too. Charo will give me some Spanish cooking lessons like we've been talking about but haven't gotten around to yet. I can take a day to sit in a café to tranquilly apply for more summer jobs and work on final projects. Who knows, perhaps I'll even be able to catch up on blogs and posting pictures of where I've been the last couple of weeks.

As I sit here in this immaculate bedroom, productively procrastinating with this entry, I am at peace. The uncertainty of my future plans is killing me, but I am choosing to focus on the inevitably wonderful six weeks to come.

La Peluquería

Last week, the vanity in me was making fun of my hair more than usual. It had its reasons. I have not had a haircut since December, and trying to tame my hair with a flat iron every day only facilitates more end-splitting and breakage. No matter what I do, my hair is a tangled, limp mess within fifteen minutes of leaving the house each morning. Or so Vanity was telling me. To make Vanity pipe down, I caved and scheduled a hair appointment at my señora’s salon two blocks away. Last time she came home from the salon she looked great, and the salon’s website looked very professional. I figured that was as sure as I could get, judging by appearances.

Accordingly, Vanity comes with Fear. I am very particular about who cuts my hair, and I am fortunate enough to have not one but two hairstylists who exceed expectations with each visit I make to their salons. They are so good at their jobs that all I need to do is sit in the chair and tell them not to cut too much off, and they somehow give me something new but perfectly to my taste every time. (And now my plug for these two ladies: If you stop by Embellish in Bayport, Minnesota, ask for Mandy. If you are in Madison, Jenny will take good care of you at Anaala.) I was afraid of a new pair of hands wielding scissors, fearing that they would be poised to chop off all of the hair I have managed to finally grow out.

To alleviate some of this fear, I looked up all of the necessary words for layers, no bangs, split ends, etc. I do not know if I was afraid I would be bald by the end or what, but everything turned out just fine. In the end, it is just hair. It does, begrudgingly, grow back. Once I was in the salon, I just went with the flow and enjoyed feeling fabulous this afternoon.

I like my haircut, but the experience was certainly different from what I am used to back home. Per the hair care clause in my contract with my parents for attending Madison (an entirely different story which I can tell you some other time if you like), I get to be spoiled and enjoy Aveda salons. My hairdressers pay me 100% of their attention and are very amiable. We usually end up chatting the majority of the time, and they respond to everything I say, interesting or not.

Today no one at the peluquería was in a conversational mood, which either had to do with my obvious trouble in understanding them or is a de facto condition in Spanish salons. Upon arriving they kindly stored my bag for me and then proceeded to wrap me in a gauzy white robe. At the shampoo station, a good amount of water ended up in my ears, some even running down my neck. That’s definitely a no-no back home. After the shampooing I sat in the normal chair, described what I wanted, and my hairdresser went to town. She was seriously fast! Scissors and hair were flying, and she finished in one third of the usual time it takes to cut my hair. I was a bit stunned but certainly impressed. During all of this, two girls who looked to be training stood behind my chair to observe the process, all of which I saw in the mirror. Only one other woman was in the salon, so to have so much attention concentrated around my chair was a bit uncomfortable. I very intently studied my black cape.

While the hairdresser started to dry and style my hair, one of the girls brought over two fashion magazines for me to read. I started flipping through the Spanish Vogue. It isn’t my usual reading choice, but I like to look at the fashion spreads and think about how ridiculous it would be if I saw people on the street actually wearing such crazy clothing. I ended up finding a tribute to Spanish dancer Antonio Gades, written by his friend Carlos Saura who directed the flamenco version of “Bodas de Sangre” which featured Gades. I just watched that movie in class last week. Who knew I would find something relevant to my studies in Spanish Vogue?

During the whole cutting and styling process, a cup of hot chocolate they had brought me was sitting in front of me just out of reach. Now, it isn’t easy to drink hot chocolate while someone is cutting your hair, especially if you take your hot chocolate sans hair strands. Once my hairdresser was done, she looked at my cup of hot chocolate and asked if I was going to drink it. I tried to say that I was ready to go, but she insisted that I relax, finish my hot chocolate, and read more of the magazine. I did as I was told, but I think I did so too quickly. When I went up to pay, I thanked my hairdresser once again for doing a great job, especially because I had been so nervous beforehand.

I am glad that I got this process over with. It's interesting to be able to observe cultural differences even in such small sectors as salon services. Plus, my hair hasn't had this much volume in months! Am I sitting out in public right now in order to show off a little bit? You bet I am. 

Before

After

Intercambio

I am not a reject--I finally have friends! I am, of course, referring to Spanish friends. I have made some great friends here who feel more like close siblings than people I met just a few months ago, and I will always have Annie, who, at the very least, must pretend she wants to be my friend as long as we live together through the program's duration. I admit, though, that I have been lacking in Spanish acquaintances. My program facilitates intercambios, which literally refers to an exchange between speakers of different languages. Ideally, half of the time I would speak with my intercambio in English, and the other half of the time we would speak in Spanish. This way, both of us get to spruce up our language skills while sharing our cultures. 

As of last week, I still had not met my intercambio even though my term here was half-over. Actually, make that intercambios. It was a struggle, and unfortunately that happens for a majority of students on my program. I had never connected with my first one, and was pursuing a second one. Finally, on Monday we were able to meet up for some lunch. I was with another friend who had already met this intercambio, a girl my age who studies business at the Universidad de Sevilla in the same building where I take my business classes. Our intercambio also brought another friend along, who is originally from Barcelona. Her native language is Catalan, but she also speaks Castellano (Spanish). We grabbed some bocadillos from a shop near the business school and walked to a little plaza to warm up in the sun during lunch. 

Both girls are extremely nice, and my friend, the first intercambio, Annie, and I went to see Cisne Negro (Black Swan) last night. It was more intense than I had anticipated, and apparently our intercambio felt the same way. We still liked the film and had a good time, though. (I think that having popcorn for the first time since I came here added to that.) We are hoping to meet up again before I head to Morocco next week.

I am thankful that I finally met someone who is my age and can help me out with Spanish and getting to know even more about Sevilla. I regret that I did not make it work out sooner, but for now I will enjoy what time I have to get to know these girls and let them teach me about their lives in Sevilla. Rumor has it that cooking, learning sevillanos (traditional dance), and trying on dresses for Feria will be involved.

Eric calls me out on Facebook

Well, I called it, didn't I? I apologize that I have not posted anything for three full weeks. My brother called me out about this on Facebook, and I did not realize that it had really been that long since my last post. I have been busy with midterms, summer job searching, program activities, summer job searching, and traveling (and a little more summer job searching). Last weekend Annie and I were in Madrid, and right now we are in Barcelona, from which I am writing to you from our hostel on a computer with a very fat old Phillips monitor and a somewhat greasy black keyboard whose shift key is resistant to being pushed. Thank goodness for hand sanitizer.

In addition to all of that activity, I have also been planning a trip for my mom and me when she comes to Spain after my program ends. We are spending a few days in Sevilla and Granada as well as going to Italy for a few days. It is a lot of work to book everything, but that does not even matter because I am so excited that she is coming! I know that any one of my family members would love to jet across the ocean for a little vacation guided by yours truly, but with kids and jobs it is no easy task. I am so grateful that I will be able to share parts of my experience here firsthand with someone in my family. I am going to absolutely love being a tour guide! I have already said many times during this past week that Mom is going to have to handle filming my tours so that I can send the footage in to the Travel Channel, inevitably landing a position there and working my way up to becoming Samantha Brown's protégée.

My hope in the coming week is to be able to give some recaps on my recent travels at the very least, but I can make no promises. It has been hard enough keeping up with my hand-written journal, which has been looking rather lean during the past three weeks as well. By Thursday I will be in Morocco with my program for the weekend. On top of that, I only have three real weeks left of class (we must pardon the rather welcome interruption of two weeks off due to Semana Santa and Feria). That means time to get cracking on final projects and studying for finals. Where in the world has my time here gone?