My Christmas in Spain

This is what 35 euros (about $42) buys you on Christmas Eve in Valencia, Spain. One night in an amazing apartment and a chance to remember what it is like to live in a real home, not made out of nylon or shared with several other people.

I didn't realize until staying here just how much I missed having my own place. It's been three-and-a-half years since I had my own kitchen to cook meals for myself with my music playing, singing or dancing around ridiculously, or had a floor to slide around on in my socks and generally just act like a fool. 

I'm not going to lie, I absolutely loved it. More than I ever thought I could love it three-and-a-half years ago. I even enjoyed washing dishes and doing laundry.

It's been my goal for the last several Christmases to do nothing. My annual gift to myself is to just sleep in, maybe cook myself breakfast, and just do whatever I want without guilt, so that's what I did. I even got to laze on the couch watching the only English channel on television. 
By the way, I now I know what it feels like to only have Telemundo, so have a new sympathy for Mexican Americans.

This is the view from my balcony. There was a city to explore, but it could wait. I wasn't going anywhere. Actually, I stayed an extra night, so it would have to wait even longer.