Windows 11 Tiny Iso Download Español
Jalisa Landgren
In Rota, I spent significantly less money on food than I did in the US. This was partly because I lived on the southern coast of the peninsula where there is plenty of reasonably priced fresh fish, olives, olive oil, and other staples that are typically pricier Stateside.
Many common southern Spanish dishes, like gazpacho and tortilla de patata, are made of inexpensive ingredients that are on the verge of spoiling (e.g., tomatoes for gazpacho are best once they are overripe, soft, and have nearly gone bad).
Gazpacho isn't for everyone, but anyone can benefit from buying local, in-season foods and meal planning around recipes that make grocery hauls last as long as possible. I save hundreds of dollars a month on groceries this way.
I lived in Texas most of my life, so I kept my AC cranked to max power almost 24/7 in the summer. When I moved to Spain, I had a tiny AC unit in my apartment that stopped working a month after my first night there.
Central AC is a rare luxury in southern Spain, and it was August, so I improvised by leaving the windows of my third-floor apartment open during the day to let the breeze in and keeping chilled towels and water in the fridge for especially hot days.
I spent very little on my energy bill there, and now I am much more conscious of my energy use in the US despite living in Florida. These days, the AC is only on in the afternoons when I'm home, which saves me around $37 a month.
In the US, I was used to having my own car and the freedom to go anywhere, anytime, without pause. This led to me burning a ton of unnecessary cash on gas. In Rota, I used a variety of methods to get around, since there is very little in the way of public transportation there. I biked, carpooled, and walked as much as possible.
After I met my husband, we drove his 2000 Honda CRV "beater" infrequently because we were accustomed to walking and biking everywhere. Now that we're back in the States, we are much more conservative with gas usage and carpool to work as often as possible, which saves anywhere from $116 to $230 a week.
My husband's Honda had a standard transmission. I had no idea how to drive standard, but I had to learn if I wanted to pay less for rental cars when we went on trips, since automatic cars are not the norm in Europe. Once I learned, we were able to rent cars for much less and saved hundreds of dollars on travel.
Now I love driving stick, and in the US, I saved more than $1,000 by buying the standard version of my car. In the long run, it paid to take the time to learn that relatively simple skill, and it has driven me (pun intended) to be more resourceful when it comes to managing my finances.
In that tiny Spanish apartment, I had very little room for things. I had very few clothes, a few books, my uniforms, and my bike. I was constantly at work on the ship, so I didn't have time to accumulate stuff, even if I wanted to cram it into that small space.
I also realized that the experience of being on assignment overseas cultivated the feeling of being "unsettled" or unattached to one place. I didn't buy things I wanted simply because I knew I would have to move them back to the US in a matter of time. Instead, I chose to spend my money on travel, which was (in my experience) more fulfilling than harboring a collection of things.
Though I only lived abroad for a short time, the experience changed my approach to money and still influences my spending and saving habits. I learned that saving a ton of money doesn't have to be complicated: Sometimes, it's as easy as incorporating a bit of frugality and resourcefulness into the budget plan.
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Structural engineer by day, tiny house designer by night. Niall has a keen interest in small spaces, green design, and sustainability. He started developing Humble Homes while studying for his masters degree in engineering. He is the founder and managing editor of Humble Homes.
We want a tiny house that is beautiful and unique. Our idea is to build a house that imitates a south-western stucco Spanish house with red mission style roof and round arched windows and door. We are also incorporating a large deck on top 1010 (the size of a popup canopy). The deck must fold or dismantle to 8.5 feet wide so that it may travel ( occasionally) when needed..
I love tiny homes and am very interested in your ideas. Have you progressed in building your tiny home? I would love to have pictures for my website. If you had time I would love to have you send me a short article on uour experience that I could publish on my site along with some photos.
Good luck in completing your home
Day 1: Marquette to Copper Harbor
The Upper Peninsula is the part of Michigan that shares no borders with the mitten-shaped rest of the state. On a map, the peninsula looks like it should be in Wisconsin--it extends from that state and divides the waters of Lakes Superior, Michigan, and Huron. But while researching our trip, I learned that in fact the U.P. used to belong to Ohio. It was traded to Michigan in 1837 for a piece of land that would become part of Toledo.
Remote, quiet, and mostly raw wilderness, the U.P. is about the size of Denmark--far too big to explore in its entirety during a long weekend. My girlfriend, Lydia, and I board our connecting flight from Milwaukee to Marquette, the peninsula's biggest town, on a rattletrap prop plane so small that the airline doesn't bother with a flight attendant. Before the plane takes off, a recording comes on and tells us to fasten our seat belts.
As the plane bumps along above Lake Michigan, Lydia and I are discussing our plans when a young man named Luke chimes in. "Oh, I go fish camp there," says Luke, referring to one of our intended stops. Fish camping, he explains, entails a week or so of little more than fishing and drinking beer with your best buddies; it's a tradition among Yoopers, as U.P. locals are proudly known. Luke recommends we pick up some bug dope (bug spray, naturally).
Our goal for the first day of this early-summer trip is to make it to the U.P.'s northernmost tip, a smaller peninsula called the Keweenaw, for a swim in Lake Superior. First, though: lunch. Marquette is a tidy lakeside town with wide, clean streets, sturdy brick buildings, and a glittering marina. Luke recommended theSweet Water Caf, which turns out to be excellent. It's a hippieish spot with lots of vegetarian options that uses "cooking techniques derived from the diversity of Earth's cultures." We have a killer falafel platter served by a waitress with dreadlocks.
Almost as soon as we get outside of Marquette, it's apparent that visiting the U.P. is a little bit like traveling to a foreign country that has only recently been colonized by the U.S.: Nordic flags fly, and accents are a strange blend of Canadian and Scandinavian. Then there are the ATVs, which seem to be a far more popular mode of transportation than cars. Four-wheelers are everywhere: at drive-throughs, at grocery stores, at churches. It's not unusual to see an entire family of Yoopers, including grandparents and young children, following each other astride thundering Kawasakis. Begoggled posses scream down the highway shoulder, peel off onto overgrown dirt paths in clouds of billowing dust, and disappear into the woods.
The road to the Keweenaw is lined with tempting stops. First is Canyon Falls, with its churning water the color of a Coke Slurpee. Next we pop into the freeIron Industry Museumfor a primer on the area's mining history. A few miles down the road, we can't pass up seeing the world's largest working chain saw atDa Yooper's Tourist Trap & Museum. The place lives up to its billing, selling lots of useless but amusing stuff like a "U.P. wind chime," which is a bunch of empty Bud Light cans hanging from a stick. We also get our first taste of a local obsession at theHilltop Restaurant. All over the U.P., restaurants and bakeries specialize in cinnamon rolls--or rather, giant sweet rolls, as the Hilltop calls them--that are roughly the size of a toddler's head.
Eventually, we make it to the Keweenaw. We first drive up the peninsula's eastern side to Bete Grise Beach. What a gem! The afternoon light is perfect, and as this is early season, the sandy cove is empty except for a couple with a Subaru, a tent, and plans to camp out for the night. I politely ignore their warnings about the water temperature and charge in. My heart skips several beats, but the sensation is great anyway. I'm thrilled the trip is getting off to such a promising start.
Back in the car, we meander up and over Brockway Mountain on a wooded road that is dappled in sunlight and ends with a postcard-perfect view of the tiny town of Copper Harbor. I can't argue with the sign outside theHarbor Hausrestaurant that proclaims: YOU ARE NOW BREATHING THE BEST AND MOST VITALIZING AIR ON EARTH.
Inside the restaurant, waitresses are dressed in dirndls. A terrific wall of windows looks out onto Lake Superior, and hearty German food is served in enormous portions. The whitefish wrapped in bacon, the potato pancake with feta cheese and apples, and the bison sausage with peppers, mushrooms, and cheese are all wonderful. Lydia and I share a raspberry cobbler with bourbon-cream sauce, and it's good enough to inspire something of a race between us.
I don't know if it was the swim, the beer, the sunset view, or all the fantastic food, but I'm in a full-on state of first-day-of-vacation rapture. After dinner, we are directed to the nearby Bella Vista Motel, where an employee tells us to look out for the northern lights in a little while; they have been appearing of late. But Lydia and I are too exhausted and go to sleep, fast.
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