Hasta luego

Spain is in the rear view mirror, and we’re back to reality.  

That means we slept in our own bed and we will eat at our own table this morning.  No tour group around, and certainly, nothing matching Spanish scenery.  When we travel, the reality of living in Dallas where everything is reasonably new and nothing is terribly beautiful or grand gives us great contrast.  Still, Dallas is where nearly all of our people are, and we have pretty nice lives, here.  It’s just that when we look at things that are spectacular and beautiful, we remark about how plain and dull Dallas is by comparison.  I guess what I should be saying is it’s good to be home.  

A few things I didn’t have time or space to mention yet seem in order here.  First, English is pretty pervasive.  There are plenty of Spaniards we met who had a lot of trouble communicating with us unless we tried some measure of Spanish, and Cas is certainly better at it than I am.  They seemed appreciative of our efforts.  One hotel employee even congratulated Cas when he conducted an entire conversation in Spanish.  It makes sense, though.  When you go to a foreign country, you expect people who live there to speak its language.  What I didn’t expect was that everywhere we went (with the marked exception of the Flamenco show and the dinner where we heard tuna music) played songs sung in English.  The first song I heard that had Spanish words on the trip was a Madonna one from years ago called La Isla Bonita.  Everywhere else played music in English, except for when the song Despacito came up in rotation.  That song was everywhere.  We heard it twice at our cooking class, where we also heard a little good old American hip-hop.  Somehow, paella class with a great Spanish chef didn’t seem like the place we’d hear Cardi B.  To my mind, the songs didn’t match the space.  The same was true for T-shirts, as well.  If I had to guess, I would say about 90 percent of the T-shirts featuring words on the front were written in English.  Congratulations, America!  We are great at exporting music and T-shirt slogans.  I deliberately avoid wearing things when I travel that may overtly indicate my nation of origin.  I think I just heard once a long time ago that you don’t want people to know you’re not local.  I’m not even sure that’s good advice, but I follow it.  Certainly, wandering aimlessly and checking maps all the time isn’t enough of a clue, and they would have needed a T-shirt that said something very American on it.  No dice, Spain- my clothes are blank.  

My favorite English language T-shirt was on the Ferris wheel in Valencia.  The little boy who kept getting up in the carriage and moving around wore a shirt that said It’s good to be nice.  I couldn’t agree more, kid.  

The other thing I know for a fact is that I would love to boycott American Airlines.  They are such a big company and I love travel so much, that they may be unavoidable.  Still, they are on my list right now, and we will certainly make an effort to fly with literally anyone else in the future.  Our booking information said we had BA flights operated by AA.  Turns out, they’re just AA flights.  We got on three American airplanes, and just one Iberian Air flight.  On American, we were seated apart from one another on both over-the-ocean flights.  For the first one, Cas was able to persuade a gate agent to change it for us.  On the way home, we had to swap with a stranger once we were on the plane. I had a seat in the middle, but on the bulkhead row, so I had some legroom to bargain with.  

It wasn’t just us, either.  The seating arrrangements were splitting apart mothers from their children, other couples from one another and notably, we saw one booking put five members of the same family in totally different parts of the aircraft.  We’re convinced this is a ploy to extract more money out of passengers for the privilege of sitting together.  They’ve already started to charge extra for window seats, aisle seats and seats on the exit row.  This separation of families seems to be the thing nobody’s buying.  People are getting on and working it out with other passengers.  The flight attendants are moving people to put parents with their children and compensating folks who help out with a free drink.  It sure seems like they’ve created a problem that wasn’t there before.  Beyond that, the elevation of some other basic services to premium services is a little out of control.  A long time ago, people would board by row in a logical order.  Now, those who pay extra go first.  Fantastic.  If you don’t pay extra, you are more likely to go dead last and be obliged to check your carry on, which we had to do on our way from Philidalphia to Dallas.  Nobody wants to check bags voluntarily, because there’s a cost associated with that, too.  What happens now is folks wait for the gate agents to announce overhead storage is full and offer to check bags for free.  It would be so much easier if they would remove the checked bag charge.  Taking your clothes on a trip is not a premium neeed.  

We were pretty exhausted after starting a day in Barcelona and flying away from the sunset, but we had to wait around the baggage carousel in the Dallas airport for our luggage.  Cas and I deliberately pack light so we can avoid checking bags.  Not the case, here.  The worst part of any travel by airplane is the actual getting there and returning home.  I know travel blog is typically pretty happy and sunny, but because I write about everything, this had to go in.  I’m pretty fed up, American.  And to my friends, if you fly American in the future, check if they put you anywhere near your companions.  My guess is they didn’t.  My guess is that they put you between an infant and an emotional support chihuahua, right in front of a kid who wants to play soccer some day, and is practicing his kicks on your chair.  

Okay, Heather.  Breathe.  

Sorry about that.  The trip was really great, as you may have surmised from literally everting else I wrote.  I had so much fun, and so did Cas.  We travel very well together.  I think today, when we run our individual errands and such, we will spend our first moments apart in something like 17 or 18 days.  I’m telling you- if you can find a traveling companion like that, pack a bag full of your cleverest English-language T-shirts and say hasta luego.  Just try to book your flight with a different airline.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7 

Paella at the bullfighting ring

That is the most Spanish thing I can think of.  I hadn’t eaten black rice paella while sitting at a table on top of a former bullring that has been converted into a shopping mall before today.  Check that off the list.  Today was our bonus day in Barcelona, and we did it right.  Cas and I slept late, but managed to get up early enough to make it to the breakfast buffet in the hotel.  When we were all fed, we went to the beach and walked around in the sand.  This was our third walk on a beach in this trip, but the one that was closest to my expectations.  There were bronze and pink skinned people laying in the sun, attempting to make their bronzes and pinks more striking.  There were all kinds of activities and plenty of people out swimming.  And it’s totally true what everyone says- the people who go topless at the beach are never the ones who should go topless.  It’s probably a little jarring to most Americans when very elderly women try to get some extra sun like that.  

We had lunch overlooking the beach, then came back to the hotel for our now standard nap.  Having been up a bit late last night, it was utterly necessary to shut our eyes for a little while.  After the siesta, we walked toward the part of the city where a fountain we had seen in daylight promised to become a “magic fountain” at night.  On the way, we walked up to the former bullfighting ring that had been converted to a shopping mall.  I’m no great shopper, and neither is Cas, but I wanted to walk around on top of the structure and see what there was to see.  The top was where the restaurants were, and we chose one for its orientation realative to the forthcoming sunset.  We had some cava sangria and the black rice paella.  The rice is colored with squid ink, making the whole dish a very dark black.  It’s a little disorienting, but certainly, if you have that listed on a menu in front of you, give it a try.  It’s interesting and tasty.  

We stayed long enough to watch the sun go down, and when we went back through the mall to leave, we walked out the side that put us on the path to the magic fountain.  It was a proper grand finale to this whole trip.  The fountain was lit in multiple colors, and those colors changed throughout the show.  The motion of the water was coordinated with music, typically the grand and sweeping kind of songs that usually win academy awards for best film score or something.  Cas likened it to the fountain version of a fireworks show on Independence Day.  It was big and grand and pretty amazing.  We got a little close when the fountain shot water very, very high in the air, and we felt like we were in a light mist of rain for about 15-20 seconds.  We loved it.  

We have taxi service all arranged for tomorrow morning’s trip to the airport, and tonight is our time to play luggage Jenga with our dirty clothes and clean souvenirs.  After that, we have a long plane ride ahead.  Hopefully, the very upset infant who flew with us from Dallas to Madrid isn’t headed back that way tomorrow.  It would be great to read a little, watch a movie and sleep on the airplane.  Our brains have to re-adjust to Dallas time, and at home, it’s seven hours earlier.  Nearly midnight here means that drivers are about to tackle rush hour at home.  

So, it’s back to reality starting tomorrow, but this has been a great trip. I’ll probably post one more note when I get home- maybe just to recap a few things, but that’s it from Spain. Adios, España. 

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7 

Gaudì, Güell, goodbye

Yesterday started so early and ended so late that this is the first time I have felt like I had enough consecutive free moments to tell about the things we did.  The morning began with a bus tour around Barcelona, which is pretty in a way the other stops along this tour were not.  Cas and I have been taken aback by cathedrals and castles.  We have admired bridges and bullrings.  With the exception of the modern-looking stuff in Valencia, we have seen things that are (to our minds) old.  Bear in mind that the Texas Rangers, our home team in Major League Baseball, are playing their last season in their 15-year-old park.  The new one is under construction.  We tear buildings down in Dallas when they’re teenagers.  

That’s why nearly everything we have seeen seems very old to us.  Our tour guide yesterday kept talking about buildings in town with modernist style.  Having never studied architecture, I think I need to look up modernist style.  It all looked old to my untrained eye.  After our bus looped around a bit in the city, we went to the main attraction, La Sagrada Familia.  It was spectacular, grand and bizarre.  I had heard things.  I had seen photos.  Nothing really prepares you for the actual building.  Have you ever listened to music that starts off with a song you love then the next song is something in a totally different genre or style, but you love that, too?  This place went from Stevie Wonder to Metallica to Vivaldi- that’s what it felt like.  The guide told us that the changes throughout the structure reflected Gaudì’s changes throughout his lifetime and the influence of different architects and artists he worked with.  

It was breathtaking.  

After the morning, we had a break for lunch.  Somehow, we ate the best Chinese food we’d had in ages here in Barcelona.  A bunch of people from our tour group were already seated at a table on the sidewalk, and they strongly recommended noodles and what I would describe as pot stickers.  Cas said he had already met his “food goals” on this trip- I think we have had more paella and ham than we ever had before, so we went for it.  It was fantastic.  I decided we needed to go to Beijing and look for good tapas, just to see if the converse is also true.  

With not much time to spare, we got back to the hotel and turned around to see the Park Güell, which was another Gaudì design.  The park was up above the city, so it isn’t convenient for people to walk there.  That’s probably for the best, now, because the people here control the number of visitors the park has at any given moment.  We basically had an appointment to walk in the park.  It was bizarre, with strange columns and apparently, the longest bench in all of Europe.  We went ahead and sat on it.  Wouldn’t you?  

After we left there, we went to La Pedera, another Gaudì building.  It was back in the city where people walk by every day.  We had the opportunity to go in, walk around on the completely wavy roof with its odd, chimney-like sculptures and tour the inside a bit.  We walked through a space called the attic, which was unlike any attic I have ever seen, then we went through an apartment that is set up and furnished for display.  As strange as the outside of the building was, the apartment was oddly normal seeming.  I don’t know what I expected, but the space seemed like people could actually live there.  

After we finished up with all things Gaudì, we had a little time to ourselves.  We walked around, sat on a bench for a while, then decided to have some cava sangria.  It’s a light and very refreshing beverage made with Spain’s version of champagne.  A few people from our tour group joined us, and we ended up splitting a few pitchers of the stuff before dinner.  

To finish off this very full day, we had a farewell dinner with the whole group.  It was actually a very good tour group- certainly the best one I have been a part of.  There has always been at least one person in every organized tour Cas and I have done so far who we avoid for fear of being looped into a long conversation from which there seems no way out.  This group certainly had a lot of different personalities, but everyone seemed pretty great.  Having said that, I will enjoy returning to the simplicity of walking somewhere without 23 companions.  

The final stop of the evening was the hotel bar, where a handful of us had some sangria and a nice chat.  I now have people I can check in on if Cas and I decide to make a trip to Kentucky or Tennessee.  Lots of the group is heading home today, while Cas and I are out tomorrow.  Others added more time here, and honestly, Barcelona is a great option if you want a place to spend a few days.  

We may head to the beach today, or we might head to La Rambla, which is effectlvely a big street you can wander down.  I believe we will resume the practice of the afternoon nap so we can see the magic fountain tonight.  Appparently, there is a light show and music, and the fountain looks totally different at night time.  After that, it’s one more night of sleep here and a trip to the airport.   

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7 

It’s pronounced pen-NIECE-cola

On the way to Barcelona, our tour took us to a town that sounded awfully familiar.  Cas and I have been to Pensacola Beach, Florida to visit with his dad and stepmom, but this trip took us to a seaside fortress town called Peñíscola.  Everyone in our tour group who I bothered to ask said they had trepidation about pronouncing that out loud until our tour director said it first.  It really does look like a middle school boy’s joke.  While we were there, we climbed up to The high point and toured the castle.  It was the home to some of the Knights Templar, then a few popes when the Catholic church split and decided to have more than one pope.  I didn’t get a full history lesson in the museum displays, because my Spanish is weak at best.  The views were spectacular, though, and the weather was just about perfect.  

We spent so much time walking around the castle and looking at the other stuff in town (the maritime museum, the house covered in seashells...) that we had only an hour left for lunch and our return to the bus.  In the US, that wouldn’t be a problem.  Spain eats at a different pace.  When we sat at a table for 15 minutes without so much as a hello, we realized we were in trouble.  We moved to another restaurant where the waiter seemed to know the meaning of the word hustle, and we told him we had 45 minutes to eat, pay and make it to a bus.  He suggested a sandwich.  Cas and I actually split one so we could eat it fast enough to meet our goal.  We stepped onto the bus with a minute to spare, and no one was mad at us.  Mission accomplished.  

We’ve arrived in Barcelona, now, and we are all checked into our hotel.  We got here, settled in for a few moments, then went with most of the people from our tour group to check out the subway.  We took it together two stops from our most convenient station and found the main downtown area.  With that, we walked around just a little and saw a legendary Barcelona drinking fountain.  It is said that, if you drink from this fountain, you will come back to Barcelona some day.  I drank, and so did Cas, though he hadn’t heard that it meant we would return before indulging.  He feigned frustration and said I guess we have to return someday.  I mean, we’re contractually obligated, having consumed the water.  I actually splashed a fair amount on my shirt, so when I do come back, I think I have to wear the same thing.  I’ll try to remember- the pink one with the stripes...  

We have a guided tour tomorrow followed by an excursion to see Park Güell and La Padrera, described as the magnificent works of Antonio Gaudí.  It’s a four hour excursion, and I suspect we will want it to last longer once we see what we’re there to see.  After that, we have a farewell dinner with our tour group, and then, we have a bonus day on our own.  After that, we’re done, and it’s back to life in Dallas.  This has been a great trip so far.

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7 

Walk on the beach

After our diplomatic visit with the international ambassador of paella, Cas and I took a nap.  The big festivities were due to start pretty late in the evening, so there was no point in wandering the streets before then.  When we did get up, we went to the park that used to be a river.  The city of Valencia used to have a river running through it, but they had frequent and severe flooding, so much that they diverted the river and turned the old riverbed into a park.  To celebrate summer, a temporary amusement park was placed in a portion of the former riverbed, and the Ferris wheel was visible from pretty far away.  Being so easy to spot, Cas and I decided to walk to it and get on.  

It was a fun ride, and we looped around more times than I am accustomed to at speeds not matched in my experience.  To be sure, it wasn’t fast; it just wasn’t as slow as many others.  We were placed on a carriage with a Spanish family of four.  The two kids and the dad kept standing up and moving around, causing the carriage to swing.  That made the ride seem a little perilous...  Still, we went on a Ferris wheel in Valencia, and it was pretty cool.  Check that off the list.

From there, we stopped for wine and tapas.  I will miss that when we get home.  You can just walk down a sidewalk until you see an empty table, have a seat and enjoy a quick light meal any time you want.  So cool.  While we were there, a woman who had a small dog attached that dog’s leash to an empty chair.  She went in a shop, and while she was inside, the dog decided to chase after something or someone, and the chair followed the dog for a while.  Cue an entire group of complete strangers laughing together.  I really wish Cas and I were filming something else at that exact moment so we could have just turned our cameras on the spectacle- the dog should have been captured digitally as well as physically.  It turns out they caught the dog and restored the chair.  After the dog was contained and we were finished, we got on the city bus and headed to the beach.  

When we got there, plenty of bonfires were already blazing.  We were about to wander off and find another beverage when we saw a procession of people all dressed in white, walking toward the beach.  Cas suggested we turn around and head to wherever they were going.  The people in white proceeded to set down the things they were carrying, including many grocery bags and plenty of bonfire building supplies.  Some of the men in the group got to work stacking up the wood and small kindling to make the fire while the rest of the group organized the things they had brought with.  One member went to work with a white powder- like talcum or something- drawing out a large circle in the sand.  The intent was clear; they stayed inside and we stayed outside of the circle.  After that, the fire was lit and the people in white went around the circle handing things out in some kind of order.  They first handed out little sachet bags that looked like you could steep tea in them.  After that, the contents of the bag came one at a time.  There were coffee beans, grains of rice, sunflower seeds, some kind of grain and a series of spices.  A final round included a woman adding droplets of oil and a few folks tearing flowers and leaves from branches.  It was all very confusing, but one of the few words I heard from a person in white sounded like it would translate to prosperous.  Maybe that was it.  

There was a woman beating a drum that was shaped like an oversized tambourine without the rattling parts, and at some point, members of the group shook small, wet branches at each other, then they went to work shaking them at the assembled crowd.  I have since asked our tour director, and she hadn’t see that particular ceremony before, but she did verify that the water was some kind of blessing.  

After the branch-shaking, the process seemed to kind of fizzle out.  People took their strange, little bags of food and spices away and wandered from the circle.  It was about one in the morning at that point, so we decided to call it quits and head back to the bus stop. 

I have only been that crowded in any means of public transportation a few times in my life, most notably, my younger brother and I were on the Metro in Washington DC at the exact moment when the people headed to a baseball game were sharing space with the people headed home from work.  By the time we got back to the hotel, it was definitely time to go to sleep.  My hair smelled like a bonfire, though earlier in the day, it smelled like paella.  We’re on a bus ride, now, and thankfully, my hair smells like shampoo.  

We’ve packed up and are headed to our last locale of the journey, Barcelona.  See you there!  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7 

The international ambassador of paella

This morning, we had a tour, partially on the bus and partially on foot, of Valencia.  We spent a little time walking around The City of Arts and Sciences, which is a new part of town with very modern architecture.  Some of the buildings in this area are the work of an architect named Santiago Calatrava, who is the designer of two relatively new bridges in Dallas.  When Calatrava was hired in Dallas, I read a story in a local newspaper about how controversial that choice was.  Apparently, his works in Europe typically came in late and over budget, and there was one project in particular where the tiles notoriously kept falling off of the building after it was constructed.  I now know which building, because we saw Valencia’s opera house today, and we learned that many of the tiles had been replaced.  It all made sense.  It’s a strange building, and to be sure, you’d love it if that was your style preference, but it’s part of why he was so notorious when city hall in Dallas tapped him for the bridges.  Since then, he designed the grand and unusual Margaret Hunt Hill bridge, nicknamed the Large Marge locally, and the Margaret McDermott bridge, which is an interesting story, as well.  That one is just a straight up concrete car bridge with a Calatrava design slapped on top.  After the fact, lanes were added for pedestrians and bicycles, but those have not yet been found safe for pedestrian use.  So the drama continues.  Still, we saw a cool looking opera house today:

After the tour of the rest of the city including the silk exchange and the world’s narrowest building facade, we went on to our cooking class.  We drove to the outskirts of town past rice paddies to a small, one room structure in the middle of nowhere, where we learned to make a real Spanish paella from a man who has won many awards for his cooking.  His name is David Montero  and he has apparently been named the International Ambassador of Paella.  He has some of his awards and honors displayed on the wall there, and he took a group of us through the process of making the traditional Valencian paella.  The one we made was with rabbit and chicken.  It was one of the best things we have done on this tour.  The food was spectacular, and the lesson was one where we took notes.  We also snapped a photo of the recipe so we could translate it to English and give it a shot when we get home.  I paid attention when his brother made the Sangria, just in case my recipe wasn’t as good.  Honestly, I do like mine better, but here’s what I observed on that score: 

• 1 bottle red wine (he used a Tempranillo)
• 1/4 bottle gin
• 1 bottle Fanta lemon soda (about a 2 liter bottle)
• Sugar (If I had to guess, about 1/8-1/4 cup)
• Cut up fruit chunks- he used apples, oranges, peaches and lemons.

It’s important to pay atttention to these things.  

Cas and I came back to the hotel and took a nap.  Now, we’re ready to go out for the evening.  It’s a big festival tonight, and we’ll need all our wits about us to get to wherever we decide to go and come back.  It may just be the beach tonight, and we just might try our hand at jumping over a bonfire.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7 

Corpus Christi y San Juan

We left the hotel at a time that most Americans would consider late.  That let us have Tapas and wine around 8:30 or 9, which was entirely necessary, since we split a sandwich at lunch.  When we were finishing that up and paying the check, a few of the members of our tour group saw us and said hello. They had just returned from the old part of the town by bus, where they saw the large, elaborate floats for the parade of Corpus Christi.  We have been hearing about this celebration in pretty much every place we’ve been recently, and lots of places have parades with elaborate floats.  Cas and I were not sure what to do with our evening, so we decided to check out the city bus and see what these floats look like.  For three Euro total, we went from the street next to our hotel to a main square, surrounded by buildings that were probably older than the entire city where we live.  We walked a short distance to an adjacent big square, where we saw the floats.  They were old, elaborate,  carved from wood and impossibly fancy. 

We wandered a little bit, eventually stopping to have a glass of wine and one more tapa at a table next to a large, outdoor stage.  It was clear that an orchestra was supposed to be there, given the seating arrangement on stage, the music stands, the large percussion instruments at the back and the general setup of everything.  We decided to have a seat at 10, and the woman sitting next to us was completely frustrated.  She had a British accent, and she kept going on about when the orchestra would take the stage.  If they haven’t begun yet, when can they hope to finish?  This is ridiculous.  And so on.  I was happy to sit at a sidewalk table in a beautiful square in Spain, looking a strange floats and drinking wine.  The angry woman left and someone else immediately took her spot.  The orchestra came out at 11 and started playing.  I thought they were quite good.  The lighting in the square seems to have been designed to thwart photography, but this is what they looked like: 

Not bad for a free concert we didn’t expect to see.  Between the free (and to us, impromptu) concert and the truly unusual giant wooden floats, Cas and I were both happy we took that bus.  

As we walked around being tourists and taking photos of everything, we found ourselves in good company.  I am guessing that even the folks who live here find the collection photo-worthy when it’s all on display like that.  The parade should be today, and from what I understand, it may have started already.  Tonight is apparently another part of this celebration- the festival of San Juan.  I have been reading a little, and the festival of San Juan is a celebration that happens at night, where people go to the beaches and light bonfires.  I have heard and read a few different accounts of what people do with these bonfires, but generally, it seems people jump over them.  Some sources say they have to leap over the fire three times.  Others do not specify a number.  One website says you have to make a wish when you jump.  I read one source that said jumping over the fire three times will cleanse you of all your sins.  Either way, I am not sure about jumping over a fire.  It would have to be a pretty contained blaze before I would leap, especially so far away from home. 

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7 

Paco the troglodyte

It never occurred to me that there was any other way to interpret the word “troglodyte” than as an insult.  I have heard it lobbed at people, usually in a political context, to call them backwards or ignorant.  The first thing that comes up when you look up the word troglodyte is actually a prehistoric cave dweller.  The more you know, right?  The next time some pundit on one of those news shows calls his ideological opponent a troglodyte, I will have a totally different idea.  

There are people in Guadix who dig caves into the sides of mountains and live in them.  Today, we met Paco, a proud troglodyte, who showed us his home and the two other caves in the complex that operate as a museum.  The facade of each cave was constructed outside, like an entryway made of bricks with a door, but once inside, the rooms were carved out of a mountain that Paco said was made of a clay-like rock.  The caves are dug out by hand, and the walls are painted with a whitewash, as latex or synthetic paints do not work as well on cave walls.  The inside of these homes seemed a little strange, and to be sure, Cas photographed a hand drawn map.  I love my house, but I doubt any visitors would need a map to find the way back out.  

It was interesting to say the least.  I appreciated the ingenuity it takes to dig out and furnish a hole in the side of a mountain, but I am afraid I couldn’t do it.  I would be lost without windows.  When I was in my teacher training program so many years ago, the classes I took were at a school where many of the classrooms had no windows.  I hated it.  You could be in the classroom and a terrible storm could blow through.  You would be none the wiser.  Without windows, I would imagine true troglodytes would have to rely pretty heavily on alarm clocks.  There is no sunlight peeking into the window to wake you up.  I need to at least look out and see what time of day or night it is.  Windows are important to me.  I asked Paco the troglodyte if, when he went on a vacation, he found hotel rooms disorienting.  He sure does.  The noise of having immediate neighbors you can hear through the walls and doors upsets his rest, as does the close proximity in general to the street and its noise in whatever city he visits.  I guess it’s all what you’re used to.  He is the fifth generation of his family to live in these caves, so this style of living is all he knows, and certainly, it’s in his blood.  

We stopped in Guadix along the path from Granada to Valencia.  It was a pretty long bus trip, so the stop was welcome not only for its interesting visit, but also for its break in the monotony.  Cas and I are in Valencia, now, having arrived in the late afternoon.  Our group stopped quickly as we were checking into the hotel for a drink, an Agua Valencia, which is made with Cava (Spanish sparkling wine) and the very best orange juice I have ever had.  It was such good juice that Cas and I stuck around the hotel bar for a moment and enjoyed a second juice-based drink.  I think our goal in this town is to drink as much of that juice as physically possible.  We will be here for two nights, after all, and I hear they grow some really nice oranges in Valencia.  

We’re in the hotel room for a moment, just preparing for a walk around town.  Tomorrow will be the day of the official tour and the cooking class when we learn to make a Spanish paella.  Just thought I would let everyone know that the next time you feel the need to insult someone and call them backwards or old fashioned, pick a different word.  Troglodytes are proud, cave-dwelling Spaniards who have figured out how to monetize their homes and install gift shops.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

Land of Lincoln

Kentucky, Indiana and Illinois have all claimed to be the home of Abraham Lincoln.  He was born in Kentucky, spent years seven through 21 in Indiana and moved to Illinois after that.  Seems all three states want to claim him as a native son.  Cas’ friend Jim told us tonight that Granada has a similar circumstance with Seville.  They both claim to be the birthplace of excellent Spanish things that are as important to Spain as Lincoln is to America.  Ask someone from each town where Flamenco dancing was invented; you’ll get two different answers.  

Cas and his friend Jim had worked together, and as further coincidence has it, they both attended the same high school themselves, though not at the same time.  Jim’s kids went to the high school I attended so many years ago, and at least one of his sons went to my college.  Pretty small world.  

Jim seems pretty happy about being an expatriate living in Spain.  Apparently, he and his wife have a nice place, and all of their needs are met for a fraction of what it costs to live in Dallas.  Sounds pretty sweet, though Cas and I agree that we have to be near our people.  I would have to pack up myself, Cas, my immediate family, his immediate family and a crate of Tex Mex ingredients and barbecue sauce.  Seems like a lot of effort- not to mention that neither of us has ever expressed a desire to move ever again.  Moving into our home was more work than either of us probably ever cares to repeat.  Maybe we’ll just visit here a lot.  

We rejoin our group tomorrow morning.  I believe we missed a group meal this evening, and I am sure there was something wonderful or culturally enriching about the experience, but talking to a guy from Dallas who lives here now is a whole other kind of perspective that you won’t get on a tour.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

Siesta

Today, we made our way to Granada.  Before this trip, I had only a small notion of the influence that Muslims had on Spain.  Granada was the last stronghold of the Moorish Sultans here.  Muslim architecture is so unusual compared to what I am accustomed to seeing that these places seem more foreign than the cathedrals and other things we’ve visited.  Sure, everything here is foreign to an American, but the Islamic buildings are like absolutely nothing I am used to seeing.  

The place was beautiful.  We saw the palaces, the gardens and the numerous fountains all around.  It was quite a walk, and there were some in our group who sat out the last leg of the journey in the beautiful gardens.  Cas and I were well prepared, though.  We had extra sunscreen to reapply (which we shared with a grateful Canadian) and we both do cardio at home, where it’s apparently been in the high 90s this week.  Today is the longest day of the year- the Summer Solstice- and the high here is 87.  It’s not the most fun fun to walk around in the sunshine when it’s 87, but coming from Texas, it’s kind of a snap.  

Cas and I are peeling off from the tour group this evening to meet up with a retired teacher friend of his named Jim.  Apparently, when he retired, he moved here.  I have to say, it’s not the worst option.  Certainly, if I wasn’t so deeply dug into life in Dallas, I would consider a similar retirement.  Cas has seemed happy here so far.  One thing we could both get used to is the practice of napping a little in the afternoon.  I just dozed for 20 minutes, and he is relaxing a bit, now.  Given the afternoon we had, the siesta felt well earned.  Spaniards stay up late, and on this trip, we have had to be awake pretty early, so the siesta is absolutely brilliant.  The problem, of course, is getting up from the nap.  I can bounce back with relative ease, but it takes a little more urging to get Cas back to a vertical stance if the nap goes on too long.  I feel bad about limiting his time, but it’s entirely necesssary.  We have plans later, and if left unattended, Cas will wake up at 8 am in his shorts and button down, realizing he didn’t brush his teeth before bed.  That’s not the plan... 

Tomorrow morning, we leave Granada and head to Valencia for a few nights.  On the way there, we stop in Guadix where people live underground.  That should be intriguing.  One we get to Valencia, we have a cooking class there where we will learn to make paella.  Then, it’s Barcelona and back home.  We tacked on one extra day in Barcelona.  We had the option, and we figured it was a good move.  How often do you get that kind of an option?  Anyhow, now that siesta is done, it’s time to get ready for dinner.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

Haven’t you always wanted a monkey?

There is a song by the Canadian band The Barenaked Ladies called If I had a million dollars.  

The singer ponders what he would do if he had a million dollars.  He would buy his lady a new car, a new dress, a home and its furnishings.  One of the things he offers, should he become a millionaire: 

If I had a million dollars

I would buy you a monkey

Haven’t you always wanted a monkey? 

It’s been in my head all afternoon.  Here’s why: 

If you look at a map of Spain and find the part that is physically closest to Africa, it’s actually not Spain anymore.  That is Gibraltar, and Gibraltar belongs to the United Kingdom.  We needed to present passports to enter and clear customs to leave.  No joke.  From Gibraltar, you can stand and look out at the the Mediterranean Sea, the Atlantic Ocean, the very tippy top of Morocco and Spain.  We had a a very funny guide today.  As we got on the mini bus, he asked in Spanish what language we needed to speak, and when the crowd responded “English,” he feigned concern, winked at me (I was at the front) and paused for effect before continuing the day in a perfect British accent.  

Gibraltar is a British territory, and often useful from a strategic, military standpoint, but it is also really beautiful.  There are two things that everyone who goes to Gibraltar seems to need to do- visit the caves and see the monkeys.  There is a large cave in the stone of Gibraltar, and it has been converted into a performance venue.  Cas and I stood on the stage for a moment.  

Gibraltar is also home to Barbary macaques.  It’s so much easier to say monkey.  They are fearless, having shared space with humans for so long.  One of them rode on top of our mini-bus and banged on the roof a while.  It was entirely bizarre.  When we left there, we had lunch at a place right on the water where they sold fish and chips.  We wandered around in our remaining time to an Irish pub- the whole thing was strange.  We had to pay our check with a credit card, having no British Pounds to spend.  In the middle of all things Spanish, the pocket of England was very interesting.  Everyone was British, and they all seemed happy.  I think this is what it would be like on the actual British Isles if they had more sunshine, because it was an absolutely beautiful day.  We wrapped up there and headed back to Marbella, where we are again for the second evening.  This town is more geared toward people who love shopping and nightlife, so Cas and I may just relax and take a dip in the very swanky hotel pool.  Tomorrow, we head to Granada.  A week from now, we’ll be at our house in Dallas.  Until then, buenas noches!

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a lot of bull to me

This morning, we started off in Seville and headed for Ronda.  Ronda is a cliff side town with three bridges.  Interestingly, we crossed the “new” bridge on foot.  That one was built in the 17th century.  I believe our guide said the oldest one was built in 49 BC.  I guess when you have something that ancient, anything from the 17th century seems new.  

The thing to see in Ronda was the bullfighting ring.  Evidently, their ring is very famous.  

We learned a bit about bullfighting today.  I had never been interested in it, but to hear the process explained, it sounds unnecessarily brutal.  I’m no animal rights activist or anything.  I eat meat and I don’t particularly care for it when people bring their dogs into stores and onto restaurant patios.  I realize this makes me part of a grumpy minority in the US, but I am who I am.  Even still, the practice of bullfighting from start to finish seems pretty cruel.  The first thing that happens is that they take the bull from its home and put it in a small pen for a few days before the fight.  They feed it, of course, but it doesn’t get to move around a lot.  On the day of the fight, it is ushered into the ring, where the first thing that happens is apparently a tendon in its neck is cut so its head stays low.  This prevents the fighter from some of the more fatal injuries.  After that, and I am not sure if I heard it all correctly, another incision or two is made to further disable the animal, then the fancy footwork of the fight actually begins in earnest.  At the end of the fight, if the man wins, he is to kill the bull quickly with a sword.  If the bull is the victor, he may go back to wherever he came from and help breed more bulls.  Not sure if the low-hanging head from the cut tendon makes him less attractive to the ladies, but it seems better to be pressed into stud service than killed in the ring.  

If the bullfighter is well loved by the audience, he is encouraged to cut off an ear after his victory.  This is a great prize.  If the bullfighter is amazing, the crowd insists he take both ears.  If he is out of this world, they encourage him to take the tail.  

The whole thing really does seem unnecessarily cruel.  Cas and I started to think of other things they could add to the process.  Maybe beforehand, they could question the bull’s parentage and mock him for his inability to read.  Have they considered a clown wig?  Maybe they can call him names and let him know how well his old girlfriend is doing with her new fella.  Why just stop at disabling him, killing him for spectacle and taking his parts as trophies?  Like I said, it seems a bit much.  

There were a few people in our group who were truly offended by the tour.  They were the same ones who were having the conversation about what they feed their dogs the other day, and it sounded like their dogs eat better than I do during the work day.  I get it, though.  If you love animals, this whole process is unconscionable.  I am pretty ambivalent toward animals, and I thought it was barbaric.  

If I’m being honest, though, the bullfighting ring was a beautiful building, the town was gorgeous and the afternoon was just about perfect.  Cas and I are getting settled in to our hotel room in Costa Del Sol, now, in a city called Marbella.  The place is absolutely stunning.  We have dinner plans at 7:30, but since sundown is so late, I think we may take a walk to the beach after that.  These days are very long right now- but that may have something to do with the fact that the summer solstice is in two days.  Pretty good timing, if you ask me.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

As seen on TV

As it turns out, nobody in our group needed a haircut.  Evidently, most folks take care of things like that before leaving home.  I guess Cas and I are as guilty as anyone else.  I’m not even sure there are any barbers in Seville.

Seville was the site of the 1929 Iberian-American exposition, and as such, plenty of countries from the Americas and those on the Iberian peninsula constructed exhibition buildings to highlight their national points of pride and their cultures.  Those buildings still stand.  We took a loop around the city a few times on the bus tour, landing eventually at the pavilion building for Spain.  It had been there since 1929, as have all of the exhibition buildings, but the Spanish building was the backdrop for a few movie scenes.  Notably, Lawrence of Arabia had a moment where Peter O’Toole walked down a grand staircase in the pavilllion, and some Star Wars movie from the second set of movies used the whole place and its extensive courtyard space as a royal palace.  Frankly, of the three sets of Star Wars movies so far, I had very little interest in the second set.  Cas had seen the film in question, of course, and he had played a video game that took place in that space.  He pointed at a staircase and noted that R2-D2 really struggled with the steps in the movie.  

Either way, it was a beautiful building.  The scenery was lovely and somehow, a woman was using a large-scale bubble-blowing mechanism, so the whole place had big soap bubbles all around, which kids were chasing.  For a moment, Cas was chasing them, too. 

After we left the Plaza de Espana, we went to the neighborhood where the Gothic Seville Cathedral is located.  The cathedral is about what I have come to expect.  Having been raised by pragmatic Minnesota Lutherans, I often marvel at the decorative elements in cathedrals, and this one was not any different in that regard.  Evidently, the Seville Cathedral is the third largest church in the world, according to our tour guide.  The Internet has a few different ideas about which churches are bigger and which ones are smaller smaller.  Evidently, church size is up for discussion.  Still, it was beautiful, and to be sure, we took plenty of photos.  After the Cathedral tour, Cas and I had a particularly leisurely lunch.  We sat at a table in a sidewalk cafe for a whole meal, then shared a glass of Sangria after the meal was over.  The people watching was just that good.  

After we got back to the hotel, we relaxed a bit and got ready for our evening activities.  We did that by locating, purchasing and consuming a bottle of delicious Spanish red wine.  Having accomplished that, we were ready for the Flamenco show.  Cas and I were both impressed by the highly skilled dancers, though we were both more impressed by the guitar player.  Cas and I have both seen Eddie Van Halen in concert, and while Cas says that the guitar player this evening was no Eddie Van Halen, the two of them could have a meaningful conversation.  Either way, the dancing was interesting and the music was spectacular.  

The show actually wrapped up at 8 pm, and we had dinner afterward.  It seems strange to think about that from an American perspective, but the sun didn’t even think about diminishing until 9 pm, only to actually take the plunge at 9:30.  No wonder why Spaniards have a late dinner.  

Tomorrow will start here and head to Costa Del Sol by way of Ronda.  Should be a good one.  We need to get to sleep so we can be up in time for all of that.  Buenas Noches!

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

The Córdoba

This morning, we took a high speed train with our tour group from Madrid to Córdoba.  It was a journey that would have taken four or five hours by car, but took only two by this train.  I thought we would feel the speed while sitting in the passenger car, but it just felt smooth.  I think we ought to get a few of these things up and running in Texas.  That would connect Dallas, Austin, Houston and San Antonio very nicely.  Enough about the logistics of travel, though, I think now would be a good time to talk about ‘90s sitcoms and sandwiches.  

There was a super-cute television show that was on in the ‘90s that told the story of a small airline operating out of Nantucket.  The action of the show took place more often than not at the airport there.  It was called Wings.  Somehow, my family latched on to a thing that the charcters in the show said.  Whenever they had a get together, someone would always want to order a really big sandwich.  It’s was something like a party sub, all cut into individual pieces.  I haven’t seen this show in ages, but my whole family adopted the sandwich name for any really big meal served on bread.  Sometimes, we would buy a loaf of French bread and make a similar delicacy.  The show (and subsuquently my family) called this The Córdoba.  

You know when I saw that our tour would take us to the Spanish city of Córdoba, I needed to find a sandwich there.  Sure, it was great to see the Mezquita.  If I’m being honest, I am not 100 % sure what our tour guide today was saying the whole time, but from what I could understand, the building was constructed in stages by different groups of people over may centuries to serve as a place for religious services in more than one religion.  It was strange and beautiful with Roman and Arabic pieces.  The art was some parts Boroque, some Renaissance and some Gothic.  Honestly, it was all a bit confusing.  

We toured it and the surrounding city, but afterward, we were free to find lunch in Córdoba.  We ordered something that came with bread and made sandwiches.  We couldn’t manage to eat The Córdoba in Córdoba, but we tried to get close.  Shoot for the moon; land in the stars, right?  

After the whole Córdoba experience, we got back together with our group and took a bus to a fully operational olive oil farm.  It was interesting, to be sure, but we didn’t feel the need to pack up gallons of the stuff to drag around until our flight home in a few weeks.  We did learn a lot about how the oil is made and how to do a proper tasting, but honestly, I am just not picky enough to notice the difference.  

After leaving the olive oil farm, we made our way to Seville.  Certainly, we can find a barber shop here tomorrow and see if anyone in our group needs a haircut.  This would be the place for it.  

Ooh- I love your new look.  Did you get a new hairstylist?  

Why yes, I saw the barber of Seville!

What’s his name?

Figaro.

It would be a good story.  Still, I think my hair is about the right length where it is, and Cas had his trimmed before we left Dallas.   

But I digress.  As usual.  It’s late, and we have a rather full day tomorrow.  We have some sightseeing to do and a traditional Flamenco show in the evening. Good night, everyone.  Hasta Mañana.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

Holy Toledo

I had to call this entry Holy Toledo.  I’m afraid I had no choice.  Cas and I met up with our group today and boarded a bus to the city of Toledo.  And, yes, Toledo, Spain is a sister city to Toledo, Ohio.  Fun fact- the sisters Toledo were the first two cities in the world to develop such a relationship, so wherever you live, if your city has a sister city, it was only because the Toledoes invented the idea.  

When we got there, we got a few suggestions and a hand-marked map from our tour director.  We had a few hours to kill, after which, we would have a guided tour of the Toledo Cathedral and a few other buildings of great significance.  Somehow, we had to walk through a store first where they sold knives and swords.  Sure, it was pretty neat when we watched the craftsmen bang out a sword from heated metal with his hammer and anvil, but when the demonstration took two minutes and the gift shop took 30, Cas once again had occasion to appreciate that he found a woman who does not like to shop.  We walked out empty handed, though I did take the opportunity to snap a photo of Cas next to a full suit of armor.  We lacked the time (and the permission) to find out who wore it better, but certainly, Cas would have looked pretty great in the head-to-toe battle gear.  

The other really silly thing Cas needed to do today was swing past a place called the museum of cheese.  There are actually lots of shops around Madrid called The Museum of Ham, but Toledo was the first to feature a museum about cheese.  Specifically, it was about Manchego cheese, which is made from sheep milk.  

The guided tour was very interesting.  Our guide, Carlos can trace his family tree back for many, many generations in Toledo.  He had the most excellent timing of any guide I have seen.  He managed to walk into a site right as the last group was walking out and find the exact moment when the other half dozen tour groups were just behind us on the way to the bathroom.  The guy was magical.  

When we left there, we got on the big fancy bus and headed back to Madrid.  It’s our last night here, and we decided to try out one of the restaurants Riu recommended.  She lives in Madrid, and she has some stated preferences.  We went to one that was close by, and we were seated next to a woman who was clearly going for some kind of Guinness record for smoking.  She looked to be in her late seventies, though she may well have been my age, and she seemed to light a new cigarette every time the last one was extinguished.  She was sitting with a man who had a similar look.  One of them had an oxygen tank or some sort of portable air delivery device on wheels.  I was glad our chain smoking friend was so careful with her smoldering ashes.  A can of compressed gas near a smoker is a little terrifying.  Something we have learned about Spain (or maybe it’s just Madrid) is that it takes forever to pay the check at a restaurant.  You have to ask for it.  Usually, we have had to ask at least twice.  Even then, they take a while processing the transaction. It was about fifteen minutes this time, or in case you wanted to measure time in old Cruella de Cigarette terms, it was about two cigarettes.  I just know that my hair smells like an ashtray, and we will both be happy for tomorrow morning’s shower.  

Speaking of tomorrow. Cas and I have to be up and fed really early so we can take a high speed train to Córdoba.  Best to turn in early.  Good night!  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

Play Freebird

Last night, we went to the Plaza Mayor, which is effectively the busy, downtown square in Madrid.  The whole place was full of people, with restaurants and shops along the four sides of the main square and in all the walking paths leading to it.  The destination was a restaurant we’d be having a traditional dinner in, and since we’re Americans in our group (and two Canadians), we had the run of the place for what Spaniards would consider the early bird special.  

The big highlight of the evening (aside from the amazing food) was the Tuna music.  The singers/guitarists came into the room where we were eating and played some songs, taking requests from the group.  

Thankfully, the suggestions were pretty standard.  Besame Mucho was the first request, followed by Despacito.  I was glad no one suggested Livin’ La Vida Loca, though I am sure they would have played that.  Thankfully, no one yelled out “Play Freebird,” as is so often the case when musicians take requests.  I am going to try to put a link in here to my audio recording.  If it doesn’t work, I will update it when we get home: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Nv_125dSS9s16RFf2ibgTva9g9adn719/view?usp=drivesdk

Fingers crossed on that one.  If it works, you’ll hear what we heard. 

The rest of the night was great.  Cas and I let the rest of the group head back to the hotel without us, and we wandered around the plaza a bit.  We had a cider, took a selfie in front of the oldest continuously operating restaurant in the world and found our way back to the hotel using the subway system.  Cas is remarkably at ease figuring out how to use mass transit in foreign countries, which is perfect, because the prospect is a daunting one to me.  We got back to the hotel and had a glass of wine before we headed to the room, and now, we’re getting ready for our trip to Toledo.  It should be an all day affair, but we’re ready for it.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

I should really read Don Quixote

Today, our tour group had a large breakfast buffet at the hotel, then we packed into a very fancy tour bus for a lap around the city.  We saw countless statues and fancy buildings from different parts of Spanish history, all populating the same streets as one another.  There were palaces and parks, museums and statues and so many fountains.  We had an extremely charismatic local guide named Federico today, and he took us from place to place, narrating everything along the way.  He recommended we tell all our friends we had taken a side trip to Egypt as we strolled past the Temple of Debod, which was a gift to Spain from Egypt after the Spanish kicked in a few bucks to help build the Aswan Dam.  Quite the thank you gift.  There were fountains and statues in the center of every traffic circle, it seemed.  Behold, Christopher Columbus, or as he is called here, Cristobal Colon.  

When we had made a few laps around the sites in the city, our bus drove up to the Prado Museum.  I am not a big museum fanatic, but it was beautiful.  And I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for it.  No photos allowed inside the Prado.  

I did write down that April 23, 1616 is the date Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra died.  The people in Madrid celebrate something that day they call Book Day.  It’s a day when you give someone a book you like.  Maybe I will also set that as my deadline for actually reading Don Quixote, since this is the second vacation during which I have felt guilt over not reading that book.  Federico assured us that Shrek and his friend Donkey were just modernizations of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.  That kind of modern appropriation of classic characters happens all the time, though.  Heck, the seniors I teach are absolutely stunned every year when I tell them that Hamlet is just like the Lion King, except everyone dies.  Still, I may put book day down on my calendar.  Seems an appropriate holiday to adopt.  

Anyhow, after the two hour bus tour and the two hour guided museum tour, Cas and I struck out on our own to have some lunch.  I managed to order a plate of Iberian Ham, though they sliced it so nicely, it would have been a shame to grab a fistful.  He got some fish.  We enjoyed our lunch, then waited about 20 minutes to get and pay the check.  We could have walked slowly away and gotten several blocks away before they noticed we were gone, but our prickly need to pay for what we ate kept us sitting at a table in a sidewalk cafe.  No matter, though.  When we left, we took a walk back to the hotel and settled in for a quick siesta.  Before that, though, I had to wash my feet.  Cas and I were both wearing our very sturdy walking sandals today, and when I took them off, I felt the immediate need to wash both the shoes and my feet.  The sandals have been out on the balcony for a while, now, and I should be able to get back into them in time for our fancy dinner this evening.  We’re told it will be a typical Madrileno dinner in the Plaza Mayor.  Not sure what that means, but we’re game to find out.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

A fistful of ham

When we got off the bus in Madrid today, we made our way to the subway station, housed in the same structure.  It was a few escalators down from where we started, but Cas had figured out how to get to the right spot and which subway train to get on in order to make it more efficiently to our hotel.  He even had the cost figured out, but we weren’t entirely sure if we needed to buy some kind of pass card to add today’s fare to.  We wound up making such a purchase, but it was all worthwhile just to avoid a half mile walk on wobbly legs that only yesterday climbed a mountain.  

When we got to the hotel, there was an envelope at the desk for us.  It featured our room keys, an itinerary with specific times and a few pointers about the afternoon.  There was also a city map.  We had about two hours until we were expected back to the bar in the hotel lobby to officially meet our tour group.  

Cas and I went to the room and were pleasantly surprised.  The place where we’re staying is very nice.  There is a large bed in a spacious room with lots of little extras.  We took a moment to relax, then we decided to spend the next hour exploring before meeting up with everyone.  We walked down a sidewalk and stopped along the way for a glass of wine.  The waiter was abrupt and the other patrons on the sidewalk seemed to have an entirely different sense of smell than I have been blessed with.  I smelled cigarettes most of the time, but for extra fun, the table closest to us ordered calamari.  They received some of the worst smelling calamari I have ever been near.  

My mother’s maiden name was Cushing.  My cousins on that side of the family share with me the blessing (and the curse) of what we call The Cushing Nose.  We can smell everything.  It’s great when there’s a gas leak or you’re trying to figure out what flavor or seasoning you’re having.  It’s pretty bad when the smells are unpleasant.  My Cushing nose today was ready to move on from our sidewalk cafe table just about when the third or fourth cigarette came and the camalari was placed just upwind of us.  We didn’t stay long.  We wandered a bit after leaving there and saw a fountain. 

We continued our stroll and made our way back to the hotel, stopping back in our room to get ready to meet our group.  The initial meeting was good, if a little drawn out.  Our tour director was more deliberate about the details than most, explaining when and whom to tip, how to avoid pickpockets and what kind of pace to expect.  She goes by Riu- she says it’s like the first part of the word reunion.  In our group, we have a few folks form different parts of the US; a fellow Texan, a couple from Tennessee, I think, a bunch from Arizona and at least one from Minnesota.  There are other places represented, here, and to be sure, Riu is from more places than most of us.  I think she said her dad was Japanese and her mom was Irish.  She was born in Hawaii and raised in Southern California, but she has lived in Spain for a few decades.  I think I would lose track after a while, if I were her.  

Our big to-do with the tour group tonight was the welcome dinner.  We had a meal together at a restaurant nearby, and as we dined, we got to know our traveling companions,  Each person seemed to pepper Riu with questions.  Some asked about different destinations and excursions, while others asked about customs and behaviors in different places.  Cas and I sat across from another couple, and the man in that pairing asked specifically about Iberian ham.  It’s a pretty well renowned delicacy, and our tour director knew a lot about most of what she was asked.  She explained what to look for and which restaurants in town had the best offerings.  The man asked that, should we be near a great spot to find the best Iberian ham, she let him know.  He said he was a great foodie, and claimed he would, “run in real quick and come back out with a fistful of ham.”  That fella sure can paint a picture.  

I have eaten some ham along the way so far on this trip, and it’s been good- specifically, Cas and I had ham for dinner last night in San Sebastián.  There was a lot on the plate, in fact, but we failed to measure it by the fistful.  Maybe next time.  

Tomorrow, we have a guided tour of the city, including a visit to the Prado museum.  The tour company has a basic package and several things you can add on to your tour.  We love adding things on.  We added on a traditional Spanish evening including troubadours at the Plaza Mayor.  Not entirely sure what that means, but it’s listed as “tuna music” in the itinerary.  I do know that you can tune a piano, but you can’t tuna fish.  Sorry- Cas actually laughs when I make the bad jokes, so it’s partly his fault for encouraging me.  You should totally blame him for that joke.  Anyhow, buenas noches.  Until the morning, everyone. 

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

Lost in translation

For our evening meal last night, Cas and I planned to start at a cocktail bar down the street from where we are staying, then go to a restaurant about a half a block away.  He had done a little looking online, and both places had good reviews.  We started at a place called the Garbola bar.  The bartender there was a young Italian guy who seemed to take great pleasure in making fancy drinks.  Everyone else at the bar was having beer or wine, but when we ordered a mixed drink, he really got to work.  

The place where we are staying has names for the rooms instead of numbers, and our room is called Zurriola.  There was a drink on the menu with the same name, so we asked what was in it. When he said it was vodka, passion fruit and Cava (Spanish sparkling wine) we were game.  What we didn’t suspect was the production of the thing.  He iced two large wine glasses, poured in a shot of vodka and some juice, then cut a passion fruit in half.  From there, he mixed everything well and added the Cava, placed two raspberries in the rind of the passion fruit, sliced a small berry to place on the side of the glass, added a sprig of cranberries and did about a half dozen other things to make the drink look like a work of art.  It was pretty spectacular.  

We decided we wanted to see what he recommended to follow that up, so we asked for a sugggetion.  He made something with Japanese whiskey called “lost in translation” next, which was pretty great.  The irony wasn’t lost on us, either.  An Italian making a drink with Japanese liquor in a Spanish bar for two Americans.  Couldn’t get much more international if we tried.  When we paid the check (after he handed us some pintxos on the house), we walked to the restaurant we had chosen, and there was a sign on the door saying they were closed until June 14th.  If we wanted to eat there, we were 24 hours early.  Alas, we went right back to the place we had left and had dinner at the bar.  It was Spanish ham and octopus.  

When dinner was complete, we walked the short distance back to our room, appreciating a little more that the place where we’re staying bothered to name it instead of numbering it.  Now, we just have to get up and make our way to the bus station where we started this adventure, of course, locating some breakfast on the way.  After that, it’s on to Madrid. 

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

We put the fun in funicular

The morning started with a pastry and a coffee.  We began very early, at least according to our usual behavior- probably because we had gotten to sleep very early last night.  By the time it was 9 am, we had walked to the top of the local high point where there is a very old castle.  The folks here call them mountains, so I will just go ahead and announce that we climbed a mountain by the time most people around here were getting into work.  The Castillo de Mota is right at the coast, and was built about 1000 years ago, give or take a few.  It had been through several incarnations, but it was pretty clear that the cannons on display there were probably a good indicator about the location’s design.  It was part of plenty of wars and numerous defenses of the area.  Now, there is a giant statue of Jesus at the top of the castle, and he is visible from pretty much anywhere in the city.  It was a pretty challenging walk- more like a hike, and by the time we got back to the ground, we were ready for a second round of breakfast pastries.  The way people seem to eat in San Sebastián is frequently, and in small portions.  I am used to the American standard of three times a day, and portions to fill you up.  Not the case, here.  

After our second attempt at breakfast, Cas and I walked along the boardwalk overlooking the beach to the other high point in town, a place best accessed by a “funicular” car.  It is like a cross between a trolley and a gondola, built entirely at an angle and seemingly perfect for hauling passengers up the side of a small mountain to a peak.  

We arrived at the funicular departure point behind a crowd of children.  I was going to guess there were 200 kids there, but Cas seems to estimate about 50.  I guess it just sounded like 200.  I wasn’t terribly disappointed when we were too many to fit on the same car as them, so we had to wait for the next car.  When we got to the top, we had context for their enthusiasm.  I guess no one told us that there was a children’s amusement park up there.  Still, we rode up with a very nice Scottish man and his family, and that was perfectly lovely.  He assured us there was a bar opposite the amusement park.  Sure enough, there were a few bars and a bunch of really great lookout points.  

At the top of the second mountain, we had a glass of wine and a snack- more pintxos (pronounced peen-chos) to tide us over until lunch.  We are trying to do things like the locals, so we had a large meal at around 1:30.  We were ready for it, too.  By the time we sat down to a proper meal today, we had walked so long that my legs, feet and ankles hurt.  Even Cas, who typically seems to have a magic switch that shuts off exhaustion in cases of travel was ready to sit still and replenish some serious calories.  

After lunch, we went to the museum about Basque culture.  It was in a building that had once housed a monestary, and to match the shape of the land they built on, the main structure was a trapezoid, not a square.  We made it through the first floor of exhibits and part of the second floor before we ran out of steam.  It’s a fine museum giving the history of the area, but I am really no wiser about Basque culture than when I went in.  We were more tired than curious at a certain point, and in the middle of the second floor of exhibits, tired won out.  We went back to our room for a nap.  We had to take one for a few reasons- we had walked for many miles, several of them up some challenging paths and large stone seps, but mostly, we wanted to have a traditional dinner here in San Sebastián, and the tradition is to eat around 9:30 pm.  No way were we going to be able to handle that, having been up and moving at 5:30 am.  

So, now we are done with the nap, and all that remains is to get out the door and eat what promises to be a large evening meal.  After that, we sleep, wake and get to a bus station for a 10:00 trip to Madrid.  That’s when the organized tour starts.  We saw and did so much already today that I nearly forgot we hadn’t even joined our tour group yet.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

Pintxos and wine

Right around the time you realize you’ve been wearing the same pair of shoes for 24 hours, you find yourself with a choice to make.  You can take the shoes off and surrender to the nap your body so desperately demands, or you can walk just a few more steps and try to see what your new destination has to offer.  Cas and I kept our shoelaces tied (though, to be fair, I took mine off briefly and then returned them to my feet, just to have a moment’s freedom), and we wandered around the old town of San Sebastián.  We walked up and down narrow streets, stopping at at least three different places for Pintxos, which is what Tapas are called in Basque Country.  It’s essentially little appetizer-sized portions of things, and you can select from stuff that’s already made. The restaurant will heat what needs to be warm and leave cool what needs that treatment, then bring the plate to your table.  Somehow, though, when we said we would share our food, each restaurant thought we also meant to share a fork.  Maybe it’s a Spanish tradition.  

We listened to an old man play violin on a street corner, though he wasn’t terribly gifted, and we heard a trio (or at times, a quartet) of men from a restaurant across the square singing a-cappella while setting up their outside tables for the evening rush.  We walked to a beach, saw the town’s Constitution Square and took a moment to drink in the scenery and the wine.  

It’s been a pretty long journey getting here.  We got very little sleep on the overnight flight, leaving us to doze off on the Madrid to Bilbao flight and the Bilbao to San Sebastián bus, but we’ve made it to something resembling evening, and I think we may be ready to tackle a regular length day tomorrow.  We’re looking into the different things we may want to see, but we’ve adopted a decidedly slower pace this evening.  After the rush of making plane to plane to bus to bus connections, our whole plan for the rest of our time in San Sebastián is to relax.  And maybe take off our shoes here and there.  

Photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

This is not what they said in Defensive Driving

A nearly nine hour flight took us from DFW to Madrid, and another one carried us to Bilbao.  From there, we took a city bus to the main bus station, and the one we’re on now will get us to San Sebastián.  The city bus driver was aggressive.  I don’t have another word for it.  He rolled over a curb, shimmied between a few cars I wouldn’t have tried to get between myself in my little car and he got us to the bus station at deft speed.  

There were a couple of moments when Cas or I wanted to snap a photo out the bus window, but it was going too fast.  Here’s a park I managed to capture.  

That’s all I have for the time being.  We will get to our room and I will have more time to write- this was just to say we’re alive and well, headed to San Sebastián and starting off the adventure.  Adios!

El aeropuerto

Cas and I are at the DFW airport, and so, the next trip of ours starts.  Most of them start here.  It was a little worrisome, at first, since the airline assigned us our original seats totally at random.  I had a window seat. So did Cas.  The windows were at opposite sides of the airplane, and on different rows.  

I know Cas and I will be spending virtually every moment of time together over the next few weeks, but that doesn’t mean we wanted to sit on opposite sides of the plane on the way to Spain.  

All settled.  We waited for a gate agent, and he changed the seats for us without the up-charge the American Airlines website wanted to extract.  I was worried we wouldn’t be able to get better seats, but Cas assured me that, if we talked to a human, we could get some better result.  He was correct.  Now, neither of us has a window seat, but we are going to be side by side.  That will work.  

Cas has set up a photo album, though it is currently empty, but this is the link to it: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pfA2563myHYwVp6U7

So... Away we go.  

Summertime, and the livin's easy

If you ever become a teacher or you are one already, it's a very good idea to marry another teacher.  It's not the most lucrative profession out there, but you and your spouse will get some pretty sweet blocks of vacation time.  Certainly, these vacation periods are not unearned- spend several months with other people's teenage children and tell me you don't need a breather.  Still, when the summer comes, we all collectively exhale and start to make our dreamed-about plans into realities.  This summer, it's Spain.  

We booked an organized, guided tour, but everyone who we spoke with told us to add a stop in San Sebastian to our otherwise comprehensive trip.  Here's a map: 

We take off in nine days and stay gone for just over two weeks.  Of course, I will be documenting the whole thing here, partially to share with everyone back home, and partially so I have something to read and smile about when I am back with other people's teenagers in the fall and need to conjure up a good memory.  As is our custom, Cas and I have been "practicing."  We've had some Spanish wine and some Sangria.  We've been to a very good tapas restaurant.  We have probably forgotten more of the words and phrases from our Spanish class than we remember, but we know enough to get from an airport to a hotel.  We just need to pack a few things in our maletines and head to the aeropuerto, then it's adios, Estados Unidos!