Life: Idiotropic

It rained all night and into the morning.  The sound was soothing, but the forecast not.  Another wet day of vacation and though no one really felt like walking in the rain, the fridge was fairly bare and we didn't have enough to keep us full all day - or warm. We needed firewood too.  Hemming and hawing, then finally a decision to go.

On a nice day you can easily park in the Alhambra's vast parking lots and walk down to Granada's Albaicin district.  On a nice day without children, it would be a leisurely walk.  Today, with rain and clouds and cold and wind,  we thought it best to park closer.

So we left the parking lot, and drove into town.  I was using my internal navigation system with a general idea of where I wanted to go based on the view I had a couple days prior from the top tower of the Alhambra.  Lucky husband to be driving a car down tiny little cobbled streets in and out of illogical traffic with his wife's "internal navigation system."  Of course, I was using my GPS too and my iphone and the poor man somehow stayed sane enough.  Parking garages were hard to find, or full, or being painted.  A lot of driving in circles and we finally found one near the Plaza Real and parked.

It had a bathroom.  The girls used it.  Kirk used it.  Kirk didn't come out of it.  The door was stuck.  The lock was broken.  I heard the door handle shake, keys and coins jingled.  He was looking for his Leatherman and trying to take the door apart.  Tiara and I rummaged through our purses trying to find anything that would work to take apart the door handle from our side.  Coins, keys, tweezers, and eyelash curlers are not valid replacements for a small phillips head screwdriver.  We know that now.  I also know that although it's really fun to kick in doors, I just don't have the strength.  I tried twice and failed twice.  15, 20 minutes later we'd all given up.  Screws, handles and various parts were all piled up on Kirk's side of the door, but it remained completely locked.  The girls and I ran up a few flights of stairs to the little help station in the garage and I told them that my husband was locked in the bathroom on the 3rd level.  They weren't surprised.  Apparently it's a reoccurring problem.  Before Elise and I caught up, the door was open.  No idea how.  Kirk handed the man a pile of brass parts and we all walked away.  Our first 20 minutes in Granada and all we'd seen was a stinky old parking garage.

The silver lining was in the sun that had miraculously made an appearance during that time underground, so without umbrellas, we found our way up the street, down pedestrian only cobbled streets to a nice plaza set up with a small market near the church.  I had a map in my head and my iPhone maps in hand, so I could track where we were according to where I wanted to go.  The black tiles that covered the ground in the plaza by the church were just wet enough to reflect the Cathedral in their smooth surface.

We never did find the Cathedral's entrance, so we never ventured inside, but we did walk around it noting several old fountains and two herb and spice sellers - tables filled with baskets heaped with herbs, teas, and spices all sold per gram in bulk.  The saffron is so intensely neon that it looks more like the cheese powder in Kraft's macaroni and cheese.

A lady in the gift shop told me that the old Albaicin district is too far to walk.  "Take the bus," she said.  "With the children it is too far."  We walked a couple blocks, stopped short at cries of "I'm hungry," and found a treasure.  A tiny Indian restaurant tucked into a tinier ally near the Plaza Nuevo.  Beautiful, quiet, and the most delicious food.  Everyone ate.  Elise loved the cheese stuffed naan.  Luci ate Elise' tandoori chicken.  Everyone just thoroughly enjoyed each dish although my assumption that the medium spiciness might be too bland was wrong and I missed the days of free all you can drink tap water as I ordered yet another large bottle to wash away the heat.  We left this time with a printed map and the good news that the Albaicin is not that far.

The Carrera del Darrio leads from the Plaza Nuevo along a narrow sunken stream between the edge of the old Moorish neighborhood and the hill where the Alhambra sits.  The road is so narrow in parts that when traffic goes by, people immediately dart into doorways and paste themselves flat along the walls.  The car passes and people relax again and spill into the streets.  Peak over the side of the old stone railing and you'll see the creek below, the grassy bank, and about a hundred cats.  Not all together, but grouped into small groups, wild cats are everywhere.

The historic Albaicin.  This is what I really wanted to see in Granada - the old neighborhood of narrow passageways and cute shops.  I didn't have a plan or an agenda.  The Moorish bathhouse that I'd hoped to see was already closed and that was ok, really.  I just wanted to walk, see, photograph, and soak up a bit of the famed atmosphere of this special part of Granada.  We walked along the creek until nearly the end of the road there, then cut in to the quiet residential streets, stretching gently upwards towards the San Nicolas church.  Walked up one, cut over, walked down, then over, then up again... a zig zag of curiosity down absolutely silent streets, many with a clear view of the palace on the hill.  An occasional local, or an occasional tourist, but little else stirred there.  Eventually we neared the southern end near the Church of San Gregorio where the neighborhood sprang to life very much in the style of Paris' Montmarte.  Artsy, crowded with tourists, with a bit of a rough counter-culture.  Brightly colored Moroccan wares spilling out of shops onto the sidewalks, insense, and rows upon rows of hookah pipes.  Through tea shop windows groups sat around tiny tables taking their turn puffing on the hookah pipes in the center snapping souvenier photos as it went around.  The sun had set and the streets here were getting livelier.  After all, it was New Year's Eve.  We looked in a few shops looking for the genie lamp that Arianna hoped to find, didn't find anything that we couldn't live without, though looking back, the prices were fantastic.  Seville and local shops here are much more expensive.

Dark and time to head home, we made our way back towards the church.  The holiday themed lights hung over the streets, each street with different lights.  Poinsetias, angels, ribbons, and chandeliers.  The girls paused at the shoe stores.  Tiara went into a crowded clothing store.  It's the week after Christmas, but there aren't any sales here yet.  The Spanish don't get gifts until January 6th, so this is the busy week for last minute shopping.  We hoped to get ice cream for the girls, but all the local ice cream shops in the plaza were closed and the churro shops, though they sell ice cream as well, were so crowded, there was no way we could find a place for 6 to sit, so we circled the Plaza de Bib-Rambla then headed back towards our parking garage finding a Ben and Jerry's next door.  Not what I'd hoped for.  Not local, not new, way too American, but convenient and open on a night that the girls needed the ice cream treat we'd promised.  New Year's Eve we let them get the big chocolate and candy coated cones.

We didn't have any grapes and still needed breakfast things, so we stopped at the Corte Ingles just before leaving.  They have a beautiful grocery store - high end, but nice.  It was packed, and difficult to navigate, but we were able to get grapes (a Spanish New Year's food) and enough snacks for the remainder of our time in Granada.  It showered as we came out and we ran for the car.

New Year's Eve is Spain is a quiet family holiday.  Families and friends stay in together, share a nice meal, relax, and watch the New Year arrive in relative quiet.  Crazy parties happen after midnight if they happen at all.  We'd hoped to do something different for New Years.  I'd looked for concerts or shows, for city celebrations or special festivities that we might participate in, but not here.  In some towns they go for a run in red underwear, but not here and not this family.  So, we celebrated in traditional Spanish style, together as a family in the quiet of our home (our vacation rental), and with a bunch of grapes.

As we waited for midnight,  Kirk played Skip-Bo with the girls while I blow-dried the rest of our wet laundry.  Elise fell asleep early.  I counted out grapes.  And as we neared the last 12 seconds, as if the bell of the church was audible, I tried to eat one grape with each ring of the bell.  It's a tradition.  12 grapes with each of the 12 rings of the bells striking midnight.  12 eaten brings 12 months good luck.  I only ate 6 in time.  It's harder than it sounds.

Another day tomorrow.  Happy New Year.

More  Photos:  http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=181665&id=674507268&l=a63502bdc4

Travel shows, guides, and locals will boast the intense beauty and diversity of Granada and its surrounding area.  Where else could you ski by day, then dine outside on the beach while watching the sunset?  Snow and a warm beach only 45 minutes apart?  Phenomenal.

We'd seen the beach.  Today, it was time for snow.  In fact, so determined to see snow were we that I'd packed bulky bibs, boots and other snow gear, things I'd only need this one day, in our clown car at the beginning of this trip.  An entire bag of clothing that we'd only need 1 out of 12 days in a vehicle where every square inch of space counted and laps weren't empty.  We wanted snow and lots of it.  I hoped to flop down in a bank of it and flap my arms like I was 5.  Elise threatened to stuff snow down Tiara's pants.  They all had their hearts set on a good snowball fight and may be a family of snowmen - icy Stahlbaum lookalikes left for the locals.

And we were off up towards Granada following the signs to the Sierra Nevada and Monachil, the place where it all happens, a village created and sustained by all things snowy.  Shopping, restaurants, villas and apartments.  A city based on snow.  Lifts take off from the center of it dangling like strung Christmas lights up the hill over the tops of chalets, higher and higher to the mountain tops where that intoxicating white stuff is deepest.

The road like most we found here is another one of those narrow curvy things that was carved into the side of the mountain giving you a spectacular view of the valley below looking out over the cliffs edge.  Winds blew hard.  A few times we held our breath feeling the pull of the wind and watching the lines of the road even more intently.  In one area we saw cows perched on tiny hills like mountain goats.

It was eerie going up.  I was seriously worried.  After all... it was a long way up.  40 minutes of twists and turns and the entire way a steady flow of ski topped cars going down.  What did everyone else know?  I tried to check weather.  We've seen the snow.  It's up there.  We can see it from our village behind us - a mountain top covered in snow.    Eventually we reached Monachil, a town that should have been magically covered in wonderous white.  It was grey, dreary, wet, and there was not a drop of white in sight.  But... there's no turning back now.  We parked.  The kids got their bibs on. We were ready to find it.

One lift was right in front of us when we walked out of the parking garage.  A thin muddy patch of snow, another small patch, nothing solidly white until somewhere out of view.  A view mixed with grey clouds, the blur of rain, and a rush of wind pushing it sideways.  The lift was still.  A random couple or family walked by.  It was a ghost town.  An iron grate in the path and we were walking over the top of a rushing waterfall.  Ski racks sat empty.  Half the shops were closed.  The wind blew so hard, we had to grab the girls hands to help them walk against it.  The rain got heavy and we dashed in for food.  The fam got average Italian.  I got the best meal of the trip - Pato Confitado con Salsa Mozarabe - the biggest, moistest, most flavorful duck I've ever eaten.  Perfectly cooked veggies and the sauce, wow - can I call it multidimensional?  That's what it was.  A balance of salty and sweet, loaded with flavor, but not overpowering.  So many overlapping flavors.  Why can't all Spanish food be like this?  Forget the trip.  This was the best meal I've eaten out since moving to Spain.  I think the influence of the arabe culture is good for the cuisine here.  It's richer than what I see here on the coast.

Dinner's over.  The waitress tells me that all the lifts are closed because of wind and gives me a website to try next time.  Sigh.  Next time.  We take a little walk, duck into a shop to buy gloves for Elise, then give the snow one last effort trudging up the stairs against the wind in the increasing rain.  Finding nothing, we gave up and came back down, got to the car, desuited, and headed back down the mountain home to Lanjaron.

Dishes, games, laundry.  Elise beat Tiara brutally in a game of war then began to challenge everyone else.  Kirk teaches Arianna and Luci  to play Skip Bo.  I blow dry last nights laundry by the fire, then pack up the winter gear.  Won't need this again until...?


MORE PHOTOS:  http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=181649&id=674507268&l=f74d12e03b

Vacation Day 3 Part 1 -

This morning Tiara had a sore throat and didn't want to go anywhere, my littles were hoping for a day at home to watch the Brady Bunch and play, and Kirk liked the idea of a slow morning.

I was the only one interested in "touring" the village that we were staying in and to be perfectly fair my need for continual picture taking bores even the kindest of relatives.  So this morning, after picking out clothes for the littles and making sure that things were set, I walked down the steep road to town to enjoy a leisurely photo taking extravaganza.

Known as the "Gateway to the Alpujarras," Lanjarón is a city known throughout Spain for their water.  Even in my Valencian village, Lanjarón water is found bottled in all the grocery stores.  Fresh from the Sierra Nevadas behind it, the majority of the run off finds its way to this sprawling white village on the edge of a steep drop where only an old Moorish ruin sits isolated on a rock with a road leading to it so steep it looks as if it hangs out over nothing.  Just outside town you see endless stacks of bottle filled crates and a parking lot of semi-trucks waiting to haul it off.  In town, water is plentiful and good.  The tourist map shows the 'water route' of 17 fountains mostly tiled in ceramic with poetry by Federico Garcia Lorca.  And if you're a bit "loca" you can participate in the water festival every year where runners attempt to get from one side of the city to the other without getting wet.  Firetrucks lie in wait, men with buckets stand ready, squirt guns, hoses, the works... you're bound to get wet, but if by some miracle you arrive completely dry, a beautiful leg of jamon serrano awaits you as a prize - hoof and all.

Also unique to Lanjarón is not the presence of, but the sheer abundance of niche shrines.  There's even a map that shows all 41 hidden in alleyways and high on walls throughout the town.  All different, they show saints and virgins, miracles, and other Biblical scenes within.  I certainly didn't see all 41, but I saw enough.  Behind the reflective glass some were hard to see well, but it's like a treasure hunt to find them in such obscure places.

Shop doors here are generally open unless the weather is particularly nasty.  A large collection of thick rubber strands hang obscuring the view inside and keeping out both flies and weather.  And signage is barely there, so unless you're in the know on some of these smaller streets, there is no way to tell the difference between a really nice produce shop and someone's home.  Little portals barely tall enough for me (I did have to duck twice and I'm not tall) lead to quiet alleys that lead to other smaller alleyways and homes.  No car could make it - these passages are for people only - or bicycle though I didn't see any.  I wonder how they move in to these places where no vehicle could reach?  They run between the two main cobblestone roads of the village so I was able to use them to cut back quickly to the main fountain where I met Kirk at the end of my walk.

It felt good to be out.  People there are friendly.  An old man watched me as I took a picture of one fountain.  The sun was making it difficult to take without getting glare on the shiny glazed tile.  He told me to come to where he was - it's a good spot here.  So I did and said "gracias" and we started talking.  I asked him if he was from that town and told him how beautiful it was.  "Then you should move here," he reasoned.  Hmmm.  May be I should.  It was an oddly warm day then - sunny and bright.  People sat on their balconies overlooking the street.  All the benches were full.  It was one of those beautiful mornings when people were out just to be out, to smile, to see friends and neighbors, and to stand for hours on sidewalks talking to them.  I went to the "market municipal" just to see it.  It was quiet, but I did get a great picture of a half pig hanging from a hook - not beautiful, but interesting.  I walked by another little meat stand where two woman were shopping.  The salesman saw my camera and said "take a picture of us."  I stopped and looked and the two woman turned, looked at me and my camera curiously for a second, then realizing what he'd said, shook their heads very quickly in disagreement and started to back away.  The man laughed.  And I didn't take that picture.  The only other photo that I didn't get was of this creepy guy who was lingering in one of those narrow alleyways.  I passed by, then he whistled back and posed with his arms out as if dancing to YMCA.  It felt too strange, so I quickly walked on. 

Vacation Day 3 Part 2

Met Kirk at the roundabout in the sun with the fountain in the center right across from the Ayuntamiento and a couple small groups of old men in tweed caps chatting about whatever old men chat about.  Stood there and people watched while I waited, then he drove up and we were off to enjoy part two - some time on the beach of southern Spain.

Ahhh. Southern Spain.  A brief alliteration, but so sweet.  There is something about the sound of "Southern Spain" that signals serenity and the sipping of sangria under the Spanish sun.  :)  Ok, so I'm getting silly with the Ss, but you get the idea.  Really.  To me, there is something intoxicating about that sound - Southern Spain.  Add playa and I'm there.

And this playa.  Oh my goodness... so so very warm.  There in my thick black tights, skirt and sweater and roasting in that Spanish sun.  A little sangria would have been soothing.


The best views sadly, are on the wrong side of the road.  It pained me to drive west along the windy road high above the coast with the aqua blue sea on my left and postcard perfect white villages and homes tucked in and among the soft green hills.  To see it and not be able to stop. Torturous.  But the cliff fell off on the left and the handful of turnouts were at dangerous corners where it woulnd't be safe to cross oncoming traffic and park.  I assuaged my torment with the idea that we'd be coming back... I could get those shots on the way home.

Our quirky apartment landlord recommended Almuñecar's Playa de Cabria, but we didn't see it until we were coming home later so we stopped at a quiet beach just past Almuñecar, La Herradura.  Lined with restaurants and shops, but not overly touristy, this cove is encircled by white homes on the green hills that flank it, an old lighthouse rests on top of on to the west, and hangliders ride the currents all around.

The sand is course and rocky, but we enjoyed another hunt for agates, beach glass, and smoothed beach tiles.  We played, stopped for lunch early because Elise had to use the bathroom, then went back outside to play again and watch the sunset.  Arianna and Elise enjoyed a beach playground, Kirk created a zen garden from grasses and reeds, and Luci and I strolled leisurely, necks craned downward, looking for treasure and filling our pockets.  The sun set, it darkened, and we stopped at an ice cream shop before leaving - a great place filled with locals who greeted each other as they walked in and  leaned comfortably on the bar with their elbows to chat with the owners.  The local police stopped for ice cream too - just as smiley and chatty as everyone else.  May be it's in the ice cream.

Got groceries at the market on the way back to the car.  The girl working there talked to the girls a little in English and gave them each a free beach ball.  Happy children and two tired parents about to drive away with three sugar infused kids now playing with large inflated beach balls - in our tiny car.  Uh, not so happy.  But her name was Elise too and she was very sweet.  More friendly Spanish.  Not complaining.

So we'd watched the sunset and it was dark and all those amazing views before turned to blackness dotted with lights hardly even worth stopping now.  A drive east down the coast, then between mountains, around lakes glowing aqua in the moonlight, and home to Lanjaron where the road to our house was almost passable enough to take without closing my eyes.

Brady Bunch and games of War.  The quiet family evenings have been especially nice on this trip.

Early to bed...

Tomorrow we hit the snow.

MORE PHOTOS:  http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=181313&id=674507268&l=18b2a4154f

Moorish palace city turned Christian palace. Ancient art upon a hill overlooking a town older still and the mountains that surround it. Unfathomable details, simple, yet so ornate the human eye can't capture them with a glance. It takes minutes of careful observation to take it in. And even then... the camera can capture more, yet still doesn't do it justice. An amazing sense of tranquility even when surrounded by so much - the columns, the arches, the hand carved walls and ceilings. Absolute awe. This is the Alhambra.

Or the palaces at least. Because that's what most people envision when they year that name. They think of the famous photos of the star arched ceilings, the contrasting arched doorways, and the minutest details set into stone that you wonder at the artists who created them. What were they thinking when they were creating this? Did they ever see it finished? And, as Holly asked, "What did they have for lunch?"

Tickets sell out weeks in advance and thankfully, I knew that, so we ordered ours online then just had to present the credit card we used to quickly print them at the self service machines. The only time available today was the 0830 time slot - the first group of the morning. Paranoid we'd miss it and unsure of traffic, we were up by 0545, in the car by 0700 and parked by 0750. Smart. The streets were eerily empty, but the lines were already forming at the entrance gate.

The gates opened at 0815 and the mad dash began. The grounds are enormous encompassing the General Life exhibits, beautiful gardens, the fortress, church, palaces, and other buildings. It was quite a walk from the gate to the Palace entrance. Our tickets were stamped 0830. Each group had a different entry time. They control the numbers - which makes it nice. Photos without heads are hard enough to get, but too many would inhibit the ability to really see the palace. The first room was beautiful, but dark. And I've seen a lot of churches and castles here. Pretty ceilings have to be fairly amazing to impress me. So, eh, the first room was just that. Eh.

And then it begins to get interesting. As you proceed deeper into the castle, it becomes more beautiful. Intensely detailed carvings that enveloped entire walls, entire rooms from floor to ceiling, columns, arches and all. And the star ceiling - the perfect dome of mocarabes in the Hall of the Two Sisters. This is one of several places there that is almost without words - one of those sights so amazing that everyone stops talking, the room falls silent, eyes get big, and jaws fall open wordless. I so wanted to stand there and snap photo after photo. The big picture was so impressive that I kick myself now having gotten that, but no details here at all. And the photo can't even approach the complexity of the reality. I'd go back today just for this room. To go, sit, sketch, and photograph.

Beyond the striking detail of the many rooms of this palace is the peace and tranquility that courses through this it. Even with the tourists and the sheer amount of intricate details that should overload the senses, there is an overwhelming feeling of quiet. Serenity. To be able to lay on the floor and look up - even for 5 minutes alone. That would be such a gift.

The palace eventually ends, but there is far too much to see. The fortress with high walls you can walk upon and tower viewpoints give you a taste of the grandeur that attracted kings to this place, so tall there with the wind blowing in our faces to look out and see so much, the old Albacin neighborhood, greater Granada, and the snow capped mountains.

Sadly, work happens and you can't plan vacations around scaffolding or you'd never go anywhere. Happy they fix things, but wish they'd fix things at midnight or on someone else's vacation, we missed the Lion Fountain - one of the most famous spots here and one of the rooms just off of it that looked amazing even without the ugly green and aluminum racks.

We also had the misfortune to arrive at the door of the tallest tower exactly as a Spanish man was going in. He looked at us, told us he had some work to do, and closed the door. He came back out, looked up, and yelled back and forth with a man who was passing a cable down. "30 minutos." he estimates. We turn away and walk down the stairs, stop and discuss. Do we miss the tower and just go enjoy the gardens? Do we wait for the tower to open? This is Spain after all... 30 minutes could mean 3 hours and a lunch break. A few minutes later, the man shuts the door again behind him and leaves. A group of Japanese tourists start up the stairs, try the door, peak inside, look back, then enter. Several other couples and small groups watch them, look around to see if someone is around, then follow. Kirk says wait. Let's see if they get kicked out. A few minutes more and they are all at the top looking over. We go to the door. The worker comes back, goes inside, shuts the door, and locks it this time.














And we wait. And a line forms. And every few minutes someone at the end comes up to try the door themselves as if we are all too dumb to have done that. And another one will ask us how much longer and we answer 30 minutes, but that was 20 minutes ago so may be not long now. And I want to turn away because surely the view can't be that much better, but after waiting, we almost have to stay, so we do and eventually we get up and I take a million pictures or so and then we go. Worth it, I don't know, but if I go back, I won't stand in line again, that's for sure.

A casual walk back. Peaking inside a large square building with a circular courtyard inside that now houses a museum that we knew the kids just couldn't endure. A visit to the overly crowded gift shop with antique pottery priced up to 600 Euros a bowl. A visit with an American woman who is tired of the rain in Spain, and has spent her last three days in Granada sitting on a wall outside feeding the many stray cats of the Alhambra and cleaning the eyes and ears of the tiny kitten with only one good eye. Her son had the kitten tucked into his jacket while she threw bits of deli ham to the others. Sitting on old cannons, photos of the gardens, a break on a bench listening to the German tourists talking around us and watching as a giant tow truck (something that could probably tow a bus) came down the narrow pedestrian path and made a 135 degree turn down another pedestrian only path, slowly, surely, not a 3-point turn, but may be a 25-point one two men behind pushing back tourists who kept getting stupidly close. Hungry, but not willing to pay tourist prices for average sandwiches at the restaurant there. Final looks back, we don't want to leave... but it's time... and just as they scan our tickets as we enter, they scan our tickets as we leave as well. 1304. We had to leave by 2 anyway. No staying all day at the Alhambra.

So we get to the car and within minutes all four of the girls are asleep and instead of going back to our place Kirk presses on towards the coast and we land on the beach in Motril. Not a pretty town, but hey, it's the beach and it's sunny and amazingly warm, so we stop at an Italian place for a nice hot meal, then walk on the rocky beach as the sun sunk lower in the sky. We found bits of beach glass and water worn tile pieces. No shells, but treasures still. And Elise and Luci found an old dead fish - a big one - that they poked, prodded, and played with with long sticks.

A drive back impeded happily (for me) by two herders, five dogs of various sizes, and a large flock of goats. There's something very charming to me about a large herd of animals crossing a road - simple and beautiful - a job centuries old. I'd love to be a sheep herder for a day. These two probably think I'm crazy to take photos, but I did. Blurry ones- the goats were quick and we were driving. I yelled out the window. "They are beautiful! How many are there?" "Cuarenta," they say. It looks like more than 40, but still. Such a treat.

And then we do eventually get home. Just 30 minutes away. Happy to be home after a long day. Brady Bunch and hot cocoa, the sound of rain and the warm crackle of a wood fire.

WIKI ARTICLE: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alhambra

MORE PHOTOS: 
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=180326&id=674507268&l=bcb523939b

Sunday morning. Kirk and I were happy to find a tiny cramped market that was open. Smaller than my living room, it had all the basics and fresh baked bread. I only had 25 Euros cash with me, so we added as we went along, then saw the really big loaf of fresh bread behind the tiny old lady who worked there with her son. They tried to talk us out of it. "The whole thing?," they asked. "But it's too big. It's 3 kilos!" But I have a big family. "Oh, well it gets better after a couple days." After last night's cheerio dinner, the kids were thrilled to have "real food."

Soon we were on our way to see the high Alpujarran villages nestled just below the snowline in the mountains behind us.

This was the only complete day of sun on our trip and a break for the locals from weeks of rain before. The older people in the village huddled in small groups along the side of the road and occasionally partially in the road. A man stood smoking in our single lane as we turned the corner carefully not to hit him. He didn't move a bit - just stared. An elderly woman in a pink robe mopped the sidewalk in front of her home. A couple walked to church hand in hand. The sun had everyone smiling. There was a lot of waving to neighbors and friends.

These mountains are steep, but terraced, and narrow. Instead of a chain of massive Mt. Hood's, these pikes and valleys form a honeycomb of ups and downs, twists and turns as the road does it's best to follow connecting the peaks as it goes.

The curved left our village and curled around giving us our first view of the white village we'd call home that week. It was then that we heard Tiara's joyful exclamation, "SNOW!" And there it was. A fluffy white peak looking out from behind our village.' Clean and untouched. The kids were excited.

Between Lanjaron and Orgiva the hills were soft and undulating, terraced and planted with row upon row of olive trees. The taller mountains stood high and craggy in the background and just as we rounded the bend near Orgiva, the Med Sea came into view, a stripe of blue barely distinguishable against the blue of the sky.

The drive was a twisty hour consistently up and constantly turning. We passed other white villages, a cave, a beautiful white chapel sitting alone on the cliff's edge with the pastor's website graphittied onto it in green paint, a station wagon covered in bags of oranges - just 2 Euros a bag, and many waterfalls which, curiously, seemed to disappear and reappear at different times of day.

Soon we were driving through Pampimiera, the lowest of this trio of villages. Though the Alpujarras are known for many small white villages, these three are special, both in location and proximity to each other. A traveler can easily hike from one to the other and the views from each are spectacular.

Near Capiliera the road was almost completely washed out from the rains the days before. Mud and rocks covered our lane completely allowing just a car width between the mud and the cliff's edge. As we entered the town a herd of goats bleated on the cliff above us. The kids were excited hoping to see them again when we came back down.

We drove to the top where the houses end, parked and walked down the hill. There's one road that curves through town. The rest are pedestrian. White houses stuck together connected by walls and balconies. Small storefronts selling kilims (Moroccan prayer rugs), pottery, and other souvenirs. A tiny meat market. A handful of restaurants - the best of these villages - to keep the hungry tourists there long enough to buy just one more rug... or two. We left there with 5. Beautiful and simple, our larger rug costs only 28 Euros. Kirk had seen similar ones in Turkey for 300. I insisted on walking amongst the houses, down to the church, and around to the edge where the houses start spilling over as if sliding down the mountain. Looking out upon steep stairways and flat rooftops. The run off from the snow above is carefully channeled here - through planned canals - probably creating those waterfalls that "turn on and off" so easily.

The girls were hungry, so we moved on, driving towards Bubion. Bubion is quieter without as many restaurants. It's also beautiful and doesn't seem as touristy, but there aren't as many places to park either and since we didn't see a host of restaurants to choose from and the clamor of the girls kept growing, we moved on. Kirk was kind enough to stop a few times so I could get photos and I griped about the fact that every view was impeded by either a very poorly placed electrical line, or a very badly placed tree. Either way, it will take serious editing to make those views look good.

Pampimiera is probably the biggest and most touristy of the three, but still a very nice town. We parked in the large parking lot and walked within the pedestrian area to the city center across from the church where we sat to eat at Belezmin. A portly waiter came out, cleaned our table, and brought us a menu in English. We had a giggle over the translation "kid with garlic" but, though interesting, no one chose that. Three got pizzas, two got Albondigas. None was hot. My meatballs were barely warm. Flavorless, blech, but food - real food - and we were hungry, so it didn't matter. A couple stray dogs and three stray cats took turns circling our table looking for a lukewarm handout. The black cat sprayed Kirk's jacket that Elise had been using as a blanket. Gross. Kirk was repulsed to put it on, smell the distinctive smell, and realize what had happened.

The kids were tired after lunch, so Kirk took them back to this amazing exercise playground next to the parking lot and I hurried through the streets taking photos and ducking into shops. I kick myself now - the best prices of our trip were found here. Loved the shops. One sold only things made in Spain by local artisans and his prices were half of what I saw in Seville. I would have bought a few things if I would have known and if we had more room in our tiny rental car.

The streets all end in green lusciousness, the slopes falling away at the edges. No urban sprawl here where the mountains themselves dictate where a town will end. The snow seems so close. Alleyways, railings, and balconies all lined with pots and buckets of overgrown greenery, and half sized wooden doors lend a magical feeling - so silent and serene there just blocks from the "touristy" center. A narrow canal divides one tiny lane so narrow that in places you almost have to straddle the rivulet to pass. A bodega along the path sells jamon serrano - giant pig legs hanging from the ceiling.

There's a tiny chocolate factory, and many shops similar to those in Capiliera selling rugs and other Moroccan imports. Though those things seem aimed more at the tourists, I do enjoy seeing a town void of large grocery chains and fast food restaurants. It's simple here.

The girls had to use the bathroom before we left, so we ran back to where we'd eaten earlier. Inside one wall was lined with hanging ham legs and another held 4 tiny green wooden cages almost touching the ceiling containing one pigeon each. One was Salvador. I asked the man who worked there if he was from Pamimiera. Yes. And he hasn't been to Granada for 11 years. "It's too big and noisy," he said. He'll only go there if he needs to go to the hospital. Pampimiera is just perfect. Small, quiet, and beautiful. Sun, snow, and simplicity. I'd go back - may be not to eat, but to hike the trails and enjoy the views.

MORE PHOTOS:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=180082&id=674507268&l=039e43213c

It has come to me that when life gets rough, I stop blogging. Or I blog a particularly nice cappuccino and skip the real issues. It came to me on the first day of our trip that I never blogged our first trip to Spain. I posted a photo of flyswatters as a hint, but never delved in to what will be cataloged, I hope, as the worst vacation ever. It will come... in short snippets... but not today, our first Spanish vacation since we moved here. Ha. Wow. Deja Vue.

It began sort of normal (assuming that any day in my household can be classified as "normal)...

We got up, we ate, we got out on time (meaning one hour past the time we set as a goal). Though I do not normally seek accolades, I do feel that I deserve nothing short of a gold medal for the job I did packing. A cat with his 3' tree and supplies, a dog with supplies, luggage with supplies enough for 6 people for 12 days. 6 people. A Citroen Picasso. A seven person vehicle with absolutely no storage space. Ok, so we sort of cheated when Kirk drove his truck the first 2 hours to drop off the dog in Albacete with friends, but still. Monumental task no less.

Here's quick lesson #1: When using Mapquest to calculate distance/time, do this for each leg of your trip. DO NOT as I did, try to use logic without taking into account topographical items like, oh, major mountain ranges.

Mapquest said Valencia to Granada would be 5 hours. I thought, "Well, Albacete is 2 hours south. Granada is 5 hours south. So, Granada is 3 hours from Albacete." We arrived in Albacete after 2 hours, dropped off the dog, stopped for a quick lunch at, gulp, almost too embarrassed to say... McDonalds (for the first time in 5 years), and reset the GPS for Granada. 5 hours.

"What??!?" I think. "That doesn't make sense!!"
"Did you check the map?" Kirk enters with logic and reason.
"NO, I didn't check the map. I used Mapquest." And I proceeded to explain my math equation.

So, 5 hours later... after driving towards the coast to the east, then south and back west again through magnificent countryside that truly took our minds off the time... mountains and fields, low clouds hovering between mountain tops and church steeples, foggy ribbons of white, orchards and cities surrounded by a labyrinth of amazing cave dwellings, a list of places I want to see when I can stop and enjoy them with my camera in hand... finding our way at night in the wet light streaked roads in the heavy rains of Granada and south through the mountains, we curved around on a narrow winding road up and around the mountain's edge with drop offs scarier by day, but ominous still at night, we finally reached the gas station.

And this is what I didn't tell Kirk initially. This was the deja vu. See, the major pain in our last vacation was rooted in the location and condition of our loosely termed, "Spanish Villa." And that catastrophic experience began by meeting our host at a local gas station because "it would be impossible to find on our own."

Those words were daunting. "How's the road?" I'd asked. "Paved mostly, then a short part is gravel, but it's passable." Until it rains.

So here we are parked outside a bar across from the aforementioned gas station. I jump out and find Greg waiting at the door. American accent seems odd here, but I lead him to our car. Kirk rolls down his window. I jump in the car to escape the rain. And I listen while Greg explains to Kirk how we'll get there... "it's narrow... just follow me..." and "We'll make a three-point turn."

This is when Kirk and I both silently, but collectively held our breath as we got whacked in the head with "oh no. Don't be Spain 2007." Last words from Greg: "...and you'll need to back up a little to build up speed and then go as fast as you can to get to the top. If you can't make it, just back down carefully and try again."

Back up? Down a steep muddy hill? With a significant drop off? In the rain? At night? No thanks.

And we laughed that nervous laugh, a cross between trying to stay good humoured and breaking into sobs - terrified as we drive down narrow streets that look like sidewalks and make turns that seem impossible up a road that doesn't exist on our GPS, slick steep roads, then that three point turn. I closed my eyes, held on to the car door handle, and held my breath as Kirk sped up the muddy hill, the car slipping and sliding in the soft worn places of the driveway.

Ok, to be fair, Kirk wasn't terrified and he was amazing at handling the car. I was ready to be out of the car and into a warm comfortable place. I was worried that we would all go careening off the cliff.

It was so dark getting in that I could only see what was in front of me and had a very difficult time finding the stepping stones to get through the wet slop to the stairs that led to our apartment.

And our place wasn't bad. I wasn't as bad as the last one. But I've come to realize that though Spain gets rain, they don't build for it and don't insulate for it. The back two rooms including the bathroom were damp and musty and very, very cold. Droplets of water leaked down the wall near Arianna's bed and a large puddle was pooling by the door. Greg dropped an old pair of boys corduroy overalls on it to soak it up and said he'd be back in the morning to repair it.

The rest of the place - one more bedroom and a living room with two sofa "beds" and a tiny kitchen - it was better... not perfectly clean, not at all new, but ok. The fireplace lit did warm the place and though there was barely room for the 6 of us to move around from place to place, we managed. The girls spend most of their down time this week there either watching the Brady Bunch together (they got the DVDs for Christmas) or playing card games. The sheets and blankets were old and cold... but after that long day we didn't care.

Hungry, but it's 8pm and the shops are closed and the restaurants don't open until 9, so we dine on the box of cheerios that I brought and hope for an open market tomorrow. Tomorrow will be Sunday, so our chances aren't great.

End of a long travel day.

Normally I awake with giggles and laughter followed by a parade of elephants up the stairs and the excited exclamations of, "Santa's been here! He brought me a ___! Can we open our presents now???!?!??!!!" A series of giggles and hopping up and down completes the usual dance then I roll over, beg for 2 more minutes, and eventually succumb to the holiday joy and stumble down the stairs.

This year I awoke with the giggles and laughter followed by "Daddy, can we open our stockings??" and "Crinkle, rip, tear." then "Look what I got!" No "two more minutes" for me. I was lightening down those stairs to see what was going on. No opening stockings without me!! After all, I worked hard wrapping and filling. So grumpy old mom breaks in with camera and watches the excitement, then begs for 5 minutes to at least brush my teeth and put the cinnamon rolls in the oven.

And the present opening marathon began. Elise was thrilled because on the same night that Santa brought a twin for her lost twin doll, her mommy found the twin that had been lost in the move (too smart for my own good, I packed them together). Add to that two fancy dresses with matching doll dresses and now she can be fancy and both her dolls can be fancy too.

Tiara got boots and gift certificates and lots of fuzzy socks - her footwear fav. Arianna loved her new dresses and scarf and the littlest pet shop stuff from Santa. Luci got a twin lion for her old special lion and was ecstatic. Now she has a pride.

Kirk got a telescope which he immediately opened up, put together, and hauled up to the balcony to try out. And I got a beautiful gold bracelet that I've hoped for for years.

Homemade cinnamon rolls with orange cream cheese frosting and our morning is off to a great start.

Relaxation, laundry, cleaning, marathon packing, a traditional ham dinner, then to friend's house for dessert. Then home and packing creatively because how in the world can we fit 6 people and luggage for 12 days into a Citroen Picasso?

And that was Christmas. As quickly gone as it came, but fun and nice. Memorable. And today there were no fires and no bites. No blood or bandaging. Just one very nasty burn on my arm that would end up being a conversation piece among my little family for the next week. What's the tally now? Yeah, up to 5 burns. It's not me, it's the oven. Tiny thing, bad height.

Anyway... as they say in Valencia: Bon Nadal! Merry Christmas everyone. Today is the first day of the 12 days. Let's celebrate!


MORE PHOTOS: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=174370&id=674507268&l=efc85c7eaa

11 years ago I made our first stockings. Last year the little girls and I sewed new stockings on Christmas Eve and it was so fun that it sort of started a tradition. So today was Christmas Eve. A day to soak up the ambiance of decorations and lights, listen to Christmas carols, and just spend time together. Kirk rediscovered his love of painting on canvas and the girls and I spent most of the day picking out our fabrics, cutting the pattern, and sewing their 4 new stockings. Tiara and Arianna even sewed on their own buttons.

Many trips up and down the basement stairs. On one Logan fell and hurt her foot.

It's evening. We'd had a nice dinner. The girls were cuddled up and jammied watching Christmas movies on the couch. Logan was curled up with Elise and I was sitting nearby sewing the last buttons on Luci's stocking.

Growl. Snap. Screaming cry.

Logan bit Elise. And there's blood and a big open flap of skin and I jump up and rush her to the bathroom to wash it and see it better. She's crying and I'm worried. This looks like it will need stitches. Tiara holds her hand under the water while I call a friend to see what emergency room will be open at night on Christmas Eve. 9 de Octobre - all the way into the city. And it will be crazy now.

Do I stay and patch it? Do I go to the emergency room on Christmas Eve? If I go, do we all go? Do I leave some at home? The dog is cowering in the laundry room. Elise had leaned hard on her hurt foot on accident and scared Logan. She's limping now quite a bit.

Brilliant thought. Sue's husband is a doctor. I call. He's leaving for work in 30 minutes. "I can be there in 5," I say. No coat. I hold Elise on my lap while we head to the other side of our neighborhood and set her on their kitchen table. He looks at it. He cleans it. He confirms what I'd thought. Could use stitches, but a butterfly may work at least for tonight. Hands are hard to stitch. Let's make this work. I run home and play nurse. The girls are once again settled. I finish the stockings and hang them. This evening has been stressful and traumatic. It's Christmas Eve. I want to return to that peaceful Christmas calm, so I light the candles on one of my German pyramids and head upstairs for a minute to relax.

30 seconds later I hear Tiara frantically screaming. "MOMMY!!!!!" I run downstairs to see Kirk putting out the flames. My pyramid is on fire, the top completely black.

That's it. I'm done.

Ok, let's open one present. That's the tradition. Kids to bed. No more candles. It's Santa duty and sleep for me. Hoping tomorrow is a different shade of normal.

Groceries stores in Spain carry cleaning supplies and paper products, bug repellent and batteries, but not tape. It's the week of Christmas and I can't find one roll of any kind of tape at Mercadona. Went looking at a larger store - Alcampo which has everything from toys to camping gear to household items and food. I'm sure there's tape there, but I couldn't find it. Again, Christmas week. Tape. I'm thinking there should be entire tape displays at the end of each aisle. May be a giant Christmas tree created just from rolls of tape stacked on top of each other. Ok, so children here don't get their presents until the 6th, but still... it's getting close and I'm down to wrapping gifts with duct tape. (Note: I had three rolls of packing tape. Turns out their smell, rollability, and easy grip design make perfect dog toys. I discovered this after several "I've lost my mind, just set the tape down 2 seconds ago and now it's gone" moments and complete top to bottom searches of the house. Now I still have three rolls of packing tape, but they are so badly dented with puppy fang marks that they are completely useless.)

Luci fell in love with a hollowed out bull horn at the medieval fair last month, but I didn't have the cash to buy it for her, so I ventured downtown to find the little crafts market by the church on Monday to find it. The vendor said he'd be there, but he wasn't. Amazing how difficult it is to find bull horn crafts here. Next time I find one, I'll buy a few. They are kind of a special thing. Anyway... wasn't a wasted trip. Kirk and I enjoyed a train ride, a nice walk, and lunch together.

He's off and that's nice. Luci and Elise both had birthday parties. Kirk went to Luci's party at Liza's house and was able to meet and chat with the husbands of my two closest friends here. I went to the party at the school where Elise was. It was Alec's party. His mom is Dutch, his dad Spanish and they were both very nice. I was greeted with "Oh, so you're Elise's mom!" and "This is the mom of the famous Elise." About 5 ladies claimed that their boys are Elise' boyfriends. And when I did see her dimpled face, she was running full speed from 3 little boys, then reverse and she's chasing them. A fun party and amusing to see the following that my little one has. She loves her class and is enjoying her popularity.

That was Monday. Tuesday is a blur of errands and poor weather - the last day of school for the girls before the holiday and two kids sick at home.

Today we shared our gingerbread tradition with our friends. I made pieces and frosting enough for three gingerbread houses and my friend's Sue and Eva both brought their girls over to decorate gingerbread with our family. It was loud, but fun and everyone went home with a brightly colored sugar laden house to eat. Ours stood tempting the girls. Do not cut until Christmas.

A photo to share what is most precious to hear - the sound of Elise sounding out words and reading. She loves it. She still has to work on her English, but she absolutely loves to read in Spanish and is very, very good at it.

A proud moment for this mommy. Go Elise!

Able-huh? I must have repeated the Danish word 50 times and after all was said and done Elise said, "Mom, I really like these pancake balls."

So today I made traditional Danish "pancake balls" in my beautiful cast iron "pancake ball" pan. The first batch was a bust because the pan wasn't hot enough. The rest were perfect. Now Elise wants them for her birthday even though it's 5 months away.

The beauty of these balls is the transformation as you turn them. The cooked edge flips up, the gooey batter spills to fill the mold, and after the second flip, you have a beautiful formed ball ready for powdered sugar and a little maple syrup. I'd say a lake of maple syrup, but it is now a rationed item in our house. Can't find it here in Spain, so the couple jars we have are very carefully apportioned. No puddles of wasted syrup here.

In fact, though the inability to buy some of these special food items is often frustrating, it is teaching us a lesson or two. Less waste, more savouring and valuing those things that are now special and prized. We didn't used to think about it. Now we do. Cheerios on the floor. No way. Can't even waste one. And don't even think of tossing that last piece of pumpkin bread. Save it, freeze it, eat it. But no tossing. Pumpkin is precious. As are chocolate chips and candy canes, refried beans and Bisquick, taco seasoning and peanut butter... and the list goes on.

THE RECIPE:
From Cuisine at Home - October 2004

Begin to heat up your aebleskiver pan.

Separate 6 eggs.

In a large bowl combine:  6 egg yolks, 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, 1 cup whole or 2% milk, 1/4 cup vegetable oil, 2 T. sugar, 1 t. baking powder, 1/2 t. salt, 1/2 t. vanilla extract, and 1/8 t. ground cardamon (optional - I don't use it). Whisk until blended.

Beat 6 egg whites until stiff, but not dry.  Fold them into the batter gently just until blended.

Coat pan with nonstick spray, then place 1/2 t. oil in each well; heat for 1 minute.  Test it.  It's ready when a drop of batter puffs and oil bubbles. 

Fry aebleskivers in oil over medium to medium-high heat:
     1.  Fill each well to the rim with about 1/4 cup of batter.  Cook until the batter begins to bubble (1-2 min).
     2.  When a crust forms, poke a skewer to the bottom and slide up 1/4 turn, spilling the batter into the well; cook 1 minute.  Rotate another 1/4 turn, then cook 1 more minute.
      3.  To test for doneness, insert a skewer into the center of the ball.  It's done when it comes out clean.

THE FIRST BATCH IS A TEST RUN.  Don't feel bad if they are horrible.  Just adjust the heat.  If they smoke or burn, turn the heat down a bit.  If it takes longer than 2 minutes to form a crust, the heat is too low, so turn it up a bit.  Do begin heating your pan BEFORE you begin the batter.  The cast iron takes a while to heat.  DO use oil in the wells or you'll have a sticky batter mess.

Tonight we tried something new - a little club called the American Club of Valencia.

And it's hard to sit and say something now - wanting to be fair and kind. They were all very nice people.

I think, to Tiara who'd hoped to meet an American teenager or two and finding none, the three hours crammed into a small Chiropractor's office with a bunch of little kids and adults was probably more painful than the dental impressions she and Arianna had taken earlier that day.

To Kirk, well, he was fabulous and friendly and talked to everyone and remembered their names as well.

The littles had fun for the most part, decorating cookies and watching cartoons.

May be it was me. I wasn't feeling social. Fussed over my own girls and stayed to myself more. Felt just a bit out of place. Nice people. Nice effort. Wrong fit.

I brought a cheese plate thankfully to counterbalance the preponderance of overly sweet store bought desserts. Santa came and gave sweets. The children exchanged gifts. That was nice.

And it ended with what to some was funny, but to me became painful as I heard pint-sized interpretations all the way home - a grown adult dressed like a kid singing "all I want for Christmas is my two front teeth" - the LONG version - in her most child like voice with her lips pulled down as if she was missing teeth and her husband behind her pretending that his arms were hers. Call me boring. May be I'm humorless. But that just about killed me.

Nice people, nice group... probably not the fit for us. And that's ok.

The plus was the this office was directly across from the Plaza de Toros and the view nothing less than spectacular. Amazing. Could have stared out the window all night. Probably should have.

Who knew that a drive down McLaughlin Boulevard could make such a difference? A hand-written sign in a dingy pet store window. A cage of kittens all sleeping. Except one.

A feisty ball of soft grey fluff. An only kitten and a mix - only half-Persian. Within the budget of a 14 year old girl.

So I proudly plunked down $40 of my own money and took my kitten home. More claws than cuddles, she took a while to mellow into the lap cat that most knew. But she was always my Misha.

She chattered at flies in the sliding glass doors of our Oregon City home. She played amongst the jungle of flowers in my mom's garden and hopped bunny like across the snow.

She stayed behind when I went to college, but was there on my return. Moved with me to Clackamas, then to Sherwood.

She came with me when I got married and moved to Missouri. She took walks with us in the evenings until she got too old, then we carried her half way. I remember pushing Arianna in the stroller with one hand, pregnant with Luci, and carrying Misha in the other. She was there for all my girls as babies. Ran to the crib with each of Tiara's cries and curled up at her feet while she slept. Watched them grow, cuddled with them, stood just far enough away to encourage excited crawling chase and those first few steps.

She lived in Oregon, Missouri, Texas, Florida, and Oklahoma, then slept in a Samsonite bag under the airplane seat as we flew across the Atlantic for our European journey. She lived in Germany where she befriended Tante Tinny who cooked her chicken and watched her when we were away. And she crossed France moving with us to Spain where she spent her last 6 months.

She turned 21 this last spring.

For months now Kirk and I have often looked at her, then too each other. Is it time? We didn't want her to suffer, but the idea of ending this is too painful to talk about. We'd start talking, my eyes would well up with tears, I'd pet her gently, and the discussion is suddenly over. Next month, next week... later. Not now.

And then, it was just time. And I finally knew. And I hated it, but it was the right thing to do. So Kirk went with me. And I held her and cuddled her as the vet gave her a shot to help her sleep. I laughed through tears when she threw up on me. Feisty cat - she had to have the last word. And I held her tight, pet her and talked to her while she calmed, relaxed, and fell asleep.

The girls would be coming home on the bus soon. It's time to go. Good-bye, Misha. You will be missed. And you are so loved.

like a pig leg.

Or so it seems in Spain. Hoofed legs are hanging from walls with ribbons and bows. Carts roll by with 5 legs each. And the once illustrious "ham holders" have appeared in fancy displays, then disappeared - completely sold out before Christmas arrives.

It's delicious. But a pig leg can cost between 50 and 200 Euros depending on the quality you desire. And unfortunately, there is a drastic flavor difference.

Today I went to the mall hoping to grab a few stocking stuffers and become inspired by something. I thought I'd find something special, interesting, artisional. I found fingerless gloves for me so that I can snap photos without freezing my fingers. And I stopped for a quick snack across from the second busiest store in the mall, the ham store. The busiest was the coffee shop next door.

Beautiful displays, lovely things, but nothing jumped at me and it seemed, I wasn't alone. These days coffee and ham are delicious and much more practical. The economy in Spain is hurting too.

The French are renown worldwide for delicious cheeses and pastries and breads, the Eiffel tower, and all things fashion (although we know that most of that comes from Milan). They are not; however, known for cars.

Apparently in Spain, even if the fault is 100% of the other party, their car insurance has no obligation to pay for a rental car. My insurance will cover $50/day for up to 30 days. I'm in Spain where big cars are fairly impossible to find, automatic transmissions are even rarer and the price for the combination will not amount to $50 unless the exchange rate does a quick reversal. Rats. So, I rented the least expensive thing I could find with room for 6 bottoms - a French car, a lemon. Yes, I rented a French lemon. Ha ha. The joke could easily be on me, but so far so good.

I picked the car up yesterday just after picking up Kirk from his trip to Germany. (He's shopping at Ramstein and I'm getting hit by vision impaired old drivers - the injustice of it all!)

We got it together, walked over to it, looked at it. He saw the buttons and knobs and said half-jokingly, "You may need to get out the manual for this one."

Ha. Me? I don't think so. So he goes to get his truck from long term parking and I slip into the driver's seat of my tiny little "how-in-the-world-am-I-ever-going-to-fit-my-family-into-this" Picasso.

I put on my seat belt, slip in the key, and turn it. Nothing. Ahem. Ok. Let's try again. And again. And again. Nothing. Fine. So I open the manual. (Completely written in Spanish) And start reading, skimming, searching for any indication of how to turn on this car. Oh, here it is. Insert key... No help.

Silly female can't start a car. I just love confirming the stereotype.

Got out. Looked towards the National booth - empty. Must have looked as totally confused as I felt because a guy who I think was a National employee got out of another car and asked if I needed help. Yes! Please!

I think I slept through the chapter of my Spanish book when we learned about car parts. For some odd reason I remember "parabrisas" - windshield wipers - but I don't remember a lot else. So I sit down in the car and am looking forlornly at this guy who is telling me over and over again to push in on the brake and yeah, my foot was on it all the time, but I wasn't pushing hard enough. Freno? Freno? Ok. Ok. So I think I've got it, but I obviously don't know what a "freno" is. After a few equally frustrating (yet amiable) minutes, this silly female figures out what "freno" is and soon my car is actually running! Hooray! A few more instructions that I actually understand and away I am with "mil gracias" to the kind man who endured this Spanish-impaired "woman driver."

So, in my gadget filled Citroen, my little French sardine can of lemonhood, I have no parking brake per say. It goes on automatically when I put the car into neutral. There is no "park" option. I start it in neutral with my foot pushing in on the break. I stop it in neutral and the break automatically comes on. The break goes off when I shift into R or A and step on the gas. And, there is a little handle to pull up in the top center if I need to manually put it on. It's an odd little car. But the mirrors automatically fold in and I like that. Convenient for Europe. And you can adjust your temperature digitally in each part of the car. So I like it at 20 C and others might like it at 21.5 and that's ok.

Day 1 really didn't like this little lemon, but I think by the end of this 30 days I may learn to love it. If I could only fit a suitcase in here...

Oh, and the title of this post... unrelated except that Arianna had her first birthday party today at the school, a party for her friend Carla. Standard Caxton party. Games for the kids upstairs, then cake, presents, and a pinata (not Spanish, but they like them too). Parents crowd around the "parents table" munching on sweets and talking. They warm up as soon as they learn that though my speaking is sometimes slow, I can understand and follow their conversations. This is the party when the mother knows of my favorite bakery and brings a couple trays of goodies that are obviously from C. Aixa. It was fun to recognize and comment. I think it surprised them.

At the end of the party, as I was gathering Arianna's things, all the children started running up and down the stairs and weaving in and out of tables raising their arms and shouting in their loudest voices, "Injusticia Manifistacion!" Over and over and over again. The parents laughed.

The only translation I can figure is the manifestation of injustice. But I have no clue as to why 20+ 8 year old children would be chanting this at a birthday party. Activists in training? Who knows. Just another day in Spain.

"Injusticia Manifistacion!"

Oh, the photo? Just another sunrise taken from my balcony. Why even on the roughest days, I can take a deep breath and be thankful.