Life: Idiotropic

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I never did sit down and blog my trip to Spain two years ago. It was challenging in way too many ways and we all needed time and distance to find the humor in it all. Two years has just about done it, so who knows, if I can get caught up with life here, I may go back... but today, I went back physically to one of the places we went before, a place we liked, but didn't quite tackle, a place that we found impossible to get a 9 person standard van up the narrow switch back roads to - the castles at Xativa.

Today we had my minivan and the original group plus Angie, minus Tiara who wanted to stay home and relax.

An hour south of Valencia, the town of Xativa and the castle perched on the narrow ridges above it are yet another old bit of Spain testament to an amazing history that enriches this country. Over a thousand years ago life went on here... silk and paper put this small town on the map. It's amazing to me just how old everything is here and just how modern in some respects life 1000 years ago was. (Click on the Xativa link - there's a short, but interesting history there.)

We spent several hours wandering through the ruins of both the large and small castles (pre-11thC) that overlook the city, saw gardens and fountains, chapels, and the old prison there where many kings were imprisoned and died.

Plaques in the garden described some of the lore and history although the translations were most likely babel fished and weren't all very coherent.

People watching was fun. I saw finely dressed woman walking up the uneven rock paths in 3" spike heels. I don't understand that, but then this is Spain where women love shoes and wear fancy ones in all weather - even on the beach!

Between the two is a cafe now where visitors can stop. We had a snack there - tuna and olive sandwiches, coffee, chips, bowls of some of the most delicious green olives I've ever had. We're finding that green olives are amazing in Spain. Arianna and I took a minute at this cafe to walk to the edge and see the view - one that includes the Monastery at Puig just 5 minutes from my home which we'd visited just a few days prior.

Ruins are a great thing for kids. We've visited quite a few stuffy old castles here with guided tours, roped off rooms, stuffy interiors. I think I prefer the ruins more. Sure, they aren't perfect, but it leaves a lot to the imagination which is nice. You're outside, enjoying the Spanish sun, walking freely, talking without disturbing the person next to you. The kids can run and play and climb.

From here we drove back to the town for a "real" lunch. Parked and walked a bit around the old church and the hospital which looks nothing like a hospital. Down narrow streets some nice, some a bit run down. One was completely dug up - may be about to be re-cobblestoned? I can't imagine them paving it there in that older part of town where everything is "paved" in large uneven stones smooth and slippery from years of use.

Our "real lunch" was elusive. My favorite restaurant there was closed. So we picked one with potential - coffee, sandwiches, pizzas - possibly quick and good for kids, potentially delicious. Nope. Gross hamburgers, yucky pinchos, overall mediocre. The pizza was good. I should have ordered that. The good was that our section of main street was blocked off for a food festival, so as soon as my girls were done picking at their food, they could run and play. Wandered the festival quickly, then headed back.














I like Xativa though. It's a place to go back. The city is nice with a lot to see. The castle is stunning - as large as Segunto and more intact.

When visitors come to visit me "in Valencia," they aren't really looking to see my tiny village of Puzol. Shocking, isnt' it?

So, today we drove to Puzol, parked the van, and took the train into town because a) it's fun, b) it's only 3.75/person round trip, and c) though I've driven to and in Valencia several times, it still absolutely terrifies me.

We walked to the Plaza de la Reina in front of the cathedral, then walked over to this beautiful old palace that now houses a small ceramic museum.

Tried to get a coffee at a nearby cafe, but gave up when we found we were behind two tables of medical personnel who apparently needed their java fix much more than we did. Looked at some darling baby clothes... at oh, well over $100 an outfit... some well over $200.

Sometimes a museum needs to be small. I mean there are days that you have days to spend wandering some monstrosity like the Louvre, but most of the time, and especially on a beautiful sunny day, you just want a quick fix. A bit of something interesting, educational, inspiring even. Days when a quick 1 hour is all you've got. Today was one of those. And this little ceramics museum was just what the doctor ordered. Beautiful inside and out, interesting, but small, and not too taxing on your brain. Nothing overly intense like Budapest's museum of Terror or one of the several Holocaust museums. Just furniture and pottery... the first floor being a quick easy walk through old rooms with original fabric covered walls with matching upholstered chairs. Finely inlaid tables and hutches, fancy stuff. And the top floor the ceramic collection mostly from Paterna and Manises, little towns just outside Valencia that still specialize in pottery today. Nice pieces including several by Picasso and a full kitchen almost completely covered in hand painted ceramic tile.

From there - lunch. Walking through the plaza redondo to the market looking for food along the way and finding nothing quite tempting enough... waffling between sweet and savory, small or large, coffee or no coffee, then pausing at the door of the beautiful central market as waves of tourists pushed past us. How I wish to be in the city alone with just locals. Do we brave the throngs of snap happy tourists? Thankfully the large groups walk in and out straight through the center looking at the large arched ceiling and snapping photos only at those stalls immediately accessible. So a quick jog to the left and we were amidst locals with their shopping bags and carts picking out just what they needed for tonight's meal. We ended up at a little prepared food stall with several paellas and noodle dishes. Perfect. Can you heat this? Yes? Ok. We each chose a main dish. We all chose a dish for ourselves - Angie and I a gazpacho like no other and Dad a paella with chicken and morcilla (blood sausage). We also a delicious stuffed eggplant (the best I've ever eaten by far!) and 3 croquettes to share. Pure gluttony. She heated it all, then we walked two blocks to this quiet space... a small plaza in a pedestrian only area with an old church behind us and some fancy castle like thing in front of us and cute streets and an old guy on the bench beside us. And we ate in the quiet, savoring, enjoying, commenting aloud - what spice is this? How could we make this? And what do you think of the blood sausage? My gazpacho was like nothing I've ever tasted and wow - amazing. So intensely flavorful, but not what you are picturing now. Not soup. Not cold. Not tomatoey. Super wide noodles perfectly cooked in a chicken broth sauce with a powerful combination of herbs and chicken and rabbit. So so good.

The slow leisurely walk towards the train station, winding from street to street, peering through shop windows, walking by an elegant pinchos bar - tiny open faced sandwiches stacked in mounds on shiny trays - an entire curved bar covered in trays. Take your "pincho" and pay per piece. Nice. Too bad we were so stuffed. Found an old bookstore, narrow and deep with a tiny steep ladder-like staircase leading to an open platform where an overly large desk sat. A woman with glasses. So much out of the movies. Wound ourselves back towards the market again where we found a table on the sidewalk where we could stop and rest and caffeinate ourselves.

A quiet train ride back to Puzol. So thankful to not have to drive in the city.

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A rainy day in Puzol... so what to do? Ok, so it wasn't really rainy, but looked like it might rain, so we didn't want to go far, so we took advantage of the potentially bad weather to walk my village and have a "taste" of Puzol... horribly bad churros at a coffee shop that I'll never return to - one that served cheap hot cocoa instead of that thick delicious "chocolate a la taza." Greasy, hard, disgusting churros. I might expect this in a US diner... but in Spain? It's like flying to the US for a "real American hamburger" and eating at McDonald's. It's just wrong.

Our antidote was a stop at Charo Sanchis, our local Charcuterie with the best selection of the best cheese and meats in each "class". Three adults, three slices each of 4 hams. Serrano, Trevelez, a shoulder of Iberico, I think y Iberico. And 4 cheeses... would love to say more, but I took notes and can't find them... eventually I will and will update this.















Bottom line: Though I was warned to start with the cheap and move up because of the flavors, I liked the second ham the best. Now, it's not cheap at all, but the Trevelez from Granada had the best flavor and the lowest grease factor. Let's face it, we don't eat Spanish ham to melt away pounds though watching the twiggy Spanish woman walking around you'd think that Spanish ham and Sangria would be the perfect diet. I think the trick is in the "one bit is enough" method, something that my "but I'm living in Europe and must try everything" attitude has a difficult time adopting. Still, when you only order one slice per person, it does cut down and amazingly enough, our lunch of 4 slices of thinly sliced meat, 4 small slices of cheese, and one wedge of a mushy chirimoya filled us all up completely.

Spanish Ham: The pig makes all the difference. I've never thought much about pigs. They are cut, but I don't eye their chubby pinkness and think, I wonder what you taste like. Here, there are lots of pigs and each type combined with how they are raised (free range pig or farm raised pig) and what they eat make a huge difference on what the flavor will be. So these different types of ham varying in qualities come from different pigs from different regions of Spain. It's like the French cheese guy in Germany who could tell me what side of the hill the cows stood on when they were milked, give them enough time and these Spanish folks can tell you a lot about pigs.

Jamon Serrano 21.90 Euro/kilo
Treveles 31.00 Euro/kilo


Cheese: Ok, so they're biased and I do really love the Dutch cheeses, but I was informed today that though Dutch cheese is good, it all comes from cow milk where here in Spain, they use cow, sheep, and goats milks creating different types of cheeses from all individually and mixed together. Today we tried one from a mix of cow and sheep cheeses. Good, but it's not like I can tell the difference.

A Chirimoya? No clue. It's green on the outside and not perfectly smooth as if someone had left thumbprints all around it. White and mushy inside and shiny black seeds that are more like stones and supposedly toxic if you have teeth enough to break one open. The flavor was good - almost melon-like, but none of us could get over the mushy texture. May be it would be good in ice cream.

Exhibit A: A cake of arrope, not common now, but very traditional. Dad had this at my favorite little bakery and it was delicious (I oughta know... I tried a bite and hoped for another, but it was too good and Dad skillfully polished it off himself). Most bakery pastries are croissant like - made with a flaky croissant dough or a pie dough used in empanadas. Our style of "cake" isn't as common. But here it was, something almost black on top, strange to look at, but oh so delicious. What tasted like a crumb cake/coffee cake with the "arrope" topping, a thick grape something you can buy in big bars in the market, here chunked and turned into a sauce. We were warned it would be too sweet. A lot of Spanish desserts are too sweet. This was perfect. The son who works there (it's a family business) said it is an "old" recipe - something that his mother cooked all the time when he was little. "It's all we had," he said. "We just had flour and eggs and sugar..." I think that's enough.

Exhibit B: A monastery. A large impressiveish building that I can see from my balcony because it's not too far away sitting at the base of two hills in the neighboring town of Puig which, strangely enough, in Valenciano is pronounced "pooch," like here, doggy, but means little hill hence the two little hills in the otherwise flat town. Part of the monastery now is a very impressive printing museum with free admission containing an extensive collection of old printing presses, some carved stamps, gilding tools, binding tools, and other related things. We waited there for our tour - the only way to see this monastery. At first a bit disgusted that we had the misfortune of being part of a 50+ person tour, we soon realized the benefits of being the stragglers who can snap photos of empty rooms once the group has moved past. The tour was in Spanish, so dad and Angie weren't missing anything and I did my best to listen and give them the Cliffnotes version. So basically this monastery is phenomenally old. Existing in part since Jaime I who came into the picture in 1238. The monks lived downstairs in the modest portion. The top floor is extra tall (the third floor set of windows are fake - just part of a high vaulted ceiling of the 2nd floor) fit for "important people" since monasteries in Spain are also the official residences of traveling kings.

The chapel downstairs has large ceramic panels all around the room and a really heavy lamp - 700 kilos. The panels have been partially destroyed because during Spain's Civil War, the monestary was used as a prison. Guess the inmates didn't care much for pottery.

One room has the world's smallest book readable only if you have Superman vision AND a magnifying glass. I really don't see the point of it. It also has a book of promises taken down by the monks in the 13th century of King Jaime's promises to the people who helped him. He promised parcels of land and other gifts. As he fulfilled his promises, he came in and made a check mark (tick if you're British) by the promise to show that it was done. Amazing, huh? This guy was 2 meters tall, lived into his 70's (quite unheard of for 13th c.), AND kept his political promises??? Yep... he's a bit of a legend around here still... the liberator of Valencia from the Moors.

The upstairs had the king's quarters decorated with two large Socorrat ceramic panels - really pretty - a special type of painting from this region.

And then there is the church which is still used as a church, but only accessible from the 90 stairs that lead up to it from the village since the monastery is closed to the public. The church itself is the oldest part with it's original pillars that were bare, then covered in ceramic tile, then stripped to show the original stone once more. The other amazing thing is...

...Exhibit C: It's carved of stone. This is the Madonna and child in the middle of a wall of beautiful paintings depicting both Christ's life and the history of Puig. It is not wood, but carved stone that is painted. Original and beautiful.

And that was the end of our tour... we then walked all over the village up one hill, down, then up the other. The top of one has a very tiny piece of what was once a castle and two pigeons that look as if they'd been spray painted. The top of the other hill has a beautiful white building with a blue ceramic dome top that is a school. The town is around the monastery is a mess of narrow streets mosaic tile designs and chains hanging on every window and doorway to keep the flies out.

The old part of town had started to set up barriers on doors and windows and across street intersections for the bull run on Saturday. Kind of wish we could go to this one too. The bull runs are just so fun!

Lunch near the Monastery... sopa con alubias y chorizo (delicious), albondigas (also delicious), y flan (rubbery... not so delicious). Huge lunch, inexpensive, not complaining.

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If you ever drive to my house from the north, you'll see as you get near, a very large ruin sprawling itself all along a mountain ridge about the town of Sagunto. Just 10 minutes from my house, I took the occasion of Dad and Angie's visit to finally see it, a quick easy afternoon after a morning of errands in Betera.

The roads leading to it are fantastically photographical, but a nightmare to drive. Thankful we were in Dads tiny Citroen rental and not my van, we made it to the top with easy parking at the castle gate. We entered. The man in the small white booth gave us each a ticket, but took no money. It's free. And we walked.

There is little information written about this castle. It's sprawling mass of old walls once the city of Seguntum is now a butterflies playland. No tour, no guide (perfect), we just walked the entire ridge first one side, then the other admiring the view from all sides. Perfect, untouched, and really, unchanged. No signs of modern life stand here exept for two small placards and the mans white booth. The rest is there. Walls, drop offs, places that would be fantastic for a game of hide and seek with the kids and places where one wrong move would send you down the mountain into a patch of waiting prickly pears.














Dad and I climbed a lot of old stairs and peeked over many walls. We all took way more photos than we needed, but that's half the fun.

The history itself is amazing - to me just by the sheer oldness of it. Yes, Hannibal's elephants once rested themselves along the cami road that I take now on an almost daily basis. And here in Sagunto, Hannibal's armies laid seige to the people who while in Carthaginian territory aligned themselves with the Romans.

I didn't know it until I got home and looked it up... Cut and pasted below. Amazing stuff. :)

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History From http://www.planetware.com:
"The destruction of Saguntum by the 28-year-old Carthaginian general Hannibal in 219 B.C. sparked off the second Punic War. The "

Today friends from Albacete came to stay the evening, so we headed to the beach for a quick visit so their little one could see the beach for the first time and dip his chubby baby toes into the Med. My girls climbed around on the rocks and were mesmerized by the schools of tiny fishes that blackened the stream leading to the sea. A nice afternoon and we had the beach to our self except for a group of kids playing soccer until their mom came from the restaurant and told them dessert was served.

The berries? A fruit of sorts that grows on the palm trees here. Apparently it's extremely bitter, but makes good preserves. Must not be too great though. I see huge clumps of these discarded by gardeners all the time sitting in piles on the sidewalks until the garbage men come.

I now, sitting here completely grogified, in serious need of a 2 hour nap, now have a much clearer understanding of the Spanish schedule. Amazing what a little lunch can do. But then, that would be the wrong adjective. Phew. I'm sleepy. May be I'll nap a bit and return to this later when my snail laced paella has settled a bit.

Later... like an entire day later. Whoa. That lunch did me in. This is clearly why a person could not even consider eating anything before 9pm, which, wait, huh, is exactly what the Spanish do!

So my landlord - wonderful woman that she is, invites me to spend the day with her in Valencia, plays tour guide, and takes me to lunch. It all started with me getting lost, stuck, not being able to locate her apartment, holding my breath repeatedly while squeezing through narrow streets with double parked delivery vans, and arriving a whole 45 minutes late.

Thankfully, she told me where to park and after that is was public trans for us. Woo hoo.

Went to a beautiful Bancaja building - formerly the bank and now a museum of sorts where the bank sponsors amazing exhibits for free! Today we stood in line for 30 minutes, were handed a free poster, and saw a phenomenal exhibit by Sorolla which inspired me to see every nook and cranny of this country by highlighting special festivals and cultural elements of each region. Some of these paintings covered entire walls - groups of life sized people all with distinct faces and costumes. His mastery of light and reflection is amazing. http://www.joaquin-sorolla-y-bastida.org/ The time was especially nice with Begonia who told me little bits about each painting - cultural things she knew. Like the fishermen who used cattle to bring their heavy fish laden boats into shore - hence a beautiful painting of fishing boats being towed by cattle knee deep in the sea. And how fish used to be sold directly from the boat on the beach. And about the processions in some villages and how the Celts originally settled what is now the Basque region in the north.

From there a walk to the city center as Begonia pointed out little things... a fancy youth hostel (pictured above), the old University, the ceramics museum, a beautiful old church where her son got married, a street of horribly overprices shops where she bought a tie once for a gift, the sweet little street near the old cathedral where most of the antique shops reside and where on the first of May as the procession comes down that street, residents shower the procession with rose petals.

She told me how I must see a mascleta and how some people judge them on the rhythm though she can't really tell them apart - they are just loud.

And eventually after a lot of walking and talking and learning and me hoping to keep all these details in my head, we landed at a little cafeteria in the old University which is now an exhibit hall, and had a lunch that was extremely heavy and extremely average. She offered a beer. I ordered white wine. A drinker I'm not and I would not normally have wine with dinner let alone lunch, but culture dictates some things and it was a nice lunch, so I had my one glass of white wine and Begonia also had a glass of white wine with her beer. Again, hooray for public trans. :)

We both had a paella Murciana as our first dish - exactly like paella Valenciana except also with red peppers. Served lukewarm and with lots of snails. Thankfully, I've found that the snails don't flavor the paella in any noticeable way, and scooted out of the way easily, and don't come out of their shells unless you want them too. Great for me. Neither of us ate our snails which was a relief because I didn't want to be rude to my hostess. Our next dish was a large chunk of some sort of flavorless white fish with it's skin on buried in a good 2 cups + of chunky cooked tomatoes and red bell peppers. The tomato flavor was so intense that you could taste nothing else. We both picked at it, agreeing that next time, we'd do Tapas! (Her husband recommended the restaurant - she said she'd pick her own favorites from now on.)

Agreeing that we should do this once a month or so, we headed back and I got my car and headed home with a lot more ease that getting there.

Solo si pueda pasar todas las dias asi. Con amigas, cafe con leche, y una torta...

These are the mornings that snap me out of the silly blue that has gotten the best of me lately. Not sad blue, but that just out of sorts blue. I told a friend yesterday that I felt as if my brain has morphed into a thousand butterflies and they've all just suddenly flown, scattering themselves in all directions. There's a lot on my wee little mind and I feel restless. So much to do, but no focus to actually get any one of the things done.

But today was good. I had a Spouses coffee with the Betera ladies, the spouses of the NATO guys stationed at the base there. It forced myself to dress less for the dog and more for, well, to be seen. I sat between an American and an Italian, across from a Dutch lady and a German lady. Spoke a bit of German, a lot of Spanish, some English too. Talked to the Italian lady in Spanish while she responded in funny Italian-English mix. We sat then stood from 1030 until 1330 talking, inching towards the door as it was time to go, like ladies do, talking with each step. An hour after we'd said it was time to go, we stood on the outside steps still talking.

This is why once a month isn't enough, I told my Dutch friend. We're going to start cooking together. I'll start it. Yes, another thing to do, but this will be a fun thing. A day to cook and visit at my home. All invited. Another way to share our culture.

Franca, sitting next to me, is new. She just arrived with her husband and three daughters a month ago. She's from Roma. Her oldest acted as translater, but Franca knows and speaks more than she thinks. I think she'll be speaking English very well soon. I saw my Turkish friend, lots of hugs for people I know well. A kiss to all on each cheek whether I know them of not. This I'm used to from Germany, but it is even more common here. In Germany most people wouldn't include Americans in that custom knowing that many are uncomfortable with it. Here, everyone kisses.

We met at Restaurant Rossingyol - with an address that my GPS didn't recognize. So I drove to Naquera, didn't find it, then stopped to ask for directions. I love that I can stop, ask nicely in Spanish for directions, and get a very friendly, very helpful response that I can understand. It's so empowering.

Lol. See! Even my writing is scattered. Details... too many little things. Sigh. Gotta go make a flyer for the post office. We have 5 kittens ready now for new homes. I have to make that happen.

Elise was "sick" all weekend. And veritably so. She did throw up all night on Friday, once on Sunday, and once on Monday. All a bit random, but nonetheless, signs of illness. Fine. But she was fine all day yesterday. Waffling about today, I caved to her dramatized whining this morning of "mommmmmy, my tummmmy hurts." [insert irrestistable pouty face here]

I made her get dressed. She had her backpack. We had to go the school anyway, so she came in with me. She asked me to walk her to her class, but before we did, I told her she could come home and have one more day of rest.

We drove literally across the street to the grocery store. She'd already perked up remarkably. But, covering her bases (we were just across the street), she sighs audibly, then as I open her car door, looks up at me with her poutiest eyes, and says, "I think I can make it until we're done shopping." "What do you mean, Elise?" "Oh, I think get through our shopping before I throw up."

Huh. So she skipped through the store looking at all the sweets and cakes and yummy things she wants to buy "for her sisters."

Just as I'm loading the groceries into the car she puts her wrist up to her forehead. "Mommy, my head is getting hot."

Oh the drama. She's fine. She had pizza for lunch for Pete's sake. And she played happily all day. "Tomorrow", I told her, "you're going to school!"

On Thursday I stopped in quickly to grab a pastry to go. Logan was waiting in the car and we were headed to the beach for a leisurely walk along the boardwalk. Yes, my life is ever so rough.

I'd never seen my little bakery look like this. A line of fairly ugly multicolored floral scarves lined the back wall, the only difference in the back half of the place, but the front. Wow. The bakery case, usually empty except on weekends was full of plates and platters stacked high with brightly colored marzipan fruits and vegetables. Marizpan lace covered logs of who knows what (oh why oh why didn't I buy one then and there????) sat amongst them. A small news crew interviewed the lady who is always in there. One of them held an impressive news camera. Of course, she who in her eccentricity never leaves the house without her massive camera filled bag, left hers today. Great. A dog, a apple pastry, no camera.

These sweet treats are given as gifts on the ninth of October wrapped in... (drumroll please)... yes, ugly scarves!!!! I personally thing a nice ribbon or bit of tissue would be better, or at least a nice solid scarf that would possibly may be go with an outfit, but no, let's not break with tradition, if I am to purchase these treats for a loved on, I must wrap them ever so neatly in a really ugly scarf. (May be this is like ugly ties on Father's Day?)

Are they open tomorrow? It's a holiday, but yes, they are always open. I intended to go back. I thought I'd get a few - may be some for Kirk and some for my dad who will arrive soon. But I didn't get back before closing on Friday and Saturday was a wash with Elise sick all of Friday night... so on Sunday morning I hurried over with Luci for some mother-daughter time and a photo op. Surely they couldn't have sold out so many. And the case was full, but not with those colorful almond fruits, with the regular delicious weekend pastries that they always have. So we ordered a cafe con leche, a chocolek, and a couple pastries and sat. Just before we left, the brought out this tray filled with the few pieces left. So I jumped up to take a photo. This is it until next year. Next year I'll know to bring my camera.

The photo here... just a few things we brought home to share. The chocolate covered croissants filled with chocolate cream were a bit too too much. I prefer the powdered sugar covered pastry. Light and not so sweet.


This is what I missed... this is what I'd love to go see. Wasn't at my local bakery, though my bakery did a beautiful display as well... but this is amazing! http://ventanafotos.com/?p=335 Guess I'll see it all next year!

This afternoon my doorbell rang. The vigilantes (security folks that drive around our neighborhood 24/7) were at the gate to tell me that my gray cat had been found. He gave me the address and I was out the gate and running before he'd even gotten into his car to drive away.

Misha was at 28 Porto Coeli, a good 3-4 blocks away - far for her. The man there was so kind. He said he found her on Wednesday evening (the day I last saw her) crossing the street, so he stopped and brought her in knowing she was old and not a stray (strays here are never grey and just don't have her look). I don't know why it took them 4 days to call the vigilantes, but today they did, thank goodness. Misha was sleeping curled up in a little corner between one door and another on the side of their house. I talked to him, his mother, and his two daughters for a few minutes before I walked home holding Misha tightly.

She had a can of "welcome home" tuna and is curled up happily on my bed as usual.

21 years and still going. This cat is amazing. Tomorrow I'll be baking some nice pumpkin bread "thank you" loaves for the family and the vigilantes.

It's 1:42 am and I've already been up a while after being asleep may be an hour. Two little girls lay on the guest bed behind me curled up having just fallen asleep to the soothing music of Jim Brickman. Twenty four hours ago we thought we'd be packed now, heading to Barcelona in the morning. But this afternoon we canceled our hotel and for the first time ever canceling a trip, I actually felt ok.

I should be blogging about the bull run or the parade we saw tonight. The culture is rich and endless in Spain.

But no matter where I find myself, there my family is, as it should be, and tonight - these last couple days, they are the ones that occupy my thoughts. My girls, their school, our family time together, and Misha.

It's been almost 50 hours since I've seen my cat. The most amazing cat who's been in my life and part of my family for over 21 years. I saw her last on Wednesday afternoon as I backed out of the driveway. She was sitting by the garage door wanting in, but I was in a hurry, running late, and wouldn't be gone long. She never goes anywhere.

I got home, I took care of the girls, I grilled hamburgers for dinner. I didn't think about Misha. She's always there. All the house doors were open. She could come in at any time. But she wasn't by my pillow that night. She wasn't curled up in the sunny spot in the garage the following morning. I've searched everywhere. I told the security at the gates and the ones who drive circles around the neighborhoods all day. We called the animal shelter. We've taken walks.

The parade tonight was great. I saw the costumes and took pictures. But being home kills me. I keep looking for her where she should be, wandering to the garage door where I saw her last. Twenty one years. I know she lived a wonderful life. It was going to be "time" eventually, but I want her here now. I need to see her, to know she's ok, or to know where she is and if she's hurt. She transcended "cat" a long time ago and became, everything. A friend, family, caregiver of sorts. She ran to my girls when they cried as babies. She'd jump into their crib and sleep always by their feet. Sweet, patient. They loved her and she tolerated even their most difficult stages. She used to take walks with us...

So we're here. Waiting and hoping. The house sitter who was going to stay with the dog and cats had a cousin in town and it didn't feel right to leave anyway... not if there was any chance of Misha coming home. So I hold out hope though it's fleeting fast.

My youngest two sleep soundly now. I hope it lasts the night. We all need sleep. Who knows what tomorrow will bring now.

On 9 October 1238, King Jaime I entered Valencia and eventually retook this land which eventually unified into la Comunidad Valenciana, the province of Valencia which is set apart culturally from the rest of Spain. Like Catalunya north, Valencia has it's own distinct dialect they like to consider a separate language and traditions all their own.

This date now, 9 October is the name of many streets, the prominent hospital here, and a huge celebration in Valencia and throughout the province.

At midnight on the eve of the 9th, a huge international fireworks display lights up the Turia. Too late for us with the children (it often goes until 3-4am), I watched part of it from my balcony as the rest of the family slept. Next year I'll go though no matter how late. The fireworks, even from 20 kilometers away, were amazing!

Of course, the kids don't have school on the 9th. So we took the train to Valencia, grabbed take out at Burger King across the street (ack, gross... true, but quick and easy), found seats in front of the Ayuntamieno (City Hall of sorts), and waited for the 5 hour long parade of the Moors and the Christians. Families participate in this parade year after year - the same families with the same costumes. It's something prominent folk do - an even you have to have money to be a part of as these costumes are incredibly ornate and extremely expensive. The Christians enter first. Horses, then lines of women and lines of men each with a leader dressed slightly fancier and carrying a sword they brandish with flare - smiling and egging on the crowd who clap in approval. The Christians also had creepy goat people and girls juggling fire which I didn't really understand, but it was entertaining nonetheless. The Moors had fancy costumes as well - the backs as ornate and beautiful as the fronts. The were all distinctive by the shoes they wore with turned up toes.

Tired children and hunger pains meant we missed the last 30 minutes or so of the parade and the loud mascleta which I heard was one of the best in a while. (This is the video from the one in the day... the one in the evening was supposed to be louder. I'll see it eventually, but without the kids: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8CNPjcZoYQ The mascleta starts at minute 3 of the video - the noise is the point - not the visual, so at the end all you see is grey smoke)

More Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=153039&id=674507268&l=4a8fa6ba34

I just came across this list that I made the day that Arianna had the end of the year "store" in her class and got to spend all the "bucks" she'd earned. This is something that I won't miss... the garage sale style "store" that Mrs. Chmeylar set up in her class every quarter.

So it's the last month of school. The packers are arriving in a couple days. We're moving for pete's sake and I am trying my best to get rid of our own junk. And this is what Arianna brings home, back pack stuffed, grinning from ear to ear, eyes sparking, a spring in her step while lugging an extra white plastic bag full of back pack overflow:

1. One heavy glass candle holder with two pieces. A bowl like bottom and a bowl top with a hole in it. 6" across.
2. An old Barbie (not old as in vintage, old as in used)
3. 2 brass candle sticks
4. a yo yo
5. a Chinese yo yo
6. a jumprope
7. some pony toys
8. a Hello Kitty wallet
9. an outdoor bouncy ball (big one)
10. a paddle ball (that broke with in the firs 10 minutes)
11. a small (Barbie sized) pair of slippers
12. a pirate eye patch
13. a McDonald's happy meal toy dog
14. a plastic pair of hands that rattle together to make noise - a noise maker
15. a ceramic spoon rest fro Minorca
16. a small plastic Tinkerbell
17. 2 pairs of glasses - one googly eyed
18. AND one teddy bear Christmas stocking

And it all got dumped all over my coffee table. Did any of it make it to Spain? Sadly, yes. But not much.

In ethics class last Friday, Arianna's class were asked to draw a picture of the perfect playground.

Her picture is done. It is of water, a skydiver, a snack statue, and a bar. Yes, a bar. Like the kind you'd go up to on the beach and order a drink from.

My eight year old daughter drew a picture of a bar for her "ideal playground" drawing.

It's only 25 minutes (or less) to the main train station in Valencia which sits next to the Plaza de Toros (big bull ring) at the end of the street that takes you to pretty much everything touristy, big, and beautiful. Nice to know. The drive wasn't hard in or out.

Kirk came home with me last Thursday, so he got a 1st class train ticket figuring it would give him a bit more leg room. Apparently here, first class train travel also means good food, constant service, and warm towelettes. Nice. Valencia to Albacete: 1 hr 20 min.

I drove home and passed this same ?? that we passed coming into town. Yes, I took this photo while driving. It sits in the center of one of the every too normal ginormous Spanish roundabouts where all lanes end and you just feel your way in and out of it.

I don't know what it's made of. Is it a head? Why? Why is it there? Does it signify something special? I just don't get it.

My computer almost never shuts down. Never. And blogger has this nifty automatic save function. So apparently someone decided that I needed a redo.

I had typed out an almost complete entry of our very first bull event here in Spain. I'd even added more photos.

And then I walked away. The computer turned itself off and blogger didn't autosave. Except for the two links below that I added first.

Anyway, it's been 4 days since the event and I'd love to write it up - it truly was an interesting cultural experience. BUT, I need to go study for my Spanish driver's license and get some extra sleep. May be I can get this done tomorrow.

Until then, enjoy the photos. There are some fun ones.




My Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=151319&id=674507268&l=fc8ab58377

A local blog (if you click on the photos, you can see me and the girls just to the left of the blue box between the first couple rungs of the barricade - I have my camera in front of me): http://boumania.blogspot.com/2009/10/pucol-bou-de-lavenida.html

Wow. This has been interesting. Before I sat down to write my entry for you about the ceremony yesterday, I thought I'd see what else was out there, in the news. After all, there was an impressive showing of press. Hmm... not sure where to begin here. May be at the beginning...

We're leading sort of a double life here. I'm mostly here, or have been, but will begin to show my cheery self in Albacete at least once a month. Kirk is the US SNR/US Commander at TLP during the week and then his civilian, family guy self on the weekends living in our little neighborhood north of Valencia.

Until yesterday I hadn't stepped foot into his Albacete world. But yesterday was the culmination of the last 3 years of planning and the last 3 months of hard work and preparation on the part of TLP (Tactical Leadership Program). Yesterday at 1300, the Official Opening Ceremony of TLP began with the cadre in place standing at attention almost the entire time, a band who played the anthems of the 10 participating nations extremely well, two large groups of highly important people - divided - civilians in one group and military on the other side (In Spain, civilian and military are seated separately.) Generals from all 10 nations, the Spanish Secretary of the Air Force and the Spanish Secretary of Defence among other "powerful people." A small stage in the back full of cameras both big and enormous. Video and SLR. Reporters, photographers...

Actually there was supposed to be an impressive show of military carrying weapons in formation as well - something the military members would have enjoyed. But that was changed just that morning because of the strong presence of the press and the strong opposition to this program by some anti-military groups in the area. Apparently there were protesters outside the gates as well, but I didn't see them.

It was smooth sailing for me. The drive is almost exactly 2 hours through green hilly areas, highway flanked with mountains and terraced hortas of oranges, then a dramatic shift at the border of Comunidad Valenciana and Castillo-La Mancha to red soil, flatter lands, ribbons of Quixote's windmills dotting ridges, and vast expanses of grapevines. Very beautiful.

As I pulled into visitor parking at Los Llanos Air Base, a guard waved me over motioning for me not to park. I explained that I was there for the ceremony. My name was on a list. He told me to drive to the gate. The guards there motioned for the keeper of that list to come over. Huh. I don't know where he got his list. They had names of folks from the little base up here that were not invited, but they didn't have mine. But I'm the American Commander's wife. And they smiled and waved me through. A nice surprise.

Parking behind the TLP building was easy. Finding Kirk was easy. And soon I was inside watching and taking pictures alongside the press in the back.

The number of DVs was incredible. I've never seen so many high ranking officials ever in one place - and from so many different countries.

The speaker (The Secretary of the Spanish Air Force, general José Jiménez Ruiz) gave a very nice bilingual speech - short, but well written with lots of nice sounding bits that I'm sure the press loved. And then the flags were raised each individually to their own anthem in alphabetical order. The TLP flag first, then the Spanish flag last - the only one out of order because it is the host nation, so tradition is that their flag is last. Once the flags were raised, the ceremony ended and we all walked over around the partition to the other half of the hangar where tables were set with flowers, nice linens, and tapas. Jamon Iberico, manchego, croquetas, fruit skewers, and a few other things. Bite sized desserts and the most delicious coffee that was simply a swallow. Almost a tease. I should have asked for 10 of them. We were silent while the VIPs walked to the head table, but the rest of that two hour reception was without form or fuss, just people talking, mingling, walking where they'd like. No speeches. It was nice. Kirk and I talked to a lot of people. People in his unit and the colonel and two-star that had come for the ceremony.

And that was it. A proud moment for me to see my husband in his element - looking confident and happy. This program is an amazing program. One that is the mutual effort, a cooperative really, or ten nations who put together a training program for fighter pilots from many more nations. It's a good program.

It amazed me to sit down and do a google search for this. 10 nations. I found not one article in English regarding yesterdays ceremony. Not one article in any other language, but Spanish. And many of the articles were very harsh as were some of the comments left. One comment tried to blame TLP for problems going on for the last 5 years. That people drink beer instead of wine! That Albacete used to be an nice quiet wine growing area and now they care only about money and TLP will bring in a bunch of drunks. Nice, eh? Apparently all military are drunkards.

Spain does not have a proud military history. Or may be they do, but it's been tainted by the too recent history under Franco. People are still alive who were under his reign and the anti-military sentiment runs deep. One article says "OTAN will prepare the war in Albacete."

No. They are not preparing for war. They are not making war. They are keeping prepared, sharing knowledge, training and working together to be better IN DEFENSE of their nations. Countries that do not have a military force survive only with the protection of those allies with a military force.

It's easy for a group to slap labels on an organization like this. To see them as faceless drones, armed and dangerous, training for war, to kill... They don't see them as fathers, husbands, community members. People who go home and share dinner. People who only want to protect their homes, their families, and their freedoms.

Climbing off soap box now... I fear my exhaustion is making me incoherent and I don't want to belabor this. Yesterday was a great day, a significant moment in the history of Albacete and TLP, and the beginning of what will be a very positive thing for Castillo - La Mancha and for Spain.

In the news:

• http://www.laverdad.es/albacete/20091002/albacete/llega-albacete-para-convertirse-20091002.html#comentarios
• http://www.europapress.es/castilla-lamancha/noticia-albacete-alberga-hoy-tlp-otan-pretende-incrementar-eficacia-fuerzas-aereas-aliadas-20091001181815.html
• ANTI-OTAN: http://www.kaosenlared.net/noticia/tlp-de-otan-ya-esta-albacete