Life: Idiotropic

It is true that Spain, while lovely in many respects, is hugely behind when it comes to the internet, computers, and just technology in general.  These last couple nights I stayed in the dorms at TLP (place where my guy works).  The same dorms where several TLP instructors stay, where VIP's stay when they come, and where groups of students come from many different countries.  Bottom line: a lot of people of various importances from various countries come to TLP. 

I go to check out this morning.  There's a big sign on the wall in English and Spanish saying that credit cards are accepted.  I pull out my credit card.  It's not accepted.  The young guy looks at me and tells me the news.  I start to pull out another card thinking it's a international thing because sometimes I get fraud alerts overseas and a card won't work until I call.  He stops me. 
     "It's not your card," he says, "It's the internet.  Look, I only have 2 bars."  I point to the sign above his cash register. 
     "But this is a business.  You have people from all over the world stay here.  You have to accept credit cards."
     "Yes, but it's the building.  We don't have good internet in this building."  I'm thinking, "then why did you put reception here?"
     "Ok, so we'll go to breakfast and then you can try again.  If it doesn't work, I'll walk to the ATM and get cash."

He comes over while we're eating breakfast and tries the card again.  He tries a second and a third.   He stands at the window of the cafeteria with his arm hanging out the window holding onto his little mobile credit card machine.  No luck.  We finish breakfast and walk out to the big plaza in the middle of all the buildings and he tries what is by now the 13th and 14th times at least... with no luck.

I walk over to the ATM with my three hot whiny children behind me to find out that within the last 24  hours some unknown entity has taken all the money out of my bank account.  Illegal?  No, they just can.

So no CC and no cash.  Lovely.  Fortunately, my husband works there.  Not a big deal for us.  He can pay later.  But what about everyone else traveling with a CC? 

This is probably one of the biggest "pains of Spain."

The money?  Pulled out by several different folks including a large chunk from the girls school. 

I don't mind paying bills, but I really miss the process of receiving a bill, checking my accounts, and paying the bill.  The concept of a business pulling out what they think you owe on any day they choose without notifying you first is just asinine to me.  Grrr.

The good?  The drive away is beautiful.  I took this at 120Kph driving down the highway, so it's not great and there were other prettier places, but see the poppies??  And the haystack?  Very Spain.  Very pretty.  Just carry loads of cash and all is well.

Uh... so those "lazy days of summer?"  Where are they?  And what pampered childless princess coined that ridiculous term?  It certainly wasn't a mother of four and not one with any sort of "social life." 

Summer has come and I'm still back on Father's day with too much going on to keep up... so shorter posts to come, I hope.  With the goal of getting it done.  I'm sure you are not complaining a bit... (in fact, I think I just heard a collective phew), but there's just so much...

A paradise discovered Sunday... two castle villages yesterday, an amazing river valley today with two castles and cave dwellings... tomorrow... at least one more castle.  Thursday is my day of rest.  Friday and on is busy again...

So, we'll see what the "rest day" has in store... I may just end up posting a few photos with titles. 

Until then... Cheers!

T

We opted for the narrower road that shot to the right high about the town that kept us hugging the hill to our right and scared to look to the drop below.  It came to the end, then turned sharply down a steep grade I worried about getting back up at the end of the day, and there we were, in front of what's left of this castle.

The ticket to get in costs a whole 2 euros.  Kids are free.  I love that.  So we spent a good hour or so wandering around it craning our necks up, balancing on irregularly sized stone stairs to get to the top of walls that surround the remaining structure, then going inside, up to the top briefly to roast in the sun, then down.  Going down took a little longer than going up because not sleeping in that tiny spiral stone staircase was a bat and while I'm not afraid of bats, I'm a bit leary to enter an enclosed space while one is frenetically flying in spastic circles.   The girls were wildly excited.  The bat was just wild.  The staircase wasn't dark enough, so between the whole "blind bat" thing and the light and the high pitched squeals of glee that they were so close to a real live bat, our poor little friend was beyond confused and not settling down.  Eventually, he flew out of the staircase into the bright castle room and up into the next staircase to the top - probably not his smartest moment, but a great opportunity for me to venture into the stairwell and finally make my way down where we did pass another "smarter" bat who was taking a nap as he should.  Good bat.  I took his picture.

At the bottom we ran into a nice Spanish "couple" who were very chatty and told us the Spanish word for bat:  murciélago.  Apparently it's something else in Valenciano, but I've forgotten.  We ended up running into these two men several times and each time they stopped to chat.  Very friendly and they live in Valencia.   So far everyone I meet either has a relative in the states, or have lived or live in Valencia.  


They drove to the bottom of the hill.  We walked.  I think they must have thought us a bit crazy.  It's hot.  It's dry.  And this woman with three young-ish kids is about to walk all the way to the bottom of the hill.  AND back up.  Yep.  


But it's in the walking that you see and hear and breath in that which is where you are.  Translation:  You can't fully "know" a place by driving through it.  It's like having a layover in Frankfurt and saying you know the city.  Doesn't work.  


So we walked and sweated and I answered "are we almost there?" at least once per corner, but we enjoyed the narrow streets, laughed at the little construction vehicle trying to wind its way down, oohed and aahed at the cute doggies and kitties resting in the shade of doorways, and breathed in the smells of the kitchens we passed wishing we could be guests for a day.  Someone here can cook.  It's residential here.  All the business and shops are down below near the river, so we saw people walking back with plastic bags from Consum and others with bags of baguettes from the local bakery.  The only signage here is for a small museum and several for the "cuevas" that you can tour.


Cuevas are caves.  And not your typical ones here in Alcalá.  If you flip back to the first photo, you'll see tiny holes in the cliffs under the castle.  Closer still and you might notice glass windows set in.  Many of the homes in this town are built into this limestone outcropping and actually go all the way through it.  The entire river valley is full of these amazing caves.   Old, may be, but outdated, no.  Real people, now, in 2010 live here in these cavehomes and a few are open to the public to visit.  We didn't.  May be next time.  But just to see the tiny windows appearing seemingly out of no where on a large cliff face is pretty incredible.

We made it to the bottom to see the river Júcar and the canals that split from it.  There's an "island" in the middle of the river here and a nice park where people picnicked and rested in the shade.  The girls got a treat at the ice cream stand and played on the playground a while.

The ice cream stand is a long red box - may be the size of a small boxcare with a little door on the back and an opening along the top with a counter.  When the close, they can pull down the metal shutters and it's secure.  The area below the counter is full of coolers with ice cream.  The shelved wall behind is stacked with boxes of candies and chips.  And the counter itself is littered with stacks of clear white plastic containers full of all sorts of gummies and other sugary sweets sold in bulk.  Sugar overload.  A steady stream of kids came in swim clothes with handfuls of coins to trade for treats.  I was just happy they had granizado - like a slushy, but better, it's perfect on a steamy day like today.

On the walk back up we went into the church which is completely gutted.  The ceiling is beautiful. Some ornamentation still exists on the walls, but a construction vehicle sits in the center amid a piles of rubble and dust.  In the back a group of men took a little siesta around a set of plastic patio furniture.  They're working on restoring the place - a project that, at this rate, will take years, perhaps decades.

We reached our car and I held my breath while pushing all the way down on my gas peddle to get it up the steep hill back to the road.  It was scary with a drop on each side.  We took a different way back to Albacete,  following the river and looking for cave dwellings.  There's a huge fortified cave on one side so big it almost looks like an amphitheater.  One cave dwelling has a bright red painted facade.  We found another road that would lead us on switchbacks up the limestone wall, stopped at the top to take a picture of where we'd been, and saw this just on the other side of the bend we didn't take.

This place is amazing.  Another one on the long list of "we have to go back."

We left Valencia at noon today or may be close to one and now it's nearly 8 as we arrive in Albacete, but hills take a while to climb and we'd already explored two castle villages today:  Montesa and Chinchilla.

Hot, sticky, tired, and hungry.  We washed our feet and faces, dropped our bags in our rooms at the TLP dorms, then headed into town with Kirk to catch a bit of the Albacete nightlife.

Monday is the quietest night here.  It's the night when Kirk's favorite two restaurants are closed:  El Callejon and La Taperia.  Sad.

But we managed to find a tapas place open in one of the busier eating districts, positioned ourselves on one of the outer corner patio tables so the girls could run a bit between bites (which is very common and accepted here), then perused our menu and ordered.  Scampi, bacon wrapped dates, deep fried goat cheese with jam, chicken wings for the girls, bread.

I asked the waitress about the "oreja a la plancha."  I know it means grilled ear, but who's ear are they grilling?  Or is it a local term meaning something totally different like "ear of corn?"  She laughed and wiggled her ear.  "De cerdo," she said, "Muy rico".  I looked at Kirk.  "Pig ear."  His head was already signally a firm "absolutely not," so we left it at that and ordered no more. 

But the later we wanted to try one more thing.  How bad can pig ear be?  Let's be adventurous.  So we ordered it and it came.

Hmm.  I've seen pig ears in the grocery stores all white in the packages.  This was cut into bite sized pieces and had large clumps of pink tinged fat stuck to it, but there was no getting away from the fact that this was a pig's ear.  I took the first bite.  Fatty.  The flavor was that of pig fat.  Not good, not bad, just pork fat.  But the globs of fat were squishy and coated the tongue with oil.  It didn't feel nice to eat.  So I pulled off the fat and crunched down on a piece of ear.  Again, the flavor wasn't bad, but the texture was what you'd expect from an ear.  A bit firm with that small crunch of cartilage.  Not nice.

Kirk didn't like it.  The waitress shamed him into trying it.  Luci and Arianna each took a bit.  Arianna actually took two or three.  I probably ate about 15 before I was done.  No, I didn't like it, but I sat there and listened to our Romanian waitress tell us how they cook them in Romania and how good they are.  She agreed the fat was too much.  "Look at this one.  See, this is a nice one.  Choose one with no fat."  I didn't want to offend her.  And it's better than snail.

It was 2330 before we left and the streets were still full.

It may not be a great tourist destination, but the nightlife is good.  And the food, if chosen carefully, can be delicious!

Chinchilla is only 10 minutes from Albacete.  There, a castle looms high on a hill with the village cascading down from it sort of like an overfrosted cake in the sun.  It's pretty, impressive at first glance, but then, these "castle on a hill" villages are almost getting common place here. 

Like all things in my life with 4 girls, plans are fluid.  We planned on going to Chinchilla, then they were hot and tired and hungry, so we were going to skip it, but then I didn't want to stop at a gas station for food and Kirk was at the gym and the cafeteria on base was closed until 1930, so we found ourselves needing to eat and also kill a bit of time.  Chinchilla was the perfect plan.

I honestly was pulling into Chinchilla from the freeway following a gas station sign.  Really.  But then I didn't find the gas station and did find a convenient parking spot.   So we walked up a slight incline through a street lined with colorful banners very much in the style of the Bayeaux tapestry - very Norman, to the Plaza de la Mancha where the old Cathedral and several other nice buildings stand.  Usually Spanish plazas are empty or lined with trees and benches.  This one, sadly, is lines with cars.   Still, each building was draped with banners indicating that we'd just missed or were about to miss something special going on.

We wandered through the steep streets packed with homes and reached the top where an old man sat with his dog.  The girls pet the three year old dog who was blinded when a careless neighbor poured boiling water from their window, or so the story goes.  The old man was friendly.  He has a son in Valencia.  Doesn't everyone?

The castle is undergoing renovations, so we didn't walk right up to it, but enjoyed it from the distance of a shade tree.  It was a hot day.

Time for a cool drink.  We headed down to the plaza again this time passing an old Arab bath house that was sadly closed.  Those are really beautiful.

Found a cafe in the plaza where groups of ladies sat.  This must be the ladies cafe.  Groups of men sat outside at other cafes.  Groups of men sat inside at this one.  But only ladies outside.  We got three lemon fantas, an iced coffee (one shot espress + 2 ice cubes), and two bag of chips to share.

Wandered back to our car a different way and saw even more of what is really a charming town.  From the highway you see houses leading up to the castle on the hill, but that's it.  There are some really amazing things hidden inside this town that you'd never notice until you're there. 

Folks were pulling up lawn chairs and kitchen chairs onto the sidewalk as we walked by.  There's going to be a play, they said.  Hmmm... sounds wonderful.  We saw two men walk by with heavy costumes.  1930 and everyone was ready, but we had to go. 

Next time, Chinchilla.   Dinner awaits in Albacete.

Hot and tired, we stopped in a little cafe/bar on the main drag.  Several older men (mid 60's was young in this crowd) sat on bar stools at the bar.  A few others sipped beer together at the smaller tables.  A young man stood behind the counter sort of running the place.  That was it.  Men.  We were a bit out of place.  But it was fine.   They girls each got a cold water and an ice cream.  I ordered a coffee with ice and we all sat, and cooled down from the hike up the hill and down again.

The soccer game was just beginning as we were getting ready to leave.  Several old men had come in since.  We were still the only girls.   One man stopped to chat.  He asked if we were on vacation and if the girls were all mine (I get that question a lot here).   He has a relative in California.  (Every Spaniard, it seems, has a relative in the US.)  He talked for about 15 minute before we left.  It was nice.  Everyone was friendly.

Got to the car.  Couldn't find my iPhone.  Went back to the cafe.  Talked to another nice old man with a relative in Valencia, then left information on how to contact me if the iPhone was found.  Returned to the car to find my phone under the seat.  In 45 minutes we'd be in Chinchilla.

A few weeks ago we sat on a porch eating home made pizza hot and fresh from our friend's outdoor brick oven talking with other friends who had just gotten back from a few days camping in Bejis.  I'd never heard of it.

Their Spanish neighbors told them of this town in the mountains at the source of the region's water where it's bottled up cold and clean and sold throughout the country.  They camped on a little hill by a stream.  I had a picture in my head of what that might look like as they decribed it.  Boy, was I wrong.

We left close to noon today on a Sunday when sleeping in was more important than an early start.  We were only driving an hour anyway.  The road towards Teruel is easy as is the curvy road that leads off of it towards the river Palancia and the towns that line it.  Our ears popped and we knew we were higher than we thought though it seemed we were in the valley with so many hills and peaks looming above us.  The road dropped off just a bit and a narrow irrigation canal snaked along it.

It's amazing what you'll do off of a vague recommendation of friends.  We arrived, not really knowing what to do or where to go, only that there is water somewhere.  We really knew nothing.  So we parked in Bejis and walked towards the old town, to the church where I stopped to talk to a man waiting in the street holding a springform pan covered in foil and glistening with the cool wet fog of condensation.  He was meeting friends who all carried pans of something through the streets and kindly took a moment to tell me to follow the road up to the castle ruin, but don't pick up any rocks because small scorpions hit beneath them.  I asked him where the water is.  "There's no water in Bejis."  What???  "Go to Los Cloticos.  You can park there, but it's too difficult to walk to the water."  We later proved him wrong.

The "castle" and I use that term loosely, stands (another "loose term") on top of the hill that the village of Bejis is built on providing stunning views of the region, the village, and the curving river below.  It just about killed me that I didn't bring my macro lens.  What used to be a large castle covering the plateau is now a nearly open field of wild flowers of all varieties.  Huge rosemary bushes thriving, wild lavendar littering the place, beautiful purple and yellow flowers, and a plethora of tiny plants and flowers no bigger 1/2" tall growing out of tiny cracks in the rocks.  Bees and crickets sang and the butterflies taunted me, but wouldn't let me photograph them.  The castle is only evidenced by a couple tiny collections of stacked rock, barely even a wall, more like stubs of walls - squat piles of rocks that sort of looked like may be they were something once.

We walked down to the village square for a quick beverage - dying of heat - then headed to the car and followed the signs to Los Cloticos passed the Roman aquaduct and along the windy river.

The sign led us to a crowded triangular parking lot wedged between rocky walls on one side and a drop to the river 100 meters below.  In front of us was a large picnic area full of families, a small playground with more butterflies than children, and a fountain from which you could fill your jugs with drinking water, fresh, clean, and ice cold.  An older man had brought 7 in his car.  Filled them all, then walked them two by two back to his car.  I offered to help, but he was "young" - just completing his 70's birthday in February.

I asked him how to get to the river and he motioned to a small flight of stairs near our car warning us to be careful.  The path was a little steep in some places, but not difficult at all.  I knew we'd see a little creek.  I'd heard it was nice.  I had no idea I'd see this.






We neared the bottom of the trail to see this amazing wall of water, a veil cascading down the thick blanket of moss hiding the rock face.  Like something out of a movie paradise.  There was no one there.  Private, silent.  Kirk found it first and perched himself on a rock for a few moments just soaking it in.  This is paradise.  Really.

From here, the water wanders.  This is its place and it decides where it wants to go.  There is nothing to stop it.  So it begins, then breaks off, then rejoins and breaks again.  The water is perfectly clear creating a slight blur of motion to the plants it covers, yet it's like looking through glass.  It meanders no matter what might be in its path.  Bright green plants seem undisturbed as they sway.  The path along the valley ends and soon you're walking in water because there's no other place to go.  In parts it's only a few inches deep.  In others a couple feet.  The grade is gradual, so every little while there are small falls.  Just more paradise.

We found this place... a nice quiet fall and a circular pool.  We all waded in to feel the water that was cold, but didn't bother us.  Lunch ended up the hill and soon families were coming down to walk along this creek and find their own small swimming holes to play in.  These extra kids waded in, then left to follow their families leaving us to have this place all to ourselves for a while before it was time to go home.  Then we were all looking back as we walked, sad we slept in, wanting to come back before we'd even left.
We will be back.  I think this is our new favorite place in Spain.

Father's Day means a nice breakfast and a family activity of dad's choice.  Dad's choice within reason though... a cranky crew doesn't make anyone happy, so golf is out.  So is hours in front of the history channel.  The aquarium?  A win. 

This aquarium is a collection of several different modern looking building - all unique - all beautiful.  They reflect each other and the ponds that connect them all.  It's gorgeous even from the outside.


The dolphin show was different today - not as good actually, less organized, and one trainer had no control over her dolphins.  However, it did enable me to get this shot which isn't bad. 

The beluga whale was especially friendly pausing for a full 3 minutes or more in front of the glass for photo ops. 

And, lucky us, we caught the feeding of the sea lions when the trainers also come out and do small health checkups.  The male "lion" fits his name well with his thick "mane" around his neck.  He opened wide for his check-up, then shook his head and spit went flying.  His trainer grimaced, tipped her head back, and clamped her mouth tight around the training whistle she held there.  Blech.

We ate lunch again here... funny.  It's nice, really, but so different.  No hamburgers at this little cafe.  You can get pasta, rotisserie chicken, calamari, whole grilled cuttlefish, breaded fish, hot dogs, paella, etc...   The calamari aren't fantastic, but just that you can get them... or a whole grilled cuttlefish is pretty fun.  I had paella today and it was as expected per the locale - very bland.

The table across from us sat about 40 teenagers - obviously with a school tour group.  Of the beverages on the table 1 was a water.  ALL the others were Coca Cola in the famous red can... a sea of red cans. 

An hour sitting with a sick kid.  Not mine.  But us mom's have to stick together, so my "on my way to have coffee with friends" turned into "on the way to Jenny's house to sit with her sick one while she took her youngest to his school."  She napped mostly.  I read.  It was quiet.

Thought I'd catch the tail end of "coffee," but my friends didn't have their phones on, so I'm driving towards the column thinking I could turn right and go home and be productive or I could go have a coffee even if my friends weren't there.  Armed with a book, I'd be just fine.  The coffee won and I was greeted with smiles as my friends saw my van, realized their phones were off and held them up as hello as I walked in.

Tried to discover something new with Sue.  A potential gem right in Puzol.  A natural lake/swamp and bird sanctuary with one little viewpoint and the rest very ugly (not even clasifiable as rustic) trails with big gates blocking entrance to the interior of the park.  Looks like someones brainchild, neglected.  A really great idea left half way done and forgotten about.  Oh well... enjoyed the beach.

Tonight was the last birthday party of the year for Elise's class, so I went to enjoy the company of moms and relax in the new comfort zone.  I know enough people now.  It's nice.  Talked and listened to the age old gripes and discussions that all mom's everywhere seem to have or have opinions on.

Some children don't eat... some mom's force them to eat, some offer alternatives.  Some make their children clean their rooms every night, some mom's say "hey, they're just kids" and do the cleaning for them.  Some mom's get worried about every little runny nose.  Others endure the criticism of their family and labels of "bad mom" when they decide that they can survive a flu without running to the doctor's office.  It all comes to that magical "mother's handbook" that I really wish I had.  I have four different factory models and thus four handbooks please - in English, if possible?

Elise is famous!  :)

http://www.caxtoncollege.com/en/colegio/proyecto-educativo/durante-el-curso-academico.html

Cherries used to be a luxury, a fruit bought in tiny containers for obscene amounts of money and savored slowly and a bit stingily in honor of a special occasion.  Now that's true for blueberries and raspberries, but cherries?  It's the season!

They are sold in bags, boxes and crates, piled high on market tables, then overflowing from colanders in my kitchen. 

They are bright and red and delicious and we've gorged ourselves on them so much that my girls are already tired of them, so we're slowing down and looking forward to what July might bring us in this place where fruit is so very seasonal.

Canet de Berenguer to some, but to its friends, simply "canet." 

A week of company is winding to an end and my friends are soaking up the last moments of their vacation.

I would be stressing over every little thing, packing my bags meticulously, walking around in circles.  My friends look at the afternoon departure time and say, "let's go to the beach."

Canet is calling.


The sand is fine and smooth.  There are no stones to stab your feet.  And the slope into the near bath-like water is so gradual that even little people can walk pretty far out into the sea without worry.  It's absolutely heavenly.

So here begins summer.  Can't get me on the phone?  I'll be at Canet. 

Fever's set in.  The US plays England and we are pumped.  Ok, pumped on one hand and a bit nervous on the other.  No telling how much razzing we'll get from our British friends if the US team gets whomped.

We dodge a thunderstorm spending the sunniest part of the day lounging by the pool at the club on its first day open for the summer.  It's beautiful, warm.  The kids are happy and I am in a lounge chair with a good book.

Home in time for the US/England game.  The ball ROLLS OVER the English goalie's hands and the US actually SCORES A GOAL!!!!  Amazing.  England scores one.  The game ends.  Tied.  But that's good.  Soccer isn't "the" sport in the US.  We can't expect to compete on the same level.  Tied is good.  Tied is great.  Day two of the World Cup and all four of my girls have caught the fever as well.

It's done.  It's official.  We are finally members of the CAC which means that we can go to the Oceanographic, the Hemispheric, and the science museum whenever we want now without buying tickets.  Plus we get discounts and invitations to special members only things and advance notice to other special events so, all in all I'm quite happy.  Besides, my membership photo isn't horrible.  I think that's the best part.

The aquarium is another one of Calatrava's creations thus it has it's own flare.  Instead of going inside of one gigantic building, the exhibits are divided according to ocean habitat and put into separate unique buildings.  Connecting them is a series of nice trails with landscaping and several large pools of water where you can see the seals, pelicans, flamingos, and other creatures.  Overall, a pretty nice place.  Second only to my favorite in Monterrey.
So, today was our first day ever at the Oceanographic and we had a great time.  A brief rain drove all the school groups out of the prime-front-and-center dolphin show seats, so we moved over, sat on our maps, and saw the dolphins a bit closer.  This is the first time that I've seen trainers participating in a dolphin show.  In fact, there were times that it looked more like a trainer show than a dolphin one.  They rode the dolphins, were thrown into the air by the dolphins, and took the spotlight whenever they could.  Safe to say that every kid there now wants to be a dolphin trainer.  It looked like a lot of fun.

Contentment for a day.  The girls enjoyed each area and I enjoyed the challenge of taking pictures of these moving targets.  Saw a beluga whale, a couple walruses, seals and sealions, sharks, etc...   The world's ugliest fish lives here in packs and it was further proven today that the only thing that kids learned from "Finding Nemo" is that the clown fish is really called a Nemo and that blue fish is really a Dori.  Dozens of excited Spanish kids yelling, "Mira!  Es Nimo!  Hay dos Nimos!  Mira, Dori!" while running back and forth pointing at the little fish.

It should get boring, but it doesn't.  There is always something new and different even in those places I've passed by again and again.  And there's always something new to discover.

Today's discovery happened because of a shoe.

Frank's sandal broke, so he brought it with us to town to get fixed.  We stopped at a leather shop in the Plaza Redonda and the man there gave me directions to a shoe repair shop in the Plaza Doctor Collado just a few blocks away.

I am translator most often which is fine, but I don't always get 100% which can be quite comical.  We walked into the shoe store.  It was bigger than most shops in this area taking up a good portion of the block with a wide customer space and an extensive work area behind the L shaped counters.  It was dark as shoe stores tend to be and smelled just a bit of leather.  I asked the tiny old man behind the counter if he could fix the shoe and handed it to him so he could look.  He nodded, asked us to wait just a moment, and handed it to his coworker.

A moment later he was talking to me and gesturing to Laura's shoe. 
     "Take off your shoe," he's saying to Laura.  What??  I'm trying to figure out why, but either he's not telling me or I'm just not getting it, and all I can figure out is that he wants one of Laura's shoes.  Laura's confused. 
     "He wants my shoe?  Which one?  The right or the left?  Why?" 
     "It doesn't matter which one," I tell her. "Just take off a shoe and give it to him.  I don't know why.  Just do it."

So Laura is hopping on one foot untying and taking off her left shoe then hands it to the man.  He points to Frank who is a bit more skeptical, but I'm thinking that if we don't cooperate, we could be here all day.  While Frank fiddles with his shoe, the man slips something into Laura's and hands it back.  It's a thin piece of leather - real leather shaped to fit the inside of a shoe.  It's smooth on one side and more suede-like on the other.  It's supposed to give your feet more cushion and "breath" better too keeping them cooler.  Laura likes it... Frank isn't sure, but agrees probably as much to be able to get out of there than anything. 

They each get two pairs of inserts (4 for the price of 3) and we are ready to move on.  Before we do, I ask if there is a good tapas place nearby that he recommends.  He points to the corner and tells us that's where he goes.

A long bar is in the back with people seated along it.  Half the glass case is full of pre-fried things and the other full of raw things waiting to be cooked to order.  The menu has both English and Spanish, but I prefer the Spanish because I know what I'm getting.   English translations are often wrong or just not specific enough.  We completely miss the entire back of the menu with bocadillos and tortillas, but find enough tapas to keep us happy and full.  Calamari, olives, a croquette de bacalao.  It's all good.  Laura's eating teenie, tiny whole squid battered and deep fried.  They look delicious.

And the tour continues and we see cool stuff: a cow face and a sheep head at Mercado Central, a Corpus Cristi picture out of flowers in front of the Basilica, a sale rack in El Corte Ingles... then it's time to go and we run to the train thankful that it's 2 minutes behind schedule. 

The highlight, the tapas.  Local and good.  Simple, yet extraordinary.  Will I go back?  Definitely... unless I meet another shoe man.

Happy 1st Birthday to Logan who has now completely charmed her way into our hearts.  We picked up our Barcelonian beauty when she was just a day shy of 8 weeks and now she's a whole year and still growing.

Likes:  zucchini peels and apples

Talents:  waking up the girls by jumping on their beds and licking their faces

Hobbies:  shredding paper, cardboard, and ficus leaves

In 1208, Juliana, a nun in Liege (now in Belgium) had the first of a repeating vision she'd have over the next twenty years that compelled her to plead for the institution of a feast of Corpus Christi.  After 20 years of secrecy, she confessed this to her Bishop who relayed it up the chain until finally, in 1264, Pope Urban IV decreed that Corpus Christi would be a annual feast, the first universal feast sanctioned by a Pope in the Catholic Church.


There doesn't seem to be a strict form of celebrating this "feast."  Many countries display wreathes and flowers.  Most have processions of some sort and some, as in medieval times, recreate the mystery plays.

Hence this bread in the shape of a fish - a symbol of the miracle of the loaves and fishes, one of many miracles (mysteries) told in the Bible.

In Valencia, Corpus Christi is a happy celebration that incorporates many of these things.  Florists stage a competition all around the streets surrounding the Cathedral with huge floral arrangements on street corners.  They are elaborate and creative.  One used painted plastic water bottles to hold (and perhaps hydrate) the flowers.  Another had colorful foam swimming noodles curved up into the arrangement.  One had apples hanging.


Today I was headed to town to see the Cabalgata del Convite, a folk parade made up of traditional Valencian dances from the time of Medieval Valencia.  The costumes, I thought, were supposed to represent scriptural things, but they were more from bits of history and not necessarily from Christ's life.

I stood on the narrow Avenida de Avellanes, the infamous street where the residents enjoy throwing things from their balconies.  On Virgin's Day, they throw rose petals.  Today, it was something else.

Many of the balconies were decorated with beautiful banners and tapestries.  One had a mirror hanging in the center and a line of small paintings on either side.  Many had flower arrangements.  One, bread.  On this small stretch and another to the left, these rows of empty blue buckets swung lightly in the breeze evoking questions from the tourists and a warning to locals who should know better.

Oh, I knew about those buckets.  If you looked up to the balconies along this stretch, you could see lines of buckets hugging the walls, sitting full and ready.  The empty ones are nice for photos.  The full ones... dangerous.


I stood at the corner waiting at what I thought was the perfect spot until the crowds were thick and I finally realized that the parade was coming from and heading in a different direction than I thought, so I left my saner group of friends and headed into the crowds on "bucket street" to watch the parade from a better vantage point and get some photos.

Small groups in fun costumes came, stopped near the corner as they turned, waited for the music, then danced.  As soon as they were finished, the crowd would clap and throw coins, the performers would clamor to pick them up quickly, then move on to perform at another spot along the route.  It was all very nice.  And I stood and took photos and darted into the street, then out, watching and waiting a bit nervous for the eventuality of the...

... water.


Because King Herod would walk by.  And he did.  And then his henchmen would come arm in arm swinging plastic clubs and taunting the crowds. 

I saw the water before I saw the henchmen.  And then I saw the kids just ahead standing with arms out looking up to the balconies asking to be drenched.  And then I felt the shocking cold as what felt like an entire bucket of water fell onto my head, so I quickly ducked back under a 5" awning and under the umbrella of a friendly local who was willing to share.

The newscaster and every piece of equipment on him dripped with water.  These men walked by and bopped my friend's daughter on the head with their bats.  I found myself under a second deluge of water and completely soaked from head to toe, but I couldn't go anywhere.  The folks on the balconies were armed and reloading.  The henchmen passed, returned, then passed by a third time, all the while, the water fell and I clung to the wall.

When I saw my friends, Elisa took one look at me and told me that I couldn't go to lunch like that.  So we rushed back to change.  My Elise changed too.  She wasn't soaked, but wasn't dry either.  Dryish, we enjoyed a nice lunch at Al Pomodoro before the next parade.

Handfuls of fliers were thrown just before the water in the last parade.  They were printed with poems written by locals related to the Corpus Christi.  Here's one about the Rocas.  The poem above is about the flowers.  Both are written in Valenciano.


Hundreds of years ago, Valencians carved and painted enormous ornate structures depicting stories from the Bible.  These "rocas" were a tool that the church used to teach the people the mysteries of the church.  Now, each year on this weekend, they come from the dark museum where they sit all year to the plaza around the church so that people can see them in the light up close.  Then, on Sunday, they are pulled by horses in processions through the streets.

The parades tonight would go long with many long lags between parts.  I couldn't stay, but I did see a few of the Rocas go by before I left.  The detail is amazing and though some of them are as much as 500 years old, they are still beautiful, respected, and cared for.

The horses that pull them are adorned with fancy harnesses and colorful braids.  After the first rocas went by a man in a wagon came by throwing fragrant greenery all over the streets.  Next would come the giants and a repeat of what I saw earlier but without the water.  Next year, I'll see more.   Next year, I'll bring a poncho.

Photos:   http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=225925&id=674507268&l=b34358f12e

One of the beauties of living in the same place for a long time is that feeling of belonging - not just that you belong to it, but that it belongs to you.  When you know the streets, the locals, the hangouts.  That was the sorrow in leaving Germany.  I'd arrived.  It seemed I knew everything and everybody.  I belonged there.  And here...  well, it takes some time.

I'm good about cafes.  It's my way of feeling like I belong - that bit of familiarity that I grasp onto as I quickly find the "best coffee in town" and frequent it making it my own.  That's easy.  I've had that for months.

Now I rely on friends here - locals - to fill in the rest. 

Tonight Kirk and I went to El Pito 2, one of the "best tapas restaurants" around.

El Pito began in Meliana "once upon a time," run by a husband and wife.  Apparently, at El Pito, it is traditional to make a loud yell each time the tapas come from the oven adding to the crazy atmosphere there.

We ate at 2 which, we were told, is much better (and much quieter).  The story goes that husband and wife split.  Wife kept "la origional" in the old center and husband started "dos" on the Carretera de Barcelona, the main road through town.

It was easy to find.  We parked just in front, arriving early by Spanish standards - just after 9pm.  We walked in to see a nearly empty restaurant, but it was open and we were quickly greeted by the waitress and the owner who asked us if it was the first time we'd eaten there.  I told him that a friend recommended "dos" telling me that "dos" was better than the original.  He laughed, put his finger in front of his lips, and pointed to the lady at the table next to us - the owner of El Pito primero.

We never saw a menu.  We were new and "must try a little bit of everything," so the waitress came to us with a verbal list.  Would you like caracoles?  Snails?  Uh, mmm, no, thank you.  The next item was also caracoles... smaller ones though.  So we said yes, ok.  We'll try them.  And on down the list.  We didn't say "no" to anything else.

The snails came first.  See them?  Cute, huh?  Kirk likes snails.  He ate them frequently in Belgium and actually enjoys them.  I, however, have a strong aversion to eating an entire creature.  Muscle, fine.  Complete system?  Blech.  But there sat this entire bowl of snails - probably 60 little things.  Just two days ago, my little girls had built a house for our garden snails.  Now I'm asking Kirk to pick one out of it's shell for me and hand it to me with a toothpick.  I try not to look at the little eyes on the end of its antennae. 

Eww.  If I stand outside of myself and think completely rationally, I can tell you that snails really are quite flavorless and so if they are cooked properly and soaked in a delicious sauce like this one, then they really are quite good.  Sadly, I'm just not that mature.  Ewwww!  I just ate a snail!  Ewwww! 

In spite of my internal reaction, I was calm and collected.   After all, the owner of El Pito 2 did look over and his staff as well seemed to care that our experience was a good one.  The next plate arrived, a delicious layer of bacaloa spread with a layer of tomate, then olive oil.  Spread onto the grilled bread they brought, it was heavenly.  I worked on that while Kirk made an artistic arrangement of snail shells on his plate.

Next:  Tellinas.  Cockles, may be?  Small more oval shaped tasties in purplish white shells.  Another one of my aversions, but I tried them anyway.  After all, I'd just eaten a snail, so how bad can these be?  Surprisingly, they are absolutely delicious.  I ate 3 - voluntarily!  And Kirk added tellinas shells to his artistic display on his plate.

Two crouqettes de bacalao - wonderful.  A plate of thinly sliced baby artichokes, sauteed.  Another plate of mushrooms cooked so nicely, flavorful, but dry - not a hint of slime.  I don't like mushrooms, but I loved these.  


Sepia a la plancha.  A nicely grilled whole cuttlefish.  Another thing that a year ago I would have just stared at.  Now, I actually enjoy it.  Cooked well, it can be delicious.

Our last tapas:  A stuffed eggplant that was good, but I was also too stuffed by now to want any more.  The stuffed potatoe was so flavorful though that there was no turning back.  It had to be finished.  I didn't translate it for Kirk.  He doesn't like foie gras, but he loved this potatoe.  He raved about this potatoe.  The goose liver added a really nice flavor to it without being too heavy.


Dessert:  Torta de tres chocolates and a blueberry cheesecake.  I prefer the first.  Kirk prefers the second.  We're a good team.

The evening's over and I'm sipping a cafe con leche thinking that this is it, we've arrived.  Live is good, we're opening up and finding that Spain seems to be opening up as well.  It feels almost like home.  The people are welcoming and friendly.  I feel taken care of.  And this little gem in Meliana, this second Pito, just could be my tapas "hang out."  In fact, I think before I move away, I just need to try everything on the menu.