Sunday, December 27, 2009
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
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
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Saturday, December 26, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, December 25, 2009
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
Thursday, December 24, 2009
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.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
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.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
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 2004Begin 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.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
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.
Friday, December 18, 2009
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.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
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.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
About a month ago we were in the van driving somewhere and Elise started singing something. I was in my own quiet bubble and didn't really pay attention until Tiara, in the seat next to me, exclaimed, "Elise! How do you know that song???" At school. She's dancing to it for her Christmas performance. "I can't believe my 5 year old sister knows the Black Eyed Peas!" exclaimed Tiara. While I'm thinking, "Black Eyed Peas for Christmas? What happened to Silent Night or Away in the Manger?"At 1415 we arrived at the school and met Tiara. 15 minutes later we were the first in the theater for the 1515 Year 1 Christmas Program. Four classes of kindergarten age children put together the story of Frosty the Snowman with the help of their teachers and the music teacher.
The curtain rose with groups of costumed children in a semicircle on the stage. For 5 minutes parents stood, clapped, waved, and shouted greetings while the little creatures snowflakes strained to see the familiar faces. Bright smiles of recognition and frantic waves signaled they'd found their families and finally, the crowd calmed and the program began.
A round snowman walked awkwardly in his black rubber boots to front center and said loudly in his best British English with a very distinct Spanish accent, "I am lonely. I want some friends."Music started, a group of saggy tight wearing snowflakes jumped up, said (also in Spanish inflected British) "We'll be your friends!" and began dancing.
Poor little things. The teachers sent home lists of what the children needed for their costumes. I wonder if the parents had any idea what sort of visual this would be. These snowflakes along with a group of bears and several other unfortunate creatures wore tights with short tops and other little costume pieces that did not cover their bottoms. One little snowflake wore darling (but very apparent) panties with bright red hearts under her white tights. Every one saw them. Many children (really, a lot - almost the norm) had such ill fitted tights, the crotches hung down to their knees making skipping, jumping, and dancing very difficult, awkward, and fairly sad. Poor kids.
And this was the play. After the snowflakes left, the rotund snowman came back to stage center and repeated his inflected line again and the bears jumped up and said, "We'll be your friend!" and begun dancing. Trees, snowflakes, bears, owls, elves, and fairies all danced - and the snowman was still lonely until a group of other snowman danced. Then one from each group joined hands and danced around the lonely one in a circle while the entire group sung "Frosty the Snowman" repeatedly, the chubby snowman falling down and tripping in the center of the moving circle, and the children laughing and giggling the entire time.
And my little star - she was a fairy. A rock star fairy. She danced to "Tonight's Gonna Be a Good Night" by the Black Eyed Peas.
And she was smiley and beautiful and knew the moves. Confident. And then they started jumping. And she was jumping with the biggest smile so enthusiastically. It was amazing. The music was infectious. Of all the songs, this one, though not even the slightest bit Christmasy, was obviously the crowd's favorite. And then... the frilly purple skirt with the little purple stars... fell down!!! And Elise stopped, tried to fix it, the held the ends, pushed her lip out, and just stared at it for a moment. Her big eyes looked like they would tear up any second. We worried. But my big girl pulled through... not with quite the same gusto, but she finished the dance, then was part of that special group that danced around the falling snowman at the end. So Hooray, ELISE!!! She did it! And she is a great little dancer.
A social at the end... lemon cake and turrones. Children eating sugar and running wild. We stayed a bit, then went home in our new lemon, my rental car.
Monday, December 14, 2009
I much prefer old people on bicycles. That's how I found them in Germany. With rakes and shovels, plants and flower arrangements, groceries and gifts, they rode bicycles from village to village visiting friends both alive and not, and running errands as needed. It was nice. It was safe. I never knew one to hit my car. :)
So today was the day that everything clicked. It flowed. It was perfect. I realized that a light misting of rain - not even rain, but the sort of mist you'd find refreshing on a hot day at a Disney park - will keep the Valencians warm and cozy inside so that you can walk into your bank and be the only customer in there and so that one hour photo becomes 5 minutes while you wait. It's a beautiful thing. And you can run to the school and drop off those photos and head to the bakery for a coffee because you're running ahead.... but wait. I never quite got there.
That's where my appreciation for German old people comes in. I met my second set of Spanish old people today that probably shouldn't be operating a lawn mower let alone a car. Nice people, but not fab drivers.
Today, I was driving at a safe speed down a main road heading into town. A intersection that I often take was coming up on my right. I saw the blue opel approach the stop sign where I have often stopped before making a left hand turn. I watched as they slowed briefly, then looked ahead confident that the slowing meant a stop. But the stop didn't come. She didn't see me. She wanted to make a left quickly to cross those lanes ahead of traffic. She gunned it fast and hard. And I felt it as she hit the back passenger's side tire with a force that caused my car to spin until it stopped at the little stripped median near her facing oncoming traffic. I got out, grabbed my iphone, and dialed 112.
Traffic flowed around me normally. No one stopped. No one asked if I was ok. No one even slowed down or yelled out their window. Francisca's husband wandered over to my car. I told him I'd called the police, so please wait. "Why!?," he asked, "There's no damage to your car?!?!" There were grey and blue bits of plastic and metal all over the street around our cars. I walked him to the back of my car and pointed to the smashed in place around my incredibly flat tire that I was seeing for the first time as well. He grunted and walked back to his car.
The lady at the other end of the emergency told me to move my car if I could if it was in a dangerous spot. Traffic cleared long enough for me to pull it over to the other side of the road in a wide spot. And I waited.
The old couple walked over. Francisca was the driver.
"No tengo seguros," she told me. No insurance. She said insurance is expensive and she doesn't have the money to pay for the damage.
"But you have to have insurance to drive," I told her in Spanish. It was calm, amiable. But "I'm sorry", I said. "The police are coming. I had to call them. Please wait."
"How long?", they asked.
"I don't know. May be 10-15 minutes."
The accident was at 1152. It was spitting rain and bitterly cold - more for them than me, but still. None of us wanted to stay outside. We sat in our own cars. Theirs was across the street. Every 5 minutes they'd walk over. I'd roll down my window. How much longer? Did you call the police? Are they coming? Why did you call? Let's just exchange contact information. We have to go to Valencia. We don't have time to wait. And the questions and complaints kept coming. Not in a mean way though Francisca's husband looked upset. They were just as cold and frustrated as I. She said she never saw me. At one point after talking to me, she leaned forward a little, reached out, and smoothed out my damp windblown hair before turning and walking away. That was nice.
A man driving a tow truck stopped by and talked to me. He lives in Sagunto just up the road. It looks like I'll need a tow truck. So he gave me his business card. That was nice too.
At 1225 the police weren't there yet. Francisca came over and told me that they were going into town to get insurance papers. They'd be back. They weren't "those kind" of people. Ok, I guess.
20 minutes later they did come back, park next to me, and ask again about the police. I'd called a friend while they were gone and he'd made some calls to get the police to come.
Little did I know we were across the street and a small green lot from a police station.
Just after 1 a policeman walked over and asked us to drive to the station since it was cold. Drive? He looked at my car and said he'd walk over with me. He was nice. No one spoke English, but that's ok I understood what was going on. I could tell them what happened and they understood me. I filled out the paperwork. I understood when the old man said that it was dark and I was driving fast and the policeman said that everyone drives fast there because it is a fast road and they ran a stop sign, so they carry all of the fault. It felt good to be defended.
Francisca was scared, but the policeman was kind and calming. Eventually, the reports were done, the papers signed. And the old couple drove away.
I asked to use the bathroom, then sat down on a chair in the station lobby to look through my paperwork and try to think of what to do next. The school had called during all this. Arianna was sick and needed to get picked up. I couldn't drive my car. I didn't know where to take it. I was shaky and just wanted to go home.
Three police officers there offered help and asked me what they could do. One led me to his office, pulled out a chair, and scooted his phone over to me. I started to cry. "Don't cry," he said. I cried some more. "Ok, just cry." He was nice.
Several different phone calls. He called the dealership for me to see if they were open. He called a tow truck for me to see how much it would cost. I called the tow guy who'd stopped by and decided to go with him. He knew my voice and was at my van within 5 minutes. That was nice too.
The school called again. "Um. Before we go to the car place, can we stop by and pick up my sick daughter?" I asked. And he did. So Joaquin Jimenez Falla drove me and my beat up van to Caxton College and waited while I went in to fetch a coughing Arianna. He drove me to the Toyota dealership in Paterna and waited with me for 40 minutes for them to open. He helped me load my things back into his tow truck and offered to drive us back home. And he laughed each time I looked back at the flat of tiny poinsettias that I'd bought earlier for a party - young plants that he'd put in the open on the back of his tow truck that I was convinced would blow away. When he stopped by my bank for me he asked, "and how are your flowers?" with a sly grin. "Perfecto," I said. I couldn't believe it.
And then I was home. 5 hours later after a crazy spin, a lot of kind people, and the opportunity to pick up a sick child in a tow truck from school, I was home.
Again. I love old people. But I do prefer them on buses. And bicycles.
This is the intersection. I was driving across the photo to the left. The people were at the stop sign by the striped median at the center of the photo. I spun and hit that median and faced the right into oncoming traffic. Fun stuff. :)
So today was the day that everything clicked. It flowed. It was perfect. I realized that a light misting of rain - not even rain, but the sort of mist you'd find refreshing on a hot day at a Disney park - will keep the Valencians warm and cozy inside so that you can walk into your bank and be the only customer in there and so that one hour photo becomes 5 minutes while you wait. It's a beautiful thing. And you can run to the school and drop off those photos and head to the bakery for a coffee because you're running ahead.... but wait. I never quite got there.
That's where my appreciation for German old people comes in. I met my second set of Spanish old people today that probably shouldn't be operating a lawn mower let alone a car. Nice people, but not fab drivers.
Today, I was driving at a safe speed down a main road heading into town. A intersection that I often take was coming up on my right. I saw the blue opel approach the stop sign where I have often stopped before making a left hand turn. I watched as they slowed briefly, then looked ahead confident that the slowing meant a stop. But the stop didn't come. She didn't see me. She wanted to make a left quickly to cross those lanes ahead of traffic. She gunned it fast and hard. And I felt it as she hit the back passenger's side tire with a force that caused my car to spin until it stopped at the little stripped median near her facing oncoming traffic. I got out, grabbed my iphone, and dialed 112.
Traffic flowed around me normally. No one stopped. No one asked if I was ok. No one even slowed down or yelled out their window. Francisca's husband wandered over to my car. I told him I'd called the police, so please wait. "Why!?," he asked, "There's no damage to your car?!?!" There were grey and blue bits of plastic and metal all over the street around our cars. I walked him to the back of my car and pointed to the smashed in place around my incredibly flat tire that I was seeing for the first time as well. He grunted and walked back to his car.
The lady at the other end of the emergency told me to move my car if I could if it was in a dangerous spot. Traffic cleared long enough for me to pull it over to the other side of the road in a wide spot. And I waited.
The old couple walked over. Francisca was the driver.
"No tengo seguros," she told me. No insurance. She said insurance is expensive and she doesn't have the money to pay for the damage.
"But you have to have insurance to drive," I told her in Spanish. It was calm, amiable. But "I'm sorry", I said. "The police are coming. I had to call them. Please wait."
"How long?", they asked.
"I don't know. May be 10-15 minutes."
The accident was at 1152. It was spitting rain and bitterly cold - more for them than me, but still. None of us wanted to stay outside. We sat in our own cars. Theirs was across the street. Every 5 minutes they'd walk over. I'd roll down my window. How much longer? Did you call the police? Are they coming? Why did you call? Let's just exchange contact information. We have to go to Valencia. We don't have time to wait. And the questions and complaints kept coming. Not in a mean way though Francisca's husband looked upset. They were just as cold and frustrated as I. She said she never saw me. At one point after talking to me, she leaned forward a little, reached out, and smoothed out my damp windblown hair before turning and walking away. That was nice.
A man driving a tow truck stopped by and talked to me. He lives in Sagunto just up the road. It looks like I'll need a tow truck. So he gave me his business card. That was nice too.
At 1225 the police weren't there yet. Francisca came over and told me that they were going into town to get insurance papers. They'd be back. They weren't "those kind" of people. Ok, I guess.
20 minutes later they did come back, park next to me, and ask again about the police. I'd called a friend while they were gone and he'd made some calls to get the police to come.
Little did I know we were across the street and a small green lot from a police station.
Just after 1 a policeman walked over and asked us to drive to the station since it was cold. Drive? He looked at my car and said he'd walk over with me. He was nice. No one spoke English, but that's ok I understood what was going on. I could tell them what happened and they understood me. I filled out the paperwork. I understood when the old man said that it was dark and I was driving fast and the policeman said that everyone drives fast there because it is a fast road and they ran a stop sign, so they carry all of the fault. It felt good to be defended.
Francisca was scared, but the policeman was kind and calming. Eventually, the reports were done, the papers signed. And the old couple drove away.
I asked to use the bathroom, then sat down on a chair in the station lobby to look through my paperwork and try to think of what to do next. The school had called during all this. Arianna was sick and needed to get picked up. I couldn't drive my car. I didn't know where to take it. I was shaky and just wanted to go home.
Three police officers there offered help and asked me what they could do. One led me to his office, pulled out a chair, and scooted his phone over to me. I started to cry. "Don't cry," he said. I cried some more. "Ok, just cry." He was nice.
Several different phone calls. He called the dealership for me to see if they were open. He called a tow truck for me to see how much it would cost. I called the tow guy who'd stopped by and decided to go with him. He knew my voice and was at my van within 5 minutes. That was nice too.
The school called again. "Um. Before we go to the car place, can we stop by and pick up my sick daughter?" I asked. And he did. So Joaquin Jimenez Falla drove me and my beat up van to Caxton College and waited while I went in to fetch a coughing Arianna. He drove me to the Toyota dealership in Paterna and waited with me for 40 minutes for them to open. He helped me load my things back into his tow truck and offered to drive us back home. And he laughed each time I looked back at the flat of tiny poinsettias that I'd bought earlier for a party - young plants that he'd put in the open on the back of his tow truck that I was convinced would blow away. When he stopped by my bank for me he asked, "and how are your flowers?" with a sly grin. "Perfecto," I said. I couldn't believe it.
And then I was home. 5 hours later after a crazy spin, a lot of kind people, and the opportunity to pick up a sick child in a tow truck from school, I was home.
Again. I love old people. But I do prefer them on buses. And bicycles.
This is the intersection. I was driving across the photo to the left. The people were at the stop sign by the striped median at the center of the photo. I spun and hit that median and faced the right into oncoming traffic. Fun stuff. :)
Sunday, December 13, 2009
... with the flu shot on Thursday morning.
Christmas season, Bon Nadal along the streets, lights strung on hedges and palm trees, and poinsettia filled flower beds. It's beautiful. But now... looking back a bit, at my calendar and the days without a single photo taken... I can trace one very bad week to its beginning, a morning begun not with a steamy cup of fresh coffee, but with H1N1 shots for each of my girls.
Not that all my woes can be blamed on those, but it sure does start a weekend off on a bad foot. My poor girls got taken not to the bus stop, but to Betera where they were met with a very nice nurse who gave all four each a shot in an arm quicker than I thought possible - with the exception of Elise who I found under a row of chairs clinging to the wall. I had to pull her out with a bit of strength and it took 3 adults to hold her down while the 4th administered the shot. She and Arianna went to school afterwards. Luci and Tiara stayed home feeling ill.
I struggled a lot with these shots. All is said and done now, but until this morning I wasn't sure I would do it. We're generally pretty anti-flu shot here and while everyone else is sick with horrible flu, my clan is generally very healthy with just mild aches and coughs here and there. This time I still didn't think they needed it, but don't like the cost of being wrong if this turns into what it could be.
And I'm not blaming a shot of a dead virus to make my Arianna sick for the next four days (weeks later still with cough), but still... a holiday children's Christmas party missed and an entire weekend - Friday through Sunday - at home feeling puny. Paperchains, paper trees, and ice skating were the highlights.
The cheery spot in our weekend - this bright canvas done by Arianna herself in her art club at school. Can't wait to hang it!
Christmas season, Bon Nadal along the streets, lights strung on hedges and palm trees, and poinsettia filled flower beds. It's beautiful. But now... looking back a bit, at my calendar and the days without a single photo taken... I can trace one very bad week to its beginning, a morning begun not with a steamy cup of fresh coffee, but with H1N1 shots for each of my girls.
Not that all my woes can be blamed on those, but it sure does start a weekend off on a bad foot. My poor girls got taken not to the bus stop, but to Betera where they were met with a very nice nurse who gave all four each a shot in an arm quicker than I thought possible - with the exception of Elise who I found under a row of chairs clinging to the wall. I had to pull her out with a bit of strength and it took 3 adults to hold her down while the 4th administered the shot. She and Arianna went to school afterwards. Luci and Tiara stayed home feeling ill.
I struggled a lot with these shots. All is said and done now, but until this morning I wasn't sure I would do it. We're generally pretty anti-flu shot here and while everyone else is sick with horrible flu, my clan is generally very healthy with just mild aches and coughs here and there. This time I still didn't think they needed it, but don't like the cost of being wrong if this turns into what it could be.
And I'm not blaming a shot of a dead virus to make my Arianna sick for the next four days (weeks later still with cough), but still... a holiday children's Christmas party missed and an entire weekend - Friday through Sunday - at home feeling puny. Paperchains, paper trees, and ice skating were the highlights.
The cheery spot in our weekend - this bright canvas done by Arianna herself in her art club at school. Can't wait to hang it!
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
In a 10 second commercial for Valencia, I'd have to push for young, old, singles, families, lovers of art, and lovers of architecture to take a walk to the end of the Turia to see Calatrava's breathtaking City of Arts and Sciences.Grand in scope, these monstrosities spark the imagination. A spaceship? A big fish? The blue of the sky and reflections in the shallow waters surrounding the buildings make for happy cameras and wandering imaginations.
Kirk and I don't often get time alone. Really, I think the last real "date" that we went on was for our anniversary in March. Today the kids were all at school and he had the day off, so we took the train to Valencia passing the CAC on the way in. "Do you think we could walk there?" Hmm. I thought it might be a bit far, but no short legs along, why not give it a shot? And sure enough we enjoyed a marvelous walk from the old train station at the city's center to the turia that circles it, through the lush green paths past fountains and palm trees, Gulliver Park and the Opera House, old people in fancy suits pushing strollers and policemen parking their horses at the coffee shop for a quick rest, down to the CAC, Valencia's Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias.
There is the Palau de les Arte with concerts and arts events, the Oceanografic - Europe's largest aquarium, a wonderful science center for children, a planetarium, a beautiful garden space, and the new Agora - a convention center that just opened in October. And though each is spectacular in and of itself, on a beautiful day like today, just the walk around the outside is enough. Exciting, new, wonderful.
I've not been a fan of an architect before, but I think Calatrava has won me over. As much an artist as an architect, his structures - especially these together here in Valencia - are as inspiring as functional and haven't gotten passe with subsequent viewing. His work complements the Turia of Valencia and the city itself without being shocking or garrish. Not modernism for the sake of being modern. Somehow, it just works. And today we were able to enjoy it all quietly and without hurry as we strolled through the city.Found a Japanese shop on the way back and bought wasabi powder, an ingredient that had eluded me until today. Stopped and had doeners and pide at a Turkish restaurant near the train station that the girls and I frequent. Train ride home sitting with a nice older couple who shared their mints and complained lightly about the unusual warmth in the city - warm enough for short sleeves today. Doesn't feel like December.
http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=4264499&l=cab0ca8cbc&id=674507268
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
What I didn't remember in yesterday's post was that I did actually make it out of the house on Saturday. Not a huge deal, really, except that it turned into something strange. We went to get Luci's new glasses, parked, walked there, the glasses weren't ready, so come back Monday? Ok. We thought we'd go for a quick coffee before heading home - an outing not completely wasted. As we neared our truck, we saw a BMW parked diagonally in the street. I looked closer. It was actually touching the red car parked across the street. Kirk unlocked the doors, Luci started to climb in the car, the BMW began to move. It appeared that the old man driving it was trying to park in the spot between us and the car in front of us. There was plenty of space. Lots of space enough for 2-3' clearance on either end.I stood there and watched as he backed away from the red car in front and across the street from us and backed right into Kirk's truck. He didn't stop, flinch, or make any motions of acknowledgement, even as Kirk walked up to his car and said, "Hey, you hit my car!"
Nope, this man kept trying to park. He hit the car in front of us, hit us again, then repeatedly hit the car in front of us over and over again. Backing up, pulling forward a bit too far. We called the police and watched and waited. A man came over after a while who seemed to know the old man and tried to help him park pushing the car this way and that. Even with help, the old man hit the car in front of us, but the man helping didn't seem to care. To us, it seemed very strange.
But then, here we are in Spain. Things are so very different here. More mellow. More laid back. And car insurance is different too. With us, we get upset. We want our cars to stay nice and ever little ding costs us $$$ in deductibles and rising premiums if we opt to get it fixed. This situation in the states would have been dramatically different. To them, it's "no pasa nada." Not a big deal, nothing happened. Just a dent, no one hurt. And... by the way, their insurance company will pay for the entire car to get completely repaired dings, dents, and all not every three years as I thought, but every year according to the police! If my insurance told me to take my car in every year to get fixed, oh how different I would feel. No ding, dent, or scrape would matter!
The police arrived. They were mellow too. I told them what happened. They took a report, and got the insurance information. Friendly and helpful. It was a great police experience. I know know what will happen now with the old man - if he'll be allowed to drive or not. I hope not... really, we were all lucky that there weren't pedestrians around. He didn't seem to lucid. But... can't complain. No injuries. Just dents and a missed cup of coffee. I guess they're right - no pasa nada.
Which is kind of a funny lead in to today's holiday and the reason that this weekend stretched into 4 days - the Day of the Immaculate Conception. That was today. Strange for me to think of those terms with Christmas, and not something I'd think to celebrate, but hey - it's a day off of work/school for us! Not feeling 100%, we stayed home mostly today, but I did drive over the mountain behind our house with the not quite so little girls and we took a hike. They loved it. My Luci - once Luci Molasses - is now Luci the Mountain Goat. A climber who runs ahead and loves hiking. It's beautiful back there and the trails stretch for miles. We'll do this often. We saw large groups of walkers today as we ventured out. Wasn't sure how to celebrate a holiday like this, but I guess we did ok. Seems to be the thing to do on a beautiful sunny warm day.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Random title for a random post.First off, Gripe A (gree-pay ahhh). The Spanish word for Swine Flu that is the topic of television, radio, and poster all around the area. Notes have gone home from school, presentations were given. People here have swine flu. It's here, it's prevalent, it's a problem. Given that, we're fine, but my super immunity has given in finally to a lesser form and I must admit that I have a cold. Blech. Not stopping me, but not what I envisioned for my 4 day weekend when Spain is celebrating not one but two holidays - Constitution Day honoring a constitution younger than me and Immaculate Conception Day which also marks the shortest human gestational period ever. ;)
So a weekend that I thought my possibly be filled with day trips has been filled with a bit of Christmas decor and cooking. The cat taking advantage of my slower pace and nibbling on the dried corn husks one last time before I hauled them away. This is the new cat Deuce and the only other male in the house.
Yesterday itching to just get out into the beautiful weather - t-shirt weather - so warm that our windows and doors were open all day - we went out for coffee, then to Verdecora. I'd already decided that 99+ Euros for a pathetic Charlie Brownesque tree was as unacceptable to me as any form of artificial tree, so we opted for a bit of a break from tradition - my first year now in 35 that I won't have my big, fat, perfect Christmas tree, so I made up for it with 8. Yes, eight trees. Four tiny ones just a foot high in little pots, one for each of the girls for their rooms. And 4 more 3-4 feet tall in pots - live trees - set high on things about the rest of the house. It's a lot of tree and a lot of fun. Our next couple weeks we'll theme them and make decorations for them. Our old ones will remain packed. Our only quandary now is where to put the gifts on Christmas morning, but I believe that Santa will work a bit of Christmas magic and find a way. He always does. :)
Saturday, December 05, 2009
It's the little things that make the holidays feel extra special... little things like gingerbread flavoured coffee mate. And those special friends who will send it to you. Lucky me, my friend Rebecca also knows, shares, and understands my foodie curiosity in all things odd, interesting, yet also edible. Foodie to a point, I will try anything new and different as long as it isn't super disgusting or covered in mayonnaise.So I opened up a wonderful box containing 8 containers of coffee mate and a little zip lock baggie of this. Hollow tubes of chewy sweetness. She found it in Sittard at the Dutch market there. Any ideas what it might be??? I posed that question to my girls. Tiara figured it out.
Honey. Deep fried honey. Tastes a lot like honeycomb - chewy with an intensity of honey flavor. Good, but not something you could eat a lot of. Wondering how I could cook with this. May be in cookies? Hmm.
Thursday, December 03, 2009
All the rave here in Spain this holiday season are turrones - bars of what traditionally consists of marzipan flavored or combined with fruit, nuts, chocolate, or other things. Each region has their own brand of turron. Those of Jijona are made up of almonds encased in a sticky white sweet. Some are flavored with Yema - a combination of egg yolks and sugar similar to the Dutch Advocaat, but without the alcohol. We got one that is like a Mounds bar on steroids - one 3" x 7" bar of sweetened coconut covered in dark chocolate. Bottom line - it's delicious and dangerous, yet something specifically Spain, so I must try it all, mustn't I? In order to fully embrace the culture of Spain, of course.So, today I photographed these three twists on Turron - marzipan flavored with kiwi, strawberry, and orange. All delicious. Luci, Arianna, and I sampled these at my coffee shop today after dropping Tiara and Elise off at school. All the girls had eye appointments today, but the middles had their eyes dilated, so couldn't see enough to read or write, but could see enough to drink some hot chocolate and eat a donut. :)
In other news, Logan, now 10 days post-op had her check up and all looks good. She can have her cone off tomorrow. I think we're all as happy as she. Nothing like the sound of dog claws on plastic as she tried to scratch each night. This has been my alarm clock for the past 10 days.Though she and cat try to act like the rivals nature intended, I think their desperation for a playmate is wearing them down. Stealing each other's toys and chasing the same ball, the safety distance between them has decreased to nil.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
My life is in metric. Can't think in miles anymore. It's more like "in 500 meters, turn right." And I get that. Tell me to turn in .1 miles and I have absolutely no clue what you're talking about.
And though thanks to that ego squelching scale that sits in my upstairs bathroom I'm painfully aware of pounds, I am learning also to appreciate the kilo and just how much that is.
Give me an open air market and it's even better. Fresher produce, half the price. And really, can you beat that? I got artichokes today - artichufas. 4.4 pounds (2 kilos) for under 2 Euros! Fantastic! Kiwis today (and from a man singing the Gypsy Kings) - an entire kilo for just 1.50. And apples and potatoes and mangos and the reddest tomatoes I've seen since moving here - all fresh and beautiful, reasonably priced, and from happy, smiling, friendly people.
Add a couple friends who will graciously help me eat leftover Thanksgiving pie and the day is just about perfect.
No, didn't get the snails though I thought they made an interesting photo and what a steal at 5 Euros for an entire kilo! River snails from Segunto. Nice town, pretty river. But thank you, I'll stop at the photo op.
This is where anything interesting about today must end. For I live here and unfortunately housework and gift wrapping must not be put off again. :)
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