Life: Idiotropic

Today entailed a long line at the bank, translating for a friend with the alarm system guy and the cell phone folks, then lunch with at a tiny restaurant in Betera that boasts the taste of Teruel, a mountain village an hour away. 

Today I saw a tiny dog wearing a yellow rain slicker and a fat leafless tree completely painted in a vibrant red.

Today I learned that when ordering Greek Moussaka in a Spanish restaurant in a tiny town in Spain that specializes in food from a different Spanish mountain village, what is delivered to your table will most likely not resemble any Greek Moussaka ever served in Greece in either appearance or flavor.

A good day, but now I'm craving moussaka - the real stuff.

Now this is a fun family tradition.  Three small desserts, 6 tiny plates.  Perfect.  No one gets too much and we're all trying something new.  Today we needed cuatro barras de pan rustica from my little bakery, so why not pick up a something sweet?  I've never seen the bakery so packed.  Every table was full, people crowded around the tiny counter, and the thick line of people went to the door with others talking outside until the crowds died down.  Worth every moment in line. Today we hit a home run.

All three desserts were delicious with almost 100% agreement.  The chocolate had a crispy square cookie in the center which gave it a surprising crunch - again, these people know how to do chocolate.  A pure intense flavor without unnecessary sweetness.  A cookie, a generous dollop of chocolate mousse enrobed in chocolate ganache.  The white pastry had thick slices of a sweet moist cake inside.  It was then filled with custard and rolled in coconut.  Very light.  5/6 liked this one.  Would be wonderful with fruit.  The red one had rectangles of chocolate and yellow cake in the center with cherry mousse around it finished off with a vibrant red cherry glaze.  Better than I'd imagined.  5/6 liked this one too.

Such a sweet weekend treat.  I love my little bakery and am especially thankful that they only make these type of treats on weekends or I'd be a much fluffier me.

February 3rd is El Dia de San Blas in many parts of Spain.  I know this now because I went to my bakery today with a my Australian friend for coffee and a chat and decided to grab a couple things on the way out.  This round bread caught my eye.  I'd never seen it here before, so I had to try it.  Tomorrow is a holiday, but apparently there is no traditional food for San Vicente, so they're baking early for San Blas.

Known for healing both animals and people and for saving a boy with the spine of a fish.  He is the patron saint of the throat and so this bread is also good for the throat, or so I was told.

Only slightly sweet, a bit eggy, light, and with a subtle, but noticible licorice flavor from the anis seeds sprinkled within,  an herb which is supposed to be very good for the throat, Kirk and I enjoyed this.  It's good with a strong black tea.  The girls don't like licorice, so they didn't like this bread.  C'est le vie.  More for me.

Such a lovely word.  Rebajas is the castellano, rebaixes is Valenciano, either way it translates into a fun day of shopping at the mall with friends.  Rebates, sales, discounts.  Fabulous.

What tickles me is what seems to be a European thing, the naked mannequin.  In The Netherlands and Germany I saw the same thing.  In January and July storefront windows are lined with mannequins of all shapes and sizes posing completely naked, with signs, or wearing garbage bags. 

Apparently their attire is on sale too.

Another Sunday morning coffee, a few more sweets to try.  Two cafes con leche, then Kirk ordered a ham sandwich in white bread piped with mashed potatoes and baked.  He thought it might be more like a Croque Monsieur.  It wasn't.  But not horrible.  I ordered a Coca de cebolla... an onion tart on that traditional Spanish dough that is very thin, crunchy and just a bit too greasy for me, but delicious nonetheless.

Tiara asked that we bring her one of our favorite chocolate mousse rolls... Kirk wanted one too, so we we ordered two and Kirk was kind enough to share.  Then I got the rest of these goodies to divide up among 6 plates at home.  Each of the girls got one whole rich deliciously creamy chocolate profiterole eaten with gusto and begging for more.  The littles wouldn't try their Creme de Catalan filled pastry in the center, but Tiara and Kirk both really like it.  "It has flavor!" Kirk exclaimed with surprise.  The golden topping is crunchy and sweet - almost a caramel toffee on top of the creme puff below.  On the left is what Tiara and I thought would be fabulous.  A thin cake with mousse of red fruits then mousse of mango.  Beautiful, a work of art, not disgusting, but the fruit flavors were just not quite there.  Like fruit just before it's prime.  True flavor, not overly sweet, but just not fully developed either.  So far our little bakery has hit a home run in all things chocolate.  6/6 love it and all of it.  The others... well, it's nice to try something new.

Along Spanish playas wash up more than shells and beach glass... you also find "beach tiles," wonderfully smooth worn pieces of tile with bits of glaze still on top.

These are some of our treasures from our days of scouring the sand in Almunecar on Spain's southern coast where the tiles are as plentiful as the sun.  I've found small pieces of tile along some of Valencia's beaches as well, but it's not as abundant here.

I live in the land of one way roads, houses built on loops, so miss it and you must go down and start again.  Unless you're the garbage truck who backs up daily uphill to our street, or any number of delivery trucks who just don't care, or my husband coming home after a huge tree had blown down two houses from us blocking the road entirely.  This tree blew down in the storm last night.  It was still there at 5 this afternoon.

The windiest day in 20 years, but a phenomenal sunset.  When days are hard, it is still a blessing to look out upon this Spanish sky.  Always beautiful.

Today Valencia experiences its strongest winds in over 20 years.  The city asked people to stay indoors to protect themselves from falling objects.  A huge metal sign fell 10 stories and crushed a car below.  City parks were closed.  The A-7 (autobahn/highway) was rerouted at several points including our exit in Puzol.  And trees fell.  A lot of trees fell. 

When I came home today from a coffee with friends I walked through that little gate and this big tree was still standing, but barely.  The wind was so strong, it was difficult to walk, the tree leaned and the ground was already coming up around it.  I walked around the other side of the tree to reach my front door worried it would fall on me.  An hour later I took this photo from my front door.  And this evening my landlord and his wife came to chop it into bits.  We love this tree.  It framed our door nicely, provided shade, and was just a very nice tree.  Kirk even liked it.  It is the tree I posed with for my profile photo on this blog.  I like it. 

So now we're mourning it's loss.  The girls came home, climbed and jumped on it, and picked off the browning seed pods that were too high to get before.  It will be replaced with a bush.  :(  Not the same. 

Thankfully our spirits were cheered with the always hilarious auditions for "American Idol" that we all watched tonight.   Good bye, tree.  I salute you with my version of tonight's hit song... "tree on the ground.  Tree on the ground.  Lookin' like a fool with your tree on the ground.

Sigh. A beautifully dreary morning weather wise made sunny with the laughter of international friends.

Met a very nice Australian woman at the bus stop this morning who just moved here. Too fun. Great to hear English, love that accent, and exciting to meet someone new. Her daughter is in Arianna's grade - also exciting for Arianna to have another native English speaker in her grade. Makes Spanish brain strain moments easier when you can escape to your mother tongue.

Dropped off my rental car without a hitch (no van yet, just don't want to pay for a rental anymore), and enjoyed the company of a kind friend who came to the airport and picked me up before our International Spouses coffee this morning.

The French ladies hosted the coffee. Greeted the group in Spanish and French then invited us to eat and drink and converse as always. No program necessary in this group. We have our coffee and a plate full of sweets and we don't stop talking until someone looks at their watch and jumps up realizing that they have a little one to pick up at school and are going to be late.

Great sweets this morning - tiny lemon tarts, a chocolate pear claffouti, various muffins, truffles, and a traditional Christmas cookie with anise that is similar to Aachener printen. The coffee is Europe strong and delicious, so all there is left to do after the first 20 minutes of smiles, greetings, and kisses is to find a chair and start talking. I sat at a table with 2 Italians, 2 Germans, one American who was floating around talking most of the time, and a Valencian woman who's American husband is in Iraq right now, so she came home so her daughter could improve her Spanish at the same school she herself attended as a girl.

And the conversation flew... in English, in Spanish, and in German. I love that. It is exhilarating to be able to understand the German conversation next to me and occasionally chime in as needed, to converse in English then Spanish - to switch as needed depending on who joins. Spanish is the common language here more than English. The Italian lady across from me is new. As it quieted down towards the end I asked her if she spoke English. No. Spanish? No. But she can understand. So I spoke Spanish, she spoke Italian and a little Spanish, and we had a lovely conversation.

Now the house is quiet. It's time for some work in my little office nook where I can see the mountain and the sea. It is cold and I don't have a car, but once again, this is a happy day in Spain.

A good day in Spain begins when you try to call a friend in the morning and you can't call out, and then none of your Internet tabs will refresh, so you realize that Telefonika has cut your service again.

So you rummage though BBVA statements and realize that the day that Telefonika tried to take the money from your account, some life insurance company that you never heard of before also took money out of your account so Telefonika's request got denied.

Really. This is a good day in Spain.

Because this was the day that I called Telefonika and got a man on the other end who not only spoke English well, but listened well, and instead of making me wait 6-24 hours to have service again, turned it back on instantly for me and canceled services on my phone bill that I don't need.

Today was the day that the lady at the post office who took my phone bill payment was extra chatty and smiled a lot and talked to me like I was an old friend sharing a coffee instead of another annoying customer.

It was the day that there was no traffic on the highways and tons of open parking in Betera even though it was market day. A day that I ran into a friend that I haven't seen in months had took a few extra minutes to visit while she went into a dress shop to browse. A day that I found an Italian mohair dress that not only fit me, but was on sale.

Today was the day that there was no line at the bank and Sergio was his normal smiley, happy self and was able to refund the money that the insurance company took illegally AND blocked them completely so that they can never access my account again.

Today was a good day. The guys at the gate of the base smiled. Everyone was helpful.

Today began with some frustration and inconveniences, but the people along the way made it good.

And that's what it boils down to. Our days - all our days - have ups and downs, joys, and downright painful moments. Spain itself, as much as I love parts of it, can be painful. But the people can make this great. And most of the time they do. Today - because of a handful of great people - was a really good day in Spain.

... a day at home to spark some imagination

... a dress up box and a ballet bag

... hearing giggles, then, "hey mom," and turning around to see this.


Just another day of "normal" at my never quiet, never boring, quite zany and often hilarious household of girls... and sometimes creatures.

This morning, as usual, I got up before Mr. Sun, slunk downstairs, flicked on lights, made a ton of racket, woke up the girls in my cheeriest voice quite opposite of my real feelings towards morning, let the dog out, counted to 10, then let her back in at her bark.  I pet her head.  Her fur was cold.  And two sparkly things caught my eye.  I bent over, looked closely at the crystaline white shimmers on her back, and touched one.  It was cold and disappeared on my finger.

No.  It's early.  No.  I'm still half-asleep.  A fluke flake?  No.  It absolutely can't be snowing in Valencia.

The girls got up, the routine went on, the sky began to lighten and just before it was time to go, the sun was up just enough that I looked out the window and yelled, "SNOW!"

Then came the screeches of excited girls and the begging of all four to stay home from school.  A snow day!  Let's stay home.  No, no, if we go to school we won't be able to play!  Please, mommy, please!!!

But this mean old mommy made them get on the bus anyway.  And I ran off to have coffee with a friend and contemplate errands because if a car can run a stop sign in the mist, then how will these people drive in the snow?  But the snow stopped and I ran my errands in awe of the intensity of the white that covered all the mountains and even small hills all around the city.  L'Eliana had 3" and some got as much as 6" - towns not far from us at all.  The hill behind us was sprinkled with white.  There was no accumulation here, but it was still amazing to see the Mediterranean sea behind a veil of falling snow.


Kicking myself for not taking pictures.

This is the day that the weather was supposed to be horrid and we'd decided that Kirk and the littles would be perfectly satisfied staying in for the day in the dry while Tiara and I ventured out for some mother-daughter "shopping and photo taking at our own pace" time.  Then, quite magically, just before we were ready to go, the sun appeared and I was struck with quandry of going and enjoying one very relaxing easy sort of vacation day or taking the rest of the family for a nice day, but may be not quite as easy a day.

"Nice mom" won out and the six of us went out again taking a different route towards the river, by the Plaza de Toros, near the old Tabaco factory, to the Plaza de España, then back along the Alcazaba gardens to the Jewish Quarter where the hail dumped heavily and we all took to the protection of trees and doorways.  Dinner at a really nice tapas place, shopping on one of the main streets, and home to sort and pack for Cordoba the following day.


That last paragraph is the "tapa" version.  The taste, summary, or sample of the day.  I'll spare you the "Super Sized Meal" as I'm really not in the "writing" mood, but for a reasonable "plato," with photos, you may continue below. [Ok, so a different day, different hour and upon finishing this, although I didn't dwell too much on some details, it is a little more "Super Sized" than I'd thought.  Sorry.  It's just Seville, NO8DO.]


We took a different route this morning, one that took us through the half-empty market with the first strawberries I'd seen since spring, big red and oh so tempting, down a different narrow cobbled street with rather nice graffiti on closed shop doors, back around to a church we'd walked by countless times without noticing it was there, until today.  On top of that pretty church bell tower was a very large nest - most likely the nest of the very two storks who had flown over Kirk and I just two days before.  There they were standing there proudly fussing about with whatever storks fuss with, perhaps readying their nest for spring.


Seville seems to be the city of a thousand churches, all significant, all beautiful in some way, yet most almost invisible.  Of course, from the Giralda I saw the towers, but when walking through town, they are so tightly sandwiched in wall to wall with all the other buildings, that except for the large ceramic tile art on the facade, you'd never know that it was religious at all.  This morning on a random street I was lucky enough to catch a door open - one that led to a beautiful little church courtyard with a blue and white ceramic Mary and rows upon rows of red glowing candle holders.


In a city like Seville there is too much to see.  We passed by museums and churches as if they were a 24-hr mini mart.  Here, they show up with that much frequency.  Actually, if we saw a 24-hr mini-mart here, I'd probably be jumping up and down, tugging on Kirk's sleeve, and snapping photos relentlessly.   But anyway, the point is, that Seville is too packed with "stuff" that is beautiful or significant, so unless you have oodles of time and a really detailed travel guide,  you just have to be content with the walk sometimes, to soak up what you can and just appreciate that you've been there.


We made it to the Guadalquivir river which runs through the city.  Like Portland, it too has a wide green waterfront park running along one side with paths winding throughout.  A nice place to walk dogs or run children.  Just not today as record rains have created tiny lagoons all throughout the park.  We walked here until we saw the yellow and white Plaza de Toros, then cut into that neighborhood to find some food.


We ate a a place with a row of bull heads mounted proudly along one wall with a row of pig legs hanging over the bar opposite.  Lunch was good.  The fam played it safe with burgers and salads.  I tried some sort of local beef stew that ended up being quite good though we worried and joked about what parts of beef would be used.  I'm never quite sure here.


Up to this point, the rain had waited.  It seems though, that any time that we stop for a meal, that the weather decides to change.  Like it's playing a trick on us.  Sunny?  Well, after a good lunch it will rain.  It doesn't matter where we are.  I think we've stumbled on some sort of Narnian wardrobe of weather.  Step through and it will be something different entirely.


So after this good lunch, a very short while after, it began to pour.  And it poured for a bit, then let up just to tease.  My photos of the Tabacco factory were taken from under the protection of my pink camo umbrella.  


The sun came out in time to see the Plaza de España, a place I didn't really want to see.  We'd stood in the rain huddled under umbrellas debating.  I wanted to walk back to the Jewish district for shopping and lunch.  Kirk wanted to see the Plaza de España.  I really didn't see how some little plaza could be worth a walk with little people in the nasty wet.  This is one of those moments, I was glad he got his way.  It is amazing!  A tour of Spain through the painted tiles, the monstrous crescent is lined with beautiful alcoves each depicting a different Spanish city in a large tile painting.  A map with the city is below and both sides are decorated with beautiful ceramic tiles.  Each one is completely different.  The ends have large towers and there's a large royal looking structure in the middle.  Linking them all is a grand hallway with colums - a place where Star Wars Attack of the Clones was partially filmed.  There's a grandiose fountain in the front center of the plaza where the carriage drivers bring their horses for a bit of fuel "sin plomo" as one told me.  Unleaded.

I didn't want to take a taxi.  It wasn't that far to the Jewish district.  Of this I was sure.  Nope.  No taxi for us.  And I was right.  It wasn't that far along the Alcazaba gardens back to the barrio, not far at all.  And then the hail started.  Big white pellets from the heavens.  So the jokes on me because my Spanish friends told me that Seville is always warm and I didn't need to pack heavy, and I am so glad that I didn't listen because it's cold and now it's hailing.  Warm, Seville?  So we made it to the Jewish quarter and huddled under a doorway and a large tree until the hail stopped, then scurried through the winding streets in the rain.  Our umbrellas left a trail of raindrops in each shop we stopped in, so eventually we gave up and decided to get some food.

Ay Maricru got our business because last night the girls saw the placard outside advertising chicken wings among the list of tapas.  Bright red walls, red and lime green polka dotted chairs, ruffled lampshades like flamenco skirts.  Tiny, atmospheric, and fun.  The waitress was incredibly nice and the place was empty.  It wasn't the dinner hour (for the Spanish), but they serve food all the time.  Chicken wings were a hit with the girls.  Kirk and I tried a zucchini dish that was really delicious with cheese in a tomatoe sauce.  And Tiara and I both had the most amazing round of goat cheese covered in a warm raspberry sauce. 

The walk home took us to the Calle Sierpes, a very nice shopping street where we ducked in and out of shops until Tiara, Elise, and Arianna had all found a souvenir.  Luci got hers in Granada. 
 
All day today I've seen NO8DO, Seville's motto, on ceramic tile signs, man-hole covers, street signs, buildings and banners.  It's beautiful.  A skein of wool wound into a figure 8 is called a "madeja."  So, this reads, "No madeja do."  When spoken, it sounds like "No me ha dejado," which means "It has not abandoned me" or "It has not left me."  So, once you've been to Seville or if you're from Seville, you needn't worry, for it will never leave you.  Sitting here writing this, I can assure you it's true.  It doesn't leave you.  There is something special that finds its way into your heart and lingers there.  And I'm glad.  Seville, of the three magnificent cities I saw on this trip, is the one that I wish to hold onto, the one that I will return to if life allows.



MORE PHOTOS:  http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=191182&id=674507268&l=ed383e09ec

Seville.  Even in the drizzle, there is just something about Seville.  A rhythm, a feeling, something in the breeze that lifts you up and carries you away.  I love walking out of my apartment door, strolling across the wide flat rooftop towards the edge and looking out at the mosaic of rooftops and church towers.  It just feels good to be there.

One of the special moments that I almost always reserve only for me is the daily buying of the bread.  It's a vacation thing - at least when we're staying within walking distance of a baker.  In Paris too, I'd get up early, then venture out to find breakfast while the others finished getting ready.  Here in Seville, it is entirely too easy.  The door of our building looks directly across the street into a bakery that serves the most amazing chocolate fartones ever.  This morning, I walked in, looked around at the cases of goodies, thought for a moment that I should order 4 of each cookie, got a hold of myself, and tried to be rational (a trait that does not come easily while standing in a crowded bakery).  Rational.  Ok.  Deep breath.  We have salami and milk already.  There are 6 of us.  I order one baguette, two small leak chicken tarts, and three chocolate fartones that are easily long enough to be cut in half and shared.  6.70 Euros is a great deal.  May be I should have gotten 4 of each cookie.  The family not only loved the goodies, but inhaled them so quickly that I had them asking for more.  Ugh.  15 minutes later, I'm standing there again, but at least this time it's an easy decision and I could get enough to may be last for a late night snack or breakfast the next day.  2 baguettes, 4 tarts (because Arianna ate half of mine and wants 2 more), and 3 fartones de chocolate.

It was noon by the time we left and raining lightly.  I had the map up tracking us on my phone, so only had to glance at it occasionally to know where we were.  The churches here are like coffee shops in Seattle in their abundance, but none are ordinary.  Even the simpler structures have beautiful tile art on the walls and some even have small slits for walk-by offerings.  They are all so pretty that Kirk kept asking me.

     "Is that the Cathedral?"
     "No."
     "Is that the Cathedral?"
     "No, you'll know it when you see it."
     "Are you sure that's not the Cathedral?"

I could see the tower in the distance.  I was sure.  It was getting closer, but "The Cathedral" would be something fairly special and in a fairly special area as well.  Besides, we still have more narrow streets of shops to get through.

Oh the shopping.  Nothing is exactly cheap, but the abundance of shops is incredible and not just tacky souvenir junk, here in Seville you can find really stunning, high quality things.  The fans and scarves, the dresses, beautiful hair pieces, jewelry.  It's a Sunday and all the shops are open.  That fact alone is nothing short of miraculous.

Now this is amazing.  In Seville's Jewish Quarter within which you'll find not one remaining synagogue (that isn't surprising, just sad), there is a Muslim Palace and an enormous Cathedral.  Three faiths often at odds exist here together in architecture.  Lucky for us, the rocks don't fight or we'd be posing in front of heaps of rubble instead of these works of art and culture.

The Muslim Giralda (tower), now part of the Cathedral, dominates the view as you approach.  That was my landmark and I knew it the moment we arrived.  A line of horse drawn carriages sat in the mist circling the church, a clear sign we were someplace special.  Beyond them the buildings sat back along the border of a huge open plaza with decorative pyramids of poinsettias sprinkled about.  We found the only open Cathedral entrance, but it was a Sunday, so services were in progress.  We could come back later.

To the right across a lesser plaza stands the Reales Alcazares, the old Mudejar palaces and a current vacation home of Spain's current king and queen.  We walked slowly there.  Kirk had Arianna and Luci with him.  I was wandering a bit taking pictures.  Tiara walked with Elise.  I stood about 20 feet away watching as a gypsy woman approached Tiara and took her hand.  She put a sprig of rosemary in one palm and closed her fingers around it, then took her other hand and examined Tiara's other palm telling her, I assume, something about her life or her future.  She pointed to Elise and took Elise' hand as well.  The gypsy was speaking Spanish the entire time.  Tiara didn't understand a word.  Tiara began to walk away, not understanding that this was a game of sorts.  The gypsy stood in her way and put out her hand for money.  It took Tiara a moment to understand, then frustrated and unsure what to say or do, she quickly handed the rosemary back to the woman, grabbed Elise' hand, and walked to me.  "Why didn't you save me?"  She was exasperated, but I thought it was a good experience.  This is part of life in Europe - life everywhere.


We entered the Mudejar palace which is really inexpensive to visit like many Spanish monuments.  I was a bit out of sorts when I visited this, so I don't think it made as much of an impact as it should have.  That, and like many Spain attractions, they gave us no map or information with our tickets, so we wandered through, but didn't feel like we actually knew where we were going and didn't know what exactly we were looking at historically.  The upstairs palace rooms were fully booked and the immense gardens were closed due to weather, so there was also a lot that we didn't see.  Still, it was pretty.  There are a lot of similarities between this and the Alhambra, but of course, this is on a much smaller scale, so although there is phenomenal beauty, it pales after seeing the Alhambra.  The gardens, on the other hand, from the tiny bit I was able to see, are spectacular.  Sad that the rain forbid our visiting them.

From the Mudejar we turned to our right to wander a bit through the old Jewish quarter, a cozy area of whitewashed old buildings, cobbled streets, tight corners at the end of narrow alleys, small courtyards and the occasional aged tree.  A place once bustling with the culture and life of Jews, a place once full of Synagogues.  Today I didn't even see a commemorative plaque.  Not one synagogue or scribble of Hebrew.  Now the streets are filled with tourists, tapas bars, and dotted flamenco dresses in gift shop windows.  A keen eye and you can find some real artists here - pottery and handpainted silk scarves and fans.  Regardless of its sad history, this busting barrio maintains an upbeat atmosphere.  Even in the light rain, people crowded into warm dimly lit bars for tapas and flamenco strains flowed from doorways.  We stood outside one tapas place deliberating food.  To eat, not to eat, to eat here, to find somewhere else.  Sometimes traveling with six makes decisions difficult.  An even split and the decision becomes mine.

We ate at an unusually brightly lit tapas bar that seemed like it would be the most kid friendly.  After all, they serve crepes.  We enjoyed about 3 minutes before the smoke started, but going somewhere else wouldn't guarantee clean air.  As of January 1st of this year, smoking is supposed to be banned for food establishments.  It's true on paper only.  So far, every place I've been has been just as smokey if not more.  It almost seems as if the Spanish here are lighting up twice as much just to get a few more in before the law is actually observed.

The waitress brought books for the girls which was nice.  They enjoyed the diversion, so kid-friendly earns points.  The waitresses also began to sing and dance to a song that came on the radio which was oddly entertaining.  Luci loved her banana nutela crepe (bad mom, I know, but this is vacation).  Tiara and I loved our goat cheese on canondigas salads.  Rediculously small, but soooo good.  I don't remember what Elise or Kirk ordered which means that it was neither stupendous nor awful, but poor Aria.  She ordered fish.  And she's my fish girl, so normally it would be fine, but her beautifully pink, large chunk of salmon on toast was absolutely swimming in some thick white mayonaisy goo that neither her nor I had the stomach for and even though I scraped it off, there was no ridding the fish of that flavor.  Blech.  Time to go.  We step out the doors into gusty wind and rain which got heavier as we approached the Cathedral and found the end of the line to get in.

Huddled under umbrellas we stood in the cold and waited until one of the employees grabbed us and a few others and took us to another entrance to hasten the line.  We entered at the Patio de las Naranjas, a large opening within the cathedral complex that I would have loved to explore if it were not raining. That patio is one of two things kept from the original Mosque that was built in this site in 1184, the other is the Giralda bell tower which we would go to next.  Amazing.  This is like no other tower I've ever climbed.  A wide ramp spirals all the way up almost to the top with small doorways and windows all around to stop, take in the view, and snap a few photos.  Built like this so that men could ride horses up this defensive tower, it's the only time I've seen something like this that is actually wheelchair/stroller friendly - a stark contrast to the steep ladders I've climbed up in towers of similar height.
That is the best part.  The Giralda.  It's simple, beautiful, and allows you views of the Cathedral itself that are interesting like the narrow canals carved into the stone crossbeams to allow for water to filter down to the gargoyles below - details that you rarely get to see in other cathedrals.

Apparently this Cathedral is the largest Gothic structure in Europe and a UNESCO world heritage site.  It is big and beautiful, but I think I've been desensitized to old European cathedrals.  They're all big and somewhat pretty - or just horrifically overdone, so sometimes they start to look similar and less special, this one has just enough to set it apart.  Pierre Dancart's alterpiece, a lifetime work comprised of a series of historical scenes carved and then painted, is impressive.  It sits at the front of the nave drawing the focus away from anything else there.  We walked around the periphery to see each of the small chapels all created in different styles - 80 of them.  The columns throughout this church are unusually wide - so much so that Luci spread out her arms in front and probably covered only half of one side.   And although most Cathedrals have some pretty special people buried within, this one houses the body of Christopher Columbus on one side of the church in a corner without pomp or heraldry.  It is simply held by the statues of men on one side of the church without any big signs.  In fact, he has as much recognition as the giant crocodile that hang's over the "lizard door" by the Orange Courtyard.  Yes, this cathedral is special in that it houses both Columbus and a giant lizard.  Apparently the Sultan of Egypt gave this crocodile to King Alfonso X as a gift.   When the animal died, they dried his body and hung it where a wooden replica hangs now.  It seems that "Medieval Christian also frequently hung preserved exotic items from the rafters of churches to evoke awe at the wondrous variety of God’s creations."  Eww.  I'd rather see them in zoos.


The treasury portion was interesting and the Chapter house created in the round with baroque style ceilings and a floor inspired by a famous artist whose name eludes me.  From there we saw one of the treasury rooms - the final room - that contained some of the most precious items - crowns, crosses and other beautiful things that intrigued the girls so much that, I suspect, one may have touched the glass - or banged it.  All I know is that a horribly high pitched alarm went off and didn't stop until our heads were sufficiently ringing.  Kirk had seen Luci quite close.  We grabbed hands and scurried out.  It was time to go anyway.

Wouldn't you know that of all the times to take this trip, we'd choose the time of record rainfall.  Cold, wet, and rainy was our walk home, but we did find a really nice shopping street and a Starbucks that provided our souvenir mug and just the kind of warmth we needed.

Here's hoping our electricity works tonight.  ;)

More Photos:  http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=191146&id=674507268&l=53d5c3fb0e 

Granada to Seville, just under 4 hours.  Getting into the center of Seville and finding our apartment among the web of overly narrow one-way streets, another 45 minutes.

The easy drive between these Andalucian cities gently undulates with the road through a olive covered countryside as far as the eye can sea.  In and around rolling hills and over mountains, both olives and road ramble on.  It's beautiful.  I saw one vineyard, a few small towns, castle ruins sprinkled here and here, but mostly single white homes in the center of acres upon acres of olive trees.  One here.  Another on a mountain in the distance. 

There's something special about olive trees.  The thick trunks, silvery leaves, and squatty size aren't grand or magnificent like my west coast redwoods, but like the old wrinkled tortoise, there is something dear and wise in these ancient trees.  I'd love to sit under one and listen to the stories it could tell.

At 1:30 I picked up my cell phone and, per the directions in our rental information, called Jose to let him know that I'd be there at 2. 

     "Um, we're eating lunch right now, couldn't you come at 2:30?"

     "What are we supposed to do?  Drive around in circles for 30 minutes?"  I was more sarcastic than I'd intended.  But really.  Traveling for 4 hours in a car with 4 kids.  We were there to see Seville and wanted to get out and get settled.  A bit of verbal tennis, then I agreed to call when we arrived.

30 minutes later and sure enough, we drove around in circles for another 30+ minutes.  Not that we planned to, but there is this ring road in Seville that only goes in one direction.  The lane that goes in the opposite direction (the direction that our GPS had hoped we'd take) is quite clearly marked "for buses and taxis only."  So we got to Seville before 2, ended up in a bus lane by accident, got out of that lane, and drove in a path not unlike the cue ball in a fast game of pool.  Our apartment was in the Alameda district in the historic center of town, within the old walls that still circle much of the center, flanked on one side by a river, and within a labyrinth of one way streets.  At one point, I seriously thought that we'd never actually reach it by car and would have to walk in.  As it was, the apartment stood on the narrowest portion of the street where no car could possibly park (unless you're a bakery delivery truck who doesn't care about blocking traffic), so when we did arrive, we parked 3 blocks up on the sidewalk on Calle Relator and I went to call and get the keys while Kirk waited with the girls.

A heavily built girl (by Spanish standards) in her mid twenties drove up on a moped, the only thing that could get anywhere quickly in this neighborhood, parked on the sidewalk, pulled out a set of keys, then showed me as she opened up all three locks - one for the front door on the street, another for the iron gate that led to the courtyard, then the third, trickiest for our apartment door on the top floor - the only apartment on top with a huge private balcony still wet from this morning's rain.  She spoke near perfect English having spent a year in Chicago with a school program.  Once I got the preliminary information, she left and I ran out to meet Kirk, and enlist the girls in hauling all of our luggage from the car up into the apartment.  The girls then stayed behind while Kirk and I searched for a parking garage.  28 Euros/day.  Blech.  I need to start factoring parking rates into lodging costs.

Though I enjoy cozy days at home with no outside obligations and time to tend to things here, while on vacation, I am fairly tireless.  Sitting makes me crazy and if allowed, I could go from morning to night walking and photographing with only brief breaks for a coffee or a muffin  - just enough to keep me going.  Of course, this drives even Kirk crazy and isn't possible with the kids.  There is a balance that frustrates me, but is necessary with "family travel."  Still, today I'd spent almost 5 hours in a car and it was time to move.  The kids had spent 5 hours in the car and wanted to relax.  So, they watched Brady Bunch on Tiara's laptop together and Kirk and I took off for a couple hours of exploring together, something that we don't have the luxury of doing very often alone. 

The Plaza de Hercules lies at the end of our Calle Relator, a large plaza lined with trees and today, with "art" booths as well.   Shiny metal tables and chairs fill the wide pedestrian spaces outside the restaurants surrounding the plaza running together so it's only by the menu that you can really tell which waiter will come to you.  Almost 6, the tables were full for purely social reasons.  A drink, a small plate of olives.  That's 6pm fair.

Within the plaza stood two long rows or white tented booths for the fair.  One large tent had low embroidered and leather chairs and tiny tables, hookah pipes and traditional teas.  A few played loud music.  Mostly, it was disappointing.  When I think of art or crafts, I want something hand made.  And even more so, I want it hand made by an artist sitting there selling it herself.  Handmade by an underpaid weaver in Africa is not the same.  After Granada's Albaicin, I'd seen enough of this in a more authentic setting anyway.  Most everything in this fair fell under the "overpriced Moroccan import" category.

A nice stroll, a survey of menus, two rumbling tummies, a decision made and we stopped at a darling little red building with pastas on the menu.  Looked nice and reasonable.  Our hunger made us forget the hour.  Ugh.  6pm.  No food for us and no food to-go for the kids as we'd hoped.  Dos cafes con leche, a nice conversation, and a time to relax in Seville's Alameda with the band playing on the stage in the background just far enough away that it added more than distracted from an already perfect atmosphere.  Two storks flew overhead. 

We stopped at a tiny overcrowded grocery for laundry soap, a delicious smoked salami (best I've had in Spain), and a few other basics before heading to the apartment.  The shelves inside were abnormally tall and horribly packed and each aisle was wide enough for one size 10-12 woman to walk through.  No bigger.  The counter was so crowded it was hard to figure out where to pay.   An Asian couple stood answering questions and checking people out as quickly as the spoke.  Their daughter stood by the bins of candy picking out pieces for a customer.   I tried to hear the Spanish through the heavy Chinese accent.

The apartment is very nice, clean, and well decorated.  One of the two couches upstairs unfolds into a double bed.  A small, but well supplied kitchen and dining area are included in the large upstairs room.  Down the narrow marble stairs are two nicely decorated bedrooms each with their own bathroom.  It was a good size for us - quite enough for 3 nights.

It had been unseasonably cold in Seville and stone floors don't insulate much.  Instead the cold cuts right through and it's so difficult to warm up.  Kirk turned on all three space heaters to try to warm the place up.  I went downstairs to start the shower so that the three younger girls could get clean and jammied.  The water was hot, Elise was ready to get in, then the place went black.  Downstairs, the metal shades were down, so everything was completely dark with no outside light getting in.  Elise was scared.  I turned off the water and waited until Kirk found the box and turned the lights back on.  Tiara was cooking pasta.  I turned the water back on and got Elise in.  The water wouldn't get hot.  It was barely warm, so the poor littles all took very quick, but fairly cold showers.  The electricity went off again.  Then on.  Kirk was getting quicker at finding the box.  3 minutes later it was black again.  Then a fourth time.   The television had been on.  We turned that off.  Turned off the shower, the stove, one of the space heaters.  I called.  Surely we should be able to have heat and cook at the same time?  An apartment for 6 should allow showers and cooking at the same time. 

An electrician came with the man who was in charge of repairs.  They experimented.  We turned things on and sure enough, the switch flipped and it was black again.  But there's nothing really wrong.  We just can't run too much.

Here in Spain, people sign usage contracts for electricity.  It's capped at how much you can use at one time.  If you go over that usage, it automatically shuts off.  In this small apartment, there is rarely a need for more electricity than the cap they have established, but it is not enough to run heaters and any other item.  Lights, ok.  TV, ok.  But we must choose between warm water, heaters, and cooking.  Laundry, forget about it.  Microwaves?  Only if nothing else is on.  A crazy first night in Seville.  But only for us flustered adults.  The kids sat cuddled together watching Brady Bunch on Tiara's laptop thankful for a charged battery.

A slow morning, cold and wet.  Noon and we're still milling about wondering what to do.  Stir crazy me must get out and do something, so we get ourselves together and head to the coast.  The perfect remedy, the sun is shining and it's not so cold over here.

The man who owns our little vacation apartment had recommended Almuñecar’s Playa de Cabria which we'd missed the other day, but caught the sign on the way back.  So we headed there - just 35 minutes away, from the main road down a tiny uneven dirt road with a steady stream running through it and overgrown bushes scratching the side of the car.  It didn't look right.  Kirk kept asking if I was sure this was the right road.  Well, that's what the sign said, so yep, I'm sure.  Much of travel is based on the blind faith that the worn crooked sign is pointing in the right direction.

It ended at a wide gravel place - a parking lot, I guess, but nothing formal, just a wide area with rocks, small wooden posts to keep cars from driving on to the beach, and that stream widening to meet to sea.  Tiara and I jumped out to investigate.  The beach was quiet, rocky, but interesting.  We looked down.  Rocks, tiles... enough that we wanted to start our hunt right then and there.  We skipped back to the car to see that Kirk hadn't waited for our verdict.  He'd already parked and the girls were already getting out of the car.

It was warm.  So warm and beautiful.  Very few people walked the sand.  Like a private cove, we walked, combed the black volcanic sands, and filled our pockets.  Tiles, beach glass, and tiny shells.  Luci found a beautiful big chunk of marble and I found a brick marked "Seville".  We made it to the other end, walked carefully around to the next small cove on the railed path lined with fishermen.  The waves crashed against the rocks there, so we watched, then ran between them.  The other cove was absolutely empty.  Not a person on it.  Just one lady fishing from the rocks.  Kirk walked ahead, but said the water came up too high then.  We couldn't get through.

Kirk and Arianna walked ahead of Tiara and I on the fisherman's path back to the main beach.  I walked slowly with my camera poised watching the waves splash upon the path ahead of me enthralled with the beauty of the waves and hoping to catch one splashing up where Kirk and Arianna stood.  They were standing in the wettest part of the path, so I was sure with patience that I'd get an action shot.  And I did.  But not exactly the way I expected.  The wave came up, I snapped the photo, and a salty blow smacked me in the face.  I screamed, Tiara screamed, and Kirk and Arianna got the visual action shot I'd hoped for - in reverse.  Hair, face, camera soaked.  My left side dripping wet.  Tiara even wetter.

We sloshed back to the car, dried off as much as possible, cleaned my camera and dried it, and emptied our heavy pockets for round two.  Poor Tiara wore soppy wet shoes - sweater Uggs that got even soppier throughout the day when she'd reach for that perfect rock as another wave would creep up.

The parking lot was getting a bit more full now.  A lady and her son splashed in the waves wearing bathing suits.  January 1st and they are wearing bathing suits on the beach.  Obviously tourists.  We walked to Casa San Antonio for a leisurely lunch sitting outside with a lovely view of the sea.  One of those pinch yourself moments.  It was like something out of a travel magazine.  Food, average, but ambiance worth every flavorless bite.  I'd go back in a second.

After lunch we walked back to the quiet cove next door this time able to cross over the rocks to the empty beach beyond.  Kirk and the littles took the lead as Tiara and I walked slowly, necks bent down, looking for treasures.  I found a beautiful natural crystal - one of those crystals you'd see sold at some artsy fair.  Just there, lying on the beach.  I love it.  Tiara found one too - the best finds of the day.

The rocks on the other side were big, but easy to climb, so Kirk and the girls spent most of the time climbing on those.  Tiara and I joined too and tried to get the next cove.  I think we could have walked quiet a ways, but there was no other beach in sight, just endless rocks with the waves splashing up and just enough old bottles to know that we weren't the only ones who'd ventured this far.  I'm sure they're covered with people in the summer.

Pockets full, we decided to leave before the sun was down so that I could get some photos of the views on the way back.  The sun was too bright to get any great shots, but it was still nice to see.  We stopped in Salobreña, tried to reach the top of the city on the hill, to the church and the old castle ruin, but the roads were narrow, one-way, and mostly closed, so reaching the top by car was impossible.  We settled on coffee and home made ice cream in a local cafe and a quick walk on the beach before heading home.

The first day of a new year.  A sunny day at the beach.  Yes, today was a good day.  I think 2010 and I are getting off to a good start.


MORE PHOTOS:  http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=183745&id=674507268&l=77116e4874

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another day tomorrow.  Happy New Year.

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