Life: Idiotropic

Adding orange coloring and snails.  When I arrived, they'd already added the chicken and rabbit and had added some broth to make the caldo.

Stirring with long metal flat spoons over a hot fire.

In 2006, just a year after the 50th anniversary of the Parroquial de Santa Marta church in Puzol, a group of 11 girls decided to revive a long dead tradition of celebrating Santa Marta with festivities over a two week period of time.  The same group of young women have been doing it ever since funraising, then organizing dinners, dances, and concerts in honor of the saint not just for their church, but for all the pueblo.

A bit of salt.

Today was the final day of the fiestas, a day that began with a special mass in the church and would end with a solemn procession and fireworks.  Between those is a paella lunch for the community.

Until today I've only heard about these giant paellas made for hundreds.  The largest I'd seen served only 50.  I didn't have a ticket for food though I would have loved to stay, but I showed up just a bit early to watch the process and talk the locals who were just as entranced with the giant paellera as I was.

I walked down a narrow street normally just big enough for one car.  Today the cars were all replaced with two long lines of tables with chairs on each side, sodas and beers out and bags of chips.  Someone had marked places and family names with a sharpie and some had brought their own special things from home to add to the meal - salads, sweets wrapped up in foil, cocas, olives.

We arrived in time to see one cook add heaped spoonfuls of yellow coloring into the paella while another stirred.  It used to be saffron that lent it's color to this signature dish, but now coloring is a cheapter way to get the color and no one seems to miss he flavor.  The snails are next.  One big bag of striped shell creatures.  Something that I just can't get used to, but snails were the "red meat" used when beef was too expensive.

Every cook needs to taste.  Two of these guys both tasted the caldo (broth).  One walked away smacking his lips and moving his head from side to side like it was ok, but not perfect.  The other sipped, smacked, then sort of shrugged his shoulders.  Neither impressed, one grabbed the big white bucket of salt and threw a few handfuls in before stirring again.

The watched the pan carefully and the fire... taking long metal tools and putting it between the heavy pan and the stand to move it just a little. 



When the fire was almost out, they added the rice.  That white bucket is one of at least 8 that they added.

Adding Valencian rice.  Short grained, but not sticky.  It soaks up the caldo very nicely.

When the rice has been added and mixed in, they pull all the smoldering coals from under the pan to the outer edge of the pan forming a ring just outside of it.

The paella isn't stirred much after this.  It sits and rests.  The men will throw scrap wood on top of the coal ring to begin a fire there and heat the rice with indirect heat.








When the paella is finished, the caldo has been soaked completely into the rice.  They douse the flames with water and stir them into the sand to put them out completely.  The paella is ready to serve.








A local woman asked me if I was with the news.  We talked a while.  She's a year older than me, but doesn't have any children.  "It's hard to find a man here," she says, "All they want is sex."  Funny to hear this from a complete stranger... it's true.  It is difficult these days for women here.

Another came to talk to me.  She asked me how long I've lived here and if I like Spain.  "Oh, I love Spain," I tell her.  She smiled.  That's the biggest question I hear here.  "Do you like Spain?"
This paella will feed 800 people.  Incredible, isn't it?   I absolutely love the sense of community.  The notion that this one simple dish cooked in one pan will feed 800 people lined up at tables out in the streets.  It's beautiful.
These guys were quick to serve up generous portions.  Folks came with trays and pieces of cardboard to balance plates on to take back to their tables. 

This is the truck that carries the pan.  It will hang from a hook that will lift it up.  Too heavy for a person to carry.  Next time I'll ask the weight.
The line stretched just about forever across the bridge and down the street, but people were happy and patient.
I thought that may be if I hung out a while, that I would be able to sweet talk my way into just a small taste to see how this paella for 800 compares with our little one, but they served it all!  Every last grain.  No leftovers.  Sad.







Not a part of this celebration and with no leftovers to sample,  I walked back to my car through these streets full of happy people filling their bellies.  Sunshine, a giant paella, and these tables full of families and friends.  It's a beautiful thing.


The church of Santa Marta where 11 girls decided to bring this festival back to life.  Just eleven girls.  Good to see young people contribute to their community.

When we were stationed at Whiteman AFB we had monthly spouse "coffees" at the support group commanders house.  For our Christmas gathering I experience my first "cookie swap" where each lady baked 12 dozen cookies, then we all divided them up and went home with about 6 of each kind.  I have no idea what I baked.  These flew off our plate and I wanted more.  A light rounded cakey cookie, this is the cookie that my husband requests every year.  I tried freezing them to reduce temptation... sadly, they are just as delicious frozen.  Mmmm.  Can't have a autumn without them.  Time to go bake.



Heat oven to 375.

Mix:

• 3 cups sugar
• 3 cups canned pumpkin (1 large can)
• 1 1/2 cup shortening
• 3 T. grated orange peel

Stir in:

• 6 cups all-purpose flour
• 3 t. baking power
• 3 t. baking soda
• 3 t. ground cinnamon
• 3/4 t. salt

Stir in (optional - I've never added these):

• 1 1/2 c. raisins
• 1 1/2 c. chopped nuts

Drop dough by teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake until light brown, 8 to 10 minutes. Immediately remove from cookie sheets. Cool. Spread with Light Brown Glaze


Melt 1/2 cup butter in a saucepan and cook stirring constantly until it's lightly browned.  Add 3 cups powdered sugar slowly and mix well.  It will get quite thick.  Add 1/2-1 t. vanilla extract and mix, then add just a t. of milk slowly until it's smooth, but not too runny.  Drizzle over the cookies and let set.  If it doesn't set up nicely, then you've added too much liquid.  If you have extra glaze, pour dots onto a cookie sheet of piece of wax paper and let it set up.  It's delicious!(Lightly brown butter in a saucepan.  Stir in powdered sugar, vanilla, and a little milk.  Drizzle over the cookies once they've cooled.).

Cookies freeze well. (The measurements are 3x the original recipe and is about as much as my kitchenaid can handle.)

News of the century:  A bull run sans bull is really quite boring.


This weekend was the first of the "Bou d' La Avenida" Puzol.  Ten small city blocks were blocked off in one of Puzol's neighborhoods with tall light grey slanted "ladder" style gates that are perfect for running up if a mad bull is chasing you and perfect for standing behind and taking pictures in relative safety.  Perfect -  if - there is actually a bull running towards you.

However, it appears the young people of Puzol have been organizing these corridas del bou this year and may be the older folks didn't advise quite enough.

You see, it is a well known fact that the bulls like sand.  Thus, if you put down too much sand, the bull won't leave it no matter what you're waving in front of him.

Somehow a fine balance must be found. 



Three horses each pull the tiny little boxes that house the bulls.  The horses are finely decorated with fancy harnesses and lots of bells.  There's a band playing behind.  Men walk along the sides to keep the box in line as the bull kicks.  A man stands on a tire dragging behind the bull box.  They'll stop today at the end of Garcia Lorca street, the opposite end from where they started last year, where I was standing today.

I could see the line of sand ending at the intersection just ahead.  I heard the firecracker sound the warning and I saw the crowds of men turn to run.  Sigh.  And that was about it.

Bou d' La Avenida 2010

One, two, three bulls released and this is about all the view I got. 

Why?  A tiny old woman stood behind me with pale blue glassy eyes and light red hair.  She looked disgusted.  "Demasiado arena," she compained.  Those around her agreed.  Too much sand.

The bulls come out of their boxes initially with so much speed and force, that they have to put sand down on that first road or the bulls would slip and fall, potentially seriously hurting themselves.  So, there's has to be sand on that first stretch.  But when there's too much, the bull is too comfortable.  He knows he has more traction there and he's reticent to leave it.  Today's batch stood there on the border of sand and bare pavement.  A couple times he'd trot to one side briefly, but he'd return and stand there again.  My view?  Pretty lame.

I'd love to just walk through the thick wooden bars out in to the street and get close enough to snap some good shots... but I'm a girl in flip flops and camera or not, the men around me are not loving that idea.  I did venture out today, briefly, but that view was obscured by this: male derrieres standing, waiting, talking amongst themselves, drinking beer.  Some even had their back to the bull, so it's hard to take it real seriously.  But the second I walk out there men start to whistle to offer me a safe place on the gate or behind it.  Another tells me to get my picture and go.  It's dangerous.  "Sí, sí.  Yo sé."    May be it would be if the bull would actually leave the sand!

So, for future views, I will go where I was the first time I went to a bull run: to the sand.  The bulls love it there and from that sandy place, you're sure to get some great views and wonderful photos of runny nosed bulls whether the young toreros over-sand it or not.

Bou d' La Avenida 2009

"Your accent is terrible."  Finally, an honest Spaniard.  Until now, I've been told I have a great accent.  May be it's my butchering of their beloved provincial dish that sets them off.

Well, I'll try to say it correctly while my husband who can't say it, will master cooking it.

We had a coffee this morning at our bakery, then shopped together for this.  3 whole chickens, some pork ribs (for flavor), red peppers, flat green beans, liver (for a pate).  What we lacked in local paella rice, we used jasmin and it worked great.

Incredible.  He's just made paella lovers out of my youngest three who until were turned off by the dish that is served luke warm and swimming in an inch of oil at their school. I'm a fan too.  So happy for leftovers.

Still cooking:  Kirk's first completely solo paella.  Delicious!

So we've lived here a year and I've done as much as I can as far as "participating" in local culture.  And, yes, I'm a foreigner and thus an outsider, but I have attended festivals, talked to locals, and tried my best to learn and understand this place I currently call "home."

The one thing that I knew I should do is the one thing that I wouldn't "because of the language."  But then, how are you supposed to learn the language if you don't delve in?

So today, in my crazy day of running to and fro, I did what I've never been able to do here in Spain.

1) Through careful logistical planning taking into consideration business, bank, and lunch hours, I was able to accomplish everything on my long list of things to do.  This included both almuerzo, business, bank, and lunch.  Amazing.

2) I signed up my middle girls for guitar lessons at Casa de Cultura and met a woman there who was extremely friendly and helpful.  Wow.  I'm now paying just 10 Euros/month for two classes/week.  Truly phenomenal.

3)  For 15 euros/year, I will now be attending Spanish for foreigners classes 3 hours each week at the adult school in Puzol where a teacher will teach the class as a whole, but also go around and give assignments individually to meet the educational levels of the students.

This is the most "integrated" I've felt.  It's fun and excited to not only have these opportunities, but to meet so many helpful people who are not treating me as an outsider. 

So, the obvious.  If you want to truly integrate, go local.  Utilize the services in the town.  The city halls and cultural and education centers.  The sports centers.  The open air markets.  If you act like an outsider, you'll forever be one.  If you go local... well, you may just start to be local.

Market day.  Little wheeled trolley in hand, I still have not quite mastered the art of buying and layering the fruits and vegetables so that they won't squish at all in the transport, but judging from the number of wheels at the market, my little orange trolley is the way to go and avoids the back breaking work of carrying a woven shopping basket - the local alternative and preference among Aachener Germans.

A bit crowded today.  I still can't get over the clothing there.  Beautiful things.  Designer things.  I can buy a fur coat at this weekly market or a designer dress at a deep discount of 150 Euros.

Me... I'll stick with the bargain.

Nectarines at 1 Euro/kilo.  Bananas at 90 cents/kilo.  Darling little pears, huge plums, deep red bell peppers.... it's a culinary treasure hunt.

Coffee with friends and a bit more insight into the upcoming holidays.  Lunch with a friend at a new restaurant that serves Spanish food with flavor.  Today I'm spoiled.  Spain is good.

After living here a year, I finally took a few pictures of our seasonal friends whose season on my porch is nearing an end.  Abundant from June though September, I see their green scaly counterparts through October, but these guys start to go away. 

This guy and his friends sit on our patio ceiling every night.  Sometimes I see as many as five, but usually only 2-3.  Although adorable and quite skitterish, this is the reason that my 15 year old daughter will not walk outside at night.  Her irrational brain thinks that one will "jump" down onto her.  I think she's watched Parent Trap one too many times.

... with Valencia.

This is what every tourist needs to see.  The time when everyone needs to come and become enchanted with this place that lifts your spirits and pushes you out into the blue.  The sky, the sea.  It calls to you and the change from hot to those fresh cool mornings, the gentle breezes, the warm.  It's amazing here now.  This is what travel brochures are made of.  This season of lingering sun and bright flowers.  The calm sea and private beaches.

This has been my last two weeks... watching somewhat sadly from my office window and my balcony and my rooftop.  Since "the 30's" have blessed me with aches and pains and limited movement for two weeks with just an few errands to break the monotony of home, I've enjoyed the blue from here and haven't ventured out much.  Exploration will come next week... I hope. 

Yes... there should be a photo here... but there isn't.   Just imagine it and know that this is the time to be in Valencia.  This is the time every tourist should be flocking to this region.  It is perfect.  Now.

I'm sitting at my office window trying to muster just a pinch of motivation on a day that I'd rather be napping in spite of the perfect autumn weather.  My hands have been hurting, so it's hard to type a lot which makes the whole blogging thing a bit of a pain, literally...

But I'm here... and then I see a pretty little yellow airplane go by and I think, "Oh what a beautiful day to be out in an airplane flying over the sea."  And then I see another go by and I think that it must be so nice to have a friend to fly with and what a treat it is for me to watch this little airshow right here from my office window.  They fly here and there and then they go and I forget about them until I hear a helicopter.  Huh.  That's odd.  And then I hear sirens.  Odder.

The helicopter is flying low over the hills in front of me.  It circles back and forth as if it's looking for something.  Then another comes.  The next one has a big red bag hanging from it.  This is when I run to the balcony and jump on my roof, running over to the chimney and carefully walking down just enough so that I can see the action.


It's a fire.   Two helicopters now are taking turns quickly dumping water on the dark grey smoke that's billowing up from the wooded mountain that we often hike on, then rushing off to different sites to refill.  One comes three times to a small reservoir among the orange grove just on the other hill behind me.  I can watch the entire scene from my roof, the fill up, the dumping, the return for more water.  He flies right over my head with veil of spray trailing from the bucket below.  By the time he's dumping the water on the fire, the mist has filtered down to me and I can feel the cold water droplets on an otherwise clear day.

The yellow planes come back a few more times, always together.  It isn't a joy ride after all.  They are dumping something on the fire.  The first time it's something white.  May be water, but I don't know.  The last time I see them, they're flying down low into the smoke, then coming out of it with a deep orangy red cloud billowing behind them.  A flame retardant, may be?

It's three hours from start to finish and it was interesting to see.  A bit of excitement to an otherwise dull day and it gave me a reason for less productivity.  Hard to accomplish much while running back and forth across the roof with camera in hand.  ;)

The only joy in an 8 hour drive across the country are the drive by shootings (the photos), the peace and quiet derived by the child to iTouch ratio, and the sad fact that this is probably the most time I'll have with my husband this week... or may be two weeks.

So, I won't complain about this entire day sitting in my van nor that my smiley doctor gave me nothing for the pain that is not getting better in this sitting position.  Nope.  We're fine.

Though it pained us greatly to drive by Seville and Cordoba without stopping, we survived.  And we managed to find a restaurant that wasn't closed for a wedding nor completely filled with suffocating smoke.  Tiara and I had some delicious artichoke hearts sauteed with serrano ham and Elise had "the best chicken ever."  Sniff.  She doesn't say that about my chicken.  :(

8 hours.  Driving.  One way.  Kirk and I are in full agreement.  Not doing that again.  Not for a day of errands. 

The plus is that I was inspired by all the grape harvests being done that I actually got online and found some wineries nearby and will be visiting them in the next couple weeks.  That will be fun.

More than just a Navy base, but... unfortunately this is about all we saw of this tiny town just across the water from Cadiz, another town that we didn't see.

I'm not quite sure what we were thinking.  I suppose I'll blame it on that whole "adult responsibility" thing winning out over the carefree me that wanted to stay a few extra nights.  School?  Work?  Eh.  How often do we get to see this??

So we spent Thursday in the car - all day.  From 1030 until close to 2000 with just a stop for gas a stop for a really average lunch that was edible, but not the hot and hearty I craved.

Friday was at the Navy base from 0730 until close to 1800.  Doctor's appointments for all 6 of us and commissary shopping which is a joy after being without it.

We found out that Tiara may have asthma and does have migraines.  Arianna has migraines too and scoliosis.  Luci's perfect so far except for her eyes, and Elise got an antibiotic for her lingering ear infection/ear drum perforation.

I liked my doctor enough until I left and realized that I got absolutely nothing accomplished.  Every single gripe/concern was met with a very smiley "you're in your 30's."  Great.  Fab.  So I'm getting older.  But last time I checked, "30's" wasn't old.  Do I really have to deal with pain now? The other humorous nugget of my visit is that I don't know if I need these visits and have no idea still what exactly was removed (or not removed) during my hysterectomy 2 years ago.  Time to dig up a German dictionary, get a copy of my record, and find out.

Bonus of this all:  An inexpensive lunch and dinner (how pathetic are we??) at Subway and a couple hours to leisurely walk around both the NEX and Commissary where we loaded up on cheddar cheese and Italian sausage among other things.

This walk on the beach was the only bit of Andalucia that I got this trip.  Tragic that I drove over 16 hours and an hour on the beach is my only reward.  But, then again, we got stuff done.  Kids have meds, I have a quandary, and the fridge has cheese.  Whoopeee.

Last weekend flew with friends in town and little touristy things, a dinner out and a 300 year old fair where I learned that I am not 26 and spinning rides after dinner and drinks are not my friend.  This weekend we're heading down to Rota where we'll find an American base, a place where all six of us can have doctor's appointments all within a 2 hour block of time and I can stock up on all the cheddar cheese I could possibly use between now and next summer.  It will be whirlwind and good.  Possibly next week I'll have time to sit again, catch up a bit, and may be breathe.  But let's not push it... I can breathe anytime.  ;)

After 700 years of Moorish rule, King Jaime I conquered Valencia in 1228 and restored the Christian kingdom here.  Between 1252 and 1428 this Cathedral was built here on the site of an earlier mosque and possibly on a Roman temple of Diana, though the latter is still speculation.

For 4 Euros, you can visit it today seeing the worship areas themselves and the tiny little museum spaces that house local Catholic treasures including the infamous "Holy Grail."

Today with visitors I toured it again seeing a bit more and taking advantage somewhat of the free audio tour that is included in the entry price.

Two things I wouldn't choose.  Both I saw today in Valencia.


1.  At Llinares, a well loved local ice cream shop, you can choose the creamy light gray anchovie ice cream.  And, if you get lucky, you might even get the real fishy that sits on top.  Not in the fish mood?  There are also Gazpacho, Potato and Egg,  Ostrich Egg, and Aphrodiasic Herb flavors.


2.  Local fashion is known to be a bit strange.  Here's one that isn't quite as loud as normal and it isn't covered in ruffles, but... well, probably not the best choice on a windy day.  Click to enlarge.  This is one croqueted full body jumpsuit.  Undergarments to be chosen with care.

Segunto is not new to me.  We discovered this Carthaginian town sprawled across the top of Segunto's hill the day we arrived in Valencia driving by it then wondering what it could be.  Little did I know how incredibly ancient it was or I probably would have swerved off the road in surprise.  Since then we've been there several times taking visitors as part of our tourist route of the area.  It's old, it's beautiful, the views are great, and there's a great little cafe below that serves cold drinks on hot days and hot drinks on cool ones.

Today was another walk up the hill and around the ruin.  The difference was that now I had friends to pose at the old Roman toilet (did I say Carthaginian?  Well... it took turns being both.).

I've always found it odd that admission is absolutely free, yet the little booth at the entrance insists on giving each person a ticket of admittance.  They don't offer maps or information and within the ruin itself, only two small plaques give away any of the tremendous history that's occurred here.  Today I went into the little pottery shop next to the Roman amphitheater and asked if this was Roman or Carthiginian.  "Roman."

But, I explained, I had read online that it was Carthaginian dating from 219BC.  This is when this sweet man did what I wish the information booth would do.  He pulled out a little booklet - in English - that tells the entire history of the ruin!  Why don't they sell these at the entrance?  Sheesh. 

Now I know.  This ruin that I've walked around so casually since living here began as the Carthaginian city of Arse in the fifth century BC.  It was also the initial scene of the Second Punic War between the Carthaginians and the Romans.  In 219 BC it was conquered by Hannibal, then seven years later in 212, it was restored by Scipio as a Roman city and remained in Roman hands until the 6th c. AD when the Visigoth monarchy moved in to the peninsula.  It's all pretty amazing and now, with book in hand, I'll go back again soon and put the knowledge with the visual.

Arianna and Luci with our friends, Julie and Maria

We go to the back of the huge food tent where our private party is arranged for all the TLP staff.  They bring out plates of salmon a white fish and bread.  Then olives.  Then serrano ham and manchego cheese.  Then tomatoes.  The kids meals are great loaded with tuna croquettes and a pork fillet and a few other things I can't remember. 

I'd barely eaten earlier today.  It's now 11pm and the food is just now trickling out.  I'm picking the leftovers off of Elise's plate.

Sangria is on the table.  It's good.  I drink 2 glasses of that and my meal finally comes.

Almost midnight.  A scantily dressed man gets on the stage in the next room with two scantily dressed women who seem to have troubles with their costumes.  They sway back and forth, but really don't have any talent for dancing and though it's disgusting, it's sort of morbidly curious, so the entire tent takes notice.  Thankfully, I'm at the clean bathroom with Elise when they come in to personally deliver a round of mojitos to everyone.

We leave.  I'm walking with my mojito, but not drinking it.  After a nearly food-free day, I've stuffed myself on heavy foods I wouldn't normally eat and have had three alcoholic drinks.  Tiara wants me to go on a spinny ride that goes upside down and around and around and I feel guilty, so I go.  It's fun!  I'm walking off all smiles and relieved that I didn't vomit on the folks beneath me.

I go on the haunted house ride with Elise who is terrified although it's nothing but dumb props and an outdated soundtrack.  There is a "Freddy" character walking around on the top floor who takes us by surprise, but he is sweet, patting Elise's head gently with his long scary rubber glove fingernails and saying, "Hola?  Como estas?" 

We're all tired 30 and 40 somethings who are up way too late.  The Spanish will party 'til 7am.  We're done by 1.  Besides, I have all my girls with me.

I'm horribly curious about these stands along the walk.  I mean, most of this is fairly normal... the rides, the loud music, the games and tacky souvenirs, the balls of cotton candy bigger than my head... but then there are these brightly lit stands along the way.  One has two mechanized women in traditional peasant dress stomping grapes.  Another adds a man on a mule.  "Chato" costs 1 Euro.  Crowds push together around tiny tables sipping on tiny plastic cups of red wine dispensed there.  It's fun and different... but I'm way too tired tonight.

Thank goodness common sense stopped me there.

I learned tonight that I'm not quite as young or invincible as I used to be. 

I learned that 36 + 3 drinks + unusual food = 3 hours wishing I'd vomit and get it over with and a restless nap on a cold hotel bathroom floor.