Life: Idiotropic

You truly never quite know what you may run into here in Spain, so I've learned not to be too surprised.  My latest shock came with warning from my Spanish friend, Elisa who told me that I'd be staying just near the Russian church.  The only problem is, that I arrived into Altea beach late at night, so I had no idea where it was.  Then we're leaving the next morning for a few hours of snorkling and climb out of the thickly tree lined road into an open place at a roundabout and there it was, just sitting there, looking really like someone dropped it on accident and just hadn't returned to pick it up.

A real Russian Orthodox Church in Spain.  Valencia is known for the big blue ceramic domed churches.  They are especially beautiful here near the sea.  This one is shiny and bright gold.

It's the first Russian Orthodox Church to be built in Spain and has only been here for three years to be home to the Parish of San Miguel, the parish of mostly Russian attendees who live in the Altea Hills.  An exact replica of a 17th C Russian church, nearly all the materials came from the Ural Mountains in Russia including the beautiful engravings that adorn the Valencia made alterpiece.  There are detailed mosaics on the outside and bright shiny domes.  The inside is small, so the details are almost overwhelming.  Everywhere you look there is shiny gold metal or paint and the ceiling has deep colored frescoes.

It was a quick trip. The girls waited in the car.  I ran around snapping with my camera.  I heard Russian spoken outside and though no photos were allowed, no one was there to stop me on the inside.

A quiet place, but a bit eerie.  May be I've watched too many movies.  Elisa told me that the Russian Mafia lives in these hills and the church is for them.  She's read about it in the news because the police go up there a lot.

Imagine that Benissa's coastline was once a giant chocolate chip cookie and then along came Cookie Monster held tightly on a leash so that he could only eat half.  Now, you have this varied coastline with bites taken out of it and little rocky crumbs scattered about sticking out of the water.  That's Benissa and that's what makes it absolutely fabulous for swimming, snorkling, kayaking, spear fishing, and a myriad of other things. 

A continuous line of rugged coves from Calpe down to Moraira, this section of rocky coastline is home to a tremendous amount of tropical fish and cephalopods - a snorklers dream.

The road north from Calpe climbs a small hill towards Benissa and winds along the water on the ridge above where white houses with rounded turret-like extensions have a spectacular view of the coast.  From here, small signs point the way down tiny steep driveways that lead you to the water.  There's no warning, so you musn't drive fast or you'll miss the turns.  We did turn around several times over the three days we snorkled here.


Benissa's website is in English and incredibly detailed listing snorkling routes at six of Benissa's coves and even listing the types of sea life living there and what depths you'll encounter.  I copied it all into an email and sent it to myself so that I'd have it available on my iPhone during the trip.

Day One

On day one we tried Cala Baladar lured by the description of "shallow and transparent waters and abundant sea life."  Unfortunately, our trip was planned around a holiday weekend and checking the tides didn't even cross our minds.  The sea was high and the waves rough enough that I worried about my younger ones getting pushed into the rocks.  I can see how it would be amazing. A slippery rock shelf sprawls out from the beach piled high with white rocks to the aqua sea.  It was relatively flat and smooth and would have been easy to walk on dry, but wet, the thin layer of algae felt more like a wet ice arena than a rocky place.  We all nearly fell multiple times.  The sea churned where the shelf ended and a prospective snorkler would begin her adventure to the sea.  Tempting and absolutely beautiful, this cove will have to wait until calmer seas.


From here, we drove just little bit farther to Cala Advocat which would become our favorite.  The parking lot was nearly empty at 11am and just a handful of fishermen stood at the pier's end watching their lines.  A small bar sat at the back of the parking lot serving snacks to a few who lounged there nearly all day.


Again, the sea was high today, so what little beach there would have been was even smaller.  At the widest part, there was only 5' of beach between the water and the wall and most of that was taken up with piles of sea weed that was in that day.  I walked carefully along the beach around to the other side of the cove.  With the tide out, the beach would easily line the entire cove.



A pool style metal ladder is attached to the cement pier half way down so that you can enter the water at a deeper part.  This is the perfect cove for children because the pier creates a calm area protected from the currents where the kids can snorkle easily.  Between the ladder and the rocks sticking out at the end of the pier is a place with large sea plant covered boulders that create valleys in the sea where fish dart in and out.  We've seen all these fish before at the Oceanographic, Valencia's popular aquarium.  We felt as if we were swimming in one of the giant tanks there with so many amazing creatures swimming around us.  I followed them and they didn't seem bothered by my presence.


At the end of our first day we stopped at the little bar for lunch.  Open from June 1st until mid October each year, the sweet lady who runs it is a local icon now known well by travelers who have been drinking her special Agua de Valencia for the last 20 years.  The girls enjoyed their hamburgers and I ordered calamari which Luci raved about exclaiming that it was "the best calamari that I've ever had."


Day Two

Day two was similar to the first trying first a cove that was too rough, then settling into our favorite.  It was sad.  The first cove at Cala Llobella was just what it promised to be:  quiet, secluded, beautiful.  There wasn't a sign pointing it out, so you had to know to look for "La Chaka" and turn sharply there down the hill to the empty parking lot.  The thin path led directly to a beach full of large white stones.  A women sat on a large boulder in the distance reading a book, but our beach was otherwise private.  I could have lounged there all day and, since I'd decided that today would be a lounge day instead of a water day, it would have been perfect with the pines overlooking us on the hills and just the sound of the rolling waves to dream to.  Sadly, this solid rock shelf jetted out with a slick surface like Baladar and waves that were just rough enough to keep our girls from the water.  May be with low tide it would have been better.


At least we know Advocat now and it was just around a bend to the north 4 minutes down the road.  Today I stood on the pier watching Kirk snorkle all around the larger area in the cove where the water is rougher and the currents pull and push on you.  The three younger girls took turns dipping their toes in.  Kirk came back and brought Arianna into the rougher part holding onto her the entire time.  The rains from last night stirred up the sea and made the water murkier, so neither Luci nor Elise swam long, but they were content to play.  There were a lot of older German tourists there.  They were friendly and greeted us in English, but I spoke a little German with them.  It is nice to hear it.  Walter came up and introduced himself.  He sounded very British at first, telling me in quite a strong accent that I was the first American that he's ever met there.  He's actually German, but has lived there in Benissa for the last 40 years.  So, while my family swam and Tiara took her dog for a walk, I talked about history, politics, travel, and education with this amazing well traveled German man who was once in a US POW camp after WW2.


Today on the way back to our hotel we found an amazing thing for Spain - a grocery store that is open on Sunday! Catering to the number of expats and tourists, it has a wonderfully eclectic assortment of foods including leberwurst.  This was lunch... a variety of odds and ends that we picked up here.


Day 3

Today, instead of fussing with a beach that would be too rough, we headed directly to Cala Advocat where I was first to don fins and hit the water.  It was the clearest that we'd seen it so far and the fish were more abundant than ever.  I could see schools from the pier before ever getting in.

It was amazing.  As soon as I got into the water and began swimming, I found myself in the midst of a school of large silver fish.  There were probably 50 of them.  I swam out past the pier towards the other side of the cove, and circled around before heading back.  There, there are wide flat platforms of rock with deep valleys between them.  In some areas it was quiet, but in others there was a flurry of life with an amazing variety of different fish all swimming around together.  I watched some nibble on the plants moving with the currents.  I found a couple more schools.

Kirk saw more yesterday than I was seeing now, I thought, though I think I rushed it.  The currents were strong and there were moments when I began to feel panicky that I wouldn't be able to get back.  I didn't stay out long and felt fine getting out of the water and allowing Kirk time to swim and explore again.

The girls and I talked to the lady fishing at the end of the dock.  She pulled the dead silver fish out of her bucket, made it talk, and pushed it towards the girls laughing.  We all laughed.  She was very friendly and let the girls each touch it.  The got cold and went inside the car to play.

Luci got her wish to order her favorite calamari before we left.  I had a tinto de verano and watched the lady make Agua de Valencia for the next table.  Cointreau, vodka, gin, orange juice, and cava.  Powerful and delicious.  She only sells it by the liter, but our kind neighbors allowed me a sip.  They've been drinking it here for years.

Must be nice, those years.  I'd like to say that too.  Or to be like Walter and know the place intimately living there for 40 years.

Here, along the coast, there is a nice blend of locals and expats.  Enough locals so that it still feels like Spain and has retained the culture, but enough expats to bring with them services and openness and some of their own culture to throw into the mix.  It's really amazing.

We all hope to come back.

The Guide:  http://www.tiffanyweber.com/2010/10/snorkling-in-benissa-spain_17.html

My plan:  Girls arrive home at 5:30.  We leave by 6.

Reality:  I have 4 girls.  What was I thinking?  I hate to propagate negative stereotypes, but I can say with near certainty that there is absolutely no way that any boy will take as long to pack as my bunch of ladies.  They took eons changing from school uniforms to something comfy for the car, another eon to decide what snack to eat and to eat it, and a couple more eons to figure out which one toy they'd take on this short 4 day excursion. 

I had packed everything for my three littles except for three things:  PJs, a toothbrush, and a second pair of shoes.  They were told to grab these three items and throw them into their bags already sitting ready by the front door.  We arrived later to find that one packed toothbrushes for all three (thank you, Elise), and only one packed a second pair of shoes and PJs.

And, not to leave out my teenage slowpoke who had been assuring me for days that she only needed a few minutes to pack, a few minutes in teen time apparently means an hour. 


So, instead of leaving at 6, we left at 7:15. 

Our 90 minute drive turned longer due to a 10 minute stretch of road near the Madrid turn-off that took us 40 minutes to get through, which didn't bother me, except that I had really hoped to see where we were going.

My GPS finally said "arriving at destination on right," yet all I saw was a Masymas grocery and I was pretty sure that they didn't have vacation apartments available.  Plus, were were up high on a hill and we were supposed to be a bit closer to the beach.  It turned out that we were very close to our "destination on right" - just nearly literally on top of it.  I turned around and looped back, following the signs to the Puerto Deportivo that took us down a very steep, narrow, windy, dark stretch of road that was a bit scary.  I felt like I was driving though a forest and Big Foot was going to jump out and crush my car.


But then, all of the sudden, there was the sea.  We rounded a tight corner to the left and the road stretched out straight towards the port in front of us with the sea to our right just meters away and our apartment to our left.


Kirk arrived before us and when I'd asked him on the phone if it was nice, he just said, "You'll see."


I hate those kind of answers.  Just tell me already and alleviate the stress that I always feel as the planner/booker who feels the weight of the entire trip on her shoulders.


We unloaded our things including the dog and took two elevators up to the eight floor because we couldn't all fit into one with our luggage.  Ours was number 40, the first apartment on the right.


There's a little gate with a tiny courtyard area, then the front door.  On the right there's a bedroom with a trundle bed and a bathroom with a fancy shower with a normal head, one overhead, and six jets that will massage your back if you're brave enough to try.  The master bedroom has a sliding glass door to the spacious balcony set with two lounge chairs, a small table and 4 chairs.  The view is stunning even at night.


Living room/dining area is clean and set up nicely with the Disney channel in Spanish, so the girls are happy.  Large sliding doors lead from this area to the patio as well... views of the sea from almost all points in our apartment.  What's not to love? 

I do love my tiny well-equipped kitchen and though I didn't need to do laundry, it's so cool to see my separate laundry area larger than the kitchen with a washer, sink, and tons of space for drying racks.


Is it nice?  YES!  Just try to get me out.  I may just stay here forever.  Really.  Do squatter's rights apply?
So this place has changed the way I travel because for the first time in forever I am so absolutely relaxed that I could happily spend the next four days napping and reading on my balcony and I'm already looking ahead for another weekend we could come here.


To book "the pad," click on the links in this LiGK post.

In Spain, apparently, long holiday weekends have names.  In Valencia, for example, we just enjoyed "El Puente," a long weekend comprised of Valencia's Independence day on the 9th, Spain's National Day on the 12th, and the "bridge" in the middle to connect the two.  It's really a beautiful thing.  In Madrid, they enjoy "el acuaducto" which is a bit longer spanning a week between two different holidays.


For our Puente weekend, we drove just 90 minutes south of Valencia to stay on the beach in Altea and enjoy a taste of paradise.  This place is absolutely amazing.  Walter, a German man who moved here forty years ago, told me that it has been proven that this area has the best weather in Europe "and perhaps even the world."  I could easily be convinced of this, but even if it's not true, the beauty has me sold enough that I even went online to look at housing prices to see how much I'd be dreaming to move here.

Normally, I plan these weekends with lists of possibilities penciled into my calendar:  a day in Benidorm, glass bottomed boats to the island, a bit of snorkeling, a trip to Guadalest.  These were filling the gaps between cultural events in Callosa where this town was celebrating the 150th year of its well-known "Moros y Cristianos" festival.

What happened was a bit different.  We enjoyed the time with friends in their village and a daily event there, but I also got sucked into the state of relax.  Odd, for me, I actually reclined in our balcony lounge chair one morning doing absolutely nothing thinking that I could easily be happy just taking a long nap for part of an afternoon.  So, instead of checking off the list of things and coming back with loads of photos of many different things, we spend each morning to early afternoon snorkling in one place and each evening in Callosa learning more about the beautiful Valencian culture.

So, that all being said... since my weekend was unconventional, my blogging will be as well.  Instead of doing a chronological run down, I'll divide it into topical blocks... the next one:  The Pad.

...from the piles on my desk and the wireless ergonomic keyboard that won't respond to my typing.  It took me 5 min. to write that last line.  Don't like this keyboard much.  Full report on my travels in 5 days or so... snorkle calls.  ;)

Shopping therapy is not a myth.  While shopping on those "pudgy days" can be depress you right into the doctor's couch, finding that right item is as good as any drug out there.  The right dress can be mood altering.  The right shoes make your step lighter.  A colorful scarf can make you smile more.  Life is more beautiful when you feel beautiful.  It's not rocket science, it's a known fact among women.

So when a new dress comes in the mail and I try it on and it fits (childish grin and little jump in the air), I am going to wear it on my very next day out.  Add to this a pair of pretty shoes instead of my usual flip flops, big earrings and a large flashy pendant that I haven't worn in years plus the amazing fact that I like my hair today, and there was nothing that was going to irk me and today Valencia was going to look more stunning than ever.

I bussed in, walked to Calle de Paz to buy two guitars for the girls, then walked leisurely back through the narrower pedestrian streets to soak up the city.  Picture this:  me in my amazing feeling great outfit and fancy not so comfortable shoes with my big camera bag purse and a colorful hobo bag that had my zither in it on one shoulder.  In the crook of my other arm were two plastic bags with a guitar each in them neatly tucked into their black cases (why I didn't ditch the bags and carry the cases?  I don't know) and around my neck hung my big black camera.  Sigh. 

The stuff probably sort of ruined my look, but I didn't care.  I found myself in the Plaza Colegio del Patriarca, a nice wide open space by the old University with stone benches and orange trees, and thought it was a good place to stop for a coffee.  I was going to try something new, but then I saw a Parisien that I hadn't known about.  This is one of my favorite coffee shops because it serves the most delicious French pastries outside of France.  It's a new location for me, so I'm counting that as the "trying something new" thing. 

So I'm feeling pretty and I'm near this beautiful square on a beautiful day and I have my photo-worthy tiny fruit tart in it's little box and a cafe con leche in my to-go mug and I'm ready to sit, relax, and just exist in this space.  It was a Hollywood moment.  I felt great and everything seemed perfect.

But then... I'm me and at the moment am a displaced pack mule.  The purse goes down.  I set the guitars carefully down.  The zither bag goes down.  Then the coffee goes down... before I even had a sip.

Moment gone.  I'm smiling as I walk away and toss my empty coffee cup into the trash.  See?  No coffee and I'm smiling.  Must be the outfit.

That's what I get for my vain moment.  The pastry will wait for home.  I'm heading to Cafe Mundo for my favorite calamari sandwich in the entire world and a cup of coffee.  There, they will smile and be extra polite and I will still feel pretty even if I'm in the back corner of a little smokey bar.  It's ok.  I have the best sandwich in the world and a coffee that won't be toppled.

Aside:  The guitars arrived to be played at the first guitar lesson which was a huge hit.  Paco de Lucia, look out.  There are two young ladies who just may give you a little competition in about 15 years.

Valencia fashion is ruled by the calendar instead of the weather. 
Today as I stepped off the train and walked behind a mass of fellow passengers out of Valencia-Nord, I noticed that while I was wearing a darling lightweight short-sleaved summer dress, the rest of the passengers (all of them) were wearing long pants, jeans, or skirts with tights, sweaters, jackets, long sleeved tops, and... SCARVES around their necks!!!  It was not cold then.  By noon, it was sticky warm and humid.


The calendar also rules the beach usage. 
Seriously, from end of June through the end of August, you can barely step foot on the beach and it's not just tourists.  From September 1st onward, the beaches are nearly completely empty except for the random tourist who will still brave the Mediterranean in the wintertime while the locals stay bundled in thick coats and hats.

Smart graffiti:  "Dream your life.  Live your dream."

Valencia has the best graffiti.
It's smart, funny, quirky, and cool.  It is done by a handful of artists who have their own special style.  This one, for example always paints in this color scheme and uses these odd little black characters.  I see his artwork all over the city and have seen him repaint the same wall with another one of his "works."  I don't always understand them... soccer ball heads?  No clue.  But it's cool.





Back to Valencia Fashion... there is no such thing as too many ruffles.

This actually applies to most of Spain where ruffles are reminiscent of the traditional Andalucian flamenco dresses.  Ruffles work themselves into local fashion in a lot of ways both good and not quite so good.



It's in the details.
Valencian women dress well.  That is an understatement of grandiose proportion.  While men also dress very well, women here seem incapable of dressing casual.  I've seen stilletos climbing old cobblestone streets up the hills of mountain ruins and full length fur coats at crowded carnivals.  This is the norm.  Jewelry is big and abundant.  Hair is perfect.  Makeup cannot be forgotten.  Every accessory is there from shoes and stockings to hair clips and jewelry to scarves and handbags.  While I find success in remembering to put on earrings, the complete look is what Spanish women strive for and find without fail.  So, it should be no surprise that an upscale women's clothing shop would also have a bit of bling this time in the form of an uber-fancy door pull not on one side, but on both.

 
Simplicity is for snack time.
Almuerzo in the rest of Spain might be lunch, but here, in Valencia, it is that late morning snack that you grab at your local bar.  It's simple, yet delicious. Before living here I wouldn't even thought of putting calamari on a sandwich, but here, it's something I think about often and this little bar on the corner makes the best calamari sandwich in town.  Bread, calamari, and a thin layer of garlic tinged aioli:  it just doesn't get much better than that.

Coffee is for after dessert.
While a foreigner may get away with ordering a cafe con leche with a sandwich, a local will not.  The waiter will look at you like you've gone completely mad and then offer you a beer or a glass of wine.  That is, after all, what you drink with savory food even at 10am.  Coffee here is offered and consumed not with dessert, but after.  These are the moments I am grateful for my "accent," so that they will just smile at me and bring me the caffeine buzz that I desperately need.  The perfect cup of coffee?  Not quite.  But today, Cafe Mundo did come awfully close.

My little bakery won first prize!  Santi's brother (one of these days, I'll learn his name) hand-made each one of these little marzipan sculptures and displayed them in his bakery case where they could be seen and not broken.  The pineapples and sunflower are especially fragile.  The last few were displayed yesterday just before the judges came.  Look at the seeds in the pumpkins and pomegranates.  The detail absolutely amazes me and the talented man who makes these is not a tiny guy.  He's a big football sized guy with huge hands.  There's no team of bakers.  All of these are the work of one very talented man from Puzol.
As delicious as they are beautiful, these beauties are not for sale.  At the end of the Nou d' Octubre festivities, Carmen and her family will give these as gives to close friends and donate most to people who cannot afford such little luxuries.   Just above the case are three baskets full of marzipan fruit and vegetables that we can buy and it is delicious.  Softer and smoother than German marzipan, it has a more delicate flavor.  Made from regular almonds instead of the bitter almonds that the Germans prefer, they also use less sugar giving these creations a nicer almond flavor that isn't overpowered with sweet.

It doesn't matter how educated or successful a woman might be, there is an unequivocal sense of  accomplishment in some of life's traditionally "feminine" tasks.

Today I prepared both chicken paprikas and curry chicken in my kitchen with two of my daughters at my side helping me.  It was peaceful and productive.  A Little Women moment and a beautiful one.  I love that my younger girls are starting to participate in my kitchen though I'm still nervous watching my 9-year old wield a knife.

Tonight as I walked up the stairs, I could hear both the washing machine and dishwasher running.  The doors were locked, lights out, lunches packed for tomorrow. 

It's not the image I'd had for myself and I am much more than this domestic goddess, but it does feel good and I see a light.  At the end of this tunnel, I'll be handing over much of the cooking to the girls and heading to the spa for a pedi.

... that I didn't need.

I know the word for chicken.  It's "pollo."  I buy it all the time at the market.  Some Americans (not me) have made the mistake of trying to make it feminine and ordering "polla," which makes the Spanish grocers fall over laughing to the embarrassment of the aforementioned American (agin, not me - thank goodness).  Until now, I wouldn't have understood why.  I didn't learn this kind of vocabulary in my Spanish class.  Some things, I just don't want to know.

We experienced some bullying last week.  Not "we," really, but my 9-year old girl.  She was repeatedly called loser and tonta (stupid).  One boy picked up leaves and smashed them into her face knocking her glasses to the ground.  A group of boys followed her around each day asking "do you eat 'polla?'"  She came home angry and upset, hating school and begging not to go back.

I was upset and sent a note to the school.  On Friday, I found out what "polla" meant.  Anger, frustration, hurt, disgust:  I was absolutely horrified.  Apparently this thing that is not a female chicken refers to that little floppy thing that hangs between these little boys legs.  Yep.  Gross.  These boys are nine and they're asking "do you eat...."

Nine.  Seriously, is this normal?  Certainly not in my world.  Thankfully, my note was met with as much horror and the issue was dealt with immediately.  So far, so good... Arianna came home on Monday absolutely happy that now "everybody wants to me [her] friend." 

Phew.  Now I don't have to go down there and beat up any prepubescent school boys.

Last week I signed up for the "Spanish for foreigners" class at the local Adult school.  I signed up for a class that would be held two days a week in the afternoon.  I thought it might be around 3, but they couldn't tell me what days it would be held until Friday, October 1st.  I had to sign up and pay by 30 September. 

Friday it was announced and posted that the class would be Mondays and Wednesday from 3-4:30.

I attended my first class.  Showed up at 3 to a locked building.  The teachers showed up and pulled up the rolladn door that blocked the entire entrance at 3:15.  In the first 5 minutes of class the teacher told us that they were changing the class days to Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Now it will be from 3:15 to 4:30.

Ugh.  Do people just have no obligations here that they can be so flexible?  Fran, our professor told us of the change.  "Ok?"  I'm thinking, "Uh, no," as are several others in the room.  We look at each other and shrug our shoulders.  Ok.  Fine. 

Guitar lessons?  Not too much different.  Showed up for the first lesson to be told when we'd meet next time. 

It's really hard to plan like this when life is set in jello.

This week in Valencia you’ll see more “massapan” treasures than any other time of the year as they present themselves as fruits, vegetables, and firework shapes to commemorate the arrival of King Jaime the First in Valencia.  When he arrived in 1228 to conquer the land and drive our the Moors the people thanked him with what they had:  fresh vegetables and fruits from their gardens all wrapped up in the simple scarves they wore around their necks.   Now people give these tiny treats to loved ones wrapped in prettier scarves on el dia de Sant Donis, the 9th of October.

You’ll see signs referring to Sant Donis, but the giving of these fruits has little to do with the saint and everything to do with King Jaime.  It just so happens that 9 October is also Sant Donis day.  Every day has a Saint associated with it and in the Catholic faith, you’ll celebrate your Catholic name on your name day, the day corresponding to the saint that shares your name.
These little fruits are all made by hand.  The almond paste is made in the weeks before at my little Puzol bakery, then these pieces are dyed and formed by hand by one very talented pastry chef from whom we learned to make marzipan roses just last week.

This was a family weekend where we were the Cleavers and everything went smoothly.  Kirk tested out the tents two night in a row "camping" in the back yard.  They made sh'mores and roasted hot dogs.

They built a "bus" for their American girls with our Radio Flyer wagon.

On Sunday, they did experiments - all four girls.

1) Put 1/2 cup vinegar in a plastic bottle.  Put 1/2 cup baking soda into a balloon.  Attach the balloon to the top of the bottle and let the baking soda mix into the vinegar.  The two will react and fill the balloon with air.

2) We learned that while tossing a mento into a coca cola will cause quite an eruption, using mento gum in a beer is quite anticlamactic.

3)  Elise learned that oil and water don't mix and watched droplets of food coloring slowly sink to the bottom of the oil and mix with the water.

Kirk made paella.  I baked cookies.  Tiara and I did our prosciutto themed dinner.  The weather was great and I was able to sneak in two local cultural events:  the bull fight and the giant paella.

Amazing.

Next weekend, the Cleavers take to the highway and find themselves living in a beach apartment in Altea.  ;)  Stay tuned.

P.S.  Today is German Reunification Day AND my mom's birthday.  Happy Birthday, Mom!