Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Italian landlord of my Australian friend told her about a festival happening this weekend in Puig, so I looked it up on El Puig's website. The website is in both Castellano and Valenciano, but the flier with all the information about the celebration was only available in Valenciano which I can normally read decently, but not today. So, yet again, I drug my family to an event knowing almost nothing about it. Really, the only thing I knew was that at some point there would be dancing.
We arrived and parked. Every entrance to the city center both by car or foot were "blocked" by boys in camo pants and green shirts labelled "Quinto 2010" standing at car windows or pushing coin heavy bandanas towards passers by asking for donations. What for exactly, I never really figured out, but I think it was for the soup.
We neared the Ayutamiento to see a group of men and women traditionally dressed standing in small groups, talking, fixing up their costumes, and waiting. Musicians walked towards them as we made our way towards the monastery. The crowds weren't heavy yet, so we were able to stroll casually through the little street market set up with Peruvian music, knock-off purses, toys, scarves, and other random things. In front of the monastery was a huge carnival complete with rides, loud music, and all varieties of fried and sugared foods. I asked a policeman where and when the dancing would start. He pointed to where we came from and said "about" 1230. It was supposed to begin at 12 (that I could read on the flyer).
We walked back the way we came and I asked another policeman. Where would the dancing be. "Here, along this street," she said. We stood for a minute, but the sidewalks were empty. Surely if there was an event about to happen, people would be preparing for it? So we walked down to the Ayutamiento and waited there, Kirk and the girls on a bench talking and me standing taking a few photos.
With no apparent signal at no precise time, a handful of musicians started playing and walked slowly towards the monastery. A handful of dancers followed. The spectators around us started walking and we followed as well. Just walking. There were dancers in front of us and behind us. Musicians beside us. We were all in one large procession as the music played, then stopped, then played again. We stopped just before the end of the road. The music finished then 20 feet away two dancers began to dance. A circle of people formed around them watching. We walked over and the girls got squeezed in so they could see. Soon a few more dancers joined in and the crowd expanded to allow it. And a few more dancers joined them. Soon there was a long line of couples facing each other dancing along the narrow street, spectators thick on either side, inching their way slowly back to the place they started. The music had already made it to the beginning and continued to play as the dancers moved along. It was simple and beautiful, yet so unlike anything I've seen. I expected a stage, some semblance of organization. A clear start, a clear finish. This was a narrow street, an impromtu crowd, and a dance that started abruptly in bits and pieces and ended the same. No fanfare at all and away from the noise and chaos of the carnival on the other side of the monastery. I think those things made it all that much more special really. I stood there inches away while these ladies in all shapes and sizes smiled, clicked their castonettes, and swirled this way and that down the old street. As we walked away, I observed that the dancing was much like the local roundabouts with no logic or semblance or rules, but somehow, it just happens and works.
Through the noise and crowds on the opposite side of the monastery we found these pots. This is the core - the basis for the entire festival and something I so wish I could have participated in. Here, along the wall of the monastery above, these great big cauldrons streamed over wood fires. Every year they make this stew with pork, vegetables, and rice. People walked by with small covered pots in their bags. At the end of the day I saw many people leaving the festival grounds carrying full pots in their hands. It's a Valencia thing, I was told. All the small towns in the area will have their own Sant Pere festival and make a big stew for their own village. If I had a pot with me, I could have taken home some too and oh, it looked so delicious. One of the older men cooking invited me over the fence to take a photo and see what was inside. The steam was so thick, the photo I took of the stew itself showed nothing but a hint of yellow through the steam. He stood there smiling with his long wooden paddle that looked more like a boat oar than a spoon. Other men stirred the other pots and some came with big bags of rice over their shoulders. All the pots are inscribed either in Valenciano or Castellano with a title and the date. One said, "Los Clavarios de San Pedro Nolasco Ano 1977." My friends had told me before of some smaller villages making a community paella. This was the community stew and it is really special. Next year we'll bring a pot.
We told the girls they'd each get two rides. That was changed to one after I got off the Alcatraz feeling as green as the cage I'd been tossed around in. That and the noise akin to a bomb blast in my ear. The Spanish are loud. Events here make my teeth hurt. That cage in front of the old monastery is a lot more intense than it looks. Luci wanted to go on it, but needed an adult - me. That box swings down so fast that you're lifted up in the cage and thrown around. It took all my strength to keep my feet planted so that I could watch out for Luci and the other flying kids in the cage with us. Blech. I'm not as young as I used to be. The Spanish girls were sweet though. One asked Luci in English if she was scared. Not my Luci, she's not scared of anything. She was calm and enjoyed it. I stumbled out queasy. The good/bad thing about this carnival is that the rides last at least 2-3x as long as rides in the US. Great if you love it, bad if you're ill. Thankfully, the next ride didn't need adult supervision, so Arianna and Elise could go round and around in circles on the dragon roller coaster without me. The really cool thing is that the dragon came with balloons. The attendant tied big punching balloons to the sides before each ride and at the end each child got to take one home. Extra long rides with souvenirs, very cool.In Spain, there seems to be quite a disparity between the upper class and the lower class. At least here in Valencia, that is true. And if you are upper class, you want everyone to know it. Here at this carnival with crowds, noise, trash and sticky greasy foods, were women in $300 designer dresses, full length fur coats (yes, real), spike heals, silk blouses, and all the accessories to match. They dressed their children the same. Tiny girls in stockings, boots, frilly dresses, and fancy wool coats going on rides and eating cotton candy. I suppose in my $2.50 Old Navy flip-flops, I was a bit out of place. Must remember that I'm in Spain and not Seattle. Here, women dress very nicely just to walk outside. There is no casual in public and even blue jeans are worn with stilletos. This is why I dress up now to pick up my girls from school birthday parties.
Festival food = Churros regular or extra fat, plain or filled with custard and chocolate cream, buñelos (like New Orlean's beignets), palmolitas (popcorn), french fries, hot dogs, hamburgers, and cotton candy. I had amazing churros in Germany made by a Spanish friend. So far all those I've tried here have been crunchy, greasy, and flavorless. Next time we'll skip the grease and just get the soup.More Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=186520&id=674507268&l=d71202b94f
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Saturday, January 30, 2010
We are fortunate that just behind our home is a chain of mountains that goes on practically forever with walking trails leading from one peak to another. Little legs dictate that we drive up the narrow dirt road a little ways to a midway point where a couple other cars were parked this day. Here the trails are nice and wide and the kids can run, play, and explore perching themselves on each big rock and filling their pockets with smaller ones, finding sticks, analyzing plants, and discussing the trailside cross. We walked to the ugly towers that I see now from my office window then to the big black steel cross that sits of the edge of the hill on the Puzol side. Watching the girls walk around the big rocks that protruded from the hill made me nervous. Graffiti covered each large stone, but there was no gradual way down at this point, just air, trees growing horizontally from the cliffs, and drops so high we could barely make out the sound of the stones the girls threw down. We pointed out the girls school just to the right of the large roundabout almost in the center of the photo on the right. They liked being up so high. Our village is there - just in the center right. The two little hills just beyond form El Puig - the older of the two towns and one with a lot of history. In the center photo, you may be able to make out a white spot in the water. Among many white sailboats out there, one mast looked 4 times the size. We think this is either one of the boats from the America's Cup teams - the Alinghi or the Oracle practicing for the race that's supposed to take place in just a couple weeks.Friday, January 29, 2010
I miss Jiffy Lube. $30, 30 minutes (or less) while you wait reading your complementary newspaper.
Here, I have NorAuto - 130 Euros, 4 hours, not even a magazine.
Today I went with Kirk to get the oil changed at our "local" Jiffy Lube. At least it's "Jiffy" for Spain. It took time to get the information for his truck. Here, each vehicle is sold with a detailed "specs" sheet that tells the mechanic everything he could ever want to know and more, so without that, it's a bit more complicated. But soon enough, the man thought he'd found the correct filter and the errand boy from the parts shop ran it over within 10 minutes. "It will be done in two hours," we were told, so walked over to the mall for a surprisingly good lunch and a bit of shopping, then returned at the 3 hour point. Our Ford was up on the rack, but nothing had been done. They didn't have the filter and they weren't sure how to get it. I helped them find the VIN number so they could make some more calls. Eventually, they called the Ford dealership a couple towns over and had the filter delivered. Nice people, the job got done, but 4 hours? Ugh. Is nothing in Spain fast?
The silver lining was the skirt that was only 10% off last week and was 50% off today and in my size and the blessing of a friend who could pick up my girls at the bus stop while we sat stuck at the car place.
Here, I have NorAuto - 130 Euros, 4 hours, not even a magazine.
Today I went with Kirk to get the oil changed at our "local" Jiffy Lube. At least it's "Jiffy" for Spain. It took time to get the information for his truck. Here, each vehicle is sold with a detailed "specs" sheet that tells the mechanic everything he could ever want to know and more, so without that, it's a bit more complicated. But soon enough, the man thought he'd found the correct filter and the errand boy from the parts shop ran it over within 10 minutes. "It will be done in two hours," we were told, so walked over to the mall for a surprisingly good lunch and a bit of shopping, then returned at the 3 hour point. Our Ford was up on the rack, but nothing had been done. They didn't have the filter and they weren't sure how to get it. I helped them find the VIN number so they could make some more calls. Eventually, they called the Ford dealership a couple towns over and had the filter delivered. Nice people, the job got done, but 4 hours? Ugh. Is nothing in Spain fast?
The silver lining was the skirt that was only 10% off last week and was 50% off today and in my size and the blessing of a friend who could pick up my girls at the bus stop while we sat stuck at the car place.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
When I first arrived here, I had this schedule set in my head. A day for writing, a day for housework and errands, a day to travel locally and photograph things, etc. I was sure in all this that I would also come to Valencia's Mercado Central once a week as well because not only can you find just about everything that you need, but you find all sorts of things that you don't need, but stir the senses regardless. Sadly, in the six months I've lived here, I can count these visits on one hand.
But today was my excuse to go. A new family in the neighborhood = a good reason to play tour guide. Kids on the bus and my new Aussie friend, Michelle, and I were on the train and on our way. This is Michelle's first time in Europe, so it's fun to see her reactions and remember my own as she pointed to many of the beautiful buildings asking what they were. Some I knew. Others I didn't. Old beautiful buildings are a dime a dozen around here. We walked through the three main plazas where most everything happens, the Plaza del Ayuntamiento, Plaza de la Reina, and the Plaza de la Virgen and I explained as we walked the little things I knew both culturally and historically about each one. We stopped at Starbucks for coffee surprised to hear the cheerful American accent behind the counter. "Did you live in the states?" I asked, surprised to hear such flawless English. "I'm American," she replied all smiles. Crazily enough, I don't know how to order at Starbucks anymore. I wanted Cafe con Leche which isn't on the menu. Smaller and stronger than a latte, I was grateful for this American girl who could help this fellow American get a Spanish coffee in the Seattle chain.
And, soon enough we made it to our goal, the amazing Mercado Central where, with the luxury of time, we zig-zagged aisle to aisle through the entire thing to miss nothing. Here, I discovered three venders sell the Dutch pesto cheese that I love, a new one that sells pickled ginger and powdered wasabi, several that sell the stinkiest Camenbert I've ever had the displeasure to breath in, and a dried shark that is ready to eat - just drizzle with oil and heat. Michelle was shocked at the number of creatures sold with their heads still on - pigs, ducks, chickens, rabbits, these toothy dried sharks. In Australia, like the US, food is sold nice and neatly in packages in a grocery store completely disassociated from any the reality of its origins. Here it's all a bit more "real." Here your dinner may come with a smile still attached.I left with the most beautiful strawberries I've ever seen, a chunk of dried tuna that is supposed to be great on crackers, and a small piece of torta de queso con membrillo - a Spanish cheesecake with a thin layer of quince jelly on top. Ok, but not fantastic. I think quince is too sweet for me. Michelle likes quince. Apparently it's popular in Australia.
For lunch we tried a place near the church that I've walked by many times and hoped to try. At Sagardi, they sell pinchos or montaditos, a tapa consisting of a small slice of baguette with some sort of topping. I've had the misfortune to try many disgusting pinchos, but this place looked better and the look was not deceiving. Yum. You enter and are seated. The waitress will bring an empty plate and take your drink order. The rest is up to you. The dark wood bar is lined with plates each heaped with different montaditos. Ham, cheeses, sauces, fish, croquettes. You help yourself. Waiters come to each of the tables as new pinchos emerge fresh and warm from the kitchen offering them up before leaving them at the bar. When you're through, you pay according to how many toothpicks are left on your plate. Quick, easy, delicious. And... the best cappuccino I've had in Spain. Coffee, great food, and an up-close view of an aged shark. Can't get much better than that.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Yesterday Pablo gave Elise an envelope with a handwritten note inside inviting her to his birthday party.
This morning Elise wrote him back in her nicest cursive thanking him for both and accepting his invitation. She wanted to invite him over for a sleepover too, but I said no.
She's 5.
This is all after our vacation over the holidays when we had deep conversations about love and marriage and how to make the right decision on whom to marry. After days moping on the southern Spanish beaches saying, "I just can't have any fun. I miss Thomas too much."
New Year's Eve we were driving along the curvy mountain roads leaving Lanjaron and Elise started the conversation this way.
"I'm nervous."
"Why?"
"Well, Thomas said he's going to marry me when he's an adult. And I'm going to marry Thomas, but there's a boy in my class that I kind of like. But Thomas promised me that he is going to marry me.... [insert lengthy emotional monologue here]. I'm just confused!"
The conversation ended with:
"What is the name of the boy in your class?"
"Pablo"
The cliff on our left fell sharply down to the valley below. I am so thankful that Kirk was able to keep his bearing through this conversation and stay on the road.
Boy am I in trouble.
The photo is from the party. 4 February she attended Pablo's party. His father asked how long we'll live here. Apparently Pablo wants to marry Elise as well.
Monday, January 25, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
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.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
We saw two plays, actually, both written, directed, and starring the talented Arianna Stahlbaum. In The Explorer, a stage opens upon a jungle full of wild animals, green fabrics artistically display the grassy plains, a pool of cool water sits in the foreground. The explorer enters, surveys the scene, finds interesting plant specimens, and drinks from the cool pond startled by the dolphin within. A lion lurks first timidly, then scares the poor explorer. Soon a great flood takes over and the explorer is washed away.Eaten is a ballet in which the characters, all quite talented dancers, frolic in and off the stage in an intense dramatization of the food chain. Water swishes this way and that. The swan gracefully swims oblivious of the dangers around her, and the lion lurks ferociously, terrifying the audience members as much as the poor swan she's after. This sad story ends with the lion happily lunching on swan.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
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.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
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.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
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.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
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.
Friday, January 15, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
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.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
... 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.
Saturday, January 09, 2010
...begin with a stop at my favorite coffee shop with a good friend. Cafe de leche and the best chocolate mousse I've ever had. Well, I've had this chocolate mousse many times here because it's so phenomenally delicious that I can't seem to order anything different to try. Tiara was just as troubled. Two coffees and two chocolate mousse. Not very original. Brilliant girls that we are, we got three things "to go" that I later cut into 6 pieces each and shared after dinner with the rest of the family. We all agree that this little bakery can do no wrong when it comes to chocolate. The cake we got was decadent and had us clamoring for more. Our Creme de Catalan had a very distinct flavor that the girls didn't like and Kirk and I were on the fence with and the Meringue Creme thing was flavorful, but just way to sweet. What a fun activity though and a much better way to share the calories and guilt in my quest to try each and every item in my little bakery. I think we'll do this again next weekend.
Friday, January 08, 2010
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.
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.
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