Life: Idiotropic

I will miss this.  Sad.  Though I still have a few more months, I am becoming poignantly aware that I'll be moving soon.  Summer seems soon and if I am not extremely careful the simple thought of leaving will reduce me to tears in a millisecond, partly because my age has created an overly emotional creature that I hardly recognize who will cry in a 30 second comedic commercial or the last couple minutes of a cartoon.  But even more so, because I've come to love Spain and everything about it with all of my being.  May be because it was harder at first.  May be the pain of fitting in has made the bond that much stronger.  But I do love it.  With every quirk and flaw and frustration.  I love the culture.  I love the people.  I really love this sunrise.  [Sigh]

I've found in Europe more than anywhere else, that something strange is about to happen.  Really.  No day is really complete without a good chuckle or shake of the head.  Like the man last month with a real life rabbit riding on his shoulder.  I've found since that he's a bit off his rocker, but still, it takes some talent to train a rabbit, bonkers or not and it does qualify in my book as something a bit odd and rather entertaining.  Yes, I'm easy to entertain.

So, today with a bit of time, I took my newly arrived visitor to Port Soplaya for a quick snack before picking up the girls.  My normal place was closed forcing us to eat elsewhere, but that was fine because we had a good show.


First:  The wedding photo shoot. 

Blue skies.  Aqua Valencian beaches.  Sand.  Palm trees.  Could be amazing and you're picturing it, right?  Ok.  Now move the lovely couple with the handsome man in his nicest clothes and the bride in her long white gown with the train trailing after her.

Got it?  Ok... she has a train trailing after her as she walks and poses all over the beach.  And this is a Valencian beach in November which means that no one has looked at it or thought to clean or take care of it since August because once September first hits Spain, beaches are abandoned except for the occasional pale tourist.  The beach was the dirtiest I've seen it and the sand was wet.

They aren't even posing in the middle of the beach with the sea behind them or near the palm trees growing out from the sand.  No, they are huddled together kissing on a rock sitting among a pile of ugly rocks next to the pier.  Add some large red metal equipment of some sort floating in the sea beyond and the waves not splashing up majestically, but lapping up just enough behind the rock to wet the beautiful silk gown with the buttons up the back.  Photographers gather behind them where they can get her shoulder tattoo and her bra strap and tag as well.  A woman directs, but doesn't think to tuck in that tag.  The poor bride is walking awkwardly in her heels.  We watch them on and off for a good 40 minutes.  The final photo.  Sitting in the surf.  Yes.  Every bride's dream.  I'm going to wear my beautiful $1000 + bridal gown to the beach and then sit in the wet sand and let the waves wash over me.  Oh yes, that's romantic.  Hope she knows a good dry cleaner.



Second and third:  Valencia in not and has never been known for surfing.  To try, well, is like trying to build an igloo in Tahiti.  Not likely to work.  And, thanks to these two men, I think we have proof.  Don't go to Valencia for a surfing vacation.

Guy on the left decided to paddle out past the waves and wait.  May be those itty bitty 2' waves were too big?  Guess it takes real talent to surf the flat.

Or a paddle.  Guy on right decided to use his surf board as a raft standing there proudly with his little paddle working his way out to sea.  I'm not sure why.  Again, notice the waves?  Nope.  I didn't either.

The headlines:

The "Kree-sees" is a buzz word here as it probably is everywhere, but with rumors that Spain could be the next Greece, locals and radio personalities like to rant about the times.

• Inflation at 2.3% in Spain
• 40% of Spain’s Unemployed have a Hard time Finding Work
• 44% of Spaniards Suffer from Crisis-related Stress

Real estate prices are dropping.  Houses sit vacant.  Shoppers are cutting back.  Unemployment is on the rise.  Yada yada yada. 

• Marbella to spend 280,000 euros on Christmas lights
• Spain Spends 5,000 Million Euros to Fight Obesity

And yet... there's new road construction all over the place.  New train lines are being put in.  Infrastructure is on the rise.  And Marbella is installing Christmas lights.  Hmmm.  I also find great satifaction in the latter since Tiara's classmate declared loudly on several occasions to her and her fellow classmates that Americans are fat, lazy, and only eat at McDonald's.  

• Boat with 20 Tons of Hashish Seized Southwest of Cadiz
• An 86 year old man kills his wife by driving over her in Mallorca 

These last two, I find morbidly humorous, especially because:



1) The smugglers on this particular boat were Dutch.  Nothing against the Dutch.  I love the Dutch.  But... it does sort of fit with their adventurous spirit, tradition of trade, and current drug laws.

2) Because I have reason to believe that Spain is extremely lenient with senior drivers resulting in a terrifying number of ancients on the road who absolutely should not be driving.  Apparently, though, this particular driver was competent enough to hit his target.  Sad.

It's November thirteenth and I've awoken on a day so warm that my patio door is wide open and the sunlight is streaming onto my bed.  I woke up here this morning bathing in the peace and quiet that is unusual for my house of six, stealing moments (ironically) to finish The Book Thief and peeking up occasionally from its pages to observe the silver streak of sea beyond my balcony and the still silhouettes of high rise apartments on Valencia's beaches.

It is a perfect morning.  Arianna cooked breakfast for her sisters.  They've played together happily (mostly.)

And I'm up now with a splitting headache and the feeling that I've been beaten up, bruised, battered.

I was.

By the book.

It intrigued me the moment I picked it up, pulled me in bit by bit and even when I thought that may be I didn't like it, I began to love it and each character within, every rough edge and curse word, every unsettling moment and act of thievery. 

It's the first time I heard Death tell a tale.  At least that I can remember.  And if I had to judge Death by his reading here, I'd say I liked him and might possibly invite him to Thanksgiving in a couple weeks.  He can come for the turkey.

I just took the last swallow of my coffee with four Advil after standing in a daze in my kitchen for the last hour busying myself with dishes and idle chatter.

The hour before I'd been sitting in my Spanish paradise with tears streaming freely down my face while I mourned these rough Germans in this tiny town near Munich who have long since passed if they ever existed.  It's a perspective I haven't heard much before.  A new sad twist to a tragedy that is so much bigger than any of us can actually realize.  A story that makes me sad for the world, yet happy to know it.  The story and the world.

Death's last line.  "I am haunted by humans."

I am too.  And by this book.  Which battered me with words and a story and a truth. 



Powerful words.  Powerful ideas.  This book is one to read and lend and recommend, then read again.

I love having house guests.  House guests bearing chocolate?  Even better.  Bring fancy Parisian chocolates and you can stay a whole month.

This little gem is the hostess gift that Dad and Angie brought when they visited.  It held three layers of surprises with no little folder to tell me what flavor I'd find inside which really added to the fun. 

Pure rich buttery flavor, there isn't even the slightest hint of the waxiness of so many American chocolates and nothing to really bite into.  Hold it too long and it will melt in your fingers.
 
If you go to Paris, stop here.  Then come to Spain and I'll help you out.  ;)

While walking across the bridge in Montanejos Friday, I talked to a lady from Madrid who told me how beautiful Oropesa is, so this morning, seeing that Oropesa really isn't that far from us, we took a drive about 40 minutes up the coast from Valencia to explore.

I saw it from the highway as we approached it and I almost didn't take the exit.  This is it?!!??  It's one tiny little hill with one very ruined old castle on top.  The traditional tangle of old sandwiched homes spills down the hill.  There are winding streets and narrow passageways.  It's all quite typical.

And surrounding this tiny oasis is just another sprawling town.  Sigh.

But I didn't want to drive aimlessly, so we stopped, found parking easily, and trudged up the hill to see whatever there was to see.

It's pretty, don't get me wrong, but here in Spain, there is so much amazing and spectacular, that this, frankly, is quite average.

In this old town there are plaques hanging from the lanterns with famous quotes from saints and authors.  These are unique and fun to find and try to translate.  This one is, roughly, "I live without living and in this way I hope that I die because I won't die."



We walked up to the top of the hill to the castle ruin from which there are nice views of the town and sea beyond.  In fact, from that point, I took more photos of the view that I have only a couple photos of the castle itself, but then, there wasn't much to photograph but pieces of crumbling rock walls.

They are proud though of this castle of Muslim origins.  "Due to its importance, it was conquered by distinguished historical figures like El Cid in 1090, and King James 1 in 1233 (after falling into the Almoravid's hands)."  It was rebuilt in the 14th C and armed in the 16th, but apparently it was "conquered" again because it's in shambles now.

I think it's funny to gage the importance of something by who tried to conquer it, though, now that I think of it, I suppose that's how it works in art, in business ideas, in dating, in war... probably a bit in everything.  We just don't think of it that way normally.

Anyway... that was the hill.  Short and sweet, cute and quaint, quotable and thought provoking...

And at the bottom was a park where we stopped to placate the kids who were bored with quaint castle topped hills and wanted to swing.  They were lucky because there's one of those amazing German backet style swings that swing so high the kids are upside down.  The park is also displaying the first prize sculpture winner of 2010 by Miguel Escobar called Mara'm, mira't, mira.  Fun to photograph.

The beach is where we had an average lunch and took a walk before the rains came.  The kids wanted to sit in the sand and draw.  I wanted to walk. We began the game of "Draw a picture, then run to mom, squat, and draw another one.  Repeat." It worked really well and between the three of them they filled the beach with Spongebob.



I found out later about this resort supposedly here which looks amazing... but somehow I don't think three children and today's weather would have supported it:  http://www.comunitatvalenciana.com/propuestas-de-viaje/castellon-costa-azahar-orpesa/oropesa-del-mar-salud-y-bienestar-en-oropesa-del-mar-0?id_pv=5808

Surprises happen here.  Though Spain's Constitution is younger than me, life has been going on here since before Christ's birth and so, as with any old country, little treasures just appear here and there without warning.  Today was one of those treasure hunts, a drive without a destination really... just an idea that turned out to be better than expected.

Santi is my informant.  He's the ever cheerful boy behind the counter at my favorite coffee shop, the enabler of my caffeine addiction and the pusher of all things sweet that I must try because it's something new.  He's also my local font of knowledge.  Santi knows things.  He told me about Albarracin and Navajas.  Then he told me about Montanejos.  So away we went today knowing that Santi woudn't steer us wrong.

The drive up the A-23 is easy until you exit.  My GPS tells us we're almost there, but between us and Montanejos is a up and down twisty turny stomach churning mess of a road though a gorgeous landscape.  The landscape makes the uneasy stomach worth it as do the little fountains on the side of the road like this one that are just there seemingly in the middle of nowhere where people can come and fill up their bottles and jugs with clean, fresh, ice cold water for free.

Montanejos is a small village known for the warm mineral springs that surround it.  A spa town, there is an abundance of senior tourists there partaking in the therapeutic/healing baths.  In fact, I walked into what was labeled as a tourist office to find a the staff behind the counter wearing white lab jackets and calling forth the "patients" from the waiting room to go have their treatments.  The "tourist" area was a tiny counter off on the side with brochures behind glass.

From some of the regal homes now sitting in disrepair, it is evident that the town once enjoyed a bit of prosperity.  I crossed the bridge over the clear shallow water  of the Mijares river to see a school of large fish swimming below.  They seemed tame and we wondered why no one was fishing for them.  Are they edible?  Are they protected?  I asked an older man who was crossing the bridge.

Well into his 80's, he didn't want to answer my questions, but did want to talk.  "My life is a mystery," he repeated several times telling me about his time in the War and his illness and his cure, how there used to be four big orchards on the hill and the city was wealthy once.  He even talked about his first bicycle and the first motor car in town.  But as much as I love to talk to locals and to learn, it was so hard to understand him.  It could have been his dialect or his slurred "old person" way of speaking, but I only got about 60% which was ok, but not enough.  Too many details lost.


This house was my favorite.  Three stories in front with a nice patio, an old lady swept it while her cat watched from below the table.  She had beautiful flowers growing from pots and a neat row of fruit trees growing along the path from her home to the street.  The back became four floors and overlooked the fields and the pretty río Mijares.

The old city center is the typical maze of tiny streets and sandwiched homes that is typical of old Spanish towns.  These creep up the hill as well and, also typical, small gangs of stray cats hang out at dead ends and street corners.  Five call this covered tractor home.

The bridge leading from the town to a path that leads up the mountain to an old castle ruin was built in 1803 over what was then the Montan river.  Now a dry bed, the bridge still stands connecting the two hills.  It's called the San Jose Bridge-Aquaduct because a small irrigation channel within takes water to the small pueblo of La Alqueria nearby.  Two ceramic panels in the center show paintings of the Virgen of the Dispossessed on one and San Jose on the other.

We crossed it considering briefly to continue up the hill to the castle, but the sign said that it was a 2 hour walk.  A nice couple from Madrid chatted a while.  They said it wasn't far, but the climb was very steep.  Neither of us continued.

Hunger isn't a problem in Spain if you're flexible.  People complain about the rigid hours and yes, it's true that restaurants don't open for lunch until 2:30, but if you're happy with some tapas or a sandwich, then you can eat nearly any time of day.  So, hungry, we sat at the bar at the hotel with a continual ebb and flow of senior citizens through the doors.  Good coffee and a great sandwich.  Cheap and good.  I don't remember what my sandwich was called, but it had steak, ham, and caramelized onions on it making it moist, flavorful, and delicious.  The perfect midday snack for me.

Thanks to Google Maps, I knew that there was something pretty somewhere around the town, but I didn't exactly know where.  Thankfully, I am now technologically armed with my iPhone so that even out in the middle of the Spanish nowhere I can get a fabulous map of exactly where I am and exactly where I am going.

We headed NW on the CV-20 towards a big lake, the Embalse de Arenos.

Just a short bit up the road we saw a place to pull off. This was the first of many and a lesson well learned that along this route, at least, if there is a small widening of the road where you can park, then park because there will be something amazing there even if it's not readily apparent.

There's a small green sign there that says "La Fuente de los Baños"with a scribble of graffiti over it.  A little trail leads down the hill and a small side on the side of it points to where Arab baths were in the 13th century.  At the bottom of the hill we saw the fountain, the rock walls, and a shallow pool of crystal clear aqua water.


A group of men swam and posed while a girl on the rocky beach took pictures.  A mid-70's man swam laps back while his wife read in the sun. 






It's November, but these waters come from a natural thermal spring that remains at 25 ºC all year.




Almost 150 years ago in 1863, these thermal waters were declared a public utility by a royal order.  It's not just a historic swimming hole.

The road elevates from here winding up the side of the mountain while the chasm below gets deeper.  There are no towns here, just dramatic views like this one just before a tunnel.  This is another little turnoff just after a dam where we saw nothing but the tunnel ahead and the tops of trees, but we stopped anyway, walked to the edge and saw this:  Dramatic rocky faces, tiny waterfalls, and an aqua stream.















 

Another dam a few miles ahead reveals the beautiful Emblase de Arenos, the lake created by a dam built here in 1977.  Though the dam is recent, the village beyond it isn't.  From here we could see the ruin of an old Arab castle on the hill and a sign nearby told us that the first civilizations here began between 225-205 B.C.

This village, Puebla de Arenoso, is the first in a string of quaint mountain villages strung along the tiny highway from here to the A-23.  Some of the villages are nothing more than a tight collection of houses clumped together on either side of the road.  Many homes look so run down that only a small kitchen light and a newer car in front give them away from my first assumption that they're abandoned ruins.  It's a different life here where people rely more on themselves growing what they need and using the elaborate water systems set up here centuries ago that deliver fresh cold spring water all year. 





We drove through Los Cantos, La Monzona, Caserto las Lucas and Los Ibanez Bajos as the road began to climb towards Olba.  Here we're going through a valley with picturesque towns creeping down the hill into the valley below, a little stream running through the center with tall aspen trees on either side whose golden leaves are floating on the wind like lost feathers.




In Olba we stopped to see the cemetery there, a typical Spanish cemetary encircled by a stone wall.  Inside are only walls of boxes carved with the name and date, inset on some with a photo and with others a vase for flowers fresh or plastic.  They're very clean and stark here in comparison to the old French cemeteries with the crumbling carved headstones from eons ago.

Just past Olba where the river Rubielos meets Mijares, is this dramatic view and a small turnout just past.  Here are two aquaducts, the older from the middle ages and the newer finished in 1905 and still functioning today to help transport water throughout the chain of villages in this valley.  A path leads behind it to a tiny little paradise, as tranquil as it is picturesque with clear reflective waters and this tiny "Fountain of Health" nearly hidden under a rocky overhang.











This herder has 300 goats with him and two dogs.  We chatted a bit while his goats grazed, then he moved to cross the street and let his dogs go to work.  It was a symphony of bleats and the clank of metal bells.  Undisciplined children are these hiding in bushes and eating everything in sight.  Even when I thought all the goats had gone by, the man made a curt sound to his dog who took off into the bushes and flushed out 10 more goats several with long strands of green vine hanging out of their mouth.

They aren't for milk which surprises me.  I've seen a lot more goat cheese than goat meat on the menus.  Not true for sheep who share equal billing on menus with their cheese.

The sheep were controlled by a couple with their two dogs, but they only watched us as we watched them and weren't available to chat.

Yet another great day worth repeating with more time... water, old villages, and farm animals!  You can't get much better than that.

What to do when you've had your cake and still have an hour+ to "kill" before picking up the girls from school and having more cake before going to guitar?  (My secret to happiness = cake and good coffee)

Talk a walk.  (Which is why I won't wear all that cake and good coffee.)

Where?  Eh.  It doesn't matter.  We're in Spain where in every village, even the boring ones, you can find something just a bit strange.  And that strange is what's interesting and kind of fun.

So, we picked the village nearby with the funny name that is hard to pronounce without instruction.  Albuixech.  (Al-Buey-Shek)  Emphasis on the "xech."

It's small and relatively unexciting as Spanish villages go.  Running along the train tracks to Valencia, it's a cluster of buildings surrounded by fields filled mostly with artichokes and partially with tiger nuts and other random things.  But it's a sunny day and we're stuffed from tapas at El Pito, so a walk is the aleviator of guilt, the hail Mary to my culinary trespasses of which, with company in town for 10 days, there are far to many to count.  Better walk farther.

I took oh, 50ish photos which isn't many.  But it was still cool.  This little chapel has a Biblical scene painted onto tile under each cross that lines the courtyard wall.  It was closed, but the yard was open to see.   It was actually sort of false advertising because this first thing was saw in the village was by far the prettiest.  Figures.

Next is the typical farming village view:  Old man in horse drawn cart.  I'm a bit disappointed though.  Just yesterday I saw an old man sitting tall in a white plastic lawn chair in his cart, but was driving and couldn't take the picture.  He was far funnier.  This guy was just cute in that old man cute kind of way.

Next we found the Casa de Cultura found in nearly every village where children and adults can learn music and art.  This one had a large dome on top that looked like some sort of astronomical thing - an observatory or something.  The building had a nice garden with this date palm heavy with immature dates.  The white triangular house is a barraca, a traditional farm house in these areas that would have been thatched originally.  And, finally, a new use for old CDs - to scare away birds.


The most fun I had on this walk was at the end.  I've decided that you can't properly do the "stretch-out-your-arm-and-click" style self portraits with a large bulky camera, and since I'm a bit of a control freak with my camera anyway, the chances of actually having photos of myself when I'm quite a bit older and wrinkled to look back upon wistfully are pretty slim. 

Thus, my new plan for self-portraits - the shadow portrait!  It works well in Spain where there's quite a bit of sun and there's no need for air brushing if I'm having a bad skin tone day!   :)