Back from our last European travels (well, except for a
2-day stint in Paris coming up on our way out), we went into full-on
pack-and-clean mode, at the same time welcoming in my German sister Martina and
her family for 5 days, and of course a last massive flamenco party was in
order! I played padel, rode my bike
through Puerto’s centro, visited friends, had some last dinner parties, packed
like crazy, sold the big furniture we didn’t need, and cleared out the central
patio for the goodbye party.
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| My friend Begoña gets the party rocking |
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| Dancing my last bulerias |
And what a party it was!
With Alejandro playing the guitar, Laura Alvarez singing in turns with
Begoña and me, Enrique on the tambor y flauta, and a packed house full of
people who had made Spain so all-embracing for me. It was bittersweet, to move flushed and happy
through the crowd, chatting with all the different people from our life we had
created here in Spain, knowing that this was the end of an adventure that had
changed and enriched me dramatically.
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| This is not your usual potluck! |
And the most amazing goodbye gifts imaginable: a Spanish tuna, complete in costume,
serenading me in the street as I stood on the handsome wrought-iron balcony of
my beloved palace. That, along with a
stunning hand-drawn portrait of me with the façade of our palace as a backdrop,
a unique way to take a piece of Spain home with me, wrapped in memories. These, along with some beautiful wines and
sherries for our wine shipment, beautiful jewelry, and the hugs and well-wishes
and offers of help and welcome whenever we return. It made my heart sing and weep, such
outpouring of love and friendship.
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| The tuna, serenading me! |
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| Then they filled the garden with their harmonies |
We cleaned the palace once more on Sunday with the help of
Martina and crew, and then the movers came, packing and taking away everything
in one fell swoop of a Monday.
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| We'll miss this pool |
Once we were packed, I was melancholy. For a week I walked through my palace, now
bereft of our things and left only with the remainders of Tomás Terry’s lovely
and faded furniture. I fixed up the main
courtyard as best I could, hauling out an old green 15 x 20 foot carpet and
arranging the old sofa and matching chairs from Todd’s man-cave. We had a few plates and cups left so we could
still eat at home, although those things disappeared as well as I finished up
our yard sale and helped pack all the remaining items into a charity
organization’s truck. I completed all my
lasts: last party, last flamenco class, last visit with this friend or that,
last dinner with friends, last cleaning.
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| Last dinner party at the palace |
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| Last flamenco party with my compañeras |
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| Saying goodbye to Juan at Bar Milord, where Vale That got its start |
I’d thought that we would have more free time once our stuff
was packed out, but there were so many things to do: a spa circuit at friend Mila’s
hotel, the friends Tia and Sasha wanted to invite over one last time, the yard
sale I persisted in, wanting our things to avoid the landfill and serve someone
else’s needs, and the cleaning my beloved palace deserved.
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| The most elegant office I'll ever have |
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| Splendid façade |
In the end, I didn’t get everything perfect,
but I felt good that I had left the palace better than I had found it. That would have to be enough. We closed the door one last time and drove
off at 5 am, headed away from a place that had been our home and that had
taught me so much for five delightful years.
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| El castillo de San Marcos, with my cousins Stephan and Kristen |
What made Spain so special for us?
The obvious: a familiar and delightful climate, warm to hot
and sultry in the summer, cool to brisk and damp in the winter, but not too
much on either side, and nearly always perfect for sitting outside and enjoying
the view.
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| My beautiful Puerto de Santa María |
The Things of Spain:
sherry, and the delight of learning about this hidden gem of a beverage;
the Andalusian horses, with their massive necks, waving manes, gentle and noble
temperaments, and willingness to please; padel, which never failed to make me
laugh with the crazy backboard shots and tricky returns...
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| The magic flor of sherry |
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| Riding on the beach |
...the bullfights,
controversial as they were, but with the brass refrains echoing through the
Plaza de Toros and the Olés of the crowd, so quintessentially Spanish; the
processions, religious and solemn and casual and deeply meaningful all at the
same time; the Spanish language, rhythmic and flowing, my own mind catching it
to an almost-perfection for brief moments, but always the joy of working its beauty
on my tongue, the half-sadness at not having fully mastered it even after five
years.
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| Puerto's bullring |
And then there’s flamenco.
From the first misconceptions of flamenco-as-tapdance, to the
intricacies of the first bulerias moves, to the sevillanas and my first feria
dresses and dances, the multifaceted world of flamenco fascinated me and left
me determined to learn at least some of it.
And learn I did, learning first bulerias steps, then the wrist and
shoulder movements, and finally daring to grasp for the attitude that makes a
true bailaora.
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| A pretty good flamenca |
Through five teachers and
the stealing of as many different sevillanas moves, I learned a great deal—and
mostly learned how much there was to learn that I was not going to reach in a
paltry five years. Just to make that
clear, I joined my teacher Jaime’s singing class in the last year, belting out
my best attempt at sounding flamenco, much to my compañeras’ amusement, and I learned to play the castañuelas
(castanets) barely well enough to dance with them last feria season.
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| A flamenca wannabe |
Four years
of multiple dance classes per week, 20+ feria dresses with all the
accouterments, and five fun-and-dance-filled feria seasons later, I know that I
have just scratched the surface of what is meant by “flamenco.” And I know that I will miss it dearly.
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| You gotta love feria |
But beyond all the obvious lay a treasure most
unexpected: the Spanish people, and
those we met in Spain. We branched out
from wonderful naval base friendships to the most delightful and interesting
local friendships, and the more I basked in the wonder of our luck in meeting
such amazing people, the more our luck grew.
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| Naval base beauties |
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| Olé Maribel! |
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| Learning from the pros |
I was welcomed into, not just one but three different groups of
compañeras, women (and the occasional señor!) who loved flamenco and loved that
I loved it, too. We met people from many
different regions and were welcomed into their homes and lives.
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| At the Spanish Navy Ball with my amigas españolas |
We were taught and invited by those eager to
share their heritage. The reason my
blogs are full of such joy is due to the friendships created in five short
years, and the big-heartedness of those we met and joined with in friendship.
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| Americans and Spanish all together now at the last Vale That concert |
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| So glad to be here |
And it is the main reason I am grateful to have these
stories encapsulated in my blog, and why I enjoy re-reading it. Spain, you have made my world so much
bigger. I will always be grateful from
the depths of my heart.
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| Last dinner with our very first friends in Puerto: How we will miss you!! |
This will be the last
installment of the Rico Petersons in Spain blog. You can follow our adventures in the U.S. at
the following link:
A California Adventure
