Rocking Bar Milord

One of the best things about having my sister here is all of these experiences I have that I wouldn't have had otherwise.  For example, the Canary Islands have never been high on my list of travel priorities.  But Suzi, with her high-energy, go-go-go approach to life, asked Ethan and me if we wanted to run a marathon on her birthday.  After all, there was one going on in the Canaries!

Go, Mom, you can DO it!!!

So off we flew, leaving Todd behind yet again with the cats (Todd claiming that the furthest he could run was a 5 k).  Alas, injuries beset us, and only Ethan completed a measly half-marathon in a respectable 1:41 and change, with Suzi, Daisy, the kids and me as his cheering squad. Still, Las Palmas and its restaurants were a welcome celebration, although the kids could have lived without two visits to La Champiñoneria (The Mushroom House).  We found it fungilicious.  And Las Palmas, the capital of Gran Canaria (a name, by the way, that comes not from birds but from the dogs found on the islands by the first European explorers) was quite beautiful in a pastel baroque way, with a wonderful museum dedicated to Cristobal Colón.  We took a day to drive through the island's interior, reminiscent of the dry side of Maui.

On the edge: the interior of Gran Canaria

Who is Daisy, you ask?  Yet another benefit of living with my sister was the opportunity to have Daisy come stay with us for three weeks.  A combination mentee/adopted daughter, Daisy has been part of Suzi's family for the past decade or so.  She and I bonded over flamenco; I enrolled her in my bulerias class for two weeks (which she picked right up!) and took her to the Jerez pasarela (fashion show) where we oooohed and ahhhed at the amazing dresses for this year's ferias.  One of my many segundo mano dresses fit her to a T, giving her a fancy souvenir from Andalucia.  

Gitanas through the ages

Daisy fit right in: Clowing around at Suzi's birthday party

Skiing is another adventure made easier by the melding of two families.  It's easier to get a ski house for 8 and pack all the gear into one eurovan, even if it turns out that high wind speeds close the mountain for two of the three days you are there to ski.  The Spanish Sierra Nevada is usually more dependable than this, they are quite good about refunding your lift tickets and rentals, and the kids were marvelous at inventing ways to amuse themselves in the snow outside our front door.  

At least the slopes were bright for ONE day!

It's lucky we couldn't ski much, anyway.  Suzi and I had packed a guitar and bass into the overloaded Espace (eurovan), and we practiced for hours while the kids built a dangerous sled run off the wall and through the trees.  We left it to Ethan to supervise between soccer games at the pub, while we played Surrender, Back on the Chain Gang, and Country Roads until the kids begged us to stop.  After all, our big premier at Bar Milord was only a week away.

Practice makes perfect

Yes, we now have a band.   Our clever name, Vale That, joins the omnipresent Spanish word vale, as in "Sure!" or "great!" or "Got it!" or "yeah, yeah, yeah" with the military/aeronautic "Roger That" airspeak to make a joke that almost no one gets.  "Is that 'Vale That," like over hill and dale?'  a friend of mine asked.  

Oh, aren't we clever?

Nevertheless, practice we did, and despite Ethan's doubtful face, the kids assured us that we sounded great.  The microphones fed back, the guitars untuned themselves, and we forgot some of the chords, but we'd packed the bar with our friends, complete with a fan throwing her black bra to the singer, and a good time was had by all.  Consider yourself invited to the next gig!

The sisters rock

Todd rocks

We rock the house...or at least Bar Milord

Packing up and going home post-party

Watch us perform!!  Click here

Next up in our Spanish adventure:  Carnaval in Cádiz and El Puerto de Santa Maria spools up.  We are officially entering the party season, which starts with carnaval, rolls into Semana Santa, picks up speed with the start of feria season, and rocks along through the summer.  ¡Olé!

A chirigota, or singing group, in Cádiz.  Hilarious.  AND they sing! All night long.

A New Year, a New Adventure

2013, as predicted, turned out to be quite a year, although not in the way we’d hoped.  But my mom’s death, while difficult, taught us a lot and brought Suzi and me together to live in Spain with an unexpected intensity that lets us heal.

Healing house:  At Isaac and Paloma's casa en el campo

I will always be grateful to Spain and to the amazing Spanish friends we’ve made that have helped this healing along.  New Year’s Day arrived after a lovely dinner party at our house and a 3 am visit to Los Milagros, the swanky discothéque down the street.  That morning we got a mysterious invitation from my friend Angeline, our local social director:  “Time to wash off your sins and start the New Year clean!”  Huh???

Brave souls

This seems to be a recent tradition, although there are Polar Bear Plunges from New York to California to Canada, the Dutch are crazy enough to swim in the North Sea January 1st, and the wild Italians dive off of bridges into the freezing (and shallow) Tiber River to celebrate the new year.  Apparently the Portuenses (people from Puerto) also love to freeze their butts off.  So we hopped into our little Eurovan and drove up to the beach at Las Redes to take a quick dip.  Icy, but fun!

We did it!  And we're still alive!

Another piece of lore from Spain:  the poor Spanish kids have to wait until January 6th—two weeks after Christmas!!—to get their presents.  That’s because presents in Spain come from the Reyes Magos, or Wise Men, who followed the star to Bethlehem with presents for Jesus.   It took them that long to cross the desert and get to the manger to lay gifts at the new baby’s feet.  So Spanish kids, too, get their presents on January 6th to celebrate. 

Baltazar, the most beloved of the Reyes Magos

The night before, there is a huge parade to welcome in the Reyes Magos.  Puerto’s Reyes Magos started at the castle next door to us, mounted on horseback (not camels) and at some point transferring to huge floats pulled by tractors.  They wound through the streets for four hours before getting to the Church to pay homage to the Niño Jesús and kiss his little foot.  They then made their way back to the castle, and along the way threw HUGE quantities of candies to the waiting crowds—some 15,000 kilograms (that’s over 30,000 pounds!) of candy.

Literally raining candy

What is incredible is that in each city and town, there is a Reyes Magos parade, and usually a spectacular one at that.  At the castle, villancicos blaring through the sound system, we made our way home, tired but happy with a huge bag of loot.  Suddenly fireworks blasted away from the interior of the castle.  We ran to our terrace and stood directly under a joyful display to celebrate the Magos.

So close

Then for the adventure: our friend Isaac, a Spanish surgeon, and his wife Paloma invited us up to their finca (property in the country) for a traditional matanza.  Todd and I left the kids behind with Aunt Suzi and Uncle Ethan, as we knew matar means “to kill” and we weren’t sure what to expect. 

Gorgeous countryside, delicious animals

Isaac and Paloma’s finca is in western Spain, 8 kilometers from the Portuguese border, and studded with encinas y alcornales, trees with the famous bellota acorns that feed the even more famous black pigs from which comes the world-renowned jamón ibérico bellota. 

We love jamón

 Click here to see the pigs!

We arrived on a Friday evening in a small town called Alburquerque (yes, the “r” is supposed to be there, our Albuquerque (New Mexico) is named after the Duke of Alburquerque, just like  this little town, but we dropped the “r” sometime in the 19th century).  Isaac met us at the charming rural turismo or tourist hotel, and led us out to his finca.  There we watched the production of chorizo (we’d missed the butchering of the five magnificent black pigs earlier that day) and ate freshly grilled tapas made from various pig parts. 

 

Chorizo in the making

Chez Isaac y Paloma

Then out came the guitars, and we sang and danced until Isaac made us go to bed, insisting that there was plenty of work and play coming up the next day.  Todd and I danced a spirited round of sevillanas, and back to the turismo we went.

Piggy celebration

Saturday was all about salchichon (sausage).  I learned how the filling was prepared, how the intestines were cleaned, and—most importantly—how to fill them, tie them, and tighten them to make the delicious links we’d grown to love.  Todd became an expert salchichon hanger; I was a little too short, but I did learn to tie a mean sausage.

Todd's taller

Not as easy as it looks

After hours of work came the feast:  everything pig for starters, then a delicious rice seasoned with—what else—pig meat.  We would have stayed longer, the food was amazing and the company even better, but my nephew Ado was having a birthday and we had to leave that afternoon.  We got a royal send-off!

Rustic guiso (stew)

All in all, a wonderful way to start 2014.  Looks like that ocean dip was worth it!

  

Roma, La Ciudad Eterna

Rome, eternal

In the midst of the zambomba season, we planned a trip to Rome.   Bad planning, but Rome turned out to be every bit as beautiful as a Spanish Christmas-lit street.   We flew out late on a Thursday night, leaving Todd behind (again) with the cats, arriving in Rome at midnight.

Peace in the street

I’d been to Rome twice in the 1980s, and while I found it impressive with the fountains and steps and ancient history, it was also loud, full of traffic, grimy, and a little scary with the peddlers pawing at you from every angle (especially if you are 19 or 23).  When Todd and I were there, we also had no money, having been robbed on the train down (but we did still have our backpacks, passports, and eurail passes—just no cash). 

Rome is safe for kids

No more.   Not only did we have cash this time, but Rome has changed.  Traffic has been re-routed, horns silenced, neighborhoods gentrified, peddlers have good manners, dogs are cleaned up after, even the horses now have to wear a poop-bag!  Maybe it’s because we were there in December, with Christmas lights brightening the streets, and not in August, but the city literally glowed, day and night. 

And it was COLD!  

At every turn was another vista, a monument, a patina of softly illuminated pastel buildings, lovely shops, and hilarious street toys (we spent a fortune, the peddlers loved us). 

A peddler's dream

My favorites in Rome, cigarette, cell phones and all

And the food.  The food!  We had one delicious Italian meal after another, carbohydrates be damned, and found the most delightful pizzerias, tiny neighborhood restaurants, and street stalls.  Ethan, who had lived here for six months while in college, proved to be a trusty guide, his Italian impressive and his knowledge of cuisine delicious (except for the very aged cheese that he alone would eat). 

Unbeatable

Everything's a game

Then there’s the history.  Tia and Sasha are at just the right age to share this kind of wealth with, appreciative of the splendor of the Pantheon, recognizing the various gods and goddesses, and imagining the brutality of the Coliseum games. 

Standing in the face of history

We toured the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter’s, in awe of such vast quantities of beauty contained in such a small space.  But perhaps the most fun was the sheer pleasure of wandering  the streets, which we did for hours each day with nary a complaint from any kid. 

Reflected beauty

Next we want to travel to Florence, Venice, and Tuscany.   And perhaps, just perhaps, Italy may not be a bad place to live, too!  The language sounds at least as fun as Spanish, and not too hard…

Still standing

Winged Rome

¡Zambomba!

Jerez guitarist at a zambomba

Christmas in Spain is yet another great reason to have a party.   The holiday remains staunchly rooted in the Catholic traditions with a charming twist and wicked sense of humor provided by Andalucia’s flamenco culture.  We spent time this year melding our German and American traditions with our newly-acquired Spanish villancicos in an attempt to throw our very own zambomba.

Tuning up for Christmas

A zambomba is an instrument used mostly during December to accompany the villancicos (or Spanish Christmas carols).  People gather at bars, restaurants, private homes, out in the street, parking lots, shopping malls, and anywhere else the Spanish hang out.  Many of these gatherings are planned and sponsored by bars and restaurants (a great way to sell a drink), but some also occur spontaneously in the streets or neighborhoods.  Since the zambomba (the musical instrument) is not the easiest to carry around, they tend to be a local phenomenon.  Here is a video from my friend Carolina’s zambomba-maker friend:

click here to see pictures and a video of a zambomba

Me playing a zambomba at a zambomba

Also common to a zambomba (the party) aside from a zambomba (the instrument) is one or several singers, and people who know how to clap (this might sound simple, but believe me, I’ve spend the last two years learning how to do it!).  Guitars, tambourines, and anis liqueur bottles scraped by a spoon round out the sound, but are not required.   Throw in a bonfire, and you’ve got yourself a zambomba.  Now all that’s missing would be friends to share it with!

Dancing around the fire at our first-ever zambomba

I invited everyone I knew for my first zambomba attempt in early December.  And, given the highly social nature of southern Spain, most everyone showed up, the most delightful people you could imagine.  My flamenco teacher, Lola de Cai, came to sing along with her guitarist Alejandro, and we spent the evening way into the morning hours singing, dancing, eating the Christmas potluck dishes everyone brought, and generally making a lot of noise, as Todd wanted to show off our amplification system.  Lucky we live next to two discos—no one complained.

(party?)

The rest of December was marked by zambomba after zambomba, most of which we didn’t attend.  Every corner bar had their own zambomba schedule, and I tried to drop by those I might have a chance to dance at.  Finally, at the zambomba in Vista Hermosa, with my family arriving just in time to videotape me, I got my chance, having practiced for hours and my courage bolstered by my friend Charo dancing first:

Click here to see me dance!

So where is the wicked sense of humor (aside from the goofy dancing)?  In the villancicos, of course.  They have been "flamenquized" in both their rhythm and words.  Here is a translation of one of my favorites; I had to check to make sure I was understanding the words correctly!

The Virgin, since she's a gypsy,
Is loved by the gypsy men
St. Joseph, since he's not a gypsy
rebels against all this attention

We don't give madroños to the Child
Because they could make him drunk!
Oh yes!  Oh no!  Rocio is the name of the mother of God

Here’s a link to the song, as well as several others that we’ve learned to love:

La virgen como gitana

La Marimorena

Los peces en el rio

Wise Guy Griffin Gaspar

Another zambomba we attended was at the kids’ school, Nuestra Señora de la Merced.  Adrian had a cameo as a shepherd boy, Griffin was the second of the Reyes Magos, Gaspar, and Tia and Sasha spearheaded their Christmas Dance presentations.  I came in to help the 5th and 6th grade sing “The Little Drummer Boy” and “The Friendly Beasts” in English as part of our conversation classes I’ve started there!   We finished it off by dancing swing to a Christmas remake of “In the Mood.” 

Click here to see us swing!

cameo appearance

In a word:  Christmas in Spain is FUN!