2014 - Under Water

My original title for this blog entry was ‘Party Animals’. I was going to write a vibrant, colorful, envy-inducing tale of Spanish fun: national festivals, late night fiestas, and the never-ending spray of fireworks this country so enthusiastically displays. I would blissfully babble about making friends, practicing vocabulary, preparing tapas, nesting in the villa, and generally showing off what a laid-back, casual culture these Spaniards have. Was also going to post this blog months ago, followed by more insightful drivel of the exciting dream life I was living in Spain.

Sometimes things don’t go as planned.

Aldofo and the villa renovation rubble

While the festivals and fiestas and fireworks were happening down below Huw’s ‘house on the hill’, he and I instead were making memories of a different sort. A bizarre blend of home-owner bliss and cultural uncertainties mixed with the daily frustrations dealing with “ordinary life” in a foreign country and the renovation headaches of a cliffside villa.

Take, for example, the day Huw and I looked up to find an armed police officer at the entrance gate pointing to the piles of construction rubble and debris around the terrace walls. As he sternly repeated, “Tienen un licensia de obra?” I ran inside, grabbed my dictionary, and with shaky fingers, quickly looked up ‘obra’ …WORK. WORK! I said to Huw. “He’s asking if we have a license for this work!” Yes, of course we do, I thought. “Si, si, claro,” I stammered back to the officer. But Huw’s call to our contractor proved otherwise. Apparently he’d “neglected” to file the formal paperwork with the city, and now the official wanted some form of payment. Later that day, after Huw’s guided tour of the local police station and my frustrated rants with our otherwise intelligent and responsible contractor, we learned the Spanish “custom” of such matters…generally get on with the job and don’t worry about filing or paying for a ‘license for work’ until the authorities show up on your property to inquire. sigh

Other memories include numerous trips to the Gandia appliance store in search of accommodating refrigerators, washing machines and ovens. Browsing the shiny, new household goods had its appeal, but jeez-louise did I pity the poor sales clerk. We saw the same, sweet woman every time. After the first couple visits, she knew us well. With the patience of Job, she smiled and made some sense of my ear-screeching, un-conjugated Spanish as I tried to ask questions about the features of this or that and attempted to arrange delivery dates with a driver I was certain couldn’t find us at the top of the hill. For our last purchase, she gave us a nice discount. “You’re special clients,” she said with her usual smile and clear, enunciated sentences for my benefit. Honestly, it’s no wonder this country celebrates so many Saints days!

Shiny new appliances in an "almost" finished kitchen

And of all the jaw-dropping, beautiful places I’ve seen now in Europe, I simply can’t erase the visual memory of me bent over, doing dishes, in the bottom of a tiny, basement shower because, amidst the remodeling, there was no other place with running hot water. Picture me wrangling a giant Paella pan (literally with a circumference larger than the width of the shower floor) scrubbing and scraping to get it clean, while simultaneously trying to prevent the browned bits of rice from going down the drain and mixing with the stringy, soapy strands of my long hair that had tangled around inside. Lovely!

Yes, these are my memories of the last several months. Thankfully I can laugh about them now.

Ordinary life in Every-Town-Spain

The other day I was riding a bus, meandering through one of many, small Spanish towns, winding around tiny streets and circular roundabouts. I realized how accustomed I’ve become to them. Long stretches of palm trees and various types of yuccas line the sidewalks and medians. Blocks of dry, sandy earth scattered with thick, sagebrush and spindly weeds pass for city parks, with splashes of graffiti art plastered on brick walls. Rows of businesses and shops appear in familiar bundles, recognizable by a logo, design, or name that I pronounce in my head with my American accent. And each of these stores are stacked with blocky, modest apartment flats where loosely flowing lines of laundry hang out over their unassuming balconies. On nearly every corner sits a group of large green and yellow bins prompting people to recycle. And on the outskirts, giant billboards advertise the “big-box” stores while nearby, large, industrial-sized warehouses and petrol stations extend the town into a generic upward version of stale, concrete USA. This is Every-Town-Spain, and for me, no longer seems exotic, unique, or strange.

I’ve discovered that despite the familiarity these places have acquired, living in a foreign country, as opposed to touring one, is a bit like being under water. You look up towards the sky where everything is blurry. You can only barely make out what’s going on. You see people moving about, but because your view is limited to the edge of the pool, you don’t quite know from where they’re coming and to where they’re going. You hear people talking, but can’t quite comprehend what they say. Activity is happening all around, but you’re too far below the surface to fully participate. After treading water as hard as you can, it starts to feel like you’re not really getting that far. Don’t get me wrong, I like to swim, but sometimes it’s more comfortable walking on the ground.

Indre & Ana - Expat Goddesses

There is hope, however. Lately I’ve been hanging out with two American women who’ve lived in Spain for 20/30+ years. They married Spanish men. Gave birth to Spanish babies. Speak the Spanish language. They’ve built lives here. They LOVE it here! One admitted to me that she can’t describe the Spanish culture to people back in the States. “I don’t even try,” she said with a big, wide grin. “Until you experience it firsthand,” she added, “you can’t comprehend it.” She’s absolutely right.

I return to Portland in a few days. “For good? Or just a visit?” my cousin asked recently. Great question! I can’t wait to see my friends, my family, my dog. My son and his girlfriend are getting married, so I have that to look forward to. And of course, the holidays are just around the corner. But…if I’m being honest, I dread the incessant barrage of advertising and marketing, the post-election political mud bath, the fake news, the egocentrism, the hectic pace, the disingenuous inquiries of “what do you do?” and the gloomy winter weather. To quote a blogger I recently discovered: “The United States is my alcoholic brother. Although I will always love him, I don’t want to be near him at the moment.” (lol, if you like that…check out the full article: http://markmanson.net/America)

So what’s a girl to do? Tread water or walk on the ground? Live in Spain? Live in the States? There’s no clear answer.

How can I leave this??

Plus…there’s Huw. Last year I gushed about unicorns and rainbows. Well, I’m afraid the unicorns gave way to mosquitoes and the rainbows to heatstroke (ha! that’s a private nod to the hell that is Spain in August!). With my tail between my legs and a few fresh dents in my heart, I solemnly admit that life with a dreamy, blue-eyed Welshman has ended. I think. Pretty sure. Maybe, last time I checked. Feeling rather silly about all that love junk now.

If I sound a bit melancholy, a bit tired, well, I am. But I’m also eternally grateful, enlightened, and humbled. The sides of one’s moods aren’t mutually exclusive after all. In six months, I’ve traveled, learned a language, sunbathed nude, and eaten amazing food. I’ve also slept on streets, cried myself to sleep, and woken to jackhammers. Nothing is perfect, and everything, no matter where one is in the world has its joys, its pains, its uncertainties.

In the end, life in Spain is, well, LIFE…in Spain. 

2014 - Moving In

There’s a smokin’ hot 20-something year old Spanish lad working down below on the pool that I’m standing above, three stories up on a tiled terrace. Although it’s not his name, I affectionately, secretly, call him ‘Juan Carlo the Pool Boy’. I’m trying not to stare. Instead I just shake my head in disbelief. Suddenly I feel as if I’ve walked into a cheesy episode of Desperate Housewives. Should be cutting to commercial any second. The panoramic view beyond is expansive and overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. Soon the sun will be setting, just over the mountains. The fourth one we’ve seen to date. Of all the sunsets I’ve watched in all the places I’ve been around the world, the ones I’m privileged to see now, every night, just outside my new front door, are by far the MOST impressive!

Happy new home owner!

It took quite a long time and quite a lot of patience, but finally, FINALLY, Huw signed on the purchase of his house and now I’m privy to the oh-so-unique experience of settling into a home in a foreign country. In my lifetime to date, I’ve bought (or rather, been involved in buying) three houses. With that, comes the hand-cramping process of signing large stacks of legal documents to seal the deal in The U.S.A. But what I saw as the “closing” process with this Spanish villa was something completely different. Six parties took place in the event – the seller, the seller’s real estate agent, the bank representative, the city Notary, Huw (the buyer), and Huw’s lawyer (who’s Spanish and was essentially there to act on behalf and translate). Oh, and I can’t let it go without comment that the bank representative (female) was wearing a VERY low-cut top and carried something akin to a ‘Hello Kitty’ handbag for her paperwork and bank notes. When she bent over to reach for some papers, all present in the room got quite an eyeful, and I couldn’t help but giggle when I watched her stuff a giant wad of cash into her silly bag. LOL! Well, anyway, there we all were in a small room around a large table to witness the Notary’s reading of the contract. After no more than about 10 minutes review and discussion, one, SINGLE piece of paper was passed around the table for the chief parties to sign. I took a quick glance at the papers and was surprised to see such an informal contrast to what I’m used to in the States. They were nothing more than about a dozen, double-spaced, hand-typed pages that looked like a research paper I might have written in college. But that’s all it took. And with that, Señior Garcia (the seller) gave Huw three crowded rings of house keys and the deed was done. Muchas Gracias and Adios. Wow!

The 'hood' on Tossal Gros

They say the three most important things about a house is: location, location, location. Damn!! Is that ever the case here! I’ve probably gushed enough about the view, so I won’t say more about that. But now, strolling the “neighborhood” is just as surreal. I say neighborhood in quotations because it’s more like a scene from a foreign film, dotted with jaw-dropping multi-million dollar homes, high atop this mountain overlooking the ocean. Some have massive security gates and, are you kidding me??!!...the swimming pools are seriously worthy of sunbathing celebrities. Totally unbelievable!

Now then…hold it right there…(insert sound of a screeching record player). Before all this ooh la la fancy-pants, “villa on a Spanish hillside” nonsense gets carried away, let me clarify that Huw’s house is honestly just a nice, modest abode. Yes the view is to-die-for. And yes, George Clooney might, just might, spend his summers up the road around the corner, but as for this particular dwelling itself, well, the reality is, we’re rollin’ up our sleeves and gettin’ down to fixin’ her up.

This is where the fun really begins and where time spent tra la la-ing around the Spanish countryside changes. Our first couple of days were spent cleaning out the house. We learned that the owner didn’t stay here full time and apparently didn’t care to remove all his furniture and crap, so we’ve had quite an adventure going through drawers, dumping out piles, and sorting through various bizarre findings. Among the dried up spiders, hoards of plastic bags, and old bottles of different types of cleaners that I can’t translate, Señior Garcia  also left us: a large, rusty bike; the MOST hideous, worm-infected light fixture you ever saw; loads of clothes hangers (actually, some of those are quite useful); condoms in the bedside drawers and certain – ahem – kinds of magazines…ewww and double ewww; a couple of gawd-awful, bright, yellow neon shirts; several, very Spanish looking tapestry-like slip covers; and loads of trash. Oh…and there are twist ties and eye bolts securing the beds to the walls (hhhhmmm…). Surely everyone has, at some point, gone through other people’s castoffs. What a hoot doing it with a cultural twist! And in all fairness, we scored a few treasures too: a bitchin’ wood coffee table; some rustic, occasional chairs (that I’ve already set by the front door along with a lovely, fresh hot pink geranium); two large, ceramic pots; and several, typical terra cotta tapas bowls that we’ve been using nearly every night. SWEET!!

DIY center - Spanish style

If there’s one thing I’m learning, doesn’t matter where one is in the Western world, getting a new house in the 21^st century requires…a local Home Depot! And Huw and I quickly found Spain’s answer to that just a few miles up the road. There ought to be a Hidden Camera type reality show that features non-native speaking foreigners going into such a place. Seriously. Our first time there, I’m sure, was hysterical to watch for the locals. Not only were we turned around tying to find shit, with our giant-ass cart that’s tough to maneuver down the aisles (yeah, that’s universal too!) but now imagine not being able to read signs and packages and instructions, etc. Holy hell – it took us 45 minutes just to choose a freakin’ set of bed sheets and pillow cases ‘cuz we couldn’t figure out what went with what and the difference between this that and the other!!! eeeeyyyy carummbaa!!

Gettin' down to work!

And then there’s yard work. Wow! Are we ever working our asses off outside, trying to clear away and tend to the jungle-like overgrowth that is the grounds. Imagine steep slopes of this “hillside Spanish villa” entangled with various plant forms from large agave cactuses (cacti??), thick mounds of grasses, yuccas, ivy and the horrendously barbed, spindly vines that can only be described as the WORST STINKING DEVIL plant on earth!! CRIMINEY it’s awful!!! Days we’ve spent now clearing brush, pulling vines, and pruning trees. It’s hot, dirty, nasty work, but honestly, pretty fun! Let’s hope one of us doesn’t end up in a sticker-bush, scratched-up heap at the bottom of the hill! Think I came close a couple of times…ah yes, life in Spain has indeed taken a turn!

Finally, last but not least, I make a quick nod to our new neighbors…to the south, an Algerian French family who come ‘round on holidays to lie in the sun and “get away” from their home outside of Paris (get AWAY from their home in PARIS??!!! Shheeesh!) Only the teenage girl speaks English, none of them really speak Spanish, so talking is a bit tricky. They invited us over for coffee. But alas, Huw didn’t really want to go. Doesn’t much like the French. It’s a British thing…blame history for that one. To the north of us is an older, German woman, who also comes on holiday now and again. She’s a lawyer, apparently, and seems to take some pleasure in chatting us up over the fence to inform us ALL about the goings on of the previous owners. You know the type. A bit of a busy-body -- German style. One day she went on and on about some “illegal” additions made to the house. We tried to tell her that everything had been cleared. The city updated the records and they were stamped and signed accordingly. “harrummpff” she exclaimed in her thick German tongue. Rolling her eyes she added, “don’t be zo zure…dey only tell you dat…ze Spanish lie about zuch dings!” yeah, ok, lady. Thanks for the advice. Now why don’t you go remove your large, white granny-pantys you got hanging out there on the line? Jeez! We can see them from our pool!

Just another night on the hill

Well…I must run now. Huw’s busily trying to identify which light switches go to which lights and which keys fit which locks. And I gotta washing machine instruction manual written entirely in Spanish that I need to figure out. Hasta luego!

2014 - Déjà Vu

Three months, two weeks, five days and some odd hours from when I left Spain last December, I find myself back again. WOW! Un-be-LIEV- able!! The word surreal barely begins to express what it feels like being here – so soon after leaving -- and for the reasons that bring me back. I’ve started writing this blog from the country villa I was renting before. And nothing, really has changed. Remember the one? Eduardo and Amparo’s estate surrounded by olive trees with a great view of the little old castle on the hill up across the village where, last fall, I blissfully wandered the farmers market and was shocked to see snow! What a head trip to see that castle again, the market, and all the familiar small-town roads. In fact, I just brewed a cup of coffee and am pretty sure I used the last of the sugar I left here in December. 

To recap…my trip last fall was for 3 months to explore the southern region of Spain and take in the culture. I lived and traveled 2 of those months around Granada then moved in November to the rural town of Cocentaina near the Mediterranean coastline. I like to call that trip my “return to sanity” after the challenges caring for my grandmother and, later, the divorce…blah blah blah. Figured running away to Spain – ALONE – for 3 months would be an ideal way to see a super cool part of the world and help transition me into the next phase of my life -- whatever the hell THAT was going to be! But what I didn’t expect was to get swept off my feet by a charming, funny, intelligent, gentle, blue-eyed Welshman who’d ultimately fly across the globe (literally) in the dead of winter to help me break away from Portland and bring me back to start my next chapter with him instead. Sometimes one just never knows which way the wind will blow!

My "stuff" pared down to a small storage unit

Our time together in Oregon was incredibly special, and Huw was a real trooper bopping around meeting the whole clan of friends and family…but I’m not gonna lie…it was also INCREDIBLY stressful. Stressful because I had monstrous decisions to make. (And if you know me, simply trying to decide between soup and salad can be treacherous.) Was I going to keep an apartment in Portland and travel back and forth between there and Spain every three months or so? Or was it better to get rid of all my stuff and keep an open itinerary with some uncertainty as to a “permanent residence”? There was no easy answer. And the thought of reducing your life’s possessions down to a 5 x 5 storage unit and moving thousands of miles away with a man you’ve barely met, well, that’s some pretty scary shit! Of course I had to think about my boys and other family and friends too. Could I leave all of them for an unknown amount of time?? The indecision drove me nuts! Then one morning I woke up, with a giant weight lifted, and told Huw I’d sell my stuff, go back with him, and try to get a long-stay visa for Spain. I would take the leap, cuz ultimately I didn’t want that nasty ‘ol monster Regret breathing down my neck. As for my boys, well, if they weren’t doing as fantastic as they were, in the lives they’ve started to live quite independently, I don’t think I could’ve decided what I did. Damn I’m proud of them! And thanks, boys, for giving me your blessing to do this. I love you SO much!!! XOXOX

True paella made by master Eduardo

So what’s happening now? oh. my. gawd. We’re having a BLAST! Just chillin’ really. We wake up to sun and no alarm clock. We take walks. Sometimes I go for a run. We get creative – Huw with his photography and me with my writing. We talk. We think. We laugh and revisit old movies. We cook for each other and sample new wines (ok, that’s a lie…we drink a LOT of wine!) We explore the countryside, take in the local festivities (more on those later), and occasionally just hang out with Eduardo, Amparo and their band of eclectic friends and relatives. Usually this includes a GIANT pan of paella rice, prepared fresh over a flame in a large brick oven. Awesome Spanish tradition! The best part of those evenings is the hilarious, and often incomprehensible, blend of Spanish and English mixed together in a haphazard flurry of bad grammar and exaggerated hand gestures as we all try to communicate together in the only possible way we can.

Jealous yet? Don’t be. We’ve got our share of headaches too.  There’s drama among friends that Huw and I are caught in the middle of. And we’re getting awfully frustrated with closing the deal on his house…Spaniards are notoriously lax, and I swear there’s a bank holiday every other day, so business takes FOREVER! Sometimes ordinary bad luck happens too. Just today we had car trouble forcing us to change plans and return home. And I had major issues with the washing machine then spent an hour hand washing the load before hanging the clothes out on the line.

View from Huw's new villa…if we can ever move in

By far the greatest challenge is still the language barrier. Despite my best intentions to continue studying back in the States and improve my Spanish, I simply didn’t. Days turned into weeks. And those weeks slipped by as my re-entry into American life overshadowed my time in Spain. Soon, I no longer needed to think about what I needed and wanted to say…I just said it. But now that I’m back here, and could stay here for a much, much longer time, it’s necessary again to focus on learning the language. Problem is, it’s a slow and frustrating process. Fortunately, I’m picking back up where I left off. I can still read a lot of signs. I can still order in a restaurant. I can still transact money. I just can’t bloody hold a conversation, with ACTUAL  people, that uses more than a few simple words in a sentence!!! GGGRRRRRR!!!!!! But I am trying, and I’ve been studying with a good app, Duolingo, that cousin Sara turned me onto – gracias chica!

Easter procession in Cocentaina

All this seems like a sort of curious balancing act between being a foreigner in another country and living, “normally,” among the natives. I’m definitely feeling less like a tourist – much more like a resident. I suppose it’s only natural when you start doing things like browsing furniture stores instead of old cathedrals. Buying large containers of shampoo rather than those little travel-size bottles. And preferring home-cooked meals over touristy tapas bars. Hell, even when I eat now, I use my fork upside down in my left hand, piling the food up on the end (look that one up if you don’t get the reference). HA! This is what acclimating to a European lifestyle looks like I suppose.

The other day I walked up to the castle above Cocentaina. My déjà vu was profound! I never expected to see that view again, let alone possibly living here. Strolling back down the hill, I thought about my good fortune and what it means to have such a leisurely, luxurious life right now. Suddenly it occurred to me what I think this adventure is really about and what I hope to relay through this blog. Yeah, sure, I’ll have some travel stories and talk about the trouble I get myself into. But there’s more now compared to what I shared last fall. Now this is the story of stripping away a big part of my American culture. Letting go of certain beliefs systems. Questioning certain values, ideas, customs, and ways of life. I think many people in the States dream of simpler ways. Leaving the mad race to “succeed” and having fewer things, fewer responsibilities to occupy their time. Well, maybe I can’t speak for others, but that’s certainly been my own desire. The time is now even if my plans are temporary at best and subject to change at any moment. Either way, I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna jump in and give this a whirl! 

LOVE being back!!

Ninth Entry (Final) -- Conflicted

Well HOLY CRAP...this is it! My last blog entry of my adventures in Espagne. I fly back to Oregon a week from today. How the hell is it possible?! As I roll that question around in my brain and think back through all the stories and wonderful people I've had the incredible pleasure to spend time with, I suppose it makes sense I've nearly reached the end of my allotted 90 days. So much has happened that, quite honestly, I can't distinguish between it being 90 days or 290 days! I'm beyond grateful for this experience. I don't know how else to express my gratitude. 

Beautiful Valencia!

Since my last entry and descriptions of Cocentaina and the quiet solitude I've enjoyed in my country home, I've traveled a bit beyond this tiny pueblo to see more of what the south-eastern part of Spain offers. Thanks to my hostess, Amparo, working in Valencia during the week, one day I rode in with her and explored around. Valencia takes my breath away! Compared to Madrid, Seville and even Granada, Valencia is in a league of its own. For starters, it's nestled along the coastline, so there's a freshness in the air, and a young, lively spirit. Reminds me of towns along the California coast, like Santa Barbara or San Louis Ibisbo. Valencia is clean, easy to navigate, modern, warm, and well, just down-right pretty. I'll wait and let my photos do most of the talking, but to give a flavor of the spirit and beauty there, the central part of the city is surrounded by what was once an old river. But the river now has been replaced by expansive gardens, monuments, and recreational centers...sort of a hub for nature, culture, and community activity a la New York's Central Park. And naturally, a place like this draws a fair amount of wealthy people, so the city has a certain degree of palatable affluence too. This lil ol' gal from podunk Oregon went nuts taking pictures of the high-class apartment buildings and store window displays. I also couldn't resist climbing to the top of a medieval-period gateway tower to overlook the city from above. 

And speaking of climbing, I've also since made the trek up the hillside directly across from my house to Cocentaina's 14th century castle. I see it from my window every day, and now I've seen the opposite view from high above on the other side. The hike itself was actually quite easy. Just some steep paths to climb. And the views were spectacular! Who knew I would come to Spain and discover such a passion for seeking out towering vistas and mountain overlooks. I must find a way to continue that back home. Friends...I beg you to share all your favorite climbs and viewpoints.

Made it to the top - Cocentaina's Castle

Another day found me in a nearby historic town called Bocairent, around the other side of the mountain from Cocentaina. Amparo and Eduardo suggested I see firsthand the ancient formation of the village's buildings. WOW! I wasn't prepared for its charm! There's a section of the town (the historic section) where the buildings and homes are stacked like a Jenga puzzle along the embankments of the town's river canyon. The sight of these buildings across the canyon stops you in your tracks because of its unique and picturesque beauty. Then, once inside the maze of buildings, you follow along the 'Ruta Magica' (Magic Route) through quaint, winding rock paths dotted with old walls and pottery artwork. It truly is poetic and magical! I'm just bummed I didn't get to visit during the normal, warm season. Planing a trip to Spain??? Do NOT miss the tiny, gorgeous medieval towns like Bocairent!

With that said, I'm realizing as I write about these brief outings, they've become fewer and farther between. The truth is, with the few exceptions I've just mentioned, I'm not as taken as I once was by the quaint, European streets and cultural differences here. Spain doesn't feel quite as foreign and exotic as it did three months ago. And I'm no longer wandering about as much taking photos and marveling at the scenery. It has started to feel "normal" now. Many things feel normal, like making my morning coffee in the small stove-top pot, automatically greeting people with a friendly 'Hola' or "Buenos Dias" and hanging my clothes out on the line. For the past few weeks, I've gotten more enjoyment out of simply hanging out with my house friends drinking wine and speaking 'Spanglish', looking at homes in the countryside or riding out to a buddy's new fixer-upper to help with yard work. I still feel like a foreigner in Spain, but I'm not a tourist anymore.   

Medieval town of Bocairent - stacked village

And well, there's another thing. As I began to settle in, sightseeing, studying Spanish, and enjoying a little solitude in the country gave way to something else...a husky Welsh accent and sparkling pair of blue eyes. With mere days to go before coming back home, I've met someone who makes getting on a plane and flying thousands of miles away from here seem like the worst idea imaginable. Dammit!! uh oh -- there it is. Cat's outta the bag now. And I'm afraid from here on this blog will cease to describe mountain hikes, ancient castles and all the other trials and tribulations of traveling in Spain. Nope. Now the floodgates are open and what follows will be nothing but the gooey, gushy, sugary musings of unicorns and rainbows. The true romantics in the room with interest in such personal details are invited to read on. The rest of ya'll should probably just give up now. Turn off the computer and back away slowly. [shrugging] sorry :-)

Taking a giant leap towards lunacy now in revealing that, in fact, I may have fallen in love. Shut up! Stop laughing at me! Yeah, yeah, I know. I remember how many people warned me about this. You girls chided me before leaving that I'd meet some handsome stranger and get whisked off into the sunset. Well, I'm not gonna lie, and I don't wanna hide it. An incredible man has stepped into my life...what can I say? He's swept me off my feet. He's brilliant. He's funny. He's romantic. He's insanely musical and talented. He laughs heartily and touches passionately. He dreams big and creates even bigger. And also, because he's Welsh (hhmm...a slight twist in the plot), he's got a fantastic dry wit, clever expressions, and an edgy 'bad-boy' appeal that's evident from coming of age during the 80s punk scene in the UK. It's just too irresistible! sigh. Oh, and his name is Huw.

Along the beach in Oliva - or...the Oregon Coast?

We've spent nearly every minute of the last couple of weeks together and have gotten to know each pretty well. The hikes and exploring and touring small, romantic villages I described above were all done with him and it's been awesome having someone to share it with. (Dare I mention, in a giggly moment of bliss and exhaustion, we took photos of the upper walls and ceilings given that was the view we seemed to have been seeing the most of! tee hee hee) But seriously, this is big. It feels big. We've talked late into the night, many nights, about what happens next. What the hell do we do now? Truth is...I don't know. I don't have an answer. WE don't have an answer. How can we or anybody know for certain what to do about something like this. The stakes are so high and the distance is so long. I'll be honest, he wants me to tear up my plane ticket and stay here with him. He's buying a villa overlooking the ocean and says it'd be wonderful to have someone (ME!) to share it with. A VILLA!!! IN SPAIN!!!! OVERLOOKING THE OCEAN!!!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!!

So am I simply caught up in the romance of the ancient buildings, olive groves and the brilliance of the Mediterrean skies? Probably. Yeah, for sure. Make no mistake...I'm all too aware of the implications of the proverbial "cloud nine" that there's a certain amount (hell, a GIANT amount) of non-reality at work here. Who wouldn't get swept up by the sort of late-night, wine-induced, giddy, romantic day-dreaming of running off and traveling the world with someone, who in that moment is seeming like the answer to everything you've ever dreamed about...I mean, come on...this is the stuff of music and literature and art!

It's no secret that the main reason I took this trip was to do a bit of emotional "recovery" from the challenges in my life over the last couple of years...living with and caring for my grandmother, then of course, ultimately going through the divorce with Steve. Such things leave a mark on a person and, well, I needed to clear my head before I felt I could move forward into the next chapter. Now how ironic is it that near the end, as I've started to feel a swell of excitement to come home, get reacquainted with my friends and family, look for a job and a place to live, that I would meet somebody who's turned everything I was expecting upside-down and is now causing me to question where in this world, in fact, do I actually belong. I suppose I've reached the point where I was ready to open up to somebody again. The pain and loss I've gone through has lessoned enough that it can begin to be replaced again by joy and passion and...and...love. 

Thanksgiving with my Spanish family
Sandy, Amparo, Eduardo & Huw

Much of what I'm feeling reminds me a lot of the weeks before leaving La Grande. I was terribly conflicted leaving there as well. As now Spain and the arms of this man have begun to feel like home, so too did La Grande and my friends and the community there felt the same.  So, uhm, yeah...what DO I do now? I have my friends. I have my dog. I have my boys. And I have a much, much needed desire to figure out how to make my own lot in this world. I've never, since I was 18 and married my first husband, been on my own to make my own decisions, have my own place, invest myself in my career. And I wouldn't be my mother's daughter if I didn't have a healthy dose of independence in me, not to mention a wee bit 'o cynicism about relationships. Amparo and Eduardo have been giving us a lot of shit actually. The teasing is relentless, and they're enjoying every second of it. They're insisting that he's coming home with me for Christmas. Is it possible I might bring more home from Spain than gifts and souvenirs??

Let me take a quick moment to say how grateful I am to everyone in my life who's supported this trip and followed along in my blog: my mom and dad, of course, who have supported me in this adventure and shared enthusiastically in all of my stories and experiences -- it's no stretch to say a fair amount of their adventurous spirit and curiosity coarses through my veins and makes this journey possible; my awesome, incredible, wonderful, responsible, I-couldn't-be-prouder boys who gave me strength to make this trip by their very nature of having come into their own and proven to me on many levels that they're self-sufficient and perfectly capable of living their lives now without parental guidance (what more could a mother ask for?); my beautiful and fabulous girlfriends who by their spirit, grace, beauty, intelligent, inspiration and humor have given me the most encouragement -- it's been their words and memories of the love I have for them that kept me going when things got a little scary and I lost the courage to face the next obstacle in this foreign land; and all my other friends and relatives who've taken time to drop me a note, say hi, and told me they've enjoyed reading this silly thing.

I hope everyone who's taken time (sometimes, a LOT of time, I know) to read this blog, understands that I had to keep a record for myself. It's given me a chance to marvel, to joke, to share, and to process. And throughout it all, my sole intention was to be authentic and hide nothing. That's really all it's ever been for me. And, well, frankly, that's a new experience for me. It's not something I'm used to. But putting these words down and watching them stare back at me has been a tremendous exercise in reaching that point where I can share my deepest thoughts and laugh at myself for all that this trip has been. And writing about it all has been an absolute blast!! Thanks for reading. :-)

Eighth Entry -- Country Living

Outside my new home are olive trees. Lots and LOTS of olive trees. Their branches are dripping with olives. Since it's late November, most of the olives are turning color. Spainards typically harvest them in December by shaking the trees and either preserving/canning them to eat or taking them to a local refinery where they're pressed (with other olives from local residents) into oil. If I'm lucky and still here when the olive harvest takes places, I'll get to help out with the 4-day long party. They tell me I'll need a few days afterward to recover. HA! I think they said something about 3 hours of daily work, and 10 hours of eating and drinking during the event. But I digress...my point is, there are no hotels nearby. Motorbikes are not whizzing along. The nearest tapas bar is some distance away. But from my windows I can see a few pomegranate bushes, a couple of bubbling creeks, and enormous hillsides all around. I'm in the country. And it's stunningly gorgeous! Uh, ok, well...on second thought...let me retract that. The small, coastal town of Mojacar I visited a few days before coming here was stunningly gorgeous -- white-washed buildings along the rocky coastline with WIDE sandy beaches, blue sky and that smooth, Mediterranean ocean. OH! MY! GOODNESS! uh yeah...THAT was stunningly gorgeous! But the terrain I'm in now is quite pretty in a different sort-of way. To my Eastern Oregon friends and family, the landscape here is similar -- dry, arid surroundings encircled by a low-lying mountain range, sparsely dotted with evergreens and orchard farms. 

Amparo's & Eduardo's villa (I'm next door)

This morning, like most mornings, the sky is a brilliant blue and the wind is blowing fairly rapidly. The casa I'm renting (or was moved to actually...someone else got the rooms I had rented, and the owners thought I'd prefer their other rental just across the property) is perched about 2 miles above the nearest "pueblo" of Cocentaina, which itself is nestled at the base of a large hill (like so many other small towns). There are remnants of an ancient castle on top of that hill above the town. I can see the castle directly across from my windows. And don't doubt it...I will definitely hike up there soon. Damn straight! Cocentaina itself is pretty small. It reminds me a little bit of Canby or maybe Silverton (a bit bigger than Elgin). Not much goes on there. Just the sort-of typical, small-town life that I've seen in any other place this size. You can feel the "everybody-knows-your-business" community vibe in the air. I've been walking the couple of miles from my rental to the town for groceries and to familiarize myself with the area. What a contrast from Granada and the other cities I've visited so far! And I love it! Now I *really* feel like I'm getting a sense of what living in Spain is like. It was almost just a tad cliché the first time I walked to the town and passed a woman alongside the road with a herd of sheep grazing in a nearby pasture.

A town like Cocentaina is steeped in history. From a brochure I picked up in the main square, I learned that the oldest known archaeological origin remains date back 40,000 years! Holy cow! At the end of the 11th century, Cocentaina was the capital of a large Islamic region. And then, like other areas of Spain and Europe in general, there's a long timeline where one group conquers another group and religions battle for territory and yada-yada-yada (I read also that, at one point, Muslims from Granada attacked and burned the village of Cocentaina -- yikes!). And so with all that history and the various buildings and structures that remain, it's interesting to observe how people in present times incorporate that history into their modern lives. My favorite example is how people collect water from the ancient fountains. I've seen this many places here. Most towns (at least in southern Spain near mountain ranges) have large, outdoor fountains created centuries ago for funneling water from the mountains into the villages. The water flows continuously down into the fountains then out from a spout of sorts as clear and fresh as you can imagine. To this day, people use these fountains to get fresh water. I love watching people carry large, plastic water bottles up to the old fountains then filling the bottles with the fresh water. Lovely! And so ecological (which incidentally Spain is embracing quite rapidly -- recycling centers and organic markets are everywhere.) 

Farmers Market - see the castle above?

Last week I went to the farmers market! YAY! Finally!! Rows and rows and rows of vendors lined the old plaza, bordered by a massive, 14th century, Gothic-renaissance style palace that set the stage beautifully. I'm sure the old plaza is the same location where a market, of this sort, has been held for centuries. I walked around eyeing the most incredible fresh fruits, vegetables, dried nuts, olives and flowers (oh, and many vendors selling cheap, crappy imported clothing too, but we won't talk about that!). But with the fresh produce...I was in heaven! And everyone I talked with was so friendly. "Quieres probar?" They'd ask. "Do you want to try?" And they'd hand out a slice of peach or clementine or smoked tuna. MMMmmmm!! I had a total blast going around, tasting the yummies, and practicing my Spanish. Oh yeah...another great advantage to being in Cocentaina...a slower, friendlier, safer pace for the practice I've been needing! I'm sure I killed all their poor ears, but I got through it none-the-less. (And BTW Jackie & Marcia: no, they didn't have an outdoor coffee stand from what I saw. Doria's would be MOST welcomed here I'm sure! :-)

Alright, so before I get too carried away and paint this picture of wandering about in a cotton dress, carrying a basket of fresh produce, living in a stucco, grass-roofed adobe with people strolling by on mules...let me clarify that the area is also very modern with a huge American influence. First off, there's no cotton dress. Oh no! More like my Columbia ski jacket. It's quite cold here now. Woke up to snow the other day! Also, my rental itself is quite contemporary. It has a loft design with floor-to-ceiling windows and new, mostly digital, appliances (took me nearly 30 minutes to figure out how to run the damn stove!). Except for a few antiques, which give the place an artsy, eclectic style, the furnishings are primarily Ikea. LOL! And behind me right now is a cool, impressionistic painting that I think the owner did himself. A few days ago, my romanticized ideals of this quaint little village with its ancient fountains and hilltop castle were squashed slightly when I discovered the MASSIVE Wal-mart-esque supermarket on the other side of town. Talk about eery! I'd been wondering what the large, space-age-looking structure was to the west of the village, below the castle and above my view of the olive trees. Imagine Wal-mart, Costco and Target combined and decked out in a pre-holiday frenzy. But where all the hanging, promotional signs and price stickers are in Spanish! I felt like I'd suddenly been transported back home, but got stuck in a weird twilight zone between Spain and the U.S. -- sigh! 

Mi casa en el campo!!!

Since there's not nearly as much to do here as there was in Granada, I'm spending more time inside...writing, cooking, admiring the views, trying to stay warm, studying Spanish, and listening to local radio. I don't watch much television as there are no English-speaking stations here, and honestly, there's only so much figuring-out-what-they're-saying that I can take. But the radio stations are cool and cover a helluva range of music genres. I hear "traditional sounding" mellow tunes, modern pop, rap! (which is really funny in Spanish), folksy -- almost "bluegrass-y" -- tunes (also very strange to hear in Spanish), with an occasional (old) American number thrown in for good measure -- such as, Crystal Gayle's 'Don't it Make My Brown Eyes Blue' and CCR's 'Heard it Through the Grape Vine' -- HA! (oh and for Riley & Alyssa, I've been hearing the 'Cups' song from Pitch Perfect, also in Spanish! LOL)

But I suppose my favorite part about this place is having met my hosts, Amparo and Eduardo. If you don't already know this story, I found my rental online through a website called 'airbnb'. As I was planning this trip, I wanted to travel around some, but also wanted to experience the culture, so I decided to base myself in two main areas: a city and a small town. It was only by searching airbnb and seeing Amparo's photos that I located this rental and found Cocentaina. Amparo and Eduardo own and rent the space and live onsite as well. In fact, I thought I'd be sharing their home (with my own, separate entrance), but as I mentioned earlier, someone else (a British guy named Huw) has it instead and I've ended up in their other, smaller house next door. These two are absolute characters! They're both Spanish and have a very warm, hospitable, open-spirited, "we-swim-naked-in-our-pool-and-love-art-history" sort of southern European energy about them. FANTASTIC people!

Snow covered Cocentaina - WOW!

My first night here, Amparo picked me up from the bus station, then brought me to the house and whisked me inside where they started pouring the wine and bringing out the food. There was salami and bread and olives and pickled capers, followed by Eduardo's grilled, wild mushrooms ("setas") and homemade traditional Spanish omelet. OMG! I also met their husky dog, Bly, adorable puppy, Oly, and their four outoodr 'gatos' (plus a funny little stray dog that's been haning around that they think might be pregnant). My eyes darted in a thousand directions taking in their VERY cool, artsy, country villa. Wild, funky paintings and prints hang on every wall, which are painted in rich, vibrant reds, blues, and pinks. A giant, twisted old tree branch hangs overhead in the living room and from that hangs a 40s-era brass chandelier, making the contrast really unique and creative. There's a big, brick fireplace with a beautiful arched design, but it's filled with old books (as is most every other surface in the space), and instead, they use a wood stove to heat the room and grill the occasional slice of meat. And in the center of the seating area is a round table on wheels that allows them to gather around, huddle up close, drink, eat, smoke, talk and laugh for hours. Which is exactly what we did! (And since then, there's been more fun around that table with them and a slew of friends that come by to visit...but I'll save those stories for another time.) But on that first night, through a lively mixture of my broken Spanish and their broken English (although Eduardo's English is pretty good), we got to know each other and our lives. "Make yourself at home!" They kept saying. "You have no obligations here." "If you need anything, please ask." Their hospitality was endless..."and here, have another glass of wine!"  

Seventh Entry -- Adios to Granada

Palace and Generalife Gardens at The Alhambra 

"A mi me encanta la ciudad de Granada!" I ADORE the city of Granada! It's been everything I hoped it would be. I remember back when I was first researching where I wanted to stay in Spain and finally settled on this town. People have asked why...well...for MANY reasons: location is one -- it's in the southern region, but still centralized to other interesting places; climate is another -- warm, but not too hot (and even though it's gotten fairly chilly now, I can't help brag a little that today was about 75); sights and historical significance -- the Alhambra and Moorish quarter of the Albaycin alone have been worth the trip; and most importantly (for me anyway) is Granada's proximity to the Sierra Nevada mountains! My hikes have definitely been some of my best memories. Ask just about anybody around here and they say Granada is magical. It totally is! Can't believe I've been here nearly two months. The time has flown by! And yet, seems like I've covered an awful lot of ground. 

My favorite plaza - note the groups of old men on benches

It's no stretch to say I've hoofed it around just about every inch of this city. Well, maybe except for the furthest, most outlying areas. But even those I've passed through by bus. I've seen the touristy and the local, the lookouts and the valleys, the modern and the old. When I think about my first day here, dripping with sweat and 'barumpting' around the cobblestones, dreadfully lost, it's amazing to me now how long I've been walking around without a map. And when I head out of town or go away to visit another city, it feels like home coming back to this tiny flat on Callejón de Pavañeras. If I were to ever get the chance to come back, maybe even to live here longer and possibly work, I'd choose Granada for sure. No wonder this place is filled with so many ex-pats.

Now allow me to dust off the Pollyanna a wee bit and admit the fact that I'm also quite homesick. The novelty of all this has worn off some, and, well, I guess I've hit that part of the journey where being this far away starts to take a toll. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss my boys. I miss a comfortable bed. I miss a decent shower. I miss carpet (have I mentioned the floor in my flat is all tile -- and no rugs). I miss Thai food. I miss OPB. I miss hair color. I miss a clothes dryer. I miss my dog -- really, REALLY miss my dog.

Tiled entry in Albaycin - it's everywhere!

Please don't think me a whiny-ass. Of course I'm uber-lucky to be here and having the most amazing experience. Just being honest. It's only natural. Perhaps some of this homesickness is in part because, as I write this, massive construction is going on in the two adjoining apartments. Workers in the flat to my right are in their third (maybe fourth) week of replacing pipes and remodeling the kitchen wall (even poor Kristie had to contend with the noise during her stay). And now, workers in the flat to my left (the one Amy was in before she left) are replacing the bathtub with a new shower. My own walls are vibrating with the sounds of jackhammering, plaster scrapping, pounding, saws-all buzzing, and the universal characteristics of construction workers shouting to each other over the noise. AAYYYYEEEEEE-CAARRUMMBBBAAA!!! O-M-G!!! What rotten luck!! I've watched and listened helplessly as other neighbors have stormed up to complain. Gloria, the neighbor I had the run-in with over my AC, threw a huge fit about the noise. Is it bad that I kind of enjoyed watching her and the worker argue about the situation, yelling back and forth at each other? I've called my own landlady. But to no avail. There's not much that I or any of us can do. The construction continues, and, apparently, by law it can.

So with that I'm forced to buck up and overlook a few "real-life" pains in the ass about my stay here in Granada...in spite of all the things I wrote (and meant) at the start of this blog. I suppose I've gotten used to the lingering stench of garbage and cigarettes that hang in the air, people walking straight towards you without bothering to move, and the ever-present mounds of dog shit that litter the streets. I guess these things help appreciate the other beauty even more. And at least the construction wasn't happening during my first few weeks here. That would NOT have been cool!

Student protesters - Granada's a BIG college town

Tomorrow I leave to experience a different side of Spain; a rural side. After a short, three-day detour in the coastal town of Mojacar with my new internet friend, I'll travel to a tiny village called Cocentaina (of which my first goal will be to learn how to pronounce it!). **Dad, as you're trying to locate it, look north of the east-coast city, Alicante, and west a bit from Benidorm (both of which I plan to visit). I've got a house rented in the country...well, not the entire house. A couple lives there and rents out the lower level. I'll have my own entry and kitchen though. The photos look fantastic! Compared to Granada, it will be infinitely more remote. There'll be fewer people and fewer attractions. But I'll also have fewer distractions and more downtime to hopefully make some serious headway on my book. Not sure yet how I'll get around. Maybe on foot. Maybe by bike. I'll figure something out. I'm looking forward to the new scenery, roommates to help with my Spanish, and...the Mediterranean coast!

With luck, a fresh attitude, and no more jackhammering, I'm sure my bout with homesickness will diminish. So hasta luego, Granada...or as the locals say -- "haa lu-EGG-o" 

13th century gateway to the Moorish Quarter

Sixth Entry -- Kristie's Visit

Up til now, I've mostly written about my experiences living alone in a foreign country...navigating around, dining out, learning the language, meeting strangers. But this last week, my wonderful and amazing friend, Kristie, came to visit. What a difference having a traveling companion makes! 

Mi companera, Kristie!

We started the week in Madrid (Spain's largest city). Logistically that made sense. She could fly into the city, and I could easily take the train up there from Granada. I wanted to see Madrid anyway while I was in Spain. How much better it would be with a friend. She made arrangements for a rental (quick side note...if you're traveling any time soon, check out airbnb.com -- FANTASTIC website for booking rooms and apartments that ordinary people rent out. It's how I landed both places I'm using during my stay here). Anyway, after only a couple minor issues getting to the apartment (a slight communication problem with our muy guapo landlord, Ulysis, and figuring out how to navigate the busy metro and streets of Madrid), we set out to explore. Didn't have much of a plan. Instead we preferred to wander about and see whatever was around the next corner. Although, since Madrid is SUCH a huge city, we did agree to buy a 2-day pass for the open-air tour bus so we could at least get our bearings and see more of what we could on foot. We were glad we did. Mainly cuz that allowed us to focus our attentions on a few key areas and not get overly exhausted.

Thankfully we shared an appreciation for the unexpected, spontaneous surprises that make for some of the best travel stories. We hadn't been in the city more than a few hours when, while strolling up near the Royal Palace, we saw several people gathered around taking photos of something over on a hillside in the nearby park. Turns out they were all watching a very amorous (and not-so-shy) couple going at it in the grass! And when I say "going at it" we're talking, white naked butt in the air, legs flailing, sort of activity -- welcome to Europe, Kristie! Oh, and the Royal Palace was cool too.

A gorgeous day in Plaza Major

Another great moment, which honestly happened in a flash and we couldn't fully appreciate until later when we got more information, was getting "photo-bombed" (as Kristie cleverly called it) outside of Plaza Major. We were walking into a very busy and lively alleyway and decided to snap a few pictures of the scene and arched entry behind us. Watching us take pictures, off to the side, was a large table of men having coffee. Just as one of them offered to take our photo together, two more men in soccer jerseys walked by. Suddenly, all the guys at the table jumped up, yelled "Malaga!" grabbed the two jersey-clad men, and pulled them into the photo with us. A few more people saw the commotion and joined in. The result was a fantastic picture (on Kristie's phone, which I haven't gotten my copy of yet, so I can't include it) of about 10 of us, grinning and laughing, in front of the archway. Later we saw the Malaga team tour bus and learned that there'd been a big game that weekend. The two guys in our photo, in fact, were well-known professional soccer players! 

Reina Sofia Museum of Modern Art
(note the big poster of rat and panda!)

Shortly after taking that photo, Kristie chatted up an older couple inside the Plaza (who had also heard the commotion and wondered what happened). They had just completed the 800 km walk in northern Spain, called The Camino de Santiago. This is a famous pilgrimage made by thousands of people each year and depicted in a wonderful movie with Martin Sheen, called "The Way" (which she and I watched with friends in La Grande before this trip). How cool to talk with this couple! SO inspiring! Afterwards, Kristie and I agreed we should make The Camino our next adventure -- ha!....(so, Marcia & Jackie & Will if you're reading this, start planning...cuz you are coming with us!!)

Oh look - La Grande!

Of all the "must-see" sights in Madrid, we agreed not to miss Pablo Picasso's famous Guernica mural in the Reina Sofia modern art museum. Kristie, herself, is a mural artist (you are, Kristie, don't deny it!) and I was going off the advice from my new friend, Amy, in Granada not to miss it. I'll let this Wikipedia site tell you more about it if you're interested (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guernica_(painting)), but bottom line, this was a chance to see a modern masterpiece about one of the worst acts of violence (the bombing of Guernica during the Spanish civil war) in the 20th century. At first, we bopped around the museum, giggling like a couple of junior high girls at what was being called "art" in this museum. "I guess we're not hip enough to get it," said Kristie when we by-passed the 'old-TVs-on-top-of-filing-cabinets' exhibit on the 4th floor. Which was to be totally upstaged by the 'Minima Resistencia' exhibit -- a room housing (I shit you not) a rat and a panda sleeping on the floor (you could watch them breathing) while a movie of the two of them (aka men in bad costumes) capturing a live pig played on a big screen overhead. Kristie snuck a picture. We laughed so hard we could hardly stand it! The very serious guard woman was not amused. But once down to the 2nd floor, my bestie and I got tuned in. This was home to paintings by Salvidor Dali as well as Pablo Picasso, among many others of course. I wasn't prepared for how much I would enjoy this art. We had great fun comparing artists, discussing compositions, and picking out favorites. Once we finally came to the Guernica, we really took time to appreciate it. Like the moment I got to see The Mona Lisa years ago, I won't forget seeing a giant Picasso masterpiece in person.  

After nearly 3 days together in a large, international city, we both needed a little alone time. So while Kristie did her own thing, I went seeking my new passion...adventures in heights...and climbed up to the observation deck of the Palacio de Cibeles Centrocentro for a 360 degree view of the city. It didn't disappoint! And the sun was just starting to set, casting a pretty spectacular array of colors above the hundreds of buildings throughout the city. (When I get home and I'm forcing you to look at all my photos and you find yourself wondering, 'why does she have so many pictures from high viewpoints?' Sorry. It's my new obsession.)

Without question, there's something about two single, middle-aged, fun-loving (BLONDE) women traveling alone together that automatically translates to: "Why yes, boys, please approach us. Talk to us. Buy us drinks. Yes, of course, we'd love that!" Geez-Louise!! I guess the good ol 'come-on' is pretty universal. So, in no particular order, with no particular significance, and without giving away too many (ahem) details...we made the acquaintance of:

Spanish boys know how to show a good time

--Mustaf (who we later kept calling 'Mufassa') the former chef (and current janitor??) who invited us to his place (?? his restaurant?? not sure...quite a language barrier here) to cook us couscous and (we think) meet his restaurant friends (we didn't...that one's my fault...too paranoid I guess; sorry Kristie!) 

--a group of men from various European countries (mainly Switzerland) in the so-called "karaoke bar" -- which turned out to be a lame keyboard set-up with an old guy passing around a microphone while he pounded out some kind of polka/marching band tunes for people to sing along with (imagine my disappointment!)

--the three Brazilians who were VERY happy to openly and "honestly" tell us they were married -- in Brazil -- but NOT married in Spain! "I have three wives!" One of them bragged to me, while handing me a glass of wine and sheepishly passing me his business card. 

--the (much older) group of Hungarian men and their (Hungarian? Spanish?) Seth Rogan look-a-like tour guide who were quick to (again!) buy us a drink and share how many wives they had back home (hhhmmm)

--Alvado and his band of funny-pants-wearing Spanish musician friends. We first saw them practicing on a street corner then later found ourselves surrounded by them and about a dozen more friendly, Spanish party-goers (along with their much older, and slightly creepy, operatic mentor). Imagine the two of us, at a small table in a tiny cave-like bar, suddenly being serenaded by a large group of singers with guitars and other stringed instruments! (Actually, I think an accordion player popped up too). We had no clue what they were playing, but it didn't matter...everyone was laughing, singing, clapping along. We couldn't believe this was happening! It was like a scene from a movie and became, by far, the week's best memory!

In Madrid, we also met:

Seeking heights and a sunset over Madrid

--Jorge, the adorable, brown-eyed helper behind the tourist office counter (oh? you say you have a house near the town where I'll be staying next....really??)

--the two doormen and maitre de at the Sobrino del Botin restaurant, hailed as "the oldest restaurant in Europe" (This was not a friendly meeting. I mention it only because if you or any of your friends visit Madrid, do NOT give this place any business! They were INCREDIBLY rude to us. Treated us like prostitutes. We couldn't believe how they spoke to us. Don't go there!!) 

Then later, in Granada:

--a friendly dump truck driver who blew us kisses while stopped at a traffic light and motioned to offer us a ride to the nearest bar (we didn't...probably a good idea)

--Carlos, the smug (and much too young) smart-ass waiter at the vegetarian teteria who invited us to join him and his buddies at the local hot springs (nope, didn't pull the trigger on that one either)

--Josef and Tarik the multi-lingual (and highly educated) Moroccan gents who flagged us down and wanted to practice speaking English with us, while also helping with our Spanish...drinks, tapas, and a lesson in swear words at a fun little bar ensued.

--Francisco, our sweet n shy, Irish pub karaoke partner-in-crime, who answered some of our burning questions about Spanish people and walked us safely back to our apartment.

Granada Cathedral - Kill the Rabbit!

--and finally, Wayne and Tony, the British ex-pats and our hiking tour guides who treated us to a FANTASTIC trip into the Sierra Nevadas (with a handful of other hikers as well), a tasty meal of pork elbow and vegetable crepes (yes, I said Pork Elbow!), and a couple more brews and stories afterwards (in fairness to them -- they weren't trying to pick us up -- Tony is a buddy I've befriended since being here and he was nice enough to let us join along in the hike).

My apologies to the traveling gods for butchering and not remembering the names of half the people we met. Nor could I hope to even pronounce them if I could. At one point Kristie and I joked we maybe should have kept a log.

After Madrid, Kristie joined me back in Granada. I felt bad for my lack of space and the uncomfortable futon for her to sleep on, but we made do and spent the next four days in my "home town." Our first night we bellied up to a jug of sangria in an overly touristy, overly priced terrace cafe. But what the hell! We were in Spain -- "estamos aqui!" -- so we did it up right! We talked about Madrid. Talked about home. And talked about all the people walking by. Oh man we had LOTS of fun people watching...not just that night but for the entire week! How they dressed. How they acted. How they looked at us. How they talked to each other (yes, they were the quiet ones and WE were the loud ones -- go figure!). How they all had funny little dogs. Oh and look...another daddy pushing a stroller. blah blah blah blah blah -- cackle cackle cackle -- point point point. You can surely imagine the two of us drinking wine, gabbin' and people watching. Didn't get much better than that! :-)

Flamenco intensity!!

I can't speak for her, but the highlight for me was showing off this place I've fallen in love with. It's awesome discovering things together and sharing spontaneous moments, but it was also cool watching her experience, with new eyes, the sights I've already seen. We walked around the Plaza Nueva, up to the Albayzin and Sacromonte quarters, and around the shopping districts. She toured the Alhambra and gave me a reason to finally go into the Cathedral (I'm not a big fan of such triumphantly garish, historical, religious structures, but she had tickets, so I decided to check it off the list. Once inside the enormous building with giant, imposing columns and gilded ceilings, which eerily represent the destructive take-over by Christian conquerors, Kristie started bellowing the Loony Tunes classic "Kill the Rabbit, Kill the Rabbit" -- perfectly FUNNY!) 

Something I hadn't done yet and was waiting for her visit to see was the traditional Flamenco music and dancing that's revered in the southern part of Spain. We went to La Chien Andalou, a teeny-weeny, hole-in-the-wall cave space with teeny-weeny tables and chairs and a teeny-weeny stage for the musicians and dancer. (This place would never fly in the States, we said...no fire marshall would allow it.) Over (another) jug of sangria, we watched the very impressive guitar player and his young, wailing, bleach-blonde gypsy songstress. "AAAAHHHH---YYYAAAHHHH--AAAAHHHHHYYYAAA" she shrilled (just ask -- Kristie and I will gladly perform it for you). Then came the beautiful, smokey-eyed dancer with her black, laced dress and flaming red flamenco shoes. Wow! She was something! At times she'd sway her arms in a poetic, bird-like fashion and snap her fingers like rapid castanets. Other times, she'd hold perfectly still, quickly moving her feet in the intense tradition of the Flamenco. (I got videos. Just ask and I'll show ya those too!)

Cave dwellings in the Sacramonte

There are plenty more stories to tell, but I can't possibly write about them all. (And my dad is already giving me crap for my lengthy blogs). You'll simply have to take me or Kristie out for a beer to hear more. (Just don't forget to ask about the androgynous flamenco dancer and platter of ham!)

So I'll just wrap up here and say all in all, Kristie was a total blast to travel with! She's so open to people and new experiences. Her curiosity, spontaneity and quick wit was contagious. Plus, she was a real trooper having to go to the bus station at 2:00 am to make her flight back in Madrid. I think it helped that I'd already been in the country awhile. Even though I'm still struggling with the language, at least I've settled in some and had a few "basics" figured out. I'd like to think this gave Kristie a chance to enjoy herself more. I dunno...you'll have to ask her. The only down-side to the two of us walking around together was we seemed to be bigger prey to the endless stream of vendors and solicitors. THAT gets annoying real fast! But it was a small price to pay for having somebody to share this with and make great memories together. At the end of the week, we couldn't believe how much we'd seen and done. Sorry in advance for the next time you see the two of us together and we start wailing the gypsy cave cry or laughing about sleeping rats or endlessly trying to pronounce Spanish boys' names...we won't be able to help ourselves. I guess you had to be there. 

mmm humus and hookah

Working off the wine n ham in Monochil