Walking through Toro and Tortilla Española

A red rose from Janero's garden began my day after café con leche shared with Mercedes in Toro.  He is so proud of his garden and gave us both one to remember this weekend by.  Today, we return to Madrid.  So, today I knew I must walk the village streets alone and say little goodbyes in all of its wonderful corners.

First, I walked just one block to the museum that was once the church where my Trascasas family attended mass for many years called San Sebastián de los Caballeros.  When I walked inside, I was enthralled with the open area, the small size and murals on the walls dating back so many years that everyone has lost count.  It relays information on John the Baptist (San Juan Bautista) and I spent time wandering inside wondering if the ghosts of my Trascasas family was smiling just a little.

From there, I chose a narrow street (they are all narrow...) and headed in the direction that I knew the clock tower stood and it would take me to Santa Maria, the church that towers over the cliffs above the rio Duero at the end of the paseo.  I'd been there before and have a photo of me overlooking the valley below.  My brother took my picture then.  This time I was alone, as I've been on much of my journey, so I took a selfie like I see everyone else do around me.  The valley stretches toward Fuentesaúco and el campo, where Jenaro and Mercedes' vineyard farm lies.  The beauty is astounding and I said little goodbyes as I walked there and all the way back also.

Janero had the Mercedes waiting and we filled up the trunk for our 2-hour drive back to Madrid.   We help each other with our language skills.  Mercedes laughs when she tries to pronounce an English word that is so foreign on her tongue.  And she helps me with my Spanish.  She has several pages of sentences and words just like my notes.  When I saw the words, puh-tri-she-uh to practice pronouncing my name correctly, my heart squeezed.

Rain slashed at the windows half way back and he called it a la tormenta.  I told him the good news was the windshield would get clean.  Windshield?  Oh, ventana --- car window.  By the time Madrid's buildings rose above us, the clouds were nearly gone, rain had stopped and it was beautiful again.

During the drive, the conversation changed to food.  I mentioned how much I liked Tortilla Española and Mercedes promptly told me she would make it for me tonight.  It continues to amaze me how much these people have enveloped me into their home, lives and heart.  Complete strangers and we are now friends and family.  It is a beautiful feeling to be wanted and enjoyed.  Here, they are so eager to please and will not let me pay for anything.  I slyly paid for coffee once and another time I had to talk my way into paying for our wine and beer, but that is all.

The main meal of the day was langostinos (large prawns).  Janero cooked them, dropped them in ice water to chill and then Mercedes cut up some meat she called Solomillo.  I looked it up on google and saw it is pork tenderloin.  She sliced it thin and gently fried it in olive oil.  A plate of sliced tomatoes, bread and we were ready.  The meal was excellent and the aroma filled the house before our first bite.

Then, siesta time again (I love this culture with the siesta in the afternoon).  I fell sound asleep.

And then the cooking began!  Browning onions.  Peeling and chopping potatoes.  Oil.  Eggs.  A large pan and a large plate.  I watched carefully and had such fun listening to Mercedes as she cooked (and sang) that I felt like I'd made it myself.  She's a wonderful cook and seems to thrive with happiness when she's in the kitchen.

Tomorrow (Monday), I ride the AVE (fast) train to Barcelona and leave these lovely people behind.  But I will always remember their kindness, open hearts, welcoming spirits and the sense of family they have given to me.