Where is the Mayor?

A musical welcome, and hugs and smiles have been non-stop.  When we Americans arrived in Jarandilla De la Vera for the genealogy conference, we were met by a local musical group dressed in their local costumes, playing music, dancing and just overall blasting us into a welcome we will never forget.  They accompanied everyone up the long steep driveway in front of the Parador de la Jarandilla and into the stone archway.  In the upper patio stood a large group of Spaniards who were all clapping wildly to welcome us into the huge, gorgeous plaza. The festive atmosphere was very emotional. 

The emotions zipping through the air since we arrived in Jarandilla de la Vera among Americans and Spanish relatives have left everyone a little off kilter.  The locals are thrilled to have us here, part of a 2-year project in the making.  It took me by surprise when a few people have recognized me either from seeing me in the documentary, Pasaje a Hawaii, or from the Hawaiian Spaniards Facebook site where I am an administrator.  By morning, the entire arrival sequence was printed in five newspapers and two television stations, including a national station. 

https://www.hoy.es/caceres/norteamericanos-conocen-tierra-20221025192406-video.html

https://www.laopiniondemalaga.es/malaga/2022/10/26/malaga-hawai-unidas-congreso-raices-77702525.html

Then, the different side tours of the local areas began. One specially gave me giggles (yes, I am tired). We were told we would go on a cheese tour in a nearby village and then move on to Villanueva De la Vera where the mayor would welcome us. Instead, we watched the cheese village in the rear view mirror and we wondered what happened? The people around me and my new friend, Victoria, stared about with questions, just as we did.  We watched the petite female driver continue along the narrow, serpentine road for another thirty minutes, follow the narrow streets and stop. What? 

Everyone got off and the group leader told us the mayor was going to say a few words and then we would have music and food.  So, we started following her. Imagine about thirty people scattering across rigid cobblestone streets that were as narrow as a goat track.  They were more like alleyways, with old stones holding up walls that we knew were ancient because we saw the year etched above the stone doorways. I found one that was 1846, one hundred years before I was born. There were many older dates, French drains along the middle of the walkway where water gushed along the channels.  We dodged the waterways and kept the group in our sights. Long, narrow and tunnels, rocky and dark.  The streets interconnected each other, flowers were in pots everywhere and dilapidated buildings were on every corner.  Where was this mayor waiting for us, I wondered.

The group of people was disjointed and nobody seemed to know where we were going. Nearly thirty minutes of walking steadily through tangled streets, looking into deep niches in rocky walls, we heard music. We followed the sounds and my cousin, Dennis Moreno, and I hiked up wide stone steps and the others followed. Before I knew it, Dennis had joined the throng of dancers inside the large room and danced with the women dressed in their local costumes. All the ladies helped others learn the dance.  I held back until I couldn’t anymore,  I jumped in and tapped my toes and wiggled my way through one sequence. When the music ended and the Spanish woman told me, between grins and hugs, that I’d just danced la jota, I felt my chest squeeze. La jota? My abuelita used to dance la jota and I felt tears.  When the local women heard me, every one of them rushed in for hugs.  The atmosphere continues to amaze me, filled with more emotions than words can convey.  There is a photo of me dancing Abuelita’s dance on someone else’s camera and I will post it when I see it.   Until then, my memory will work for me.  And as we all drove away on the bus afterward, we were all still asking, “Where’s the Mayor??!”

Taxi! The train! And flamenco too. 💃🏻

 Oblivious to the craziness that lay ahead of us… me at Maria Zambrano Train Station in Malaga

Overconfident, I led my brother into the station, through security and through the gates.  Waving my train ticket with coche (car) 4 clearly showing us where to go as we walked along the AVE bullet train, we began counting. We found coche 1, 2, 3, cafetería and then 5 and 6. Hmmm. Maybe the cafeteria train? I directed Steven to push all our luggage up the steps (it wasn’t easy) and we pushed them into a slot.  When I found our seat, a young woman was already there. I asked her if this was coche 4. “No, cinco (5).  I hurried back to Steven with the news and we were indecisive. What to do?  And then, along came a train hostess who looked at the ticket, stared at the coche 4 printed there and pursed her lips.  She pointed toward the cafeteria and asked me to wait for a supervisor because she thought we may be on the wrong train.  Huh? It was the train 2123 at 11:55 a.m.  Steven and I pushed all four bags into the shelving on the empty cafeteria car. Steven stood guard and I headed to the other end.  I was happy when the train doors locked and it began to move. They wouldn’t make us get off now…but we had no seat.  I give Spanish trains a 5* though, because a supervisor found me, stared at our ticket, changed it to coche 3 and we were soon seated for the 2-1/2 ride ahead of us. All good.  I would have ridden in the food car if there’d been seats…not far to go for coffee.  So much for over confidence.

We arrived at Atocha, Madrid’s train station and again, I led my brother along the marble-floored building stretching my neck to look out the high windows.  If I could see the street, I’d get my head straight. The Hotel Mediodía was across the street, just past the giant roundabout, hundreds of people, too many cars to count whipping around it and the taxicabs.  But, we found it just fine. So, overconfidence paid off that time.  Cafés were strewn along the street with people sipping coffee, some with dogs at their feet. And there were homeless here and there, enough to break our stride feeling sad. The room was very nice and I was delighted with the floor to ceiling windows that opened out onto a small balcony above a guitar-playing singer just below.  

We had a date with Ana Silván Grimaldos, a cousin I’d met in 2017. We found her in front of the Museo Sofia Reina behind our hotel and we’re we’re quickly drinking cups of creamy coffee. She speaks a little Spanish, “poco poco,” she said with a grin. Her personality was adorable and she and Steven spoke more Spanish than I did…then just before we ended our chat, she lifted some papers from her bag and slid the, across the table.  “For you,” she said. I could hardly belief my eyes.  It was a family tree I had filled out listing the three Silván family members I knew.  The first name, the oldest son was Felipe. I only knew about him several years ago because he was listed as godfather to several other siblings from baptismal documents I had found.  She had completed Felipe’s column! Now we know exactly how she is related to us. My heart flipped and I can barely wait to update the Silván information when I return home. She was excited to share it with me after talking to her great aunt, who

is old, clear headed with a good memory.  

A nostalgic day in Malaga

Benagalbón is a village near the Mediterranean where our ancestors lived before moving to small villages on the other side of Malaga. This man, Miguel Alba Trujillo has helped me find documents. He is a historian and author of several books about the village. Over the years, I have met his wife Isabel, known as Isa, and the friendships are sweet.  Saturday, he and Isa walked me and Steven around the village and then treated us to a wonderful lunch with flowers everywhere. The iglesia, Parroquia Nuestra Señora de la Candelaria,  was nearby to remind us that our great grandfather was probably baptized there.  

Chocolate  and churros! Marcos García Narváez, in Malaga, and I have friends through the Hawaiian Facebook page for several years and when he suggested chocolate for our meetup, it was a definite yes. He led us through a few narrow streets from Calle Marqués de Larios, more simply known as Calle Larios, a magical street in central Malaga.  He led us to the Casa Aranda, promising the wait would be worth it because this place was the best. Of course it is, as it’s one of our Spanish ancestral names…It did not take Steven and I long to agree.  Creamy chocolate and freshly, made churros. Delicious 

And then, our Wine and Tapas walking tour with my friend, Javier Fernandez Elena at 6:00 after retracing our walk from Casa Aranda to Calle Larios, a popular meeting point. Javi was the translator for the film crew when I was in the documentary, Pasaje a Hawaí in 2017. Since then, he changed occupations and he’s the best tour guide! This is tour number three for me, but Steven’s first.  The oldest tavern in Malaga is Antigua Casa de Guardia, 192 years old. The back wall is lined in wine barrels and people stand at little tables or the bar. No chairs. It does move the people along. The tapas were grilled peppers and another with pickled onions, anchovies and green olives. I liked the olives… The wine was a Málaga wine (por supuesto-of course) and not a big favorite, but it is one of their signature vinos, Muscatel. Javi pointed to the doorway after leading all twelve of us through a wide alley; no tavern sign “because everyone knows where it is.”  However, Steven found another door and took a photo of the front, with a sign. 

The right bottom photo is intriguing. While I was taking photos as Javi described the history of the bar and the wine being served, this man needed to open the cabinet beside me. He reached into the dark space and removed two empty wine bottles and walked to one of the barrels.  Grabbing a funnel, he filled the bottle and then moved to another barrel to fill the second one. You point to the wine barrel with the wine you want and he fills it on the spot. I didn’t see money exchange hands and briefly wondered how much a personally filled bottle would cost. 

We stopped at one tapas bar and two restaurants where we were served wine and very interesting and good tapas.  The Chinitas Restaurante was my favorite because there were so many photo opportunities. It is one of the most popular restaurants in Malaga.  I lagged behind as Javi led the group upstairs to a private dining room.  I sat on the step to take the photo of the little girl.  When I saw the señorita painting, I squeezed into another corner for her.  Beautiful decor, very old wood and excellent tapas; croquettes, fried rosada (fish) and rioja wine.  The little girl in the 1989 fería advertisement reminded me of my youngest daughter…

Steven enjoyed his last swim.

I packed my bags. 

Steven made us bowls of fresh gazpacho filled with avocado, cucumbers and tomatoes. 

It is so nice to be waited on by my brother, who is a smiling cook. 

I inhaled the last day of sea breezes and the sounds of the city where the culture is slow and easy.

Tomorrow, a train ride to Madrid.

Visiting my muse and then losing the car

 MEDITERRÁNEA statue in Fuengirola has been my muse since 2017 and every time I visit Spain, she calls me back again.  Yesterday was no different except this time her entire base (where I have stood for my photo shots) was filled with foreign salesmen; their blankets were spread out at her feet, filled with purses and shoes and watches, pretending to be the real articles.  So, after only a moment of indecision, I grinned at my brother and started climbing up the back of the statue.  This time, I got into the ship with her… It is different, but we were laughing and again, I walked away with a smile and another memory.

Steven and I walked the boardwalk and enjoyed the beautiful sea;  fog lay thick over the water, so the view was limited, but not so bad that we missed the chiringuito restaurant on the sand.  Hamacas littered the beach and at 72 degrees, we saw a few swimmers and dog walkers.  For us, lunch was in order.  I had a glass of vino tinto 🍷 and ordered gazpacho andaluz and Steven ordered boquerones fritas and a fish soup.  When the waiter brought my gazpacho, my eyebrows shot up.  In a glass?  No vegetables swimming in its depths?  Steven asked why it wasn’t in a bowl as it was an entre?  The waiter looked confused. A bowl?  This is the way it is served. We have a plate, like a bowl. Do you want one?  I nodded no…the glass was fine. But, weird.  I was glad Steven ordered the fried fish, and he was happy to share.

We peeked into little shops and meandered down the boardwalk. He bought his daughters gifts and I tried on flamenco shoes…polka dots!  Then, he bought us each a chocolate covered ice cream bar and we enjoyed it all the way to the end of the street on our way to the car.  We had a date with our friends, Lyn and Saidie, to go to a live music show in another town and we wanted to pretty ourselves up for it.

AND THEN THE CAR WAS NOT WHERE WE LEFT IT. It is easy to spot because there aren’t many yellow cars on the road.  Steven knew where he’d parked it. I’d told him it was at the dead end of the boardwalk.

Steven: Are you sure this is the street?

Me: Absolutely. See the roundabout there? I pointed toward the end of the street.

Steven: Well, maybe it’s been towed? It costs 100 cash and another 200 euros to get it out. He had already gone through the experience earlier in his visit.

Me: Maybe it’s been stolen? 

Steven looked glum,  but we are both of the same disposition, so we talked about what we should do and thought of solutions. He made a phone call and we found that neither the police in Benalmádena nor the police in Mijas had the car. So, we presumed the car had, indeed, been stolen. We found a seat on a cement and tiled water fountain and discussed our options.

Steven: Well, the only thing I had in the car was my international driving license.

Me: Good.  And then my heart sped up.  My books are in the trunk! The Spanish translation of The Girl Immigrant books were in a box, waiting for the conference next week in Cáceres.  I tried not to think about the books, since we were stranded in a coastal town about 15 miles from the condo. How will we get home? A taxi?  A bus?  What to do? Call police? Call rental car company? Call…? I took a deep breath and looked at my brother. He did not seem upset, maybe because he is a doctor in anger management or maybe because he is Steven, the boy who has always encouraged calmness.

Okay. The car was stolen and we needed to think. We walked up and down two other streets, although this was the one…that fed into the sea. Let’s sit down and a coffee to figure out what to do, I suggested. And that’s exactly what we did. The woman who took our order spoke a little English and she felt our pain. She showed me the taxi APP on her phone. 

Me: I wonder if the car rental company has a GPS on the car? They could find it for us! I’d read so many books where that happened and thrashed around in my head for bits of random information.

Steven looked at his car rental contract on his email and called the place. His phone was nearly dead. Mine was close to 25%. This was the only day I had left my little jacket home along with the battery booster. The fog was now turning to a cool breeze. It would soon be dark. We drank our coffee and then Steven’s eyes lit up as he spoke to the rental company person on the other end of his dying phone. 

Steven: YES, they have GPS on the car is parked close by! We high fives and he wrote down the street name and we finished our coffee. When he went inside to pay, he spied chocolate brownies oozing with frosting. He has trouble passing up anything chocolate, so he bought two of them.  I wanted us to hurry so we could find the car before the thieves drove it away again.  I was focused on our mission and my books.  We followed the little blue dots on my GPS to Calle Héroes de Balen, almost at a trot.

Yes! When we saw that little yellow car, I wanted to kiss the hood as we walked quickly toward it. I glanced around for suspicious looking characters and then I saw the other roundabout. Two and a half hours of inner speculation and we were drinking coffee only a 5-minute walk away. My “absolutely this is the street” answer to his “are you sure this is the street” question now dissolved into relief.  And my brother just grinned.  He is the best travel companion!  Although both emotionally drained, we decided riding inside that car felt wonderful. However by then we knew we would miss the music date, so we celebrated our car-finding-blessing with hot tea and the chocolate brownie when we walked in our door.

THAT ESCAPADE WAS YESTERDAY. Today, we relaxed because we have a birthday party to attend in Malaga at 10:30 tonight.  The dinner and party hours here in Spain continue to amaze me.  But before then, I’m off for a walk to meet Lyn and Saidie for lunch at the beach. The day is lovely, we have a car, I have my books and life is sweet. 

Trading a bull for a pair of shoes

Steven introduced me to a little bakery nearby, called Dolce Vita because he promised creamy coffee and chocolate croissants.  The beautiful baked items beneath the glass case all looked delicious,  and true to form, like my brother, chocolate usually wins out for me.  I was delighted that two coffees and two filled croissants only cost 6,20 euros, so I paid… Yes, I tend to be generous when the bill is less than 10 euros (smile) and we are taking turns.  He was correct. The coffee was creamy and the best I have had so far, in Spain.  The croissant tasted like the hot cross buns my friend Lyn shared with me for Easter a few years ago. Deliciosa. 

Then, I was on my own; I left my brother at home, grabbed my map and headed toward the seafront. My eyes can barely keep up with the sights. The first bit was very steep upward and I was puffing by the time I reached Calle de San Francisco before the street smiled and I was walking downward again. I love all the gated doors and the sidewalk decorations that looked like someone slid a steel bar across wet cement. I found a small alcove along the street as I walked farther and stopped to ponder it.  Graffiti. Debris. Sadness. A forgotten place…

When I saw the Swinger’s Bar, I chuckled and of course, out came my camera.  After I snapped the photo, I turned around and a younger man was eyeing me, looking at the restaurant sign and then eyeing me again with a chuckle of his own,  I hurried on…

After trying to find the bull in this photo for two days, I decided to find it on my own. You know, ask questions, follow the Benalmadena map and look for the old guy myself.  There was just something about him that I wanted to investigate (I told you already that I have nose trouble).  After walking in and out of shops showing different people the bull’s photo without any results, I spied a shoe store.  Like my mother, daughter and granddaughter, it is hard to pass them by. Keeping in mind the non-space in my luggage, I tried to ignore it. But, Lyn gave me a pretty, flowing sundress that I hope to wear soon and my black sandals just won’t do, so I glanced in the door.  A tiny, older woman (probably my age as I give up trying to guess age here) was drinking a glass of coffee at a little table in front of the cafe next door and when I glanced in, that was her cue to jump up and welcome me.  Her Spanish eyes spoke volumes of kindness, so I pulled out my phone to show her my bull photo.  Maybe she knows…

First, she laid a hand on my shoulder and peered at the photo.  Then, she scrunched up her lips in serious thought and shook her head.  “El toro está en Benalmádena Pueblo, no está aquí.” The bull is in the Pueblo, not here in Benalmádena coastal.  

When she saw my shoulders slump, she asked me in English, “You need shoes?”  

I grinned and peeked into the shop, stunned to see the entire shop filled with shoes.  As I went in with the woman, I heard her repeat several times, “shoes Italian, not Chinese.”  I found a pair and she pointed toward a blue-cushioned chair.  I was immediately a child again, a time when shoe salespeople actually lifted your foot to slip on the shoe because that’s exactly what this little Spanish woman did.  And they fit like Cinderella’s slipper. 

After I gave her my euros, she returned my change and I realized she had shorted me 10 euros. I pointed to the bills and her hands flew up to her red face. “Oh! I am sorry!”  She pushed the missing 10 euros into my hand and held them briefly as if to ask my forgiveness.  I heard her apologizing three or four times as I walked away from her with my new shoes clutched to my chest.  Hmmm, guess if I don’t find that bull, I still have the shoes. A good trade?

Coffee beans? Windmill?

The weather continues to smile on us, so I was ready for a walk early this morning. After strategizing and listing my priorities, the narrow streets called.  Here in Benalmádena, there are two parts; a traditional Spanish village called Benalmádena Pueblo and here in the coastal area where several districts intertwine.  It has become one of my favorites because no matter which direction I walk, I find something new to enjoy. And then there are also those intriguing sights that I have no answers for…

Street walking has become a favorite pastime for me (I was just walking…)  A naked statue with no head and arms caught my eye, aptly called the Torso.  It sits on the seafront of Benalmádena, near the Bil Bil Castle. The sculpture is made of Calatorao stone by José Casamayor in 1998 and represents a male torso.  Notably, it has screws instead of nipples and a nut instead of a navel. Yes, the front was “completely” intact, but I am only sharing his backside with you. I kept both sides of him in my camera though (smile).  

Those narrow streets are steep and narrow, but charming.  When I saw the stone building with the fancy name painted on the side to store ice, my brow furrowed.  Parking one’s car is an adventure since open spots are hard to find, so how much ice can one carry? I wondered. 

The windmill roundabout is a huge, mesmerizing surprise when you walk or drive down toward the Mediterranean Sea and the little “sails” whip around like tops, a sure sign of wind. It is located at the end of Calle Federico Garcia Lorca, a perfect landmark to help me find my way home.  There are Chinese grocery shops, Spanish shops and shops of other various nationalities. When I saw the windmill, I turned into the shop Steven had introduced me to and once inside, the woman spoke English.  Janet Russell would have been proud of me because I chose to speak Spanish; the woman’s eyebrows rose and her eyes lit up.  She understood me. AND imagine my surprise when I walked out of that grocery shop with my bag filled with 2 tomatoes, 1 English cucumber, 4 plums, 1 nectarine, a quart of milk, a small jar of instant coffee, a package of chorizo and a miniature bottle of gin and tonic water (a gift for our friend) after paying only $14.78.

On my way back from my walkabout, I took a shortcut along another narrow avenue lined with palm trees.  At the base of every tree, I thought someone had tossed coffee beans around the base of the tree trunks.  Fertilizer? Rabbit poop?  Coffee beans? I stood there and did what I do best, I snapped a photo and hope someone can give me an answer to that one…

My energy was fading.  The thought of sitting on the balcony with the view of the pools sounded good.  And food. The bag was getting heavy and so were my feet.  As I write this, I have snuggled down into the lounge chair.  Sitting on the balcony, I can hear the sounds of a water fountain that is bubbling below me as if the surf is a constant shadow. It is pleasant and peaceful as I study my speech and drink tinto de verano.  The large swimming pool and a smaller one beside the kiddie pool sits at the center of a large courtyard between two 10-floor buildings creating a coziness I wish I could share. Across the way, there is laundry fluttering in a breeze hanging on or around the many balconies.  We have a “dryer” — a folding apparatus that works very well; our laundry dried in less than three hours. I like it. 

A Spanish breakfast and then Malaga, the big city

This morning, I followed Steven down several streets toward the sea for breakfast.  I have been yearning for pan y tomate con zumo de naranja - toast with shredded, fresh tomato and OJ. It was exactly as I’d hoped for. And of course there was café con leche… On the table, was a white ceramic bowl half filled with water, covered by a lid with a hole in the top.  We tried to guess what it was, but finally asked the waiter if it was a finger bowl (well, it had water).  He raised his eyebrows and chuckled.  An ashtray. The water puts out the ash. I am trying not to roll my eyes.  

Today was an adventure as we followed cousin Manolo and Maria Angela through the streets of Malaga with a cousin we had never met, also named Maria.  This story is a bit convoluted…Maria del Mar sent me a text message in January 2019, telling me she was Maria Angela’s cousin and she liked The Girl a Immigrant book. I did not know how she was related, but we corresponded now and then and she sent me family photos.  About two weeks after she first sent me the note, I received a text from a man named José Antonio. He said his mother was Maria del Mar and he had heard about the documentary I was in, Pasaje a Hawaii.  He wanted to see it.  At that time, the film was not yet public, but only on Spain’s public television station. Fast forward to April, 2022. I asked him if he’d seen it yet?  No. After I sent him the link, he sent it to his mother, Maria del Mar and told me his grandmother had also seen it.  Everyone loved it and he invited me to the family bar called Café Bar MariMar. His mother owns it. I promised to see them when I arrived in Malaga.  I was slow to decipher the family connection, but I did it!  Both Marias are first cousins.  José Antonio’s grandmother is sister to Maria Angela’s mother.  My eyes were opened.

This brings me back to today.  Malaga. Narrow, zigzagging streets. Basement parking garage. Good news is that we went to La Plaza de la Merced, where Picasso sits on a bench.  I’ve been there several times, and the day was beautiful, conversation was very Spanish and the tinto de verano was refreshing at an outside cafe.  The ladies led me inside and I immediately knew why.  Books! It is a very old place with piles of books.  I was in heaven and they couldn’t stop smiling at me. 

We were invited back to Malaga Friday night for a paella dinner in honor of José Antonio’s 30th birthday…at 10:30 pm. (😳) Manolo and Maria Angela (photo above) have graciously offered to lead us there from Los Nuñez (thank goodness!) 

Steven and I lost his car in the car park as we walked on three floors of cars.  I always take a photo of the floor and car stall number, but not this time… and then the ticket machine wouldn’t let us out.  Sometimes there are just too many adventures for one day…

A Sunday paella with family in Salinas

Today my brother and I immersed ourself in a traditional Sunday dinner with the Juani Ruiz and Mari Fernandez family.  Juani is our third cousin and his getaway is a farmhouse in the country (el campo).  We have heard about his el campo property for years, but this is the first time to be part of their tradition of Sunday paella family time.  He met us at another cousin’s restaurant and we followed him on his motorcycle. The road was narrow, steep and filled with ruts as he carefully rode upwards and upwards some more.  When he arrived, the view was wonderful.  The huge patio was nearly the same size as the house and Juani told Steven he had built it all by himself over the past twenty years. The house has open beams, a huge inside kitchen shared with the living room, one bedroom and bathroom.  Ceramic tile and beautiful wood all around. Now, the outside patio has an oven built into a brick wall, called el horno and a hand-made BBQ where a bubbling pot was sending a mouth-watering aroma our way.  Juana’s wife, Mari, was stirring peppers and onions and I hurried over to her with my camera.  Beside her, sat another deep frypan with pieces of cooked chicken.  I saw chickens running around and squawking above us on a ledge above the cooking area.  I pointed to the hens and asked,  “Pollos?”  She laughed and shook her finger, “no hoy,” she said with a laugh (not today.)

I reacquainted myself with their children, Angela and Juan José and their mates and children. I was disappointed their daughter Margari and family had other plans for the day.  Within minutes, a red and white checked tablecloth covered one of the tables, chairs were pulled around, a plate of olives (Mari brined them) and glasses appeared with a bottle of rioja wine.  Smelling the paella and watching Mari add mussels, clams, shrimp and saffron with rice had me counting the minutes to eat.  

I loved talking with the family, teasing the children and showing them the pages of their family in the Ruiz  Legacies book.  Mari loved seeing their family photo when she was 20 and Juani was 28 with their first two children.  It was all very simpática (sweet).

When dinner was served, nobody was disappointed, especially me. The ensalada mixta was placed on the table, then quarters of what I thought were limes.But, no! They are green lemons. Juani and Angela explained that this time of year in Spain, only green-skinned lemons that are good. It was strange to me and Steven.

We spent a lovely afternoon talking (in Spanish because they do not speak English except Angela a little). I am amazed that I understood so much of the conversation. Steven, of course, sounds like local with his fluency in Spanish.  Juani was surprised to see a photo in the book about Lola Nuñez because he knew all the siblings in the particular family and he had never heard of her.  I showed him the photo of me, Lola and cousin Maria Angela and he shook his head and muttered, “no me suena” —- translated as I don’t get it…

After hugs and photos, we knew it was time to go.  The ride back down that serpentine road was a little dicey, but the views of the surrounding valley were amazing. Steven pointed out the cousin’s restaurant from the hill and we both felt the family camaraderie sift through the air.

After the long day, we took a siesta.  Steven’s apartment has a portable induction cooktop that we both tried to figure out.  There was a red light, so it was on, but the burners would not heat. We finally resorted to google and found instructions.  The cooktop doesn’t get hot, but instead, the pot of water is supposed to boil without traditional heat, but electromagnetism. It’s called an induction stovetop that magnetically induces the atoms in the metal of the pan to create friction from an alternating electrical current flowing the metal. No radiant heat. Magical. Kitchen remains cool because there is no wasted heat. 

And then Steven created our dinner of freshly-diced tomatoes, avocado and bits of cheese in gazpacho soup.  I loved being waited on, so I did the dishes.

Moving to the coast and putting on my Spanish persona

Today I transitioned from Lyn’s very English condominium to my brother’s apartment near the Mediterranean, but before I “moved in” he headed toward Los Nuñez where our RUIZ cousins live in small barrios near one another. First, we returned to Venta el Gloria restaurant for my first real Spanish breakfast of Tortilla Española,  an egg and potato omelet.  There is nothing quite like this national dish to compare with, a little bit wet and potatoes that melted in our mouths. The creamy coffee with milk, café con leche, was delicious and we both enjoyed the camaraderie among the owner, bartender and waiter who are all family. 

We have five families to visit in the small towns, so today we started with two, Juani Ruiz and his wife Mari Fernandez in Los Nuñez.  They enjoyed seeing their photos and family information in the Ruiz Legacies book and Mari showed us their large flower and cacti gardens.  From their patio, we had a view of la casa redonda (the house our father built) and reminisced about the memories we enjoyed there. 

Tomorrow, we are invited to join their entire family (14) at “el campo” which is a small piece of land nearby where Juani grows vegetable and fruit gardens near a small patio house. Every Sunday, their family gathers for their big meal of the day.  The family culture is pretty amazing here and the family members rarely miss their family day. Tomorrow, there will be 16 at the big cookout. 

Next, we arrived at El Corrito, a family-run business that includes a market, a bar/restaurant and a bakery. Maria Angela and her husband Manolo welcomed us with their teenagers, Adrián and Esther. When I met these children in 2012, they were 6 and 8 years old. Today, they are young adults in secondary schools. Both speak English cautiously and their parents smile with pride, neither being able to speak our language.  Manolo brought plates of Serrano ham and Manchego cheese along with Ribera del Duero red wine.  Steven and I both enjoyed the vino and when we walked out of their house two hours later, we carried a bottle with us as a gift.  My Spanish seems to be coming back to me (thankfully) and I was delighted to receive a miniature verdiales hat, with colorful streamers on it from Maria Angela.  She remembers how much Steven Alonzo and I enjoyed the Verdiales Festival in Benagalbón, where the Ruiz family originated I am always touched by the thoughtfulness of these people. 

Steven and I created our dinner from polla asado (roasted chicken) and a perfect salad filled with a lot of vegetables I found in his fridge.  And I found a bottle of tinto de verano at the little market at the end of his street.  This is red wine diluted with lemon soda, a very favorite drink I can only find in Spain —- I have tried to recreate it at home, but cannot do it!  Something so simple should be so easy…

Shrimp, Shopping and Surprising my cousins

 

My heart seemed to expand today when I walked into my cousin’s restaurant here in Spain…first off, another cousin (Juani Ruiz) was sitting at the bar and when he recognized me, he did a double take and hugged me several times.  I love all those double cheek kisses. It was a day filled with those hugs; the bartender (Paco), the cook Joaquina (the bartender’s wife and owner’s sister, Pedro Ruiz (owner of Venta Gloria Restaurant…as well as Andres, the waiter/server — all of these people I have known for ten years now.  The hugs and warmth I received are still reverberating with me.  But, the best part of seeing them is when I showed them the book I wrote about our family.  Their eyes lit up, their voices became emotional and they could not stop smiling as they turned the pages and saw their own faces, their families and the family trees outlined for each cousin’s chapter.  It was amazing and my heart clenches when I think of it.  And there are five more families to share this book with as my brother, Steven, and I prepare to visit them all in the next week.  My only regret is answering them when they ask me, “en español?”  I must answer, “uña día en español, pero no se cuando.” One day in Spanish, but I don’t know when.

I wandered through a grocery shop this morning (Mercadona) because I wanted wine and gambas (prawns) to treat Saidie for her birthday dinner. There are so many different items that are foreign to me.  The fresh seafood (on ice) was mind boggling, the wine prices were amazing and all those cans of different foods… Lyn said to find the largest gambas, but there were gambas, gambóns (shrimp) and langostinos.  There were tiny little gambas for 24.00 euros, but gigantic langostinos for 9,95 euros.  Everything was beautifully spread out and my mind was awhirl with indecision.  I went for size and cost and the ladies were delighted.  The wine? Wow. I paid only 2,75 euros for a bottle of Tempranillo Reserve. The walk back to the condo was uphill, but worth it.  Another delight for me was the orange juice station…you weigh oranges, pull off a plastic bottle and then a machine squeezes the juice and it fills the bottle.  Very cool. 

The ladies took off the shells of the langostinos (eyeballs and feet put me off a bit, so I photographed the event).  As you can see, Scamp hoped for a treat.  Lyn squeezed the juice and bits into her dish and she was a very happy dog.  And I must say, our dinner with a spring greens salad with tomatoes, cucumbers and garbanzo beans certainly ended the day with a smile.  And the wine was perfecto. 

I didn’t post onto my blog last night because Saidie’s birthday bash at a nightclub kept us out very late.  There was music, singing, dancing and wild women as we treated Saidie to laughter and love. She has alopecia, a condition she has endured for many years, and your hair falls out.  So, last night, champagne, cake and balloons.  AND we all wore wigs in her honor…

Tomorrow my brother picks me up and I look forward to spending quality time with him for the rest of my Spanish sojourn. He has prepared a little corner of his apartment for me and there is a small bistro table set on his balcony. He works evenings, so I will have a very different week ahead from this one spent with my lady friends.  Steven and I travel very well together and I look forward to every minute as we plan our “cousin visits” and other stuff. 

A shower mishap and pole dancing

 I had a rude awakening this morning when I turned on the shower spigot and it flew off its pipe and fell onto the shower drain pan…and water sprayed everywhere in the bathroom. The good news is that Lyn’s shower and bathroom is completely covered in ceramic tile from floor to ceiling and I planned to wash my hair anyway. The bad news is water dripped from the wall, mirror, doorframe, and door, puddling all over the floor.  How on earth so much water could travel so far and in such abundance before I pushed off the flow is beyond me.  Big breath. I hadn’t realized until tonight that water had slid beneath the closed bathroom door onto some pillows and Lyn’s stuffed animals that had emotional links to her heart. My fingers are crossed that they dry Luana can be spiffed up again.

We had a relaxing day and Lyn gave me and Saidie a tour around this nice housing community.  It is beautiful and the views are gorgeous, with palm trees, vibrant flowering plants, and water fountains that house terrapins and gold fish.  We can hear the sounds of one splashing fountain from her patio beneath her gardens below the windows. It is, indeed, a welcoming and peaceful place to be.

The little newspaper I found had some very interesting articles in it, from the oldest man in Spain, to Spain’s first craft beer festival and the Spanish up in arms for the audacity of an innovative entrepreneur to make a paella sandwich.  The kicker was reading about luggage thieves at the train station in Malaga.  I guess I was lucky I only lost a wheel and a half and had my luggage replaced.  Oh, and on the last page we’re several advertisements from ladies of the night…

And there is a library here. Since I love books so much, it was hard to drag me out of the rooms. 

When she decided she wanted to go for a swim in the pool, Saidie and I found lounge chairs amid the shaded hamacas (straw-covered umbrellas).  But when I saw one of these Spanish umbrellas, I knew we would finally get a photo of the three of us together instead two here and two there.  The pool lady laughed at us and snapped about ten photos as we tried to wrap ourselves around the pole.  So, pole dancing sounded like fun and we all giggled like kids.

At the end of a quiet, enjoyable day, we made our plans for tomorrow and added my brother Steven to the itinerary.  I now have a map of the streets within Benalmádena to help me in the morning…another long walk is my first plan for Thursday morning.  Lyn told me to ignore Google Maps because it took me the long way around the other day.  Guess I will use both and compare.  I will see if I can get to Steven’s in the 45 minutes that the map promises.