tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56354406017967089712024-03-05T04:34:20.779-08:00Touching Spanish SoilWhile researching the facts, documents and finding family to create and publish my book, THE GIRL IMMIGRANT, I knew it was imperative that I walk where my ancestors walked, to get the feel, see their villages and feel Spanish. These are my steps back in time that helped me write my grandmother's immigration story.Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.comBlogger217125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-77506421057093521152022-11-02T11:14:00.001-07:002022-11-02T11:14:39.139-07:00Touching the hearts in Fuentesauco, Zamora, España<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetYDYhXjMlTCuqRz_jYcKimKvvl8czH_OkAykC4BhBry_gPKe3qqhZBN4Xq8S3utVWdl9gbMEopJvwqJFUbIaq9BOkNLP7tEHd0zkD_yQ_Zlvxqcej0EX4xtYApGtBKOpmi3F-WpnNudzNN4B24ZIs4ojdo75_nFxYe6NTpy_sxFdaxgrKoS95A3A/s640/746536A8-2210-4C65-8A66-87524EEE0DEF.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetYDYhXjMlTCuqRz_jYcKimKvvl8czH_OkAykC4BhBry_gPKe3qqhZBN4Xq8S3utVWdl9gbMEopJvwqJFUbIaq9BOkNLP7tEHd0zkD_yQ_Zlvxqcej0EX4xtYApGtBKOpmi3F-WpnNudzNN4B24ZIs4ojdo75_nFxYe6NTpy_sxFdaxgrKoS95A3A/s320/746536A8-2210-4C65-8A66-87524EEE0DEF.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Francisco “Paco” Hidalgo Marcos is a distant cousin who lives in Fuentesauco with his wife, Dr. María Pilar Utrilla Mainz. I met this couple during my 2019 visit, but there were a lot of people in the room and it was difficult to understand much, except that he is a Silván descendant through his grandmother, Clara Silván. This time, I had both of them to myself with my brother, Steven. What a difference it was to converse and enjoy each other. There are so many thoughts in my head, I am unsure if I can tell it in words. First, and foremost, is The Girl Immigrant book (Historia de un niña emigrante). When I put the book into his hands and told him it was my gift, the story of my grandmothers immigration from Fuentesauco to Hawaii, he touched it with reverence. As I watched him turn the pages of the Spanish version of my book, I could not keep the tears from blocking my throat. So, I will show in photos instead of words.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhei5Wzdwlwo7QKr_qZrzFhuCTvG1HXyHRYa1k873YOcTY6PESRlGMwZjeyO9x6v0K29nT8i3pX-qFDW3RlsjUIQGdmRIswcOBYhQrqJPGySUTkIcidf7b21xzQ9XDQODkAD11rk3U8m9VgXK7khbUrE0mM2t9q54dtx0V8XWb61p3NvFTDPiyX9yj8/s1024/A2918888-2ADE-425B-85AA-882AB3A9AD86.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhei5Wzdwlwo7QKr_qZrzFhuCTvG1HXyHRYa1k873YOcTY6PESRlGMwZjeyO9x6v0K29nT8i3pX-qFDW3RlsjUIQGdmRIswcOBYhQrqJPGySUTkIcidf7b21xzQ9XDQODkAD11rk3U8m9VgXK7khbUrE0mM2t9q54dtx0V8XWb61p3NvFTDPiyX9yj8/w640-h640/A2918888-2ADE-425B-85AA-882AB3A9AD86.jpeg" width="640" /></a><span style="text-align: left;">Paco does not know anything about his family on his abuela Clara Silván García side of the family tree. So, seeing the family immigration story listing Silván names took his breath away and brought tears to his eyes. He shared family names with us and pulled out a metal box filled with photos. He is a proud man, soft spoken and simpatico. His hug and cheek kisses were heart felt and he seemed to be filled with the family spirit like me, wanting to know about our families. I will post on the Silván Facebook sight for further information.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFhe0lAnyBry1EfEkh4nU05l5J8kvcOUzOTmmOEhi2BzVTmatv-WSai6rGjjzQG535BRiKkJ3Oaj7uWBMtEHQU0B8_wgTMfZ0RjPieCqnlLnpt52YQ3z86VfPNzjREtZBhmX2epVrjt-T2crhckh_qnjTb5PHz1ui3Ygymxn34xqZBEhI5WrnepCx/s640/1D841962-D3BE-4988-8C1A-25E84DB67D06.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFhe0lAnyBry1EfEkh4nU05l5J8kvcOUzOTmmOEhi2BzVTmatv-WSai6rGjjzQG535BRiKkJ3Oaj7uWBMtEHQU0B8_wgTMfZ0RjPieCqnlLnpt52YQ3z86VfPNzjREtZBhmX2epVrjt-T2crhckh_qnjTb5PHz1ui3Ygymxn34xqZBEhI5WrnepCx/w300-h400/1D841962-D3BE-4988-8C1A-25E84DB67D06.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jE0s-USHsQaVbd_cE_JtW2IAfBoS-RVALAL9IxOqd8q0KThhNYu2vkzjhP5VQqlisfunaVHMLpBFTvhVA9d7BlblkqMnKTXFtMF06XRxR6EPfU4VZpDPyiVIs3ZbkBPsA4DobfSg8v7hFlyzFJMP6VuxtXVAFX6ke8ilOvRHj-lcAvdpLAW1IPgZ/s640/2D883C53-2215-427D-B7BC-9FA32B4D095D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jE0s-USHsQaVbd_cE_JtW2IAfBoS-RVALAL9IxOqd8q0KThhNYu2vkzjhP5VQqlisfunaVHMLpBFTvhVA9d7BlblkqMnKTXFtMF06XRxR6EPfU4VZpDPyiVIs3ZbkBPsA4DobfSg8v7hFlyzFJMP6VuxtXVAFX6ke8ilOvRHj-lcAvdpLAW1IPgZ/w300-h400/2D883C53-2215-427D-B7BC-9FA32B4D095D.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriXyaDFvcei8BdV8jKMvlBDAAl_5KNnwW4t45QtSptqR9eBUHbZ01enmAtPhG_cnuj0l7VfjHsXhgyqdALzYyCx32mciUcjhOEmcJkc3YAr9rH7MHnZ_Ju_v45hzppeX-brfyIel7vSojhJn8ArjREF8ZIALk2hb2we-I9Ks0p8TJ6NBXyvSfNvYM/s640/B3124F29-332B-459D-8974-C1157098D67F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhriXyaDFvcei8BdV8jKMvlBDAAl_5KNnwW4t45QtSptqR9eBUHbZ01enmAtPhG_cnuj0l7VfjHsXhgyqdALzYyCx32mciUcjhOEmcJkc3YAr9rH7MHnZ_Ju_v45hzppeX-brfyIel7vSojhJn8ArjREF8ZIALk2hb2we-I9Ks0p8TJ6NBXyvSfNvYM/w300-h400/B3124F29-332B-459D-8974-C1157098D67F.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6sfDajNn-yuZSiCRjlCkJ9fOXZ5WOpyG-1oXaNkMso5rZkJHHGLXhjbyhQiI_HD4vsr5yip48eHZ7ikpRRcI9UfVW_3xkUzcAviwDkmmPxubX92JqR658YWydTpdBEZO_AGC_xrcplNsBNEqpkEoPmhtMR7RRttYY2yp8l91L0YxXki56Kr00D2V9/s640/E37889C3-0DBE-4278-A6E0-513BAA0DBB6E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6sfDajNn-yuZSiCRjlCkJ9fOXZ5WOpyG-1oXaNkMso5rZkJHHGLXhjbyhQiI_HD4vsr5yip48eHZ7ikpRRcI9UfVW_3xkUzcAviwDkmmPxubX92JqR658YWydTpdBEZO_AGC_xrcplNsBNEqpkEoPmhtMR7RRttYY2yp8l91L0YxXki56Kr00D2V9/w300-h400/E37889C3-0DBE-4278-A6E0-513BAA0DBB6E.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUIlOMNRqmQREeqd4bSKFR5Bq2hAtxEVFGw0bo7DmOz2_7QzeDfW0GIlviiCAn7P6gGLMeMQP2Kyqde4fhcK9KUFXN7hU0VNmP8l0TyysW0nlEbvtPP8blfNlgT088e-DqSiBUycEHNIQ5JsokQd0ifYXQFNJPiJNmpLGAKoRulBbwjE9J9v1qv0Z/s640/EEAC485E-F2C8-4872-883B-11BF55FD3A2B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjUIlOMNRqmQREeqd4bSKFR5Bq2hAtxEVFGw0bo7DmOz2_7QzeDfW0GIlviiCAn7P6gGLMeMQP2Kyqde4fhcK9KUFXN7hU0VNmP8l0TyysW0nlEbvtPP8blfNlgT088e-DqSiBUycEHNIQ5JsokQd0ifYXQFNJPiJNmpLGAKoRulBbwjE9J9v1qv0Z/w300-h400/EEAC485E-F2C8-4872-883B-11BF55FD3A2B.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Pilar, his wife, was a doctor before she retired and Paco was an economist professor. There are books everywhere…my kind of place. When she showed me their back patio, I smiled as she pointed to everything for me. Afterward, she trotted us all over the village to show us Paco’s grandmother, Clara Silvan’s house, the Plaza Mayor, a very rustic shop and the library. She introduced us to everyone in her wake. At the library, the librarian was very interested in my book, so I gifted her a copy. Now, I can smile at the thought that Historia de una niña emigrante is in the Fuentesauco library!!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBNPByhRJTZSpyOF6MTZOyOan8SLbD8ub9swiDUBWO9hgiV2oV2lufxfYOyCG4W1Et3QjlXFhl4JJwDay_A8-J0A4GJ-cWoKR5giNkmvoD6H8ej8L4ELAuTa_gi8Lq5xj4raBOk3jBJ3DL7m1ehiYXCw5ZGTBEoj0EYOZ0_ly8ji__N4PaoV5eaZn/s640/0E1B0F0E-C0E1-45A4-910E-D7B90B89E7F6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBNPByhRJTZSpyOF6MTZOyOan8SLbD8ub9swiDUBWO9hgiV2oV2lufxfYOyCG4W1Et3QjlXFhl4JJwDay_A8-J0A4GJ-cWoKR5giNkmvoD6H8ej8L4ELAuTa_gi8Lq5xj4raBOk3jBJ3DL7m1ehiYXCw5ZGTBEoj0EYOZ0_ly8ji__N4PaoV5eaZn/w480-h640/0E1B0F0E-C0E1-45A4-910E-D7B90B89E7F6.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">To the <i>cementario</i> next. We told them we had walked through the entire cemetery ten years earlier and found Hernandez Martin headstones, but no Silvans. Maybe they did not understand us, I thought. She practically marched us through the doors and over to a huge statue and burial stones. She pulled the flowers back and pointed to the etched stone, which was lost in time. SILVÁN!!! It was Clara Silvan’s stone. Amazing. The blue sky above us seemed to laugh at us. How on earth do historians and genealogists find this stuff without local help???</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBPoPQfqLHpbJIzUoUQFZzgOojDtCkyDlfi97o2mb_mRoRYilQ_za5RW9sPoqv4vENeQZDDXlz54jLQpygaost5BT3lAiZjUuEulIM6nLYDUa-HlyKSieDYbL5AAg52i1Jd54S_wBp5kjiC5L3gCa1cxINMo5GvcnzAe-rEkG6qAbkR251l5hiKfh/s640/9EAC2EDF-2141-4036-A6BD-4E785400EC61.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBPoPQfqLHpbJIzUoUQFZzgOojDtCkyDlfi97o2mb_mRoRYilQ_za5RW9sPoqv4vENeQZDDXlz54jLQpygaost5BT3lAiZjUuEulIM6nLYDUa-HlyKSieDYbL5AAg52i1Jd54S_wBp5kjiC5L3gCa1cxINMo5GvcnzAe-rEkG6qAbkR251l5hiKfh/s320/9EAC2EDF-2141-4036-A6BD-4E785400EC61.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNk1rmy3eeBwyDIS0yLF0T0w9RYYD0iQC2bVC32n974gxK_qUvMScmblWD_9nIDKKC6MYE6pQ_muyY5wkUM99bJxlo2dHxXr6Aorhx4Sku6LZu49Sh8E7unH0L3L0s_8IE5Q1LKCcJopUppXf6Ch2Wmrp-PyiJETnFyB9Kb1Pnjd-6QYQBC1w-4JH/s640/771EDB3F-EFA2-4B42-9C0E-5E8BBA9340D8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNk1rmy3eeBwyDIS0yLF0T0w9RYYD0iQC2bVC32n974gxK_qUvMScmblWD_9nIDKKC6MYE6pQ_muyY5wkUM99bJxlo2dHxXr6Aorhx4Sku6LZu49Sh8E7unH0L3L0s_8IE5Q1LKCcJopUppXf6Ch2Wmrp-PyiJETnFyB9Kb1Pnjd-6QYQBC1w-4JH/s320/771EDB3F-EFA2-4B42-9C0E-5E8BBA9340D8.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIu9ZdmREBjh2Cw7rkDHaGvYgMIp4rKwrcClYZRQVCQMOpeTTUNXoejjaGWJN3-f4iyHug2rtcJKHN-q7sVC3dGl6xWeybQtAJXh47Vb1xHVhkBS0rn_DdzYVYH6VuC5JX64fAlI85KJPFowP8QH2LDpHyrhMa7qCX3xkZlk2zRbqUr0Ub8LLv3oXs/s640/40366F5C-A111-475D-8C5D-67D8ED2DA08A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIu9ZdmREBjh2Cw7rkDHaGvYgMIp4rKwrcClYZRQVCQMOpeTTUNXoejjaGWJN3-f4iyHug2rtcJKHN-q7sVC3dGl6xWeybQtAJXh47Vb1xHVhkBS0rn_DdzYVYH6VuC5JX64fAlI85KJPFowP8QH2LDpHyrhMa7qCX3xkZlk2zRbqUr0Ub8LLv3oXs/s320/40366F5C-A111-475D-8C5D-67D8ED2DA08A.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNnVBQS1I7RFz8phCnhWboJVEbeHDjC0Q2aC85p-STQMs9NjhMuJ25xvupu5_v6qHzYjqbBSrcgAZrwvhRroUu_-ARbepDVMlJ4nzGwA9ns5H-uckpaWmCF6JxGChwb-1zguTdwtx2rgnDg-ChXJSdBnsF-70An8chb7ezYwe6USpHWqgTAervZDy/s640/E77FB7FE-FFD1-4771-8B5E-7FFA81FEFD7D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNnVBQS1I7RFz8phCnhWboJVEbeHDjC0Q2aC85p-STQMs9NjhMuJ25xvupu5_v6qHzYjqbBSrcgAZrwvhRroUu_-ARbepDVMlJ4nzGwA9ns5H-uckpaWmCF6JxGChwb-1zguTdwtx2rgnDg-ChXJSdBnsF-70An8chb7ezYwe6USpHWqgTAervZDy/s320/E77FB7FE-FFD1-4771-8B5E-7FFA81FEFD7D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Paco and Pilar treated us to a wonderful meal about 2:00, the big dinner hour. After an ensalada Ruso, crusty bread, merluza (hake fish) and green salad later, Pilar surprised us again. She gave us a huge bag of Garbanzos (Fuentesauco is the largest grower of these beans that my grandmother and then my other raised us on). There is no way to fit them in our luggage, but we didn’t have the heart to tell her that. She raised her hand and showed us a key. Steven and I were perplexed until she mentioned Clara Silván. The key to her house that is about 1,000 years old. Not a typo. Of course we went inside. Despite not being able to turn on the lights, we went from room to room with my camera flash and Steven’s phone flashlight. Thank you, Apple.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MR6VxbdafQMiscMRvQQB_-TX4cXS1BRf5fnPLy-3C-a757uSpWK3-Yf0pILKR996gE6RtVWnLArcjEPVnwdw6lzuobxZb-PxYiz-Xb84_mhLniGLqRFoh-pSdPp1YrwJgDJtc0SEJ4Fl88UEO2fWT2N93VSEuXxPxH30c6cuOReHEOSQeCAbDmjx/s640/6A124639-86A1-43D8-B473-3556575ACD86.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MR6VxbdafQMiscMRvQQB_-TX4cXS1BRf5fnPLy-3C-a757uSpWK3-Yf0pILKR996gE6RtVWnLArcjEPVnwdw6lzuobxZb-PxYiz-Xb84_mhLniGLqRFoh-pSdPp1YrwJgDJtc0SEJ4Fl88UEO2fWT2N93VSEuXxPxH30c6cuOReHEOSQeCAbDmjx/s320/6A124639-86A1-43D8-B473-3556575ACD86.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4_HsShU1KTNBbbGpmzL2-tbT4_ky0Rd9bO9MkN7MmrO6Z5g5mcoNTfo28SF7gNNQ1f-lqRIBW21GYcqIw_xoBG7mp6bjJVjVm5Yo0svcJAPeg1eYHIVgyCilS1vGD0m-xjp4REog0i2GDDgi6pg5-ef-FqahiabbdQaM9NbhzGzVnizitD9-01I_/s640/29AA4093-372A-488C-93A9-72A8E07B70CA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK4_HsShU1KTNBbbGpmzL2-tbT4_ky0Rd9bO9MkN7MmrO6Z5g5mcoNTfo28SF7gNNQ1f-lqRIBW21GYcqIw_xoBG7mp6bjJVjVm5Yo0svcJAPeg1eYHIVgyCilS1vGD0m-xjp4REog0i2GDDgi6pg5-ef-FqahiabbdQaM9NbhzGzVnizitD9-01I_/s320/29AA4093-372A-488C-93A9-72A8E07B70CA.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-iR7U2OM5Ch0YFgCodEHkYGEoz_kAZt7KnQYyBWWYZyasLWyEpvCoLUwDYjlhp1mDZOgqLDuB7LlFKY9ZxOf3Wf6ivREG7asyyynfRJtnFMjanjf3LaUT9igiLO94PFgn5124QfCV7EWnFlZ2zuMpojDI2UFCCUMzsngF3ec02Ne4wb-fyP5qvlG-/s640/321685BE-4529-42A2-96BB-34E85258A8C0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-iR7U2OM5Ch0YFgCodEHkYGEoz_kAZt7KnQYyBWWYZyasLWyEpvCoLUwDYjlhp1mDZOgqLDuB7LlFKY9ZxOf3Wf6ivREG7asyyynfRJtnFMjanjf3LaUT9igiLO94PFgn5124QfCV7EWnFlZ2zuMpojDI2UFCCUMzsngF3ec02Ne4wb-fyP5qvlG-/s320/321685BE-4529-42A2-96BB-34E85258A8C0.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgNg_4MlHo9EH8MzyHfTBft--NfF5BmmoaCCnq4emcsYIa2rfYWg_oJdYJoM0-Xqlzmh9KkgcNW2LCcrbz3DR_GCxxhjQiJfxL15ipzEws7aIhqCxB0TD7-s0E_PREacP8d2CAFbD0XJRu_aqn6GF_50PifrpUqxcH2yc7QnNbzS9AGSTdDq4dkzz/s640/31677553-89E5-4436-8D84-169229E309D7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgNg_4MlHo9EH8MzyHfTBft--NfF5BmmoaCCnq4emcsYIa2rfYWg_oJdYJoM0-Xqlzmh9KkgcNW2LCcrbz3DR_GCxxhjQiJfxL15ipzEws7aIhqCxB0TD7-s0E_PREacP8d2CAFbD0XJRu_aqn6GF_50PifrpUqxcH2yc7QnNbzS9AGSTdDq4dkzz/s320/31677553-89E5-4436-8D84-169229E309D7.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXETWLGSVBVdg8oguwSJZeJie_nKR5xpSVCz8dGjaoLP0PGN3VCbdx_5eM7k3BZ2J2IFH1TmBM2o-JWWZYfy-NFLTGjUqTYw6cY_pPTv4J7C-vIm5mVXGgBKKjHCvBcGMK9dKM9deeDEu5aILLHrXwUUeU_LOXyCrtZuLGCZui4l7sy9_ttlqIc7A/s640/E3FB108C-3DE8-4445-A94E-CD28743A8517.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXETWLGSVBVdg8oguwSJZeJie_nKR5xpSVCz8dGjaoLP0PGN3VCbdx_5eM7k3BZ2J2IFH1TmBM2o-JWWZYfy-NFLTGjUqTYw6cY_pPTv4J7C-vIm5mVXGgBKKjHCvBcGMK9dKM9deeDEu5aILLHrXwUUeU_LOXyCrtZuLGCZui4l7sy9_ttlqIc7A/s320/E3FB108C-3DE8-4445-A94E-CD28743A8517.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">By the time this day was over, we were drunk with pleasure and exhaustion. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tomorrow, we drive to Madrid for our final sleep before walking onto a plane and walking off again at our own cities. We are ready. But, wait. In Madrid, we will see Mercedes and Jenaro again, with their daughter, Cintia, who found me through ancestry.com ten years ago. We have been truly blessed with our Spanish family who continue to welcome us into their world.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Life is sweet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p><br /></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-65071284124347671642022-11-01T10:27:00.002-07:002022-11-01T10:27:36.576-07:00Spanish cousins, knockers and a bodega<p>The Rio Duero flows through Spain and on through Portugal to the Atlantic Ocean. And it is synonymous with wine, vineyards, farming, Zamora, Castilla y León and more, more, more.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFgGwICq3OjreveTmTxO67UftUc8AIQJ8lLy9LOl7Z2IxgIFjuvj38UnYOx1P8_97Vf6GfqSKs2HagB6i2FJEcbkfcqDKyRMSRKoY5ughvCf9B3539bwL0ELaVMry3jL1MXZjuS_XQy0DW4TNrnN44Jn3hyaWE9ouS3hYjplLXYeDhE9Wv68sjmzL/s2922/488A867B-801D-4989-BAE5-381B9CBBF037.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2124" data-original-width="2922" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMFgGwICq3OjreveTmTxO67UftUc8AIQJ8lLy9LOl7Z2IxgIFjuvj38UnYOx1P8_97Vf6GfqSKs2HagB6i2FJEcbkfcqDKyRMSRKoY5ughvCf9B3539bwL0ELaVMry3jL1MXZjuS_XQy0DW4TNrnN44Jn3hyaWE9ouS3hYjplLXYeDhE9Wv68sjmzL/w400-h291/488A867B-801D-4989-BAE5-381B9CBBF037.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I saw this view for the first time ten years ago during my first trip to Toro, one of our ancestral villages here in Spain. Then, the same as now, seeing the valley stretched before me with the Duero River far below is still thrilling. The panoramic view goes for miles in all directions. Tomorrow, I plan to walk down to the bridge and the water. It will take me longer coming back up the hill, but I tell myself it will be worth it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHAnxJBgs3iUgCVsMAqXbVaANoVE1OnGk9YsfUHLBCCC93q4htGIMIZLuqbRIDBJGGy1ge3xUpJW0_3a-btRkZKkg-KPb_-yCwgQ8kgtBz0eSxi_zLnuXb6EV6yLj3MIskRiK7e4VcddS5kfGFYRJUlCYeBfD4bSSVchJju78FsHJRtKDnIO0bY8jf/s1024/AF8C8B65-EEB2-405D-949B-19263BFB8129.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHAnxJBgs3iUgCVsMAqXbVaANoVE1OnGk9YsfUHLBCCC93q4htGIMIZLuqbRIDBJGGy1ge3xUpJW0_3a-btRkZKkg-KPb_-yCwgQ8kgtBz0eSxi_zLnuXb6EV6yLj3MIskRiK7e4VcddS5kfGFYRJUlCYeBfD4bSSVchJju78FsHJRtKDnIO0bY8jf/w640-h480/AF8C8B65-EEB2-405D-949B-19263BFB8129.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Without a strong internet in several of the villages we stayed in over the past week, I have not been able to post any notes about the stunning congreso filled with other historians and authors like myself. For me, meeting so many other like-minded people from around Spain and the United States, I will take away good memories. Despite being nervous about my presentation about my book, The Girl Immigrant and my research to write it, everything went smoothly and I am glad it is over. Sharing our ancestral immigration stories never gets tiresome for us. </div><div><br /></div>The local costumes and dances differed in each town. I tried to dance to all of them. I do not think I can remember ever seeing so many happy people; smiles, laughter and music. This particular event was In Montehermoso, not far from Coria where we walked our legs off going through the streets and looking into old doorways and archways. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8UWoHLlvRVB36ezSeY0DrZK1zHjJkrUjqekEcXLKFlVpF2TZoTZpZ_T6rO9Rz6goXW3sX1h2IfqpCKG_RCugwz_PPTVHpE7cidahl2kwmf9hDGdbHQWuJ8RglTaiUrgVS6zTXPRjJwi-YRYxsn8kZvRoBE09AxP7RkZW_i1gzhIA0n1WzpksXJj-/s1024/3CF4F53E-4DAB-49F6-BD1A-4558AC797732.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8UWoHLlvRVB36ezSeY0DrZK1zHjJkrUjqekEcXLKFlVpF2TZoTZpZ_T6rO9Rz6goXW3sX1h2IfqpCKG_RCugwz_PPTVHpE7cidahl2kwmf9hDGdbHQWuJ8RglTaiUrgVS6zTXPRjJwi-YRYxsn8kZvRoBE09AxP7RkZW_i1gzhIA0n1WzpksXJj-/w640-h640/3CF4F53E-4DAB-49F6-BD1A-4558AC797732.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And then the door knockers here in Toro. We walked toward Plaza de San Francisco with our Toro map to find the bull ring. Along that street, the doors were so old and the knockers were so unique, I kept focusing on the doors and we nearly missed the Plaza de Toros, which is now used for musical events. The “hand” knockers have fascinated me for years and these were antiques along with their peeling doors. But they are also wonderful. My shiny brass hand knocker on my own door is a shadow of these. Note the top left knocker. Amazing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMh8Eb0BbfbH9u6PYSmWb6PxdeiCAl2BOoC8j6qkMtgQNEvSRnZ5E8Dabnd96eTgoM_uSOJhtSYKQcJ_v_40Dnw7tkGgEMWfhwyv9UwDwbQzj-BYWyCi9K_A9pLbeCaYPvk1hl9ognqSYJ5Lmd0aURrNSBSBgHgRGBmiYKeBNxTRoMFExXvJWDoBv9/s1024/C20C4A12-1C7D-4E1D-B08A-7F4BB8ED039D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMh8Eb0BbfbH9u6PYSmWb6PxdeiCAl2BOoC8j6qkMtgQNEvSRnZ5E8Dabnd96eTgoM_uSOJhtSYKQcJ_v_40Dnw7tkGgEMWfhwyv9UwDwbQzj-BYWyCi9K_A9pLbeCaYPvk1hl9ognqSYJ5Lmd0aURrNSBSBgHgRGBmiYKeBNxTRoMFExXvJWDoBv9/w640-h640/C20C4A12-1C7D-4E1D-B08A-7F4BB8ED039D.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div>When I told Steven about the underground wine bodega that my cousins showed me beneath his friend’s shop here in Toro, we decided to retrace my steps. The young shop worker is a 4th generation shopkeeper and despite being nervous with his English, he did very well between our Spanish and his explanations. He led us deep into the bowels of the earth beneath the shop, in what was once a house. He said at one time there were about 300 of these underground bodegas where grapes were pressed into wine in an elaborate and complicated ritual along with their water storage. 3,000 liter barrels were at the bottom of the very steep stone steps and then the large press and a smaller press (200 years old). Bottles of wine were in shelves and on tables. I saw a thick rope hanging from a deep ceiling hole and he said that is used to pull up buckets of water. He was speaking English much better after twenty minutes and his nervousness seemed to disappear. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lml0mExrGUNPlM03r7QV87ujcPsWmodBppulIHO7rU1VI-vypZLyvUT1TqdXdPtGRVtEkab2-GQd1DCiu610bT7Mtdeez2PlqshGJ-93n89jF8ShNJluH-3Uou2jvc-VkXUqLcX5f5_8sPwU6T0G2V9hSwJqhk28xQUmz6d1zZzbeGeMbTYYdUPL/s640/CD2459FE-45B9-4ABA-9CC1-999FF55FF113.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lml0mExrGUNPlM03r7QV87ujcPsWmodBppulIHO7rU1VI-vypZLyvUT1TqdXdPtGRVtEkab2-GQd1DCiu610bT7Mtdeez2PlqshGJ-93n89jF8ShNJluH-3Uou2jvc-VkXUqLcX5f5_8sPwU6T0G2V9hSwJqhk28xQUmz6d1zZzbeGeMbTYYdUPL/s320/CD2459FE-45B9-4ABA-9CC1-999FF55FF113.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMhUrH36PCj5rdFCxVeHmdL9OcNAvTXuvH9KaWATTwmCRRQ6kWxVI23F-VxVBsJ17NHUjBLAPwHNIdlQzM_LdFMjFWhSl1vHYkTIIELpXZ-UFkmvO9Ti59Fwku8p9LwfynJ6rRTTHijYl4F3AgGLP71J93OSdjsqMPbb7S8-JGysiQ88bV-hyza_zL/s1024/F8331552-CEF5-44ED-8DC3-1199F1DEF096.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMhUrH36PCj5rdFCxVeHmdL9OcNAvTXuvH9KaWATTwmCRRQ6kWxVI23F-VxVBsJ17NHUjBLAPwHNIdlQzM_LdFMjFWhSl1vHYkTIIELpXZ-UFkmvO9Ti59Fwku8p9LwfynJ6rRTTHijYl4F3AgGLP71J93OSdjsqMPbb7S8-JGysiQ88bV-hyza_zL/w640-h640/F8331552-CEF5-44ED-8DC3-1199F1DEF096.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">While my brother Steven works every evening in the privacy of the hotel room, I wander through the labyrinth of Toro, feeling the spirit of my great grandmother Rita Trascasas Marzo (Silván) and the families before her. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Like dessert, I saved the best until last: <span style="text-align: center;">Her name is Mercedes Trascasas, my cousin and kindred spirit.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpf-hjz6QL-JkjU8YFuU2ULElE-W8CxG3MYkB2ShGbFRLFO-W4-N0zWtsbwnpvszWiPbslIMRfecEjWGBGAtuUtuql_mreuZXdoz33KhjskX8tSQ9ZKGmJwuxLGNtZ9Ng1e9qAM5PCaTZmnHsUCyDJdTP0M4YGJ95J_IcFmPEjuhPCiNQdZgZs3F1/s4032/AFED6C6E-EB7E-4E03-9E29-ABC6EAB584ED.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpf-hjz6QL-JkjU8YFuU2ULElE-W8CxG3MYkB2ShGbFRLFO-W4-N0zWtsbwnpvszWiPbslIMRfecEjWGBGAtuUtuql_mreuZXdoz33KhjskX8tSQ9ZKGmJwuxLGNtZ9Ng1e9qAM5PCaTZmnHsUCyDJdTP0M4YGJ95J_IcFmPEjuhPCiNQdZgZs3F1/w300-h400/AFED6C6E-EB7E-4E03-9E29-ABC6EAB584ED.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Seeing my Trascasas cousins again was a lovely, sweet time as we exchanged stories, memories and enjoyed an elaborate meal at a new restaurant on the outskirts of town. Pulpa (octopus) from Galicia served on potato slices with partially melted cheese on top was the appetizer. And the main dishes kept coming…bacalao (cod) after a bean soup and the best bread ever. And rice pudding, arroz con leche…And wine.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_zZ1brbO243LELS8u-Upm0SZ1jDektz-0BBZO-e9vaWOKedNjwvyJPFh1ta0gtsmYbi0wp7Tr72GpKMtWpquwBwajUVPjTNVxthdlXbgFr07DuY61XN0EPAxSuZkvrrUfrRqzjFRq0zeoUgecae_6q9Y-orWULQYQEt8tLD-OgYdeuvJBvbzZxO7/s1024/AE2345CA-E268-4833-B35B-40DF1A6D8384.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT_zZ1brbO243LELS8u-Upm0SZ1jDektz-0BBZO-e9vaWOKedNjwvyJPFh1ta0gtsmYbi0wp7Tr72GpKMtWpquwBwajUVPjTNVxthdlXbgFr07DuY61XN0EPAxSuZkvrrUfrRqzjFRq0zeoUgecae_6q9Y-orWULQYQEt8tLD-OgYdeuvJBvbzZxO7/w640-h640/AE2345CA-E268-4833-B35B-40DF1A6D8384.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tomorrow, we drive to Fuentesauco to visit Francisco “Paco” Hidalgo, a Silván descendant that I met in 2019 with the help of Mercedes and her husband Jenaro Costas and their daughter, Cintia. Another adventure to walk-in Abuelita’s footsteps. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div><br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p></div></div></div>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-78778590750193138652022-10-26T15:51:00.003-07:002022-10-26T15:51:39.557-07:00Where is the Mayor?<p>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. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Y3WWndbwrzOTgZQFppg480C5P9-ZMFYsTIO4A9mzA_6dmJie705-8Ls3ZLXPYyK_u3YnuSPbL2oV5E45VosbaLv9mHCaoYmdnuE9doIslumoEhMBxoHhNu96J9U75pcOH88FJg58ulbJGLLDJYF6GhnHAni3RCzWA3FqdAQN5LuvZAYR-CdX5-H-/s2048/77D2BE9E-6349-4E0C-909F-50515C6952BD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Y3WWndbwrzOTgZQFppg480C5P9-ZMFYsTIO4A9mzA_6dmJie705-8Ls3ZLXPYyK_u3YnuSPbL2oV5E45VosbaLv9mHCaoYmdnuE9doIslumoEhMBxoHhNu96J9U75pcOH88FJg58ulbJGLLDJYF6GhnHAni3RCzWA3FqdAQN5LuvZAYR-CdX5-H-/w300-h400/77D2BE9E-6349-4E0C-909F-50515C6952BD.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMi_YIJpMPpp8IHhFNTKvS7ISSqqyy8tZYDxO1Hpoq-VXkmM095LzEIeCrgg37D_8Jq-zcm6nQZDmf6k8nAQH8MWF7ZuO5hTBKIsKZoh7Nb9uCSVSL1EiVIvur215DjQGHCCbhKYT1EzaWRuWMUJhWXP94FKoANWJAtASTJGdUUxAO4YBiBMn_tniz/s828/85121E5C-C306-4883-9813-02B73C9B4446.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="828" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMi_YIJpMPpp8IHhFNTKvS7ISSqqyy8tZYDxO1Hpoq-VXkmM095LzEIeCrgg37D_8Jq-zcm6nQZDmf6k8nAQH8MWF7ZuO5hTBKIsKZoh7Nb9uCSVSL1EiVIvur215DjQGHCCbhKYT1EzaWRuWMUJhWXP94FKoANWJAtASTJGdUUxAO4YBiBMn_tniz/w400-h219/85121E5C-C306-4883-9813-02B73C9B4446.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQ0s-Zwq3813MvIoP9v-s4Opeddfjw9kbUA-XvZlbvSFhcKHnz0yy9073dIElQN5dB9i81Xn1C9xVGotCY6jZLZEL1zHnqEQSnzS_gx7_HZ1UOrPEualNd6KEU9fau7Spm6QZ5Oru1IUBt1CsGsxXhd9T5uDwH-pXrn6eEDedOLyNi_PTWijG8mkX/s3154/72DFB23A-200C-44D9-AAD5-C47C994AF367.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3154" data-original-width="2548" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQ0s-Zwq3813MvIoP9v-s4Opeddfjw9kbUA-XvZlbvSFhcKHnz0yy9073dIElQN5dB9i81Xn1C9xVGotCY6jZLZEL1zHnqEQSnzS_gx7_HZ1UOrPEualNd6KEU9fau7Spm6QZ5Oru1IUBt1CsGsxXhd9T5uDwH-pXrn6eEDedOLyNi_PTWijG8mkX/w324-h400/72DFB23A-200C-44D9-AAD5-C47C994AF367.jpeg" width="324" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>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. <div><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://www.hoy.es/caceres/norteamericanos-conocen-tierra-20221025192406-video.html">https://www.hoy.es/caceres/norteamericanos-conocen-tierra-20221025192406-video.html</a></p><div><br /><div><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://www.laopiniondemalaga.es/malaga/2022/10/26/malaga-hawai-unidas-congreso-raices-77702525.html">https://www.laopiniondemalaga.es/malaga/2022/10/26/malaga-hawai-unidas-congreso-raices-77702525.html</a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfIwhSF_cR1hdG9ANhaX-IJM_hwaC7AVwHLrDLci-eO28shYJJ9MX_DL46vS2Hj5ACDsKG0wiTg0r6Z4tX1IcpwbNLbj8B2Q0JpZ_4LAvwEG6pXs-794xBDR2hNC1nyy3lm2n4VDq14Y0OWO7gp5ilXcuhcjNkRt-_AuMT6HPacn5nXprvpVz15vh/s1024/3EA228E5-01B0-4EA6-BBCD-58CAE92D883A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcfIwhSF_cR1hdG9ANhaX-IJM_hwaC7AVwHLrDLci-eO28shYJJ9MX_DL46vS2Hj5ACDsKG0wiTg0r6Z4tX1IcpwbNLbj8B2Q0JpZ_4LAvwEG6pXs-794xBDR2hNC1nyy3lm2n4VDq14Y0OWO7gp5ilXcuhcjNkRt-_AuMT6HPacn5nXprvpVz15vh/w400-h400/3EA228E5-01B0-4EA6-BBCD-58CAE92D883A.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">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? </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">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.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkRShzr37pznT5NIySOgJMFhrgl3i9j9ix2gelbigMJBuvR_ExvrxnnmUP7kGYvhfxUj6c5ky0dmtED_Vn7SaiiyiPCJJyqBhusWh_pIR_hWr-_hLmjaU9UTHGeXtNWcP3oGs5JbtXpdaLyVT4Ypw4JcHLcJmhUFpxVqDaab9ZGadRs8iOO_8FlY_c/s1024/C55EF13F-80AD-4083-84B3-246F1598D8EC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkRShzr37pznT5NIySOgJMFhrgl3i9j9ix2gelbigMJBuvR_ExvrxnnmUP7kGYvhfxUj6c5ky0dmtED_Vn7SaiiyiPCJJyqBhusWh_pIR_hWr-_hLmjaU9UTHGeXtNWcP3oGs5JbtXpdaLyVT4Ypw4JcHLcJmhUFpxVqDaab9ZGadRs8iOO_8FlY_c/w400-h400/C55EF13F-80AD-4083-84B3-246F1598D8EC.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times;">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</span><span style="font-family: times;"> 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??!”</span></p><p style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p></div></div></div>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-72888426983538954012022-10-26T14:30:00.002-07:002022-10-26T14:30:51.744-07:00Taxi! The train! And flamenco too. 💃🏻 <p> Oblivious to the craziness that lay ahead of us… me at Maria Zambrano Train Station in Malaga</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglnxte-q1P0E88BdPZ9uGCGgnK08F456W_aysV4sqRkyM3_GDoc3Myk4lKwgpd3jyaN7inSHAPtuFki2q27UzsVK8prIqQTSTB2DICFysPUV1MN7zS7B-nNj_MjB3b2oV2glSgIUiZw1MRVPaUmd5CmVCJoviFJdoOmDvzmplYN7HMY-DLTRncV3XK/s3902/2DBCBA21-94F7-42BA-BA58-6AB3BD85D599.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3902" data-original-width="2652" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglnxte-q1P0E88BdPZ9uGCGgnK08F456W_aysV4sqRkyM3_GDoc3Myk4lKwgpd3jyaN7inSHAPtuFki2q27UzsVK8prIqQTSTB2DICFysPUV1MN7zS7B-nNj_MjB3b2oV2glSgIUiZw1MRVPaUmd5CmVCJoviFJdoOmDvzmplYN7HMY-DLTRncV3XK/w271-h400/2DBCBA21-94F7-42BA-BA58-6AB3BD85D599.jpeg" width="271" /></a></div>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.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnwez_Dm9Vy2h6P5-GXYScM5LFuT_58-rfZwM0Lj15pwjtQSXfDWkoRB40naocM5q6qvjaqpj9D4OCj9pd12du_X-BecOo5w5ate9jpygnuuIKdSrinrp2j5y27tAulJEivEofNpsbS7JmAFTquh9uv9so4kFlt-Skr3DfPgUPbkjVNQx7VoRhcNR/s797/85A7B89F-9782-4472-AB83-B6F9E457302F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="415" data-original-width="797" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnwez_Dm9Vy2h6P5-GXYScM5LFuT_58-rfZwM0Lj15pwjtQSXfDWkoRB40naocM5q6qvjaqpj9D4OCj9pd12du_X-BecOo5w5ate9jpygnuuIKdSrinrp2j5y27tAulJEivEofNpsbS7JmAFTquh9uv9so4kFlt-Skr3DfPgUPbkjVNQx7VoRhcNR/w400-h209/85A7B89F-9782-4472-AB83-B6F9E457302F.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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. </span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8ysm8Lqi9M6eiV6aq3AG-nniw6fxnZcQapsXh4bjMDSTL9LZy8x4GqqUR0X6LURINeQ2kiyI6GUHlc2sdZTL7--mlFn3W4AslEhakoHfrDnfTWt_iWbOoet4xiv_DDwMeoTcbKn-T8jXK8TZezosEWLJ3ncJ54Py8wr3MneFK5cR1phDiZE3Bzfo/s2048/99C00490-F12F-46D1-94D2-26E9597925CA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8ysm8Lqi9M6eiV6aq3AG-nniw6fxnZcQapsXh4bjMDSTL9LZy8x4GqqUR0X6LURINeQ2kiyI6GUHlc2sdZTL7--mlFn3W4AslEhakoHfrDnfTWt_iWbOoet4xiv_DDwMeoTcbKn-T8jXK8TZezosEWLJ3ncJ54Py8wr3MneFK5cR1phDiZE3Bzfo/w400-h300/99C00490-F12F-46D1-94D2-26E9597925CA.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>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</div><div>is old, clear headed with a good memory. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-13548989445899954812022-10-22T14:58:00.196-07:002022-10-23T11:28:59.260-07:00A nostalgic day in Malaga <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8PQ5_PGdvTiW0VfbGxoeZ6EM8K1DiQFfrlx8CjMB34MQd50OYtPmBI6udKiP6CbQiKzGDT6_hONTBVWNGtk_NpcdYAdfMZhIV3WedyIba0YjgGxtz54_ENxhxvH2jU3Zfx9H5ukNHQsZIZs5lZMBU9LSYLmglHRPK8KWd0sQJdJVWVVv9uwtr1tp/s3798/DB719141-73D1-48A9-97BB-C654ABC9A5AD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3798" data-original-width="2606" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW8PQ5_PGdvTiW0VfbGxoeZ6EM8K1DiQFfrlx8CjMB34MQd50OYtPmBI6udKiP6CbQiKzGDT6_hONTBVWNGtk_NpcdYAdfMZhIV3WedyIba0YjgGxtz54_ENxhxvH2jU3Zfx9H5ukNHQsZIZs5lZMBU9LSYLmglHRPK8KWd0sQJdJVWVVv9uwtr1tp/w275-h400/DB719141-73D1-48A9-97BB-C654ABC9A5AD.jpeg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBqCLT_qZCKkWqDUykPCCGpAXOx-kX6Vw-Q0PeqpwTPE4XBo-UT8MJPZu58mpV-El2rDYgPsk5TtdwYg-CYxZmVbkv7g9wd745ADUWsDgpm9_n6NqYY9RB9oGmWkCXRHRl2zRuqZ2KBFSliF5SVWDA5JJEE2FgyVWrwESpUgWdDY8vaOxyeI4Si94/s4032/0307816E-E2F7-49C9-B62C-0FD228AB4092.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBqCLT_qZCKkWqDUykPCCGpAXOx-kX6Vw-Q0PeqpwTPE4XBo-UT8MJPZu58mpV-El2rDYgPsk5TtdwYg-CYxZmVbkv7g9wd745ADUWsDgpm9_n6NqYY9RB9oGmWkCXRHRl2zRuqZ2KBFSliF5SVWDA5JJEE2FgyVWrwESpUgWdDY8vaOxyeI4Si94/w400-h300/0307816E-E2F7-49C9-B62C-0FD228AB4092.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>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. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieO9ccF3L8LuPY7--i-cs3jsZWB9P6kjsZbRgcslmYew7aP5W2otry1mg_q4mNXmW5sQf1SEUOIhNrgLO2aiQInt5xADGFyzGPRAUjIRpZepdoew_09g2EiFjsQS8YzgWCXtRJFvuIe9r9NXpHyUjkWmddd4n12Z3WvDdkyLyP0eNbHFNBdVQ38hH_/s1141/72CEE493-F753-4BF9-82CF-936E8C84CCB7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1141" data-original-width="752" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieO9ccF3L8LuPY7--i-cs3jsZWB9P6kjsZbRgcslmYew7aP5W2otry1mg_q4mNXmW5sQf1SEUOIhNrgLO2aiQInt5xADGFyzGPRAUjIRpZepdoew_09g2EiFjsQS8YzgWCXtRJFvuIe9r9NXpHyUjkWmddd4n12Z3WvDdkyLyP0eNbHFNBdVQ38hH_/s320/72CEE493-F753-4BF9-82CF-936E8C84CCB7.jpeg" width="211" /></a></div><div><br /></div>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 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAjJ1byCygVWIKWeycJAo_ieG58WKyN0rk_ALZCwosuWxDsl1AIUl3p05JC13QDGuGu_2qEwGcUwmRGhRQnXyrXSmpVct_Cv0E0GbS-twcQXIzzuxdUyfdKO7jmaVe3u249Ign4OpIZlzr4xXSyAeMc-yRZPShm8IbW8Z7TPetpNVmQc_lMeuXpiH/s1024/B628D465-53C3-4833-8C72-AE0DEC71D468.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAjJ1byCygVWIKWeycJAo_ieG58WKyN0rk_ALZCwosuWxDsl1AIUl3p05JC13QDGuGu_2qEwGcUwmRGhRQnXyrXSmpVct_Cv0E0GbS-twcQXIzzuxdUyfdKO7jmaVe3u249Ign4OpIZlzr4xXSyAeMc-yRZPShm8IbW8Z7TPetpNVmQc_lMeuXpiH/w400-h400/B628D465-53C3-4833-8C72-AE0DEC71D468.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>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. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBVka9EEyEoCAPEyrFX5d8nZ789FziIA2B7-6OO93qLuid-UYwfR9c2ucEn3js7tmBMfi_xIZlKYysj4bqokfckXPxYXMK2GR6mnBYHajIzUXREYSm-P49IXoD55L76BMTKpJ32euNzvxsNSSKAgC1MjWUfrBWmsT2XDwlhXSFyqVfiWxg-D_0Hga/s1024/3B59E07A-F6FD-487C-857B-D2BD190B7CA5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeBVka9EEyEoCAPEyrFX5d8nZ789FziIA2B7-6OO93qLuid-UYwfR9c2ucEn3js7tmBMfi_xIZlKYysj4bqokfckXPxYXMK2GR6mnBYHajIzUXREYSm-P49IXoD55L76BMTKpJ32euNzvxsNSSKAgC1MjWUfrBWmsT2XDwlhXSFyqVfiWxg-D_0Hga/w400-h400/3B59E07A-F6FD-487C-857B-D2BD190B7CA5.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">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…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19LeJn9rldMG1Kymcx4CQiS2PqLnrJK19D8d8gV3yECVGxb-xv43IkhGM0LNG5EgyYhSKLlqdzyRQLWwwlgi8ke0eg96v_1nYu4wzjNrFxSOnOoJSjwjYJTvripx7b72-yfdlKbO2AR9Kd6y6SOijCCd_vdQM6yzctZJSXyVaYgYgFqY1Q-YN1f0j/s1024/74A23D4F-9DBC-492B-95FE-13A91C4FE8D0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19LeJn9rldMG1Kymcx4CQiS2PqLnrJK19D8d8gV3yECVGxb-xv43IkhGM0LNG5EgyYhSKLlqdzyRQLWwwlgi8ke0eg96v_1nYu4wzjNrFxSOnOoJSjwjYJTvripx7b72-yfdlKbO2AR9Kd6y6SOijCCd_vdQM6yzctZJSXyVaYgYgFqY1Q-YN1f0j/w400-h400/74A23D4F-9DBC-492B-95FE-13A91C4FE8D0.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuT7IlGzUBO9Gz3OmlwK8EiZtm7c_irOKRKe54dmXMfSxuv30NqywiaNkmqZ_ngbq_qrAhIBSQhdVANuLB-v0J6B1oqDlLTlif_jwCc6c1ry2LkCi2yzv9B1mhXzF58HzHP9H1GT9_OuHaLU80czdxmiNYjsYCSHffnDRflQrbzVlOSNgqQM7nOtQ/s828/9EB92216-5629-48F7-B932-42454BEC7029.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="620" data-original-width="828" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghuT7IlGzUBO9Gz3OmlwK8EiZtm7c_irOKRKe54dmXMfSxuv30NqywiaNkmqZ_ngbq_qrAhIBSQhdVANuLB-v0J6B1oqDlLTlif_jwCc6c1ry2LkCi2yzv9B1mhXzF58HzHP9H1GT9_OuHaLU80czdxmiNYjsYCSHffnDRflQrbzVlOSNgqQM7nOtQ/s320/9EB92216-5629-48F7-B932-42454BEC7029.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIH0uzJuizdXtOjcOOGkGN3D4lEQeLCySwj7FN0AOSyiXGMqG1QZBosghBt4F480beQUWXcF43FYkr-oJVAry5e2M3SSFnQmeBxI5bz5JnlgQm6tLhpLVq066T8j59gwLKbQPgg-XOSSoIzW02f3fgLtopuX1SdhQK8OkG3ek6n-ghGfH0NvQDav-Z/s1108/9564206B-7F0E-4E3F-9EEE-C0AD96A8F5ED.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1108" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIH0uzJuizdXtOjcOOGkGN3D4lEQeLCySwj7FN0AOSyiXGMqG1QZBosghBt4F480beQUWXcF43FYkr-oJVAry5e2M3SSFnQmeBxI5bz5JnlgQm6tLhpLVq066T8j59gwLKbQPgg-XOSSoIzW02f3fgLtopuX1SdhQK8OkG3ek6n-ghGfH0NvQDav-Z/s320/9564206B-7F0E-4E3F-9EEE-C0AD96A8F5ED.jpeg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Steven enjoyed his last swim.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I packed my bags. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Steven made us bowls of fresh gazpacho filled with avocado, cucumbers and tomatoes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It is so nice to be waited on by my brother, who is a smiling cook. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I inhaled the last day of sea breezes and the sounds of the city where the culture is slow and easy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Tomorrow, a train ride to Madrid.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div><div><br /></div></div></div>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-18992233555814115612022-10-21T04:12:00.003-07:002022-10-21T04:12:46.277-07:00Visiting my muse and then losing the car<p> 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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ99q50tVZYtZyBKGMHSv_cua-VZKKqtZPfy9_G-E3rc5nLeTH90LxH6UcBiv8oLHVzDlMfZ36Abd46IWSsiNRnZPZl7YPr5VtdDAyq_GGU0TG_Tllpd_MH-1GLPVitXWbJ9isNCUn5cbGVI9k0WT6x9VWYi5pGdkFySahQFXqGF1kD7OGOvw9gl_/s1024/9715036C-2C54-4C8F-A92D-32955F03BD65.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ99q50tVZYtZyBKGMHSv_cua-VZKKqtZPfy9_G-E3rc5nLeTH90LxH6UcBiv8oLHVzDlMfZ36Abd46IWSsiNRnZPZl7YPr5VtdDAyq_GGU0TG_Tllpd_MH-1GLPVitXWbJ9isNCUn5cbGVI9k0WT6x9VWYi5pGdkFySahQFXqGF1kD7OGOvw9gl_/w225-h400/9715036C-2C54-4C8F-A92D-32955F03BD65.jpeg" width="225" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77ZNagqfhbRKVRMtu7TpF4bpOGUX_-Crno28XAMxN1-T2CwQWGfVNZriQabJ13HT63YB5NWPC78BG2dcPgz6KL1EDpL-hZmkdsMBDKZuh5CEHrjsaCgs8zsa-aR6K6SOd_VZEqshqomHK0p-F1iQUyXUa6IOB0p9xfcLFX4yTlXgWTOokCfMxuDLC/s1024/3556D737-9B82-4CFF-AA01-1C89FF713A4E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi77ZNagqfhbRKVRMtu7TpF4bpOGUX_-Crno28XAMxN1-T2CwQWGfVNZriQabJ13HT63YB5NWPC78BG2dcPgz6KL1EDpL-hZmkdsMBDKZuh5CEHrjsaCgs8zsa-aR6K6SOd_VZEqshqomHK0p-F1iQUyXUa6IOB0p9xfcLFX4yTlXgWTOokCfMxuDLC/w400-h400/3556D737-9B82-4CFF-AA01-1C89FF713A4E.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHD17iLLmxd-GwdhTEbGracZEskm-JtbYK4poiZ2AYzKue-CrgbzzYzfFT5GdOUvryo85MXnL5xX9daY_6qzq3QIvaJD9R_aVWOMEp0rLKNOd75LgHNiLY8mqr_3Z6UNn2pM4LO0S1vGYCGbsa1LW5_r65B4_3q30ncycSGhUpGxSAotX9QC1CNDKE/s1024/8523AF0C-8182-4524-A8F6-03D5EA7DB29C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHD17iLLmxd-GwdhTEbGracZEskm-JtbYK4poiZ2AYzKue-CrgbzzYzfFT5GdOUvryo85MXnL5xX9daY_6qzq3QIvaJD9R_aVWOMEp0rLKNOd75LgHNiLY8mqr_3Z6UNn2pM4LO0S1vGYCGbsa1LW5_r65B4_3q30ncycSGhUpGxSAotX9QC1CNDKE/s320/8523AF0C-8182-4524-A8F6-03D5EA7DB29C.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Steven: Are you sure this is the street?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Me: Absolutely. See the roundabout there? I pointed toward the end of the street.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Me: Maybe it’s been stolen? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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 </span><span style="text-align: left;">seat on a cement and tiled water fountain and discussed our options.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUREDfpy4XzarCcljI7JolPxDZdI0rbwB_BpRvbZ1xQNlR2CQUT3OvUjWYOitE8xyI-hhReIxio7N8OS91iz7P4QKjqOOqEEsP12_Tp5WPzzT9zZY7_7GxVhgVOUKk8RkGML8hsziMgumirot30bSyUnFAgoacz7iPVnNkjq1fg76i6uF3QJLCFJHF/s2173/EEC1A235-535C-4FE3-A66E-03C47ABBA7ED.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2173" data-original-width="1922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUREDfpy4XzarCcljI7JolPxDZdI0rbwB_BpRvbZ1xQNlR2CQUT3OvUjWYOitE8xyI-hhReIxio7N8OS91iz7P4QKjqOOqEEsP12_Tp5WPzzT9zZY7_7GxVhgVOUKk8RkGML8hsziMgumirot30bSyUnFAgoacz7iPVnNkjq1fg76i6uF3QJLCFJHF/s320/EEC1A235-535C-4FE3-A66E-03C47ABBA7ED.jpeg" width="283" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Steven: Well, the only thing I had in the car was my international driving license.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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? </span><span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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</span><span style="text-align: left;"> 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.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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. </span></div><p></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-43637878719594222612022-10-19T10:26:00.002-07:002022-10-19T10:26:43.505-07:00Trading a bull for a pair of shoes<p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mvX1zF0M2DTBNzq3iAWTiRAA6U9UaB4s4Crb9Y-5Lfiy_j2__XeQh9VKQk2Gln5U-iSjmwQFU8xTkgEj0my8vmojuRF8N6fCikvoUW6CYA7dBuvDfgjfinO9pH7ogsLAlFkvZ61Y1yurlXXk4ROEurjpivvupIQmR9fmksfT07HZKdF1jlWAywxa/s1024/CCE27F07-9F0F-4208-83AA-D247D96F4280.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mvX1zF0M2DTBNzq3iAWTiRAA6U9UaB4s4Crb9Y-5Lfiy_j2__XeQh9VKQk2Gln5U-iSjmwQFU8xTkgEj0my8vmojuRF8N6fCikvoUW6CYA7dBuvDfgjfinO9pH7ogsLAlFkvZ61Y1yurlXXk4ROEurjpivvupIQmR9fmksfT07HZKdF1jlWAywxa/w400-h400/CCE27F07-9F0F-4208-83AA-D247D96F4280.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>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. <p></p><p>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…</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tBbxpermFnEmAXiq0I2jcOX0uJlAOWfFG6ADqMHc3LrURSHllwqxSsXVQgmqwWvhUiw8mMcXkOfI5G7ghQviLHEHbNx8N6B4tujkXWYmQs8_UpjsbIni5vE3ABU-l-28ZTeebGHQLRJOXnM5oJugEzH0tPzpDf_fi7YK0HXJbDFvJVhF2hg3nmVw/s640/EC47C81A-06FD-43C1-88E8-9E5E0FF07761.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_tBbxpermFnEmAXiq0I2jcOX0uJlAOWfFG6ADqMHc3LrURSHllwqxSsXVQgmqwWvhUiw8mMcXkOfI5G7ghQviLHEHbNx8N6B4tujkXWYmQs8_UpjsbIni5vE3ABU-l-28ZTeebGHQLRJOXnM5oJugEzH0tPzpDf_fi7YK0HXJbDFvJVhF2hg3nmVw/s320/EC47C81A-06FD-43C1-88E8-9E5E0FF07761.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsMnkEltgf5Z7B5IFAUsXZKXalXhD5A3go1rTU_h5GbQcRFLwYAfipFKWdVEqocY89diEzqW9cmhk2JcoWVQD3fsFgYGKipvTmaQLcasqmIzOoJFxm7Ymtqwgwel7ujmk2vstlfXm68w1SfeSVyxWjqn-y1dol2RBYKpHo2ZF9cdRnFHpqPNXMMQR/s1024/4EF7FDE4-8D4A-4B4F-8C32-9B621297CF1E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsMnkEltgf5Z7B5IFAUsXZKXalXhD5A3go1rTU_h5GbQcRFLwYAfipFKWdVEqocY89diEzqW9cmhk2JcoWVQD3fsFgYGKipvTmaQLcasqmIzOoJFxm7Ymtqwgwel7ujmk2vstlfXm68w1SfeSVyxWjqn-y1dol2RBYKpHo2ZF9cdRnFHpqPNXMMQR/s320/4EF7FDE4-8D4A-4B4F-8C32-9B621297CF1E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>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…</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBP41SGG05fBfTbJwnDmmk_zC_jo_7yxu3_2LqmWu24-9S6UOdaX4hAMkj95NmyXpj0tyUdD7Dzd2ZnlqXdnawCeQ8vON1V_bcJrepMZfvmH7C6HuBwCDEcUSnJYcxutkZHre6TeXYKQvKRp6Q5yKOY4OF0C4-uuFxIKtrapKdRmeOpMOKF62MLy0M/s1024/0EB104B2-B422-43E9-95BF-66E368F5F165.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBP41SGG05fBfTbJwnDmmk_zC_jo_7yxu3_2LqmWu24-9S6UOdaX4hAMkj95NmyXpj0tyUdD7Dzd2ZnlqXdnawCeQ8vON1V_bcJrepMZfvmH7C6HuBwCDEcUSnJYcxutkZHre6TeXYKQvKRp6Q5yKOY4OF0C4-uuFxIKtrapKdRmeOpMOKF62MLy0M/w400-h400/0EB104B2-B422-43E9-95BF-66E368F5F165.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>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…</p><p>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. </p><p>When she saw my shoulders slump, she asked me in English, “You need shoes?” </p><p>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. </p><p>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?</p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-21937967171592492832022-10-18T11:17:00.001-07:002022-10-18T11:26:14.721-07:00Coffee beans? Windmill? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGX7CT_x2XtYhrJpT7NsYmT1YzqsAymnsY6JX_3CRA3Sk6WKP8dgYqp0AC8ZuZdL3-a8RA3RvUYt-Ixqamx_pbO4GumAMV9fKHSLDgsRsmoyBJNV3eTJze3tMlxvljPuYYsZpR7HIwbW5fluCn5gK748gXQVByM5aWz1cQQszVkK1ehi7B1Hvh1C-/s1024/D38FDBC5-2493-4976-B1B0-D65DA0566D16.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXGX7CT_x2XtYhrJpT7NsYmT1YzqsAymnsY6JX_3CRA3Sk6WKP8dgYqp0AC8ZuZdL3-a8RA3RvUYt-Ixqamx_pbO4GumAMV9fKHSLDgsRsmoyBJNV3eTJze3tMlxvljPuYYsZpR7HIwbW5fluCn5gK748gXQVByM5aWz1cQQszVkK1ehi7B1Hvh1C-/w400-h400/D38FDBC5-2493-4976-B1B0-D65DA0566D16.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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…</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQY1YcA3uAcf0Zh6nrB9dPBJHph7MHRlSJyzXcf4Lboy1KmUoi-CIOQDom1drcrRZCj4TMZBYbRmTPAn7RjdjTobpVA-RH0OE_Mp2pHtvwYHp32xhBsfRxdW7VvxBbJPpzqJGLltOm4fmP2a5gKV4F3FpgXaXXa9f1BimD59JjEUnHkiUQhm5U5oy/s1024/3C5C7E81-23BA-4D1E-90F5-BCB22D12E683.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJQY1YcA3uAcf0Zh6nrB9dPBJHph7MHRlSJyzXcf4Lboy1KmUoi-CIOQDom1drcrRZCj4TMZBYbRmTPAn7RjdjTobpVA-RH0OE_Mp2pHtvwYHp32xhBsfRxdW7VvxBbJPpzqJGLltOm4fmP2a5gKV4F3FpgXaXXa9f1BimD59JjEUnHkiUQhm5U5oy/w400-h400/3C5C7E81-23BA-4D1E-90F5-BCB22D12E683.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>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.</p><p>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…</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1V92XhgxTF3HoEzUAEXhAN_YVE6TWVeXS4t4sX_AN2AxuKyONvteumxF0wttWm2DpjHx0byomZWOh3jtinRTVh5uq_t5Z2UCvSaLnTFL2abKBZSfiu5Q92pQFzyrc_tZVAbU5iF4k4vhn3N5j6SgBcTtoTWtF-yWsW8BH2-WB2vmm3ktd2pznAiO/s640/ABA0D109-A304-4E64-8C62-7C3B43FD42B9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1V92XhgxTF3HoEzUAEXhAN_YVE6TWVeXS4t4sX_AN2AxuKyONvteumxF0wttWm2DpjHx0byomZWOh3jtinRTVh5uq_t5Z2UCvSaLnTFL2abKBZSfiu5Q92pQFzyrc_tZVAbU5iF4k4vhn3N5j6SgBcTtoTWtF-yWsW8BH2-WB2vmm3ktd2pznAiO/w300-h400/ABA0D109-A304-4E64-8C62-7C3B43FD42B9.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">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. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKSR1QQaSQ59nj7Rbucp6Ev_t7pF8RaWi7vGzfGoi33q829mqk8xOXLq8KYVdK1KwiPuALdOIPd28k5UPtrVN7qLycEq2NsOItCE2b-xZ9806MigTL0tPtBR0ik4zXGB8im2F1iJli1Z04DlaKm1JJd3rF1_ghu_HvJoXBPqGzV47kCzYmQbbplnHD/s1024/C3987D7A-6F87-4982-8A92-341416CAC5A9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKSR1QQaSQ59nj7Rbucp6Ev_t7pF8RaWi7vGzfGoi33q829mqk8xOXLq8KYVdK1KwiPuALdOIPd28k5UPtrVN7qLycEq2NsOItCE2b-xZ9806MigTL0tPtBR0ik4zXGB8im2F1iJli1Z04DlaKm1JJd3rF1_ghu_HvJoXBPqGzV47kCzYmQbbplnHD/w400-h400/C3987D7A-6F87-4982-8A92-341416CAC5A9.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start;"><br /></p></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-2637821736487568542022-10-17T14:59:00.004-07:002022-10-17T15:41:42.329-07:00A Spanish breakfast and then Malaga, the big city<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQ78P4KLAVHAVx6okG4sMEXYj0fiFzVOcERiDpPY4aSrTGNvjDPvUZCC4fAKZ81g64ph3NR1tmeM3ElG-eosogtJ4WSkrkTS5uEMbIq5MS6trsyqyA_QNUA8iY9U4jsZtugv0l71v_0-2zU8qJdDjS_fMFu6VTeeZnrl4x14cvrWwEW07nbDRz7BK/s2048/818A684E-3C85-48F5-B321-7E135BF17149.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGQ78P4KLAVHAVx6okG4sMEXYj0fiFzVOcERiDpPY4aSrTGNvjDPvUZCC4fAKZ81g64ph3NR1tmeM3ElG-eosogtJ4WSkrkTS5uEMbIq5MS6trsyqyA_QNUA8iY9U4jsZtugv0l71v_0-2zU8qJdDjS_fMFu6VTeeZnrl4x14cvrWwEW07nbDRz7BK/s320/818A684E-3C85-48F5-B321-7E135BF17149.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>This morning, I followed Steven down several streets toward the sea for breakfast. I have been yearning for <i>pan</i> y <i>tomate</i> <i>con</i> <i>zumo</i> <i>de</i> <i>naranja</i> - 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. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZHYGoL_hJzMMmEzZamKcym9t9BErGsszo9bbHBryaSM0CGqiDxVd7ZtOso2loGit2FowxeZ2umBlZYHdXs7r-PC9R4ZzLXPk-qTqOi__uAQROGdMpnLVPPt7Hba93jzTbqRF3OqxM-lNgaqTdR_O5ax-rT_tIGn2BUobvgHaPQWe9VP96pnINHOT/s2048/8A9A7006-C3D1-4EF6-B7CF-C7D18FE88B63.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZHYGoL_hJzMMmEzZamKcym9t9BErGsszo9bbHBryaSM0CGqiDxVd7ZtOso2loGit2FowxeZ2umBlZYHdXs7r-PC9R4ZzLXPk-qTqOi__uAQROGdMpnLVPPt7Hba93jzTbqRF3OqxM-lNgaqTdR_O5ax-rT_tIGn2BUobvgHaPQWe9VP96pnINHOT/s320/8A9A7006-C3D1-4EF6-B7CF-C7D18FE88B63.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ98c4aUfO-GrRcZSUZT1Qovy6LE-AfVXTpu_ndqI6ua3YPh-0GekGLqei4iq2LPIoljLbhZHxROPhqVak34nwqn58ALPdCwGwRmUYJIJkGnvFewAHZHdpH0DU0lbJOlIbeKBNU5rV1j9lxAjFtix7Ja2fCimulM8hEYYV7RUzsGZ0bACdPvGUw_Ym/s2048/29E79B73-2C1E-4BCC-94D0-9C4E7F474958.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ98c4aUfO-GrRcZSUZT1Qovy6LE-AfVXTpu_ndqI6ua3YPh-0GekGLqei4iq2LPIoljLbhZHxROPhqVak34nwqn58ALPdCwGwRmUYJIJkGnvFewAHZHdpH0DU0lbJOlIbeKBNU5rV1j9lxAjFtix7Ja2fCimulM8hEYYV7RUzsGZ0bACdPvGUw_Ym/w300-h400/29E79B73-2C1E-4BCC-94D0-9C4E7F474958.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p>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 <i>tinto</i> <i>de</i> <i>verano</i> 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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtHc1KOTwl2z8aNi_bRu4mq569eOFn2VUAWoa7RGcl34T1aYySc9dvt91Vnskds3enQVioLCRDwwIfHzQcHDv8fsKYFrbf_UcyQ4uTX1j6GDyxw0pcA0DnGHRAwFcOMf1Mc6hUK93ulpkJfstIBOp2gYrhDRVEEjxNQf9I_TccLsCAnt9iNXT3BAi/s1024/2F3C8EAB-FBD9-4DCC-9937-B89CF02D91FB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXtHc1KOTwl2z8aNi_bRu4mq569eOFn2VUAWoa7RGcl34T1aYySc9dvt91Vnskds3enQVioLCRDwwIfHzQcHDv8fsKYFrbf_UcyQ4uTX1j6GDyxw0pcA0DnGHRAwFcOMf1Mc6hUK93ulpkJfstIBOp2gYrhDRVEEjxNQf9I_TccLsCAnt9iNXT3BAi/w400-h400/2F3C8EAB-FBD9-4DCC-9937-B89CF02D91FB.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9L4ih1iV_xhEtPe3wSNEdduS6zwMxiRigL1AfLMPXVml6yH2pg8Hsa-jgVevjg4Xe173W3UrIEqRSVx9d4U5XFcbWyhPCZAts56iXnEC8Aq-4CJP5w-UXl2fGG0kU2yX0E_uwl2SyT4mf4q7NeW_-GRpLKZTglDcdj-tFLyqH5AMHa6rCuXU2iSG/s1024/003923E4-A196-40DF-89E9-7A04D388D5A1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm9L4ih1iV_xhEtPe3wSNEdduS6zwMxiRigL1AfLMPXVml6yH2pg8Hsa-jgVevjg4Xe173W3UrIEqRSVx9d4U5XFcbWyhPCZAts56iXnEC8Aq-4CJP5w-UXl2fGG0kU2yX0E_uwl2SyT4mf4q7NeW_-GRpLKZTglDcdj-tFLyqH5AMHa6rCuXU2iSG/s320/003923E4-A196-40DF-89E9-7A04D388D5A1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p>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!) </p><p></p><div>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…</div>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-50278309874829043602022-10-16T14:54:00.005-07:002022-10-16T15:28:26.664-07:00A Sunday paella with family in Salinas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfaCt9dUTvVZRi0Y2L28ZV5c-wn5n7X7UQAopZ10-JaMp-smr2ztGcg4hRENLpDgkJkM_xcxrsWDuU82_YYQ7kipQvGiM49rfQ-Db1rNwU4oEnpneHQA1hlQpGixzyMLwedwI4X3hr7Z8yx65sfdU6ycwO8evSx-ufmGqToHGY6q-ZeD4_npqUbLJ/s1024/A1CC9B03-4594-41BD-BE87-67B30D9302CA.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEfaCt9dUTvVZRi0Y2L28ZV5c-wn5n7X7UQAopZ10-JaMp-smr2ztGcg4hRENLpDgkJkM_xcxrsWDuU82_YYQ7kipQvGiM49rfQ-Db1rNwU4oEnpneHQA1hlQpGixzyMLwedwI4X3hr7Z8yx65sfdU6ycwO8evSx-ufmGqToHGY6q-ZeD4_npqUbLJ/w400-h400/A1CC9B03-4594-41BD-BE87-67B30D9302CA.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">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.)</span></div><p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFd3oC_BLkHSN-4RLv147tydSZT4nvI-rPKALF0uDhomXSdmQ0weZapfkdI1hbssjz1dD_sx6RobBnbpG1SJF28G4kCYRoQGrwzoML4WMoJ92c9yz3B6lrzsws1zUqeth-v0kYLGMrtP7g8Hufwa_00WPaC2QTclKd0ZXPFIyEdyRANvOSctvzq09/s640/2EC3795E-71BC-48C2-A032-964FA5D9E6D3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYFd3oC_BLkHSN-4RLv147tydSZT4nvI-rPKALF0uDhomXSdmQ0weZapfkdI1hbssjz1dD_sx6RobBnbpG1SJF28G4kCYRoQGrwzoML4WMoJ92c9yz3B6lrzsws1zUqeth-v0kYLGMrtP7g8Hufwa_00WPaC2QTclKd0ZXPFIyEdyRANvOSctvzq09/s320/2EC3795E-71BC-48C2-A032-964FA5D9E6D3.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4uSSPi0E_HcXRMIgjjnp-kaM2ZxWLH40TpuXyE-No_uDe5k34m3VShwBb1leLrPF2OD-SxALHQn6PzqFtfUQafoWxfVSBLJsop6mJr8NOq2cfilJEBVgW7pGTRfl6AbIWFbPxv4OJ7FkEii4GsYTSDZFSLm9N2STZkWpHYihhHgjaiCr-emGNSGgc/s640/9AD4AB00-3A72-4319-8C04-B98511A8F5FE.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4uSSPi0E_HcXRMIgjjnp-kaM2ZxWLH40TpuXyE-No_uDe5k34m3VShwBb1leLrPF2OD-SxALHQn6PzqFtfUQafoWxfVSBLJsop6mJr8NOq2cfilJEBVgW7pGTRfl6AbIWFbPxv4OJ7FkEii4GsYTSDZFSLm9N2STZkWpHYihhHgjaiCr-emGNSGgc/s320/9AD4AB00-3A72-4319-8C04-B98511A8F5FE.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>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 <i>simpática</i> (sweet).</p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD-1Wfd1aLlcrACTl5whx1OiOQRC2G19R_aYcKNmNzWdGt5lw-xetKzLR-ieHmQAHun96JrGNivuC2IRpUapUJnI880OsG6dO_d0t5l1PtnYxZIniadLeSPRdFSClwVKNrT3v-EU1t-lZkzWohfTnQoOyZjR1KoWDrbAsKOvKeNV7_9xi2IPJuFCS/s640/00C42791-E6E7-4BE8-B177-8F22A669F497.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD-1Wfd1aLlcrACTl5whx1OiOQRC2G19R_aYcKNmNzWdGt5lw-xetKzLR-ieHmQAHun96JrGNivuC2IRpUapUJnI880OsG6dO_d0t5l1PtnYxZIniadLeSPRdFSClwVKNrT3v-EU1t-lZkzWohfTnQoOyZjR1KoWDrbAsKOvKeNV7_9xi2IPJuFCS/s320/00C42791-E6E7-4BE8-B177-8F22A669F497.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNH74H8FoJMEQ3dZBT_Uzxzwoi47fSYJcd80H-cWDpRLoA-88WLlZxy-Kzdkvt6te9R2Mg77_D9g9eJc67sBV7M2i3F79FcofItQ01uVjcTU-HSAMQzpT9cRgQ9NZQ4Lyi0xB9R6cILNGUrpc03QcKI4Gj5iPVLdGP1bnnRiiJPlkzf46_Q8_kH7o3/s640/1D9FA5BE-7B67-4F53-899F-0F5B1D591977.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNH74H8FoJMEQ3dZBT_Uzxzwoi47fSYJcd80H-cWDpRLoA-88WLlZxy-Kzdkvt6te9R2Mg77_D9g9eJc67sBV7M2i3F79FcofItQ01uVjcTU-HSAMQzpT9cRgQ9NZQ4Lyi0xB9R6cILNGUrpc03QcKI4Gj5iPVLdGP1bnnRiiJPlkzf46_Q8_kH7o3/s320/1D9FA5BE-7B67-4F53-899F-0F5B1D591977.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>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…</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWGIPExq_vYY3IR2-wKkq_76UZpvWawRcVbM0hQCIlANOfaeT6OZQvUCawVSnWeSW8ACod-SDaA11Pzv_nqZVUjdu_PhyUgkEuH9kv0N7Q8tpp81WLUzEtdcwBWgCLxQ_-QipaSSIbgcmfNjoICSXbigguP7GpP0rQjJLII1cyhPSn5v5KFmElwV8/s640/084CF9D8-B578-4306-8431-1C377B57DA61.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRWGIPExq_vYY3IR2-wKkq_76UZpvWawRcVbM0hQCIlANOfaeT6OZQvUCawVSnWeSW8ACod-SDaA11Pzv_nqZVUjdu_PhyUgkEuH9kv0N7Q8tpp81WLUzEtdcwBWgCLxQ_-QipaSSIbgcmfNjoICSXbigguP7GpP0rQjJLII1cyhPSn5v5KFmElwV8/s320/084CF9D8-B578-4306-8431-1C377B57DA61.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-54145996290083583032022-10-15T14:26:00.003-07:002022-10-15T14:26:50.527-07:00Moving to the coast and putting on my Spanish persona<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMveafHVGUa4S3pfowBSoU-tMEgQHjNPpHDQ0OF4v9YLBGnLXLCKOD2qkFFVWfX1C0Ow9kV8mBxA2LXCxtTeitoDg31qZFm2IdTZyvLcBaXSJvnwO7oLXrRK4IuQ9fA7UQRJJvQV_FrZDyGNQUefYSwfcQz9DvzNn39IBW1asDc8lCeMFh3Ha0wxNI/s2048/57D6B30E-2B90-40F6-BD82-907A7CF0F378.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMveafHVGUa4S3pfowBSoU-tMEgQHjNPpHDQ0OF4v9YLBGnLXLCKOD2qkFFVWfX1C0Ow9kV8mBxA2LXCxtTeitoDg31qZFm2IdTZyvLcBaXSJvnwO7oLXrRK4IuQ9fA7UQRJJvQV_FrZDyGNQUefYSwfcQz9DvzNn39IBW1asDc8lCeMFh3Ha0wxNI/w300-h400/57D6B30E-2B90-40F6-BD82-907A7CF0F378.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p>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 <i>Tortilla</i> <i>Española</i>, 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. </p><p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgta6U3uEKfrLsx10SPaCKV6V6CFFM9AbPghzTaBjnP96peqxonfArs-JGLjXpBM-er2PRi_nBweaG8KgkJ8XB6vXrAudfLm6kstCk7GLd1itmf4sGNKRRZ_5gBU2aIFB7YPtruGJ_hUbMo_eUaqg1y9-fmHQODEEorqaX6ajMBeXNcjKfvUef2iv_u/s4032/6A7DEACC-EF60-44D2-9439-DD918721A15B.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgta6U3uEKfrLsx10SPaCKV6V6CFFM9AbPghzTaBjnP96peqxonfArs-JGLjXpBM-er2PRi_nBweaG8KgkJ8XB6vXrAudfLm6kstCk7GLd1itmf4sGNKRRZ_5gBU2aIFB7YPtruGJ_hUbMo_eUaqg1y9-fmHQODEEorqaX6ajMBeXNcjKfvUef2iv_u/s320/6A7DEACC-EF60-44D2-9439-DD918721A15B.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgW5_sMhzFZODHFd3hLP8Gj7oQvdDyZ82_qN4dmw2a7l4dzISlkKQLrS0iUmf3S5VFe46dcPwPQglz63FnOYLiZXpB4DR_S8KYSwRBOKDXz_GRteuiFtuawt5UMaze9BNRu-2mgWxJ2JrAs0oTD0T3pqoP7EDlOOLLaFpTiOvbm4xbffVQhEENvxi/s4032/8C53C15E-190E-4273-B366-500012530AF3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbgW5_sMhzFZODHFd3hLP8Gj7oQvdDyZ82_qN4dmw2a7l4dzISlkKQLrS0iUmf3S5VFe46dcPwPQglz63FnOYLiZXpB4DR_S8KYSwRBOKDXz_GRteuiFtuawt5UMaze9BNRu-2mgWxJ2JrAs0oTD0T3pqoP7EDlOOLLaFpTiOvbm4xbffVQhEENvxi/s320/8C53C15E-190E-4273-B366-500012530AF3.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCzHpl7Wn2hnDKGaVngBZX72RqETM5Zc8v5Oeh-ZzZj7l5GFzSd8p5lGYacY1SsH8WEYni_7-A3NwoijyMJs38otX2jgCDAU2HC-qeA-ngKEgASJx2pKN06xXLyTezTikiNm_0vge83uZbLmBEk0TRlK30vdikOjewOw4LdgzVHq4NcTt5T7q5twpm/s4032/25FCBE03-2835-49B1-AF89-565ADFEB0476.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCzHpl7Wn2hnDKGaVngBZX72RqETM5Zc8v5Oeh-ZzZj7l5GFzSd8p5lGYacY1SsH8WEYni_7-A3NwoijyMJs38otX2jgCDAU2HC-qeA-ngKEgASJx2pKN06xXLyTezTikiNm_0vge83uZbLmBEk0TRlK30vdikOjewOw4LdgzVHq4NcTt5T7q5twpm/s320/25FCBE03-2835-49B1-AF89-565ADFEB0476.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>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. </p><p>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 <i>verdiales</i> hat, with colorful streamers on it from Maria Angela. She remembers how much Steven Alonzo and I enjoyed the <i>Verdiales</i> Festival in Benagalbón, where the Ruiz family originated I am always touched by the thoughtfulness of these people. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy4eYdtNC5UGF7H0Kt0kZ1SYP-zDy1iNXSEbhktvZrNR1BT_e4Ns40KO0hryj0Lj-aOwzo6b1K-SeJ9SZVSzy_LbGhVTMgnEYNenAqlxr2qf9AXxzW5qyaP7UFrty31LWrrdaAdsxLPdj7qAaV554taS1bT7rP75O5VRV140NpFSf4V7SmMtKgMcM/s1024/88344EB6-B8C9-4CD8-9FD0-C62E5EA29745.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMy4eYdtNC5UGF7H0Kt0kZ1SYP-zDy1iNXSEbhktvZrNR1BT_e4Ns40KO0hryj0Lj-aOwzo6b1K-SeJ9SZVSzy_LbGhVTMgnEYNenAqlxr2qf9AXxzW5qyaP7UFrty31LWrrdaAdsxLPdj7qAaV554taS1bT7rP75O5VRV140NpFSf4V7SmMtKgMcM/w640-h640/88344EB6-B8C9-4CD8-9FD0-C62E5EA29745.jpeg" width="640" /></a><span style="text-align: left;">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 <i>tinto</i> <i>de</i> <i>verano</i> 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…</span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVyYBQjuyDR0Xr4BKq-Ss_ianRVeOEE48wN6i69_lbR_VoSwidgCngTWb290Fs08B0xu0A5b0Ar4EYIzKKTXEsW_PbYOjlugoGEVbwHFWuca6kEZv-LIPwi0lnh_YMlK2pU--6r9TkTfTLE6pUOVGDQIhXOTF_MJo_5TubLUhrsx67Q9regDwxZsA/s4032/1B4C8F14-9478-4D4A-B0BE-F488E22558A6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVyYBQjuyDR0Xr4BKq-Ss_ianRVeOEE48wN6i69_lbR_VoSwidgCngTWb290Fs08B0xu0A5b0Ar4EYIzKKTXEsW_PbYOjlugoGEVbwHFWuca6kEZv-LIPwi0lnh_YMlK2pU--6r9TkTfTLE6pUOVGDQIhXOTF_MJo_5TubLUhrsx67Q9regDwxZsA/w143-h400/1B4C8F14-9478-4D4A-B0BE-F488E22558A6.jpeg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-32624313436664012202022-10-14T14:48:00.000-07:002022-10-14T14:48:37.148-07:00Shrimp, Shopping and Surprising my cousins<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdBSadB23HLLF1LKu2YOTAC_NCevCi1KO6VdHhvDE_w9F6BfGM94sjYtGthEsTOUDl7_3iFN6xkKNT5jE3jHCLNVSh6TwyPgcweMTPnY0pfofdd4SH307x0O-0bMlaaU-36_78TywJDPvTP5HWVbZ-3nKcjiNeJEc6Ml6ZMHWE2ley_bOEb_L1Ujx/s640/29ED5F2F-1799-4E36-AC8C-0F589E3A6279.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNdBSadB23HLLF1LKu2YOTAC_NCevCi1KO6VdHhvDE_w9F6BfGM94sjYtGthEsTOUDl7_3iFN6xkKNT5jE3jHCLNVSh6TwyPgcweMTPnY0pfofdd4SH307x0O-0bMlaaU-36_78TywJDPvTP5HWVbZ-3nKcjiNeJEc6Ml6ZMHWE2ley_bOEb_L1Ujx/w400-h300/29ED5F2F-1799-4E36-AC8C-0F589E3A6279.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>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.<p></p><p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwG1X2YJbmxXX6G8tQGhetx3A1rVgg3db6PBu5Ad6rxoxc6FPzTfeNRNXDyg5MuZiwOAnjnK0ywQdwHMnxd-640zVZjAwlH0Vmf-ga-vG_tZlFZm9TcUSkaLQlH3W7qX3P-xhYDD3qjRNspNPikfsYmvWirsUhY1mSpTZv9TVvZW3lBjoLIyuITNFg/s1024/3ECF4934-55C2-4F7B-9152-E7E855788DF3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwG1X2YJbmxXX6G8tQGhetx3A1rVgg3db6PBu5Ad6rxoxc6FPzTfeNRNXDyg5MuZiwOAnjnK0ywQdwHMnxd-640zVZjAwlH0Vmf-ga-vG_tZlFZm9TcUSkaLQlH3W7qX3P-xhYDD3qjRNspNPikfsYmvWirsUhY1mSpTZv9TVvZW3lBjoLIyuITNFg/w640-h640/3ECF4934-55C2-4F7B-9152-E7E855788DF3.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfrxu4JTk-tX1XSrY6IU6kOixT1Hkl308rj5dhx-5Togf36QqV7EA2WjtEf7__63sWTjKWBGYGiJnzaTBYf6T_i_qXlS5_2L0Sq6Hc5K1jx1-YUQOibTx18Rr3fl9tmtiGyZR207ZQV01W1BPAL-qkQQe8Q79suZfu_L9BqNilmU4UdmMn1FFViCa/s1024/695C2713-6581-4F37-B325-52761F4C1061.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfrxu4JTk-tX1XSrY6IU6kOixT1Hkl308rj5dhx-5Togf36QqV7EA2WjtEf7__63sWTjKWBGYGiJnzaTBYf6T_i_qXlS5_2L0Sq6Hc5K1jx1-YUQOibTx18Rr3fl9tmtiGyZR207ZQV01W1BPAL-qkQQe8Q79suZfu_L9BqNilmU4UdmMn1FFViCa/w640-h640/695C2713-6581-4F37-B325-52761F4C1061.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>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…</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAORSPH_zs5iD2qlhTJz4iTM_u_5H8gk7SfSz7xUZRR-jQQwQ1Opn126J8n70A_Y1GFKmlfrpGv08Cf8pmTBhK8ZIg5T19tXSrDR3ygzxy77Hmmr3fyOtw4TmwJPgjSZ3-rY8NhoNgp4t_BrCpQX1KfIkkCjGUDROF2BkLIQw_sLfWaeAgPsf-i3H/s1024/7AC73586-FCDE-4670-BE1A-C1E0FC7A91FE.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcAORSPH_zs5iD2qlhTJz4iTM_u_5H8gk7SfSz7xUZRR-jQQwQ1Opn126J8n70A_Y1GFKmlfrpGv08Cf8pmTBhK8ZIg5T19tXSrDR3ygzxy77Hmmr3fyOtw4TmwJPgjSZ3-rY8NhoNgp4t_BrCpQX1KfIkkCjGUDROF2BkLIQw_sLfWaeAgPsf-i3H/w640-h640/7AC73586-FCDE-4670-BE1A-C1E0FC7A91FE.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>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. </p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-36575858477339079992022-10-12T14:49:00.001-07:002022-10-12T15:01:51.012-07:00A shower mishap and pole dancing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrz1P4jUE9epKKr9XVIygfXDW22-KeXyTj94UE9aOXeRAWCrIMxjuOwUDfHdWAX7ZAQY163lajvRcAZHVKAuagEKuRgOjSs9Yq_V95sFSfB56Eav9iaxoRPEEQ0Hb_lKu1nKLZXdzPJzOn6pAffecmQqrLPWbwH_HGsKtaD2na0wiivbr3zrbNvJUO/s4032/ED9059FB-BD4D-41BB-910E-FFA82588313D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrz1P4jUE9epKKr9XVIygfXDW22-KeXyTj94UE9aOXeRAWCrIMxjuOwUDfHdWAX7ZAQY163lajvRcAZHVKAuagEKuRgOjSs9Yq_V95sFSfB56Eav9iaxoRPEEQ0Hb_lKu1nKLZXdzPJzOn6pAffecmQqrLPWbwH_HGsKtaD2na0wiivbr3zrbNvJUO/w300-h400/ED9059FB-BD4D-41BB-910E-FFA82588313D.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p> 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.</p><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywxDfJj2MExsuE2ChYlzkzsNQRqwtCXjQr1T05iTjC2AJJna_xMO6pptdyHiCB-n-GzghMU_Z9EeUwABVDk8M5BWF9yYq-w5_AWD4eAtvpzN9KAUAWtGDWUHHk3ZLRE8vmBgrvtN73p60lAhqf5Cy13SNj53Fkf3KXkD545I6240VpsXAcqGgyEtd/s1024/393A5E5D-8F71-40C7-A460-6AB4D3681335.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywxDfJj2MExsuE2ChYlzkzsNQRqwtCXjQr1T05iTjC2AJJna_xMO6pptdyHiCB-n-GzghMU_Z9EeUwABVDk8M5BWF9yYq-w5_AWD4eAtvpzN9KAUAWtGDWUHHk3ZLRE8vmBgrvtN73p60lAhqf5Cy13SNj53Fkf3KXkD545I6240VpsXAcqGgyEtd/w640-h640/393A5E5D-8F71-40C7-A460-6AB4D3681335.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>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…</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrT5O3bYZFluk4JI_bW1j8nFBHfVrdZVjZ3EYI6bV4LAyJqZWMrvatxkM5gTnD5PdUC4ULZ9FZlHtKpJEJwLkUiTowIQpWGzFhGORRFqeW0lYuHdeBjMQZSF_tdyyqg6e5GW7wVIw3NDYIrhf1giZmaw9VizZC-Uj1suNhAYpvNLjmPZsZXa7GV5f/s1024/27EC227D-4D95-4B92-BCE4-704CDFA350B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwrT5O3bYZFluk4JI_bW1j8nFBHfVrdZVjZ3EYI6bV4LAyJqZWMrvatxkM5gTnD5PdUC4ULZ9FZlHtKpJEJwLkUiTowIQpWGzFhGORRFqeW0lYuHdeBjMQZSF_tdyyqg6e5GW7wVIw3NDYIrhf1giZmaw9VizZC-Uj1suNhAYpvNLjmPZsZXa7GV5f/w640-h640/27EC227D-4D95-4B92-BCE4-704CDFA350B1.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>And there is a library here. Since I love books so much, it was hard to drag me out of the rooms. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmE73l4Fi_fytX65C0XwYBUqQaa80E5l3DHwnHs2aBoo9VqNYCoq4a-3ECbHkfM4dsnQTy5qWYq09gZwo-SkKtIF0Egf9L0HPXYegz06GsvFcQoTuVyx79Ytz1kFw_KmK1Ak5wRthVU-d57rrNTmbhNngncfz88o-nKYkv2FauF_6pcrnuBVWW1U_5/s1024/198114BE-9599-49CD-8BF2-1BF935255123.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmE73l4Fi_fytX65C0XwYBUqQaa80E5l3DHwnHs2aBoo9VqNYCoq4a-3ECbHkfM4dsnQTy5qWYq09gZwo-SkKtIF0Egf9L0HPXYegz06GsvFcQoTuVyx79Ytz1kFw_KmK1Ak5wRthVU-d57rrNTmbhNngncfz88o-nKYkv2FauF_6pcrnuBVWW1U_5/w640-h640/198114BE-9599-49CD-8BF2-1BF935255123.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>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.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySQptsc3h7RKCTt-LQVd_WVC-DErxt7JymZWTTMpiaU7kQ2dXMCzCjVwMIGF7hdFlhC3PUZNkZVp9Jsg9-AcpaEfK7qvBekPLL6ny-zW_EzaEb3IVJ3giZRDS2h_fWWPh6FMf36mzWJEyZyezD_6FJ9qdQa9J15-kNn86nHPSE1zDVLYyItULkAQ-/s640/8D743F0D-BD8F-41E5-9DBB-C621713B87E9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="473" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySQptsc3h7RKCTt-LQVd_WVC-DErxt7JymZWTTMpiaU7kQ2dXMCzCjVwMIGF7hdFlhC3PUZNkZVp9Jsg9-AcpaEfK7qvBekPLL6ny-zW_EzaEb3IVJ3giZRDS2h_fWWPh6FMf36mzWJEyZyezD_6FJ9qdQa9J15-kNn86nHPSE1zDVLYyItULkAQ-/w296-h400/8D743F0D-BD8F-41E5-9DBB-C621713B87E9.jpeg" width="296" /></a></div><p></p><p>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.</p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-46829752779388395032022-10-11T15:06:00.003-07:002022-10-11T19:59:00.263-07:00Get old or be classic. <p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5xFk9sHrotiQcShfWzy-htMa58aat7obYKba1uw87kxuPX8B-7JVXn3oiFkVplbldLsLH8BJuOw4BMCc8iFtRHJIEtsnmGWVE7cwQK5k--aXnXHPbgjL3fggq4pPSnBF1bEUvVhQI4xOYgt0lgBR0c073apcePze5mu8bAzW6BwpkH549VCyzTMO/s1024/D9A9CAE9-0EBD-4CD5-8283-5CFAD45EA92F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5xFk9sHrotiQcShfWzy-htMa58aat7obYKba1uw87kxuPX8B-7JVXn3oiFkVplbldLsLH8BJuOw4BMCc8iFtRHJIEtsnmGWVE7cwQK5k--aXnXHPbgjL3fggq4pPSnBF1bEUvVhQI4xOYgt0lgBR0c073apcePze5mu8bAzW6BwpkH549VCyzTMO/w640-h480/D9A9CAE9-0EBD-4CD5-8283-5CFAD45EA92F.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Get old or be classic is an advertisement I have seen several times while in Spain and I have adopted the mantra. For me, being 75 years old has brought many changes in my life, but I still choose classic over old. So, todayI decided to act the vagabond or gypsy and took off walking from the top of the hills in Benagalbón downward to the beach and boardwalk. I needed a city street map so I can route out my adventures here, so blessing Google Maps, I followed the little blue dots down Avenue de Tívoli, made a few Avenue changes and within one hour and nearly five miles later, I found it. Imagine my surprise when I sort of scratched my head because the beautiful building looked so familiar. Three arched doorways made of brick with two 💦 water fountain ponds in front. Hmmmm. I checked my phone for photos and sure enough, my brother Steven had walked me there the day I arrived and I had a photo of myself in the main archway —- the Oficina de Turismo, tourist office. I had a good laugh and nobody to share it with. It had been closed when we had seen it nd now I realized it was probably because siesta closes many shops and services from 2:00 to 5:00. Inside, now open, was remarkable and I loved the water colors on the wall (taken especially for Donnie and Cheryl) and the auditorium set up for lectures. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBtLCnvly-zDEuq8rBczLEKn_yIUD2DB86877hhuQlSKs6FsiNg3v4N3pD_u2PalzyDc2F_vIKJ4409TZK0Hq3EJ-YTsL_p7PpgDRmhDSbLD024RRrS-qU7DCAALIzESx_34I9BzXXdWB58SrBWWEd4441_BY82vU1cVVHUFcrp0AixGGCVt-qS2z/s640/C9B3A934-B07E-4FC9-87B7-F9846AAC27A9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBtLCnvly-zDEuq8rBczLEKn_yIUD2DB86877hhuQlSKs6FsiNg3v4N3pD_u2PalzyDc2F_vIKJ4409TZK0Hq3EJ-YTsL_p7PpgDRmhDSbLD024RRrS-qU7DCAALIzESx_34I9BzXXdWB58SrBWWEd4441_BY82vU1cVVHUFcrp0AixGGCVt-qS2z/s320/C9B3A934-B07E-4FC9-87B7-F9846AAC27A9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8U8nMVcCNp8YcENzu81uYnCLYr_QDvbaBfeXzU67pp6wCLGtNnIZSREAYB4_rWCxhlsyOoiuyuPrNd-hkYFaxJQPt4lB3pmK4JvAZWg0jF1BphC48llI_l-5hCCuaXn43jo9TEBr73yO9bGuEVdr5YmCSeO9x29IDoITYSnBinp0MYWdIFbaAoX3s/s1024/1F507247-9EF6-4A09-A7F1-028DEB56AB87.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8U8nMVcCNp8YcENzu81uYnCLYr_QDvbaBfeXzU67pp6wCLGtNnIZSREAYB4_rWCxhlsyOoiuyuPrNd-hkYFaxJQPt4lB3pmK4JvAZWg0jF1BphC48llI_l-5hCCuaXn43jo9TEBr73yO9bGuEVdr5YmCSeO9x29IDoITYSnBinp0MYWdIFbaAoX3s/w640-h640/1F507247-9EF6-4A09-A7F1-028DEB56AB87.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p>On my way down the avenues, I kept pulling out my phone to take photos because I just can’t get enough of the wonders of this area. Lots of white buildings, flowing flowers everywhere and enclosed patios strewn along the way. When I arrived at the Parque Paloma, I found a half wall to sit down to rest (classic is good, but old news still sets in)…I glanced down the street and saw two MINI Coopers and incongruous nearby was also a smart car that isn’t so smart to me since I could not go anywhere in one. </p><p>Since walking down to the beach, obviously getting back to Lyn’s condo was all uphill, so I found a bus. I’d memorized the numbers 103 and 121 to head inland, and Google Maps came alive once again. Not only did the map tell me where to catch the bus, but what time it would arrive and how many stops before mine to get to my location. Along the way was Café Antonio again where there was an empty table…. Then a frutería (fruit market) where I found plums and tangerines. Near the pay station, I found our Merienda snack to go with our tea. Perfect! I was very proud of myself. A pound of each of the fruits and the anise cookies were less than 5 euros. </p><p>Riding the bus back home again was special because I am always offered a seat. People actually jump up and wave me to their seat. Old people, you know. But, classic no less. And waiting at home on Avenida Arroyo Hondo to pour me a glass of wine, was Saidie feeling better after her doc appointment.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6CcBN7vjlddNq5exH8eQ3C3WReBonyz9hf_Y29dT2Wt7DQ-WTEBuVYR3o3_1yds57tHjljnRZS2IGyCwB3uJahiswjYKAje5d86Z78Q1CoVspsqci5Ak2Et8jbYaO2osdDt8EzqG7moj3Y0i39chlBF4YtVCMLcOvKksZM7iScG-DAMq3CG0G_ZS/s1024/FEDDA451-9B43-4E53-B5D0-E1118B0F74B8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6CcBN7vjlddNq5exH8eQ3C3WReBonyz9hf_Y29dT2Wt7DQ-WTEBuVYR3o3_1yds57tHjljnRZS2IGyCwB3uJahiswjYKAje5d86Z78Q1CoVspsqci5Ak2Et8jbYaO2osdDt8EzqG7moj3Y0i39chlBF4YtVCMLcOvKksZM7iScG-DAMq3CG0G_ZS/w640-h640/FEDDA451-9B43-4E53-B5D0-E1118B0F74B8.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTrQyplXoceJjP5DPZdusfPNIX1NAs0rMY9EOCf5xOgUi4PUau3hD0YdeoqWMB0wIP62ern6cWH1ZIqjOPaW8fB9Pu548dtUDxD64uRIc5ICSSp9dtw7QulskG4796qcqZknQi9eb1btzq5DNw1YHG-Z2aaiXml7hvDnzFET1mx_3SEkp4xW2sUjj/s640/E81FBEA9-3794-47C2-9201-20725FFE9B71.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTrQyplXoceJjP5DPZdusfPNIX1NAs0rMY9EOCf5xOgUi4PUau3hD0YdeoqWMB0wIP62ern6cWH1ZIqjOPaW8fB9Pu548dtUDxD64uRIc5ICSSp9dtw7QulskG4796qcqZknQi9eb1btzq5DNw1YHG-Z2aaiXml7hvDnzFET1mx_3SEkp4xW2sUjj/s320/E81FBEA9-3794-47C2-9201-20725FFE9B71.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-52647268895267630202022-10-10T14:54:00.005-07:002022-10-10T15:20:01.528-07:00An elusive farmacía and a glass of wine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6nIKQX6upjEMsTY_Uuq4PKJ0tE2ZHHPIkdtTltKHOmOTvGTDVyV0z17ZLT86V0G483hAvbbExHdyugTc5nJ9_EYBrWiogJGxhbgzM--ZOXPjYHrSct8IH7OWTBB6kPScR86W-0tu2cBKI6pU9cVwuRdy6GITwTbdxDPjoHmni6YIsrChHKEHTCNZ/s4032/7447575F-B439-4AAE-8A07-D100EEA0BEF7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6nIKQX6upjEMsTY_Uuq4PKJ0tE2ZHHPIkdtTltKHOmOTvGTDVyV0z17ZLT86V0G483hAvbbExHdyugTc5nJ9_EYBrWiogJGxhbgzM--ZOXPjYHrSct8IH7OWTBB6kPScR86W-0tu2cBKI6pU9cVwuRdy6GITwTbdxDPjoHmni6YIsrChHKEHTCNZ/w300-h400/7447575F-B439-4AAE-8A07-D100EEA0BEF7.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 33px;">My day was filled with a bit of panic-driven by haphazard directions to an elusive <i>farmacía</i> (pharmacy.) But first, we ate a lovely lunch near Lyn’s condo. My first bowl of <i>salmorejo</i> soup (called <i>porra</i> here) was perfect, topped with tuna, Serrano <i>jamón</i> (ham) and boiled eggs…just the way I like this creamy, cold Spanish soup.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 33px;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Finding a pharmacy was paramount to our success in trying to get <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>an antibiotic for our friend, Saidie, who’s had a dreadful cough for several days, needs medical attention; no temperature, no sore throat and no Covid. Here in Spain, there are a few pharmacies that will give antibiotics without a prescription. At least that is what we’ve been told. So, after a long afternoon on the phone and much advice from several of Lyn’s friends on where to go, we were on our way. Lazy directions with only points of interest to describe the way, Lyn steadfastly drove us around for about 90 minutes without finding the “roundabout near the garage and turning right to find the old-fashioned farmacía”. We found several roundabouts and each one turned out wrong but Lyn would not give up despite Saidie and I saying enough. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6JUw1LBKXUrAEUefyTvgBJGXM7iuucTw9YfSdnSGIV6_ES35DuQOEj9BSBDC8FuwKEBGaFEtrBag_laOeRy1P3iYvVB-YSV19-TGXcqdDQNCdUBkcFH6KfYzVbG0j8tq49Da3ZaesqCazE6bJXiQmcSbvSCA9WvULMy2B7tfb1LbYo6rF8ikVWFN/s1024/6C0E06BA-5963-4A75-84E7-8AC40D6911F5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6JUw1LBKXUrAEUefyTvgBJGXM7iuucTw9YfSdnSGIV6_ES35DuQOEj9BSBDC8FuwKEBGaFEtrBag_laOeRy1P3iYvVB-YSV19-TGXcqdDQNCdUBkcFH6KfYzVbG0j8tq49Da3ZaesqCazE6bJXiQmcSbvSCA9WvULMy2B7tfb1LbYo6rF8ikVWFN/w400-h400/6C0E06BA-5963-4A75-84E7-8AC40D6911F5.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">When we saw a man on a street corner, Lyn swerved to a stop. He was leaning against a white-washed wall, so I rolled down my window and waved him over. He raised an eyebrow at me before walking toward us</span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">, just a little suspicious…</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Lyn leaned over and peered up at him. “Do you know if we are in Montemar?”</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Irishman: “Oh…” (feeling no pain). “Sorry, I don’t even know where I am myself. I’m just here from Ireland for a week.”</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Lyn: “Thanks.” (And she rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated.)</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">She kept driving as we bantered as back-seat drivers. When we finally found the described roundabout, we all recognized the area at Montemar. BUT, it was the wrong <i>farmacía</i> plus there is no way they would prescribe an antibiotic for her cough without a prescription. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So, she sped off to the “surgery” to see a doctor only to be told she must arrive in person at 8:00 a.m. to request a same-day appointment. So, as precocious Annie says, tomorrow, tomorrow…</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 40px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">In the meantime, my Spanish SIM card had not been installed properly and I did not have phone service without wifi. Lyn, again, came to the rescue when she dropped me off at her computer guru’s shop. Ramón made magic happen and I’m now in like flint with my Spanish phone service intact.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 40px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Lyn had pointed out Café Antonio’s bar for </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">me to wait for her and Saidie while she took her into the “surgery” (Urgent Care) and it was a few steps away from the computer shop. Imagine my delight when I ordered a </span><i style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">vino</i><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"> </span><i style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">tinto</i><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"> (red wine) and it was only 2 euros. By then, we all needed a drink. It was a rough day and being the stoic women that we are, we were sane again in no time.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 40px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 33px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And later, I even walked the dog! Scamp was so happy when we walked in the door; I hooked up her leash and she nearly dragged me around the entire community with Lyn’s laughter and conversation beside us. It was a good day in Spain. </span></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-12338187261685689302022-10-09T14:55:00.006-07:002022-10-09T15:36:26.397-07:00Costa del Sol - Benalmádena and tranquility <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZINEfNmKg789ekDkNdGoDQlBHsLRhTqydH-sny6JNjs9aAmKwExKW9K8J_7Z2QD8WTRNKrat0J_WKrP1-q5Agyg4Sv5GZ6DPLcaLucTmAb8Uq1durzcKB_gs9LLvsRRE1UMRWl0eTy0pqlNR0c6sVxd-1JYJWFdR18K5XN_K7mz4gqtZ9dT5xWdi/s4032/7A7BB57E-23A2-4CE7-B072-DEDA5C5DB73B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZINEfNmKg789ekDkNdGoDQlBHsLRhTqydH-sny6JNjs9aAmKwExKW9K8J_7Z2QD8WTRNKrat0J_WKrP1-q5Agyg4Sv5GZ6DPLcaLucTmAb8Uq1durzcKB_gs9LLvsRRE1UMRWl0eTy0pqlNR0c6sVxd-1JYJWFdR18K5XN_K7mz4gqtZ9dT5xWdi/w300-h400/7A7BB57E-23A2-4CE7-B072-DEDA5C5DB73B.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p></p><p>Once I boarded the train in Madrid, I felt relaxed and ready for the next adventure. Pushing my bags toward Coach 3 and lifting them onto the train was a formidable experience, but I found men everywhere willing to help this silver-haired lady lift, push and stack my <i>maletas</i> into place. The trains in Spain are magnificent, efficient and smooth. They are also on the dot with departing and arrivals. My day was just right as the high-speed train (AVE) headed south through Córdoba and then Antequera before sliding into Málaga. Over 175 mph! And then I was walking out the station’s doors. Relief washed over me when I saw my brother waving at me within minutes. Bags stashed, we headed toward Benalmádena, a glorious town sitting on the Mediterranean. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vq3UKEsmMuGbwjYQiWPT3teJqf4phLbDtZOWxrdv05f2e-Mex-jkDQ0MM2OpoEPxU-wAsXJFV_rcF1Igz3iGEt99beO9VtTqZGmh13gGRuj1sOaQWNhPaHa_MxdHHYycaSjP939es2GP2Np72BjvldSWeVBjncsW9n7gFexHeCJ6m5KVFMmfs3zF/s4032/1FB9B4B0-EE64-4F14-8759-938C9441BDAD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vq3UKEsmMuGbwjYQiWPT3teJqf4phLbDtZOWxrdv05f2e-Mex-jkDQ0MM2OpoEPxU-wAsXJFV_rcF1Igz3iGEt99beO9VtTqZGmh13gGRuj1sOaQWNhPaHa_MxdHHYycaSjP939es2GP2Np72BjvldSWeVBjncsW9n7gFexHeCJ6m5KVFMmfs3zF/s320/1FB9B4B0-EE64-4F14-8759-938C9441BDAD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3ceW5BQ00OlxoAFTMtnxWSYdTm9D-BvQdXt6sV_W6ipJZF0VHci_f-e9h3D3f1CxjDdewGr1TH37qhUHtw8NFgfm5E-MQek5VqN7GvqWPg1CsZjeT0cZiO6kRAkoPPLi7O4h7XJJqvT-F1zoZDFZ2JJmrTINcwf0Xe0FMzi--6pcwWUOJU2RJ3GY/s4032/864E6A0E-FD76-4973-A540-E36EE15A93A7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3ceW5BQ00OlxoAFTMtnxWSYdTm9D-BvQdXt6sV_W6ipJZF0VHci_f-e9h3D3f1CxjDdewGr1TH37qhUHtw8NFgfm5E-MQek5VqN7GvqWPg1CsZjeT0cZiO6kRAkoPPLi7O4h7XJJqvT-F1zoZDFZ2JJmrTINcwf0Xe0FMzi--6pcwWUOJU2RJ3GY/s320/864E6A0E-FD76-4973-A540-E36EE15A93A7.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1CDLgBzZKf5K--PNFcQv0hc-BWPhJz7-h9ppVucpEZeqKSX4CgHoDOv7poeX6qMYd471uPqXplv78lRiAiQMJH7f6cPKPEjBE7NZCy8_Q5085ewMwSCzCn8OSOK7W5Vs0r8NcrBK7qmlbaXACmWvJ2W-IzlfZtweBrNKiNYcD6nVkHKmY4nD4RdO/s4032/B2B4892A-A25C-41F5-B215-2BD49C9D8F19.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1CDLgBzZKf5K--PNFcQv0hc-BWPhJz7-h9ppVucpEZeqKSX4CgHoDOv7poeX6qMYd471uPqXplv78lRiAiQMJH7f6cPKPEjBE7NZCy8_Q5085ewMwSCzCn8OSOK7W5Vs0r8NcrBK7qmlbaXACmWvJ2W-IzlfZtweBrNKiNYcD6nVkHKmY4nD4RdO/s320/B2B4892A-A25C-41F5-B215-2BD49C9D8F19.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p>Leaving the frenetic pace of Madrid behind, I realized I exhaled into peace. My brother looks tanned and relaxed and we were both full of smiles. It is always lovely to spend time with my siblings and this was an added bonus as the sea stretched out beside us with the sounds of the seashore playing its music for us. We found a beachside restaurant on the boardwalk, ordered sangría and ate <i>boquerones</i> and a caprese salad with lots of oil and herbs. Delicious. Steven treated me to a gelato cone afterward before driving me to my friend, Lyn’s for the week. It was a special start to my time on the southern coast of Spain. </p><p>When I was reunited with Lyn and our friend, Saidie, who is visiting from the UK, we reminisced about our past times together. Always fun, always sweet. The next day (Sunday) we drove north toward Benalmádena Pueblo. I didn’t know the original town existed from my past visit and I was enthralled with its ambiance and delighted to look at the old places and enjoy the view of the city below from the Buddhist site above the sea. In the top photo below you can just see the moon shining into the Mediterranean. Mesmerizing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnIFsHctwjm3zlASeOd_4q5ejf1-QvzNaCfxjuGC9uHxHr5QzaHyalqfrkD1blzQnCnzSl1ry2umt44tg1NgziEEbJONcAav4zB8QVn-YchsheCoI6d14dFJmmnfHSuyLazg7GqzPK5GDHLxllq0SKoDYEbdeLcLSW-b4nkHEGvirHtTFSFoaauz9/s1712/B930E024-21CD-4B14-9542-B3DACED1D471.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnIFsHctwjm3zlASeOd_4q5ejf1-QvzNaCfxjuGC9uHxHr5QzaHyalqfrkD1blzQnCnzSl1ry2umt44tg1NgziEEbJONcAav4zB8QVn-YchsheCoI6d14dFJmmnfHSuyLazg7GqzPK5GDHLxllq0SKoDYEbdeLcLSW-b4nkHEGvirHtTFSFoaauz9/w299-h400/B930E024-21CD-4B14-9542-B3DACED1D471.jpeg" width="299" /></a></div><p>The day passed into more hours of fun. At 4:30, Lyn led me and Saidie to the tennis court (no, not for tennis…). They call it skittles… a group of the residents here in the Sensara Benalmádena residential community arrived with tapas and drinks, prepared to play a game called Möllky. There were couples from Finland, Holland, America, the UK and Australia waiting for us and it was a fun get together. You toss a piece of wood toward other pieces of wood covered in numbers and try to get the most knocked down. Oh boy. No matter how many times I threw that wicked piece of wood, I played abysmally, but everyone laughed a lot and so did I. The view of the sea from the condo is breathtaking and I feel myself relax totally. And sharing it all with my sweet lady friends added to my enjoyment.</p><p>Tomorrow we have a lunch date down at the sea and I can hardly wait to hear the seawaters flowing toward us and smell the aroma of seafood. Life can be sweet. </p><p> </p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-90269090864672516852022-10-07T11:27:00.000-07:002022-10-07T11:27:51.901-07:00The bird is missing!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGZQl8ec1pdDevt1V0LF4nksCGly5BubNdUttloW17GtR6A7hFw1Y4b-pd2sJ1hoLZxj4gwPi6BCayUXEg9xDiCTi70B22vqZIVtaHrTeR0nUTTHgdM8n3bK5v0hc5xPrNR5WFsg_iMDWRabCXasEiuDlNHImO29JuMsIlYQ99kFl7T9ZMT5AEQEZ/s1036/IMG_8401.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="1036" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGZQl8ec1pdDevt1V0LF4nksCGly5BubNdUttloW17GtR6A7hFw1Y4b-pd2sJ1hoLZxj4gwPi6BCayUXEg9xDiCTi70B22vqZIVtaHrTeR0nUTTHgdM8n3bK5v0hc5xPrNR5WFsg_iMDWRabCXasEiuDlNHImO29JuMsIlYQ99kFl7T9ZMT5AEQEZ/s320/IMG_8401.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: times;">Tomorrow, the AVE train will take me south to Malaga in three swift hours...330 miles. the high speed trains are efficient, quiet and pretty amazing. And usually exactly on time. Tomorrow will tell the tale. For today, though, I decided to walk the streets and just meander through the barrios. Two of my favorites pulled me back, Plaza de Santa Ana and the statue of Federico Garcia Lorca. As a follow up to my posted photo from yesterday, I admit to using photos that another photographer shared online because mine turned out bad and I wanted to take some more. So</span><span style="font-family: times;">, I retraced my steps, rode the Metro and walked a lot. The sunshine was wonderful and I enjoyed a meal at the little cafe, <i>croquetas de jamon</i> (ham croquettes).</span><span style="font-family: times;"> There were men and women gazing into each others eyes, older people intent on their food, waiters running back and forth with plates of wonderful-smelling dishes. And wine. Every table seemed to have a glass, so I had one too. Vino Tinto -- red wine. Delicious.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIB8O2Iw04BwgZO6milfBCbUTBZOXpLP0HRET9hXXB__JHwpFPwlyRRAuchyh6n231KeOIGGSQklTDhHEI-mmbTuwzlzZhy9ExKa8DVLBygpeG6GyszH1PmHIPI2Q1krl3lPOv-xFWXanmPM6854PiIFttwcnl-n3xaHNml83mVUlKnF0N1yG81nmD/s1024/9B7537B5-47A3-4F63-8643-D2A8951D5CF4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIB8O2Iw04BwgZO6milfBCbUTBZOXpLP0HRET9hXXB__JHwpFPwlyRRAuchyh6n231KeOIGGSQklTDhHEI-mmbTuwzlzZhy9ExKa8DVLBygpeG6GyszH1PmHIPI2Q1krl3lPOv-xFWXanmPM6854PiIFttwcnl-n3xaHNml83mVUlKnF0N1yG81nmD/w640-h640/9B7537B5-47A3-4F63-8643-D2A8951D5CF4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: times;">Afterward, I strolled through the plaza to Lorca's statue and I was stunned. Something was missing! The bird was no longer in his hands! <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Lorca’s cupped hands had held a dove as if he was releasing it into the Spanish sky as a visible symbol of hope. I quickly went online and found the reason why; sadly, in April of 2011, vandals tore it from the sculpture and the bird has not been seen since. Birds are often used in his writings and it was perfect there. His empty hands really touched me. When I came upon this blog trying to find the dove, I was moved again. It is worth reading. </span></span><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://kevinmcevoy.com/el-duende/&source=gmail&ust=1665249324741000&usg=AOvVaw1yWlT-SBZ3mv-IADIqTgpq" href="https://kevinmcevoy.com/el-duende/" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" target="_blank">https://kevinmcevoy.com/el-<wbr></wbr>duende/</a></p><p>When I walked past Casa Alberto with the red door again, I saw that the building is where Cervantes lived, so I took a closer photo of the plaque. I wonder if it was there that he was mulling over Don Quixote? Miguel de Cervantes is the most celebrated Spanish figure in literature. His expression “tilting at windmills” has become widely known as attacking imaginary enemies. One would think that after 400 years, some literature would be forgotten, but not yet. </p><p>I pulled out my trusty Madrid street map and started walking again. I had to leave the bird behind and get moving. There were photos just waiting for me to take of doors, bars, streets and a little excitement surrounded me with so many others out there doing exactly the same thing. Each of us found a shady spot away from the crowd to study our maps or our phone's GPS and off we went again. One particularly odd sight was on <i>Calle de Preciados</i>. The area is spacious, with a marble-like walking area between the buildings. At first, I couldn't believe what I was seeing -- it was a man about sixty years old on his hands and knees on top of a piece of thick cardboard. His butt was in the air and his head was facing down with a cup in his hand. I realized he was a panhandler, but as I got closer I knew his plan. He was playing music on his SMART phone, begging for money. I kept thinking, "the man can afford a smart phone and...?" His cup was empty and I didn't know whether to be sad or anxious about the whole thing. </p><p>Instead of thinking about the incongruity of the scene, I headed toward the Plaza Mayor, the large plaza in the center of the city. It was there that I found a crowd standing around something embedded in the stones, so I headed over. I have nose trouble, (I don't use the word, nosy). Interested? Curious? There was a little marker on the ground to show it is the exact point from which all distances are measured. This is known as Madrid point zero. You can find it in the upper photo, right bottom corner. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEhxnQySDBPc4xWjhNGdE5C4JJZBIc4OCXAnKUht03HlQQ1pjS9KuQWXjuNfxsOWPdq6awgeyzztisoj8vZlcUOo_2zcSu7YIs9Vd8LFv9W_OJDyCL6ZXGwpgbMGw8L14QuCrLGSnRcbOTCa1qTRoBk14mzWgyI6Of1Mbhsr1Avket-4fCh5atvez/s1024/FD778BF9-5FFD-41EC-B213-0FDACB1D36F4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqEhxnQySDBPc4xWjhNGdE5C4JJZBIc4OCXAnKUht03HlQQ1pjS9KuQWXjuNfxsOWPdq6awgeyzztisoj8vZlcUOo_2zcSu7YIs9Vd8LFv9W_OJDyCL6ZXGwpgbMGw8L14QuCrLGSnRcbOTCa1qTRoBk14mzWgyI6Of1Mbhsr1Avket-4fCh5atvez/w640-h640/FD778BF9-5FFD-41EC-B213-0FDACB1D36F4.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>The middle photo in the upper collage photo is the train station called the Madrid Puerta de Atocha. It has a huge botanical garden inside under a glass ceiling. I walked over there a few days ago and made some notes. Front door. Left to elevators and ride down to floor one. Put all bags on security mover. Walk through large glass door and stare at the monitor hanging from the ceiling. When train number on your ticket lights up, that means run like a maniac to the gate along with the crowd. Then, hope you find room in the luggage areas to push yours in…and then find your seat, also listed on your ticket. You can see that I’ve done this before… Now, I just hope that the taxi I ordered and paid for online…arrives at 11:00. <br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-16599117412147425432022-10-06T14:58:00.006-07:002022-10-07T16:38:20.642-07:00Culture, Art, Food and more…<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;">Spain is not all free tapas, sangria, bulls, flamenco and “olé.”</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;">I wanted to look past the stereotypes. I wanted to dig deep and embrace the beautiful culture of Spain. Spain Less Traveled is a FB group where many people share insights about their visits in Spain. And from many of the posts, I brought a load of notes with me to begin the journey.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;">I learned about the people here is that they are called Madrileños.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;">Their architecture and many city plazas confirmed my memories of the aged building and charm amid the fast-moving crowds; I’ve never seen so many taxicabs.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;">Barrio de Las Letras/Huertas is Madrid’s old literary district. Many of Spain’s great writers lived here, such as Cervantes. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The Main Street, Calle de las Huertas, has famous Spanish literary quotes engraved in it. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgok8z6CnJD74T7bwCuZhVPdc7juefrhnKekazpshWeAr5ahDNf_zXdT7Ox-dmeCIITTB9j6fuf711r9jagVCwHwPX3z9PGz1ZfXdUzMyzL7N5qxT3JYusB1BM90jbAqg_l2WJ_xeBZ1VC71D49pNz2urVqyPbe_kfjOoUkLOOUgtx7QrO-_mXqCpzL/s1024/IMG_8463.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgok8z6CnJD74T7bwCuZhVPdc7juefrhnKekazpshWeAr5ahDNf_zXdT7Ox-dmeCIITTB9j6fuf711r9jagVCwHwPX3z9PGz1ZfXdUzMyzL7N5qxT3JYusB1BM90jbAqg_l2WJ_xeBZ1VC71D49pNz2urVqyPbe_kfjOoUkLOOUgtx7QrO-_mXqCpzL/w640-h640/IMG_8463.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;"><span style="font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;">And then there is one of my favorites, Federico García Lorca, which leads me back to the Plaza del Santa Ana where Consuelo walked me over to eat breakfast on Monday. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;">The arts building beside the long plaza’s side intrigued me when I read the names of so many literary masters along the top. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;">Consuelo explained each artist, whether an author, poet, playwright or music master. And there, I found a monument to Lorca, who was introduced to me by my friend, Rina Rein. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;">She lived in Spain for a few years and she is half Spanish like I am, so we shared a lot of duende with one another. His poetry resonates with me and his horrible, untimely death makes me sad. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKeD98yALYT-Tea-raZ1Lo88PijjBbRs2zUEGQxD_CH5XyqPA6oTnvHywmVZfAgQk6JsH9EXqf7huMhvl5bcjqvAC3HHd3rSZ2YzBV-ukHMv-Pom64VQibr4akMQuYjcZgbNz2ufpfA5K8q3iaSz5p6Jvod44CSBoGaiAJ12mfbU1bli-IkoT-XtSB/s640/IMG_8294.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="479" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKeD98yALYT-Tea-raZ1Lo88PijjBbRs2zUEGQxD_CH5XyqPA6oTnvHywmVZfAgQk6JsH9EXqf7huMhvl5bcjqvAC3HHd3rSZ2YzBV-ukHMv-Pom64VQibr4akMQuYjcZgbNz2ufpfA5K8q3iaSz5p6Jvod44CSBoGaiAJ12mfbU1bli-IkoT-XtSB/s320/IMG_8294.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmLSTdvAqm7lFQxWyg8-XTDPCPyBUf1lskP0nkm6nzAkZrQ5niJsByUMGnR-NBizv2Jp6DIm9ejDsXfqDo4byhIMHJ3ol_3KSjERUVwITDuuk-lx5sZFkOUayCkB8_WxSoBgnTWY-3PEiIs1SeqiBTZbWi_LxuhiJ4K8ddN6l7SOgsaYYcGacrMhuW/s1036/IMG_8401.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="1036" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmLSTdvAqm7lFQxWyg8-XTDPCPyBUf1lskP0nkm6nzAkZrQ5niJsByUMGnR-NBizv2Jp6DIm9ejDsXfqDo4byhIMHJ3ol_3KSjERUVwITDuuk-lx5sZFkOUayCkB8_WxSoBgnTWY-3PEiIs1SeqiBTZbWi_LxuhiJ4K8ddN6l7SOgsaYYcGacrMhuW/s320/IMG_8401.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxG04ApENFmw9vi6qae6ZU-rgU0MwS2KDZCQyhaa11lIec5qnD2WITajsh8Ru_GqtGOOr6_LSMfaySPpHCl6T-HMiKQ_a9i_5bXrk_vIM7a0FbtSOSp-wpkZ6BZoVuDRXxb_W2KhyZ58M1-B9jCIoP_f3QBqBx7oZ3Y107SvZfj1t-C-5eoYnOLbG/s1536/IMG_8400.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1150" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnxG04ApENFmw9vi6qae6ZU-rgU0MwS2KDZCQyhaa11lIec5qnD2WITajsh8Ru_GqtGOOr6_LSMfaySPpHCl6T-HMiKQ_a9i_5bXrk_vIM7a0FbtSOSp-wpkZ6BZoVuDRXxb_W2KhyZ58M1-B9jCIoP_f3QBqBx7oZ3Y107SvZfj1t-C-5eoYnOLbG/s320/IMG_8400.PNG" width="320" /></a></div><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;">When I saw Casa González near my little abode here in Madrid, I grinned like a loon, since many of my Silván cousins stem from Felix Gonzales and my great aunt Crescéncia Silván. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>So I stopped, of course. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And then I saw the red door of Casa Alberto. Stopped there too. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;">Despite getting on Bus 18 going the wrong way and losing an hour of my day retracing my route, I found the Metadero Madrid Cultural Center where I headed to see the digital KLIMT Exhibition. He is one of my favorite artists since I first saw his “The Kiss” and then I found “Golden Tears” that many women call “Widow’s Tears” and a replica is in my home. His first portrait of Adele was sold to the Neue Galerie New York in 2006 for $135,000,000. No typo. I was pumped, hence, I didn’t pay attention and rode a bus nearly out of Madrid before it dawned on me. But, it was worth it. My only disappointment was the exhibit did not include the Golden Tears painting, but I loved it. When I left the beautiful room, I followed the salida (exit) signs only to find myself in another dark room. It was eerily quiet. People were sitting in rows of chairs with huge goggles and earphones. And the woman near the door led me over and put them on me. Oh my gosh! I was thrown into a 3-D world of Klimt’s art but more. There were flowers falling toward me, huge eels slithering across the room amid gold pieces moving like puzzles to meld into a frame for his paintings. And birds. Lots of birds. When one grew larger as it came toward me, it’s wings flapped toward my face. I’m sure I wasn’t the only person who flinched. It was gut-wrenching wonderful. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR67NEOjVJ1JtpYifEgRYfZMY1TrfMNLIYVU5oc0P4if6_AprCSVzwVRD12HErfqOJI-luB-YG71q6jS-PIYH_zWwio94QneRjEQUPCRgXEZDtjK1wSzbETsGSrJRYXmM_XbYaSNOHNAK8CnPEx_cCgeqlTzhxaDc6EojYYSdEyTFZPYkZ55Pox52g/s593/IMG_2373.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="483" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR67NEOjVJ1JtpYifEgRYfZMY1TrfMNLIYVU5oc0P4if6_AprCSVzwVRD12HErfqOJI-luB-YG71q6jS-PIYH_zWwio94QneRjEQUPCRgXEZDtjK1wSzbETsGSrJRYXmM_XbYaSNOHNAK8CnPEx_cCgeqlTzhxaDc6EojYYSdEyTFZPYkZ55Pox52g/w163-h200/IMG_2373.PNG" width="163" /></a></span></div><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69psDv6BWDGnBgXuc2GdA-Xm4uqmote0_MXZWLChaw2lnq04qAby3QKTEtpUC3bNGhiqfdEgmbcMqiMLKkDd0ECTyjbovw13_jiNknVGH__ThlMX-Yt6gWFxp8E5ZoDVRov-X4VNzMMBWFNklcCJC0igoIQ-Qrss_csnPjpDgxqeIoM_mexFOfQxt/s1024/IMG_8464.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69psDv6BWDGnBgXuc2GdA-Xm4uqmote0_MXZWLChaw2lnq04qAby3QKTEtpUC3bNGhiqfdEgmbcMqiMLKkDd0ECTyjbovw13_jiNknVGH__ThlMX-Yt6gWFxp8E5ZoDVRov-X4VNzMMBWFNklcCJC0igoIQ-Qrss_csnPjpDgxqeIoM_mexFOfQxt/w640-h640/IMG_8464.JPG" width="640" /></a></div></span><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px; text-align: left;">On my way home again, I found a bakery/bar and bought two empanadas, bacon/cheese and spinach/ham/cheese plus a chocolate croissant for morning coffee. 4.50 euros and with a 2 euro large bottle of Limón soda, I headed home with my cache. Oh, and I found a pair of shoes for 5 euros that called out to me as I walked by…</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_mDYkywuWGX9lPEOZD2iFQKpfbAflhUq6ABFwvICrXmtuDBYTYjSD6t48_ZHd6S-cn0x2bHeL0ZZSwI_ObxBIf8GI_zemUdTx4GC98zkUZ-TC97tJWOLgEl9-ENyoyhrFgvdGjs_c3GzCapeV_u2CdQuTydMs-ikpB7b14x39jNnvPHf3lE2W5yd/s4032/IMG_2372.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_mDYkywuWGX9lPEOZD2iFQKpfbAflhUq6ABFwvICrXmtuDBYTYjSD6t48_ZHd6S-cn0x2bHeL0ZZSwI_ObxBIf8GI_zemUdTx4GC98zkUZ-TC97tJWOLgEl9-ENyoyhrFgvdGjs_c3GzCapeV_u2CdQuTydMs-ikpB7b14x39jNnvPHf3lE2W5yd/s320/IMG_2372.HEIC" width="240" /></a></span></div><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17.41px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.4px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.5px; text-align: center; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-63301052744326926302022-10-05T12:22:00.003-07:002022-10-05T13:19:00.290-07:00Who says ambiance doesn’t matter?<p style="text-align: center;"> Chocolatería San Gines in Madrid is a place out of a fairy story.</p><p> In 2019, my friend Caroline and I followed the crowd, walked down the narrow (estrecha) passageway, marveled at the old building and walked in the open doors. Founded in 1894, the café is best known for its churros and thick, chocolate…thick like the pudding my mother has made many years. Only THIS thick, delicious chocolate is best known for dipping hot, tasty churros into the creamy depths. The inside of the café was devine, with lots of marble and old wood. We felt like high society vamps as we sat, dipped churros and enjoyed it all as one big lovely memory package. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWeeDiV8EmwsQha5n3pLt1hbNFpZEZOy0QcDo7P7wZcJwA1VQuSR8XCNpPJsjRoky538Kh5P68HeX6nrYZGEe1T4iVf_0kB00Vn7rjrAJz48w3-dTkyzdwqGPf9ZgP7W0N5coox_dBz7VAYR_Yb2jt6YRraFduUFqYiFenXkQ2S-Jb2lEhUpI0j65/s640/062D8EC3-5BDB-4AAC-AC13-CB71CD46254B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="640" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjWeeDiV8EmwsQha5n3pLt1hbNFpZEZOy0QcDo7P7wZcJwA1VQuSR8XCNpPJsjRoky538Kh5P68HeX6nrYZGEe1T4iVf_0kB00Vn7rjrAJz48w3-dTkyzdwqGPf9ZgP7W0N5coox_dBz7VAYR_Yb2jt6YRraFduUFqYiFenXkQ2S-Jb2lEhUpI0j65/w400-h368/062D8EC3-5BDB-4AAC-AC13-CB71CD46254B.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>But, alas! When I walked down that same passageway, past the little bookstore and saw the café doors, I was dismayed to read it is only para llevar, to take away. What? That smooth lovely chocolate in a paper cup to go along with churros in a bag with their oils seeping through it? And all the little tables that were strewn inside the passageway were full. Should I scrap the idea? No. I wanted my chocolate and churros. I gave her my 5 euros, gripped my paper cup and bag and started walking to find a place to sit down and enjoy it. I walked all the way to my little abode and started laughing when I placed everything on my little table. It looked distinctly unappetizing. Ambiance trashed, but recreated! Now, I’ve been told that I went in the wrong door. They still offer “dine in” after all. Hmmm, well I created my own little spot. Maybe I’ll try again when I return with my brother Steven in three weeks…</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkg_-Qr0cAAsXvmF1pwcdE2YxsH0sWoH08sv9y_xnod7y6nl-3o8gwWGbvlS5Gx20gkuFoAbBMDTZRWp6I-1ZkGRbw6IP-VVgBUB0QNlMwqYkEeDRIPGrzm4nZ1D_pdhi5FgKHCGhthBQswxaQ6zvojfiLyvi--kf5ijRwzGLCtERqoiDAneKWLBD/s1024/9B914692-B736-428A-B7DD-CCFFFCA2B7C2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkg_-Qr0cAAsXvmF1pwcdE2YxsH0sWoH08sv9y_xnod7y6nl-3o8gwWGbvlS5Gx20gkuFoAbBMDTZRWp6I-1ZkGRbw6IP-VVgBUB0QNlMwqYkEeDRIPGrzm4nZ1D_pdhi5FgKHCGhthBQswxaQ6zvojfiLyvi--kf5ijRwzGLCtERqoiDAneKWLBD/w400-h400/9B914692-B736-428A-B7DD-CCFFFCA2B7C2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>As I walked the mile and a half to the Plaza Mayor, I noticed how much I liked those beautiful ceramic tiles on the corners of all the buildings. I’ve always called them azulejos, but maybe that is just a Portugal name. I am constantly looking at them because, as I mentioned previously, some street names change at the end of each street. Today, I was dumbfounded to see four different tile names at one intersection (thank goodness for GPS and my Madrid map.) Each tile has a small painting to depict the street name or plaza to correspond with its history. I love the culture of it all.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOeCjnIaGREoTdTzkPOTZgK_4eEpADmarF5dabt1orbjDLJSp8fiJz5_WDsrR23ZcFXZA6HxJvMmsNGsb5x9Z8bdIUxvlVDt-kLP2YDjkLemZ5gda4CNN8KUvPuzoJ0v9ecT0w3wP_3OkPOv5KAfuGZQWqqKD0ZTKLER6Cm8Jk_u5XW4dz6rVtDVW4/s1483/8FD67FBB-850B-4407-BED9-144A5BED7F01.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="984" data-original-width="1483" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOeCjnIaGREoTdTzkPOTZgK_4eEpADmarF5dabt1orbjDLJSp8fiJz5_WDsrR23ZcFXZA6HxJvMmsNGsb5x9Z8bdIUxvlVDt-kLP2YDjkLemZ5gda4CNN8KUvPuzoJ0v9ecT0w3wP_3OkPOv5KAfuGZQWqqKD0ZTKLER6Cm8Jk_u5XW4dz6rVtDVW4/w400-h265/8FD67FBB-850B-4407-BED9-144A5BED7F01.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>Today was a day I spent studying my speech for the genealogy conference and practicing using the little remote button to move my PowerPoint pages. I’m shaking my head with the enormity of it all as I overthink it. But, Iberia Airlines came through with my replacement bag, my maleta. It just made my life much easier. I now have four wheels instead of none and a half. Tomorrow, I hit the ground running because my Madrid bucket list increased during my quiet time while I waited for the DHL delivery. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sAhdUEYH7JHm4GQ95peOA9O680Xa1m-up51jKyOaONlOW7a-KXEDdDyxlwnq_N4fhr2Bx5ecPbZaAfxTqT-0QF5YgNQrzElTU8nh7cA-iTnTCxq1dDOjZl_Hj1Ks_-tMXaZxRgQuA6D4VJfegrgZ-S13l750EjM-TSOgZU5XeHT92ZxdTDD_tRQH/s1024/CFD66149-5E46-428F-9746-7A6C803DE046.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5sAhdUEYH7JHm4GQ95peOA9O680Xa1m-up51jKyOaONlOW7a-KXEDdDyxlwnq_N4fhr2Bx5ecPbZaAfxTqT-0QF5YgNQrzElTU8nh7cA-iTnTCxq1dDOjZl_Hj1Ks_-tMXaZxRgQuA6D4VJfegrgZ-S13l750EjM-TSOgZU5XeHT92ZxdTDD_tRQH/w400-h300/CFD66149-5E46-428F-9746-7A6C803DE046.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-53073317562346319422022-10-04T12:30:00.062-07:002022-10-04T13:16:05.518-07:00Walking Madrid with Consuelo<p style="text-align: center;">A VERY LONG WALK (or two) in MADRID</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fSF7qC7yq8zpeoimrFpxkIkyNniUKIZG4libP5UOZoWSapgFgTSbV-eC2E5dtVQiA6BaP4hs4WPvprb3qREvsdXUIUoDxZLTE8yUKk_riVN2UBr1KYnH6LmcKbwH44jLXGMWQkhnhbaigkD4ahqlDSIGNnz3DusbIHByN8SJ6-nnHydWSBXKhudn/s2215/6DA2FCA3-1AF8-4A42-A068-83EFC372FEF5.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><br /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Consuelo Mellado lives near Madrid and we have been friends since she translated my book, The Girl Immigrant, into Spanish with the title, Historia de una niña emigrante. My first full day (Monday) started with M&Ms and a convoluted walk along many, cobblestoned alleys that Madrid labels as streets. On the street corners, each street name is beautifully emblazoned with colorful tiles. Thank goodness I have my new glasses to see all of them. </span></div><p style="text-align: justify;">After a traditional Spanish breakfast of tomato and toast with cafe con leche, she led me into a maze of those Spanish streets. She was born and raised here, so she took off at a trot. Her English was a bit rusty, but compared to my rusty Spanish, we did very well and thankfully, she spoke a lot of English. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Our first stop was a sweet shop called La Mallorquina. Her great grandfather was born in Mallorca and moved to Madrid when he was about 23. In 1894, he started a small sweet shop (pastelería) in Puerta del Sol and from there, it has grown over the many years into several shops. The shop is named for his birthplace; I loved watching the pride on Consuelo’s face with the telling. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">My Monday continued through streets, traffic, people and cafes as we stopped along the way for drinks and later for lunch. Calamari and salad with wine. My feet and legs ached at the end of our day. I walked my feet flat… and arrived back in time to freshen up and meet my second date, a young cousin named Faith, who is studying in Madrid. She walked me (some more) to the Parque del Retiro, a huge park in the center of Madrid. She wanted to show me her pensive spots among the peacocks. Long day, but lovely. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">TUESDAY (today) I let jet lag knock me out and then I was off and running again. The google maps have saved me several times since I arrived on my walking map. So, I felt very confident and I walked to the train station Atocha (20 minutes) I recognized the area near Reina Sofia Museum and knew I was close! After I made notes on where to catch my Saturday train to Malaga, I purchased a Spanish SIM card for my phone. That $10 a day international charge was not going to work for me. 100 GB for 20 euros a month. Yes! It was a constructive day after all…as I waited for my replacement luggage all day. Tomorrow…</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNWZAywkmnj2zwlUQBVfyvzi0d_dBGXG1kvQJjMq7VzB-tO6fhSgDFS2InqwCBnhZJz_75TFOaege7GlXuw5oUJMM7oP8F3aBWAwHjZBdEUFK0v1pvyeCtTWODjKlLjOFsZyQXW6gEcbAibkJ6TzVpOcXG6hiHO2u4AE7vpM2uhrMMHYOvdXIeQ3P/s1468/823244B7-EF96-456B-B23E-318F6964126F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1457" data-original-width="1468" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKNWZAywkmnj2zwlUQBVfyvzi0d_dBGXG1kvQJjMq7VzB-tO6fhSgDFS2InqwCBnhZJz_75TFOaege7GlXuw5oUJMM7oP8F3aBWAwHjZBdEUFK0v1pvyeCtTWODjKlLjOFsZyQXW6gEcbAibkJ6TzVpOcXG6hiHO2u4AE7vpM2uhrMMHYOvdXIeQ3P/w400-h398/823244B7-EF96-456B-B23E-318F6964126F.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZkbBGUdJvWYnNEkLV4doPtKGFjfFyyATPcbug16gH3OhUgUsA6ULtdd52kW-1dJ5ErWp8piJ9S-uv-UdJbtmOyR581eAPMY85C03nl6zsA5d0h6qPYnAQakg7JAV20YQ4z5_m1OhCYTE6gm9pM6mbpppaRtwdHo1MFCbPXmjWYSS5yJHD-mtn1Bf/s1024/E561B622-D697-470C-AC86-8F59A4AFC138.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivZkbBGUdJvWYnNEkLV4doPtKGFjfFyyATPcbug16gH3OhUgUsA6ULtdd52kW-1dJ5ErWp8piJ9S-uv-UdJbtmOyR581eAPMY85C03nl6zsA5d0h6qPYnAQakg7JAV20YQ4z5_m1OhCYTE6gm9pM6mbpppaRtwdHo1MFCbPXmjWYSS5yJHD-mtn1Bf/w400-h400/E561B622-D697-470C-AC86-8F59A4AFC138.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GyzS6zBL4E4w8kxeSLoch-TGIodCqr8QnB2IfXiRA6yBB1TWMnk6N0sFYfOnHjelvd8rD6AOYxCdQzXHAL3K4VvLgwLT4wJI22PIzg9m3ZZbDvQyWwrjbtxVCcGr_kkZLDj9JtXcNlCXmIhYfWgOHaljwFp9CzDNQ4zLG9t_dO2EIkngA3tyyJnB/s1295/D41BA7B7-F0C2-435E-8300-C813B2559D21.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1295" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GyzS6zBL4E4w8kxeSLoch-TGIodCqr8QnB2IfXiRA6yBB1TWMnk6N0sFYfOnHjelvd8rD6AOYxCdQzXHAL3K4VvLgwLT4wJI22PIzg9m3ZZbDvQyWwrjbtxVCcGr_kkZLDj9JtXcNlCXmIhYfWgOHaljwFp9CzDNQ4zLG9t_dO2EIkngA3tyyJnB/s320/D41BA7B7-F0C2-435E-8300-C813B2559D21.jpeg" width="205" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-39719298001543823572022-10-02T12:21:00.001-07:002022-10-02T12:27:10.909-07:00Hola from Spain<p> More often than not, journeys begin with a few bumps in the road and this time, I have had my share. O’Hare airport nearly sent me to my knees, but I persevered with the help of two very friendly airport employees. Without them, I might still be stalking their long corridors and riding the shuttle between terminals. It was a breeze getting to Madrid and I enjoyed the friendly man beside me as he lives in Madrid and, although I felt like his grandmother, he helped me with my map, very impressed with all my research of metro and their map system. He was delighted to hear about the Spanish immigration to Hawaii between 1907 and 1911, and he immediately went online and read the summary for The Girl Immigrant in Spanish!</p><p>Madrid’s skies were blue like the sky I love in Arizona. Passport inspection was painless and it was lovely to arrive at 8 am, sans crowds. The only bump (a large one) happened when I lifted my heaviest red bag crammed with my books and it wouldn’t stand up! I was horrified to see one wheel missing and the other wheel resembling that of a six year old’s tooth when it’s hanging by a thread… 38 pounds and I knew I was in trouble. But, luck was on my side because I saw a luggage trolley sitting alone in the nearly-empty baggage area. So, a taxi ride (30 euros) with 2 bags, a carryon and my backpack and I was on my way to the storage locker I had reserved for the day (12 euros). That was the second and third bump in the journey because I arrived in the center of Madrid at 9:30 am and could not check in until 3 pm to my AirBnB. When I figured out all the codes and the storage door popped open perfectly, I started laughing. The box was big enough for all my bags so I could tootle around Madrid without them for five hours, but it was shoulder high. I managed to lift the bags above my head, but not sure how I did it. </p><p>From previous visits to Madrid, I was familiar with a few large avenues, so I was on my own and the weather was perfect. When I decided to scope out the AirBnB I had rented for the week, I got turned around and was completely lost for about 90 minutes. I had time to waste…but my feet and legs were not happy after pushing them for six miles. And I had been awake for too many hours to calculate with my math abilities. But I found more energy and a roadside table near the Plaza Mayor where I spent the rest of the afternoon with a café con leche, caliente, en la taza. And later, I pulled all that luggage out of the storage box without knocking myself out when it came toward me and I HAILED DOWN A TAXI. </p><p>The AirBnB is clean and restful, although there is graffiti everywhere. For now, I have a place to land and went straight to bed, truly exhausted. Tomorrow, I more exploring and I have two meetup dates…</p><p>Oh, Iberia Airlines tells me they will replace my bag this week. Fingers crossed. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAsQRpbD9kO7EolV4izJhKKKGG5AP5RyR2mHndQJT5TrlEPiinirffNE7U2UWAQJev4rtR-yDngX4UoebVj20cLgmiJRavlUbb5MhBYjS9rVIVHtS_fDHryTOXApVmMRIOuB35RlY6Qmk7ii7u0ncWtLAPf1lZ472vjl-p79cJbtrZ73EWwd2Roet/s2048/E774993A-2A3B-43C9-854F-805957F90C5F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNAsQRpbD9kO7EolV4izJhKKKGG5AP5RyR2mHndQJT5TrlEPiinirffNE7U2UWAQJev4rtR-yDngX4UoebVj20cLgmiJRavlUbb5MhBYjS9rVIVHtS_fDHryTOXApVmMRIOuB35RlY6Qmk7ii7u0ncWtLAPf1lZ472vjl-p79cJbtrZ73EWwd2Roet/s320/E774993A-2A3B-43C9-854F-805957F90C5F.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYcJD5_2eOW0_Jw4UDH7pSmxv3xBeRjMs0-K4O8Q-ynpWlFbh7xLux3c-D1x3_77bQyqmV2yHD3Mt0AhKyWRSHiWEVgXGhvEiV-sK9gIght4mQ_oGYV03EMkuvtKyAA_Fx2BkrQExICYNTq_jL92iOlS_yi_NHhx9SQfeBV8N5T7UyRNFPS8gdpSY/s2048/9749647D-B970-4663-AD7A-79CE4F9332E1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYcJD5_2eOW0_Jw4UDH7pSmxv3xBeRjMs0-K4O8Q-ynpWlFbh7xLux3c-D1x3_77bQyqmV2yHD3Mt0AhKyWRSHiWEVgXGhvEiV-sK9gIght4mQ_oGYV03EMkuvtKyAA_Fx2BkrQExICYNTq_jL92iOlS_yi_NHhx9SQfeBV8N5T7UyRNFPS8gdpSY/s320/9749647D-B970-4663-AD7A-79CE4F9332E1.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiQWYtRLZW1ZAbKkvP3cBXN3eidFQMlB3ATou51VC5DIffdNYE7lWDoBXiaoN4DPKVZ1qG2xYjcXPO7vhbR0KNDfIML_J8Ej50m3pedA8da6gvxqqctHSi057I_osjYWLWJubvkQtLWuC9eufahdCO4Qc06Kk8i27zrfe3glJgkww3oe5kgglEliq/s2048/554A1CA6-A540-4CF8-BC89-19B08FB00E1D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiQWYtRLZW1ZAbKkvP3cBXN3eidFQMlB3ATou51VC5DIffdNYE7lWDoBXiaoN4DPKVZ1qG2xYjcXPO7vhbR0KNDfIML_J8Ej50m3pedA8da6gvxqqctHSi057I_osjYWLWJubvkQtLWuC9eufahdCO4Qc06Kk8i27zrfe3glJgkww3oe5kgglEliq/s320/554A1CA6-A540-4CF8-BC89-19B08FB00E1D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuMo3Wigs7wJMGKSkgFcJzJxUy-HJSE-AC_grg4FKj6Vjsf2VIog54zw-yJ3HgCiTGLZydmB78WaKnld184gy1URHj_zuLbCLRl1ODYPXzOONT6x56lzwo-myBcMODmmLtnXg3ZdYBsPa1ELfuEPcpoGoME3RUh17n4JFzZ9fC_Z48-0XYm5L62S0h/s2048/44D1A0C0-FA21-4B7D-8F99-A0108297428F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuMo3Wigs7wJMGKSkgFcJzJxUy-HJSE-AC_grg4FKj6Vjsf2VIog54zw-yJ3HgCiTGLZydmB78WaKnld184gy1URHj_zuLbCLRl1ODYPXzOONT6x56lzwo-myBcMODmmLtnXg3ZdYBsPa1ELfuEPcpoGoME3RUh17n4JFzZ9fC_Z48-0XYm5L62S0h/s320/44D1A0C0-FA21-4B7D-8F99-A0108297428F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLNj_36P0NT9BFjXLSvgKQdVXM1gqlB-VgzSly5Cl4ut_R6kBwaWME-WH0a7SALC6fuly4iIJ6hOpU1XO7n2cs1Prq93fq7SPfBuU3ngTfHiqnNL9JXT4yCH_HyC2k7x3ved7rldNNtlVIvXiv9CTCaffc7grNl925mvWq6yICpbMWanaWrU7U1vv/s2048/8212181A-8103-4122-83C4-F0DA8C02A6AB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLNj_36P0NT9BFjXLSvgKQdVXM1gqlB-VgzSly5Cl4ut_R6kBwaWME-WH0a7SALC6fuly4iIJ6hOpU1XO7n2cs1Prq93fq7SPfBuU3ngTfHiqnNL9JXT4yCH_HyC2k7x3ved7rldNNtlVIvXiv9CTCaffc7grNl925mvWq6yICpbMWanaWrU7U1vv/s320/8212181A-8103-4122-83C4-F0DA8C02A6AB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-39876032584203958312022-09-29T20:41:00.001-07:002022-09-29T20:41:20.653-07:00Spain Calling<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsybJHq2jv_pEggH0FHGfuiRit1PvHVI-uwOmwqPXKjN6piIsJDRKkRDC2hPcLP293hGw6ybzFWektc1P6FpCaClXzlgSzKVBgJzb9oaNYJGLIULtkL-s90W0Gk9fFNq5BH8Qc56LBpXSA9Lxt8AGngOKWtbySgNkeRgbh1jL87vJbSV9L8C5q2-6p/s1062/Book%201%20and%202_book%20image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="1062" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsybJHq2jv_pEggH0FHGfuiRit1PvHVI-uwOmwqPXKjN6piIsJDRKkRDC2hPcLP293hGw6ybzFWektc1P6FpCaClXzlgSzKVBgJzb9oaNYJGLIULtkL-s90W0Gk9fFNq5BH8Qc56LBpXSA9Lxt8AGngOKWtbySgNkeRgbh1jL87vJbSV9L8C5q2-6p/s320/Book%201%20and%202_book%20image.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Spain called me in 2017 again and I listened. These travel adventures are filled with music, wine, and so much more. That's why I stuffed it all into the pages of these books. Spain Called is book two of my Spanish Trilogy that continues my first visit to Spain in 2012, titled Touching Spanish Soil. Both books are available through my website for signed copies in the United States at <a href="https://patriciabbsteele.com/my-books">https://patriciabbsteele.com/my-books</a> and also at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Spain-Calling-Flamenco-Touching-Spanish/dp/B0BCD8B8C7/ref=kwrp_li_std_nodl">https://www.amazon.com/Spain-Calling-Flamenco-Touching-Spanish/dp/B0BCD8B8C7/ref=kwrp_li_std_nodl</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Now -- it is 2022 and the adventure continues. Spain continues to call me and my bags are packed. Euro coins are in my purse, passport up to date and homework is done. For me, it will be a holiday mixed within a genealogy conference where I will be a speaker in Cáceres, Spain at the end of October to talk about my research journey to write the book about my grandmother's immigration in 1911, titled The Girl Immigrant. Until then, I wanted to post the beginnings of more adventures and hope you will follow along with me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">If you are interested in hearing about this incredible journey, please click the following link. <a href="http://onspanishsoil.blogspot.com/">http://onspanishsoil.blogspot.com/</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">NOTE: When I figure out how to create a "click here to receive emails for my blog" during my travels, I will post it here. Until then, hasta luego. Until later.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-9401357325071623612019-08-31T22:36:00.002-07:002019-08-31T22:36:22.926-07:00A Hot Date in New York<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcJiVJ8uEL7RFWLNgvgchWVj3BmBQhrSkO2LTo0AaEZdO3ri0FoTjvN67AStBZWEGjPLhCRQYbvZhJsMe3dE8DBv6HkvzQnnF1XoWS-vFj5BmDGFXpdz6-uQboQpEPCnoVDO8KrD8yiI/s1600/Elizabeth+and+P.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="668" data-original-width="785" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLcJiVJ8uEL7RFWLNgvgchWVj3BmBQhrSkO2LTo0AaEZdO3ri0FoTjvN67AStBZWEGjPLhCRQYbvZhJsMe3dE8DBv6HkvzQnnF1XoWS-vFj5BmDGFXpdz6-uQboQpEPCnoVDO8KrD8yiI/s320/Elizabeth+and+P.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">After too many hours to count, especially with the time changes between Spain and Copenhagen, I dragged at the JFK Airport Friday night. Customs. Crowds. Lines of people surrounding the passport machines. A long wait at the baggage carousel. My muddled head and oh, so tired body. I was the lucky recipient of a dear friend, who is not a big city girl, who drove four hours from Vermont to pick me up. I pulled my three (yes, 3) bags to the curb and melted into the massive sea of travelers and mountains of luggage. Elizabeth arrived through unfamiliar roads and then accidentally followed the taxi lanes, but the woman wasn’t daunted. Seeing her familiar face after watching thousands of taxis drive by and honk their horns continually, gave me a smile that matched hers and those smiles lingered.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">She’d already scouted out the JFK Inn for me and we were in our hotel room by 9:30 pm. My feet, ankles and legs were very swollen and since she is a massage therapist. Since she is a great friend, she knew she could bark orders at me. When I laid down, she gave me a gentle, but thorough foot massage. Ah...wonderful. My jet lag began to set in, so sleep was next.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">This morning, the woman had a serious plan. We were going to Brooklyn, near the water and parks, the pier and lunch. And we had six hours to accomplish the itinerary. She, again, jumped into the (absolutely) crazy New York traffic with her GPS talking to us from the apparatus attached inside her windshield (I helped.). She slipped in and out of traffic, took all the right turns and then we were on Atlantic Avenue, which leads straight down to the Atlantic Ocean. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVzdCF8bP90Xvsh_Hu-0sMQG90gPRtqArUWsOSyDuLVDFODHfWJjZe8oVotpD9s5oH3xFk1eGfzT-UXRU8W5NQVZ_-AxcbvJ6p1kzOBqfCzu_X5GJLNxC0XrucMesEEwl_qN0im_LYfo/s1600/water+park.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="541" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVzdCF8bP90Xvsh_Hu-0sMQG90gPRtqArUWsOSyDuLVDFODHfWJjZe8oVotpD9s5oH3xFk1eGfzT-UXRU8W5NQVZ_-AxcbvJ6p1kzOBqfCzu_X5GJLNxC0XrucMesEEwl_qN0im_LYfo/s320/water+park.JPG" width="237" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">There is a beautiful walkway along the bay and we could hear the water lapping against the pier and the pilings topped with hungry seagulls. Helicopters swooped over the watery area filled with tourists. The breeze gently blew in our hair and the day turned from great to better. We saw a children’s water-play park with large rocks, greenery and little geysers of water. Children splashed in the area alongside many parents who used the excuse to be kids again. Tennis courts were built right up to the edge of the pier. Sailboats and yachts swayed in the water with the Manhattan skyline behind them. It was magical.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">When our walkway meandered past art posters, it led to huge rocks that lined the area between our path and the water. When I saw a yellow sign saying, don’t stand on the rocks (why, I wondered?)... And then, she hopped up just as a woman offered to take a photo of us together. And she managed to fit the Statue of Liberty between us in the background. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutiBWjdrBov-7T6DqvRA0NHA2aDrfZZiTLRCDANqqUikRSHW4Klc4uHFu_l8FYWNi0Uu_-6ghIAhIfeIGn8jbtFaOiW2Svqn3OFv6gt3uKfM0EGABw7D9h6ZW8uDx63Z96C9aMF_wgs4/s1600/Elizabeth+and+SofL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="555" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiutiBWjdrBov-7T6DqvRA0NHA2aDrfZZiTLRCDANqqUikRSHW4Klc4uHFu_l8FYWNi0Uu_-6ghIAhIfeIGn8jbtFaOiW2Svqn3OFv6gt3uKfM0EGABw7D9h6ZW8uDx63Z96C9aMF_wgs4/s320/Elizabeth+and+SofL.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">We had our heart set on a rooftop restaurant, so we kept walking. Dogs. Children. Couples holding hands. I couldn’t help but take a photo of a young, Jewish man who walked slowly toward us. Women and men running for exercise and we kept going. When we found the restaurant, we took an express elevator to the eleventh floor and two things left an impression. Well, also the skyline of the City and the Brooklyn Bridge, but mainly the prices on the menu...evidently it costs a premium to view the area from their tall patio. The other surprise was a young woman strutting around the area wearing black-artsy, panty hose over what appeared to be a g-string. Seeing women in Spain on the beach with bathing suits baring all seem so much more normal to me now. I did not take a photo of the woman in black.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">And the women's bathroom wasn't that exactly. When I went down the stairs as we'd been instructed, I saw a restroom but didn't know if it was the men's or women's. As it turned out, I saw a woman come out the door and I headed toward it. But, she was quickly followed by a man just a couple steps behind her. What?? I could see into the restroom and there were men AND women inside. Oh, dear. I only had one option, so I stepped inside. I felt uncomfortable, but the doors were floor to ceiling, so I joined them. A different world.</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">We found an electric cover that we could barely read NYC, but it was the best we could do for a foot photo.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1Ml4VJbmbaRHJeAdFeKaEmdhHuInQJxlg1EHcJHo_rcS_cdCJ7TTFcetHLqDYC2SYrrR-zoq1hAzFwbEQ_vBFs6fELQ6yygPcBbLsz7PcBeWa_8dMMD9SenLP6uljGMqRrzMJIojRl8/s1600/Foot+photo+NYC.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq1Ml4VJbmbaRHJeAdFeKaEmdhHuInQJxlg1EHcJHo_rcS_cdCJ7TTFcetHLqDYC2SYrrR-zoq1hAzFwbEQ_vBFs6fELQ6yygPcBbLsz7PcBeWa_8dMMD9SenLP6uljGMqRrzMJIojRl8/s320/Foot+photo+NYC.JPG" width="255" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">We walked back towards Atlantic Avenue to a restaurant called Fornino’s, where Elizabeth treated me to lunch. The watermelon, feta cheese, red onion slices tossed with chopped mint leaves in a salad was delicious. It was so good to catch up with each other again. We've been friends since 1999.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKf18bn0y9QIeLsQkMXn8CKi_8fcDQ4KB3uXDzWhOkwdlbdWY8URXTdoTEmy98ghxtSeiFpV8q9QZeXgXk9AsujACz4b5waLk-FN559IVrpU0N5pNmR9fgJca7gGTzG-yoFD2BPG4sH5s/s1600/watermelon+salad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="473" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKf18bn0y9QIeLsQkMXn8CKi_8fcDQ4KB3uXDzWhOkwdlbdWY8URXTdoTEmy98ghxtSeiFpV8q9QZeXgXk9AsujACz4b5waLk-FN559IVrpU0N5pNmR9fgJca7gGTzG-yoFD2BPG4sH5s/s320/watermelon+salad.JPG" width="208" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">She assured me that my swollen ankles and feet needed hydrating and walking, so headed up Atlantic Avenue, choosing shaded side streets. I love all the brownstones, old buildings with arched windows, leaded glass and the ambience of New York and the Brooklyn neighborhood. We were watching our clocks by then. I certainly didn't want to miss my plane. We were hot, so a cool drink was on our minds when we spied a small French café called Chez Moi. A Frenchman invited us in. We sat at the bar and the bartender immediately poured each of us a glass of water. I wasn’t sure if we looked parched or if it was his usual offer until I saw him pour a glass for the man a few seats from us. Elizabeth was flirty and the bantering was fun. The man said he’d been bartending for quite some time. I told him I’d just returned from Spain. I also said that in Arizona, I’d asked several bartenders to make my favorite drink called <i>tinto de verano</i>. I gave him the basic ingredients and he took the challenge. Red wine and lemon juice (two to one) and simple syrup. He mixed the drink with ice before shaking it frothy. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I laughed at his expectant face as he pushed it toward me.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">“All it needs is a lemon slice.” </span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">His left hand whipped up with a lemon slice already in his hand before I could finish the word, slice.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NUpT0N0rDUxMgBRhTOkgzPDYdtjCOD7-fv9OXn7yau3fJ_16hh4o2Z010oP73DjpG6PJKX5Dq-dzA47gFRhdmTgemn0RE8fTxtwp74hOxe-ucF9alv5b5UQvTqfSf-Wj-EndIf-Jd5k/s1600/tinto+by+Axel+Iron.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="514" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NUpT0N0rDUxMgBRhTOkgzPDYdtjCOD7-fv9OXn7yau3fJ_16hh4o2Z010oP73DjpG6PJKX5Dq-dzA47gFRhdmTgemn0RE8fTxtwp74hOxe-ucF9alv5b5UQvTqfSf-Wj-EndIf-Jd5k/s320/tinto+by+Axel+Iron.JPG" width="224" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">IT WAS PERFECT. At last! When I asked if I could take his photo, he positioned another slice of lemon for the picture and gave me a thumbs up. We laughed when he pulled it out again, saying, “Now I want my lemon back.” Here’s a big shout out to <b>Axel Iron, Perfect Bartender. </b></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Elizabeth is back home in Vermont and as I type this blog post, I am on the plane among the clouds with one more hour to go before I land in Phoenix. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Goodbye Spain. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Goodbye New York. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Hello home again.</span></div>
Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-22271399060635642772019-08-29T15:26:00.000-07:002019-08-31T21:57:05.026-07:00Going shopping!Wile I’ve been in Spain, I always get excited when I walk into a grocery store whether it’s Mercadona, Lidl or super Sol. Today, it was Lidl. Lyn knows when we enter, she will lose me. As usual, she put a 50 cent coin into the grocery cart handle and unlinked it from its brother...and off we went. This time, I followed her through the produce department and had a good laugh. When I watched her pick up a cauliflower and begin removing the outer leaves, I scratched my head.<br />
Me: Lyn, what are you doing?<br />
Lyn: You don’t think I want to pay for part of this that I’m not going to eat?? These are 1,89 per kilo. I won’t pay for the leaves...<br />
<br />
She had her own laugh as she watched me photograph tortillas español with spinach, with chorizo and without eggs. There anchovies in vinegar, salmorejo soup, chorizos, and wine everywhere. Tuna in huge cans, red peppers in plastic, already cooked and ready to eat. Everyone gave us the side eye when the clerk tallied up the wine and beer for tonight’s dinner party... and then Lyn and I emptied the groceries into her trunk. She returned the cart, relinked it to the other carts and retrieved her 50 cent piece. It was another adventure.<br />
<br />
<br />Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5635440601796708971.post-88052785552484297282019-08-28T12:11:00.001-07:002019-08-28T14:57:58.624-07:00Lazy is Good and we are not old...<div style="text-align: justify;">
Being in our seventies sounds old...but Lyn and I assured one another today, as we lazed around the pool for my last couple of days in Spain, that we are definitely not old! Life still has adventures to unfold before us, we have our health, friendship and a good dose of humility. And a sense of adventure. When Lyn suggested that we take selfies by the pool, I grabbed my phone with its trusty camera and we had a photo shoot, filled with laughter and jaunty jokes. Some of the photos were too hilarious to post, but we chose the ones that gave us the biggest smiles. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PeXaHRSjut8uF5M39yaZRZ-q8Cct-ZoIay-uDyPUYH-6zCnP9fXre2DqHFfDTT8X1Su3xe7pYwsN-PwgKKqP2NC0Gej87izdxz9oO-WBwhTyhtNS8prD8B-Co1Jc5gIeAUTZLgwNMqU/s1600/BDC8BA34-8ED0-4A6D-BDE9-9DBD68EDA070.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8PeXaHRSjut8uF5M39yaZRZ-q8Cct-ZoIay-uDyPUYH-6zCnP9fXre2DqHFfDTT8X1Su3xe7pYwsN-PwgKKqP2NC0Gej87izdxz9oO-WBwhTyhtNS8prD8B-Co1Jc5gIeAUTZLgwNMqU/s320/BDC8BA34-8ED0-4A6D-BDE9-9DBD68EDA070.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2VAg5GsFhM-a5ksINwXxHT-IteMgaBwjvJkhYK61Bd1k2wgbxHCKBRx5kBmwQuYbuZucbOXSdw1vLYYBOo6t9rpVHW1OVO_BIC4hpvy4WpSDNtfO1KzT71CJX-tZWFHQEMIGzifZgMY/s1600/CCC59C23-BC41-4363-BFEB-1A3F8B57ABD7.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE2VAg5GsFhM-a5ksINwXxHT-IteMgaBwjvJkhYK61Bd1k2wgbxHCKBRx5kBmwQuYbuZucbOXSdw1vLYYBOo6t9rpVHW1OVO_BIC4hpvy4WpSDNtfO1KzT71CJX-tZWFHQEMIGzifZgMY/s320/CCC59C23-BC41-4363-BFEB-1A3F8B57ABD7.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiyvoVHNi8BDZMIMvn6KM9O_7zpjn6U4jziU9ToA6m-9zq6ODCQ9WvpSLFNara7XbmLRsIfjctqCUFA9osz3288tSv_wi2M0mymchbUZimeU0vMlHpfgqqqaZNGyOdDwJCUwe6bo6HiA/s1600/E10EC87B-1658-4DA6-9818-3A5FEAC8A43E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyiyvoVHNi8BDZMIMvn6KM9O_7zpjn6U4jziU9ToA6m-9zq6ODCQ9WvpSLFNara7XbmLRsIfjctqCUFA9osz3288tSv_wi2M0mymchbUZimeU0vMlHpfgqqqaZNGyOdDwJCUwe6bo6HiA/s320/E10EC87B-1658-4DA6-9818-3A5FEAC8A43E.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The brand new washer wasn’t working and the two of us fixed the problem. Yay! All the laundry was done and we hung all our clothes on the clothes line. When I turned around to glance over the curved railing to view the beautiful panorama of the village of Los Núñez below us, I caught my breath with the beauty before me. And then I helped Lyn haul a new propane tank into place for her tankless water heater and we couldn’t get the flame to burn. After several tries, we gave up, called a man named Terencio, who promised to arrive later and set ourselves around the patio table for a good conversation and wine. By the time, Terencio arrived, we’d eaten a lovely dinner of chorizo, potatoes and vegetables and we were in lounge clothes after the pool adventure... Terencio had the flame working quickly and the adorable man chatted with us and promised to return to Lyn’s in February to trim trees and replace the sea grass on her pergola. It was a lovely, lazy day filled with laughter, fun and a breath of Spanish air. Tomorrow, we will prepare for a big party here with special food and various friends of Lyn’s. She always makes me feel like I’m a star ⭐️ </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
When the lights burned low, I slipped outside about 10:00 pm while Lyn watched her favorite television programs. Scally, the larger of her furry dogs, welcomed me as I sat at the pool steps and swung my legs slowly in the water as the solar lights from various pots lit up spots around me. I turned my head to glance at the small village below us and marveled at the impact my father had in its history. Despite his inability to a master the skills of husband or fatherhood, he excelled in the ability to make a difference as mayor of Los Nuñez about forty years ago. Where dirt paths once threaded through the village, the streets are now paved. And the once-dark streets are now lit up with twenty-five street lights that sparkle through the village. When the river flooded and the village was stranded, he managed to get food brought in by helicopter. He is remembered with love and a smile here in Los Nuñez. A physical thank you is also here in a cement plaque embedded in a village street with his name, Miguel Ruiz Silvan, to honor him for his impact to the village of his forefathers and for those of us lucky enough to reap the benefits of his legacy. He would have been proud that his children managed to get here to the land he loved so much, where his father and father before him left their marks behind them. It will be sad to leave this beautiful place on Friday morning, but as it always touches me when I drive away from the Campanillas and Almogia area, my heart will always be thankful that I was part of this world for even a little point in time. The magic will follow me home, as it does each time I leave, and stay with me as I continue my genealogical quest to fill in more limbs and leaves on my family tree. </div>
<br />Spanish Pearlshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02322463228017001158noreply@blogger.com0