The Magic of Barcelona

YES, BARCELONA IS MAGICAL ~

The words, pictures cannot describe, rattled in my head today because they truly cannot describe the wonder of Gaudí's buildings, the colors, the spires that look like someone decorated it with colored icing on a cake.  They can't describe the depth of the buildings or... That's just it.  It was distracting to see cranes above La Familia Sagrada, but my first sight of this glorious work of art when I turned around at the top of the stairs from the Metro was heart thumping.  It jumped out at me and snagged me by the throat.  My breath caught and I started grinning --- thinking of my granddaughter, Frankie Christina, and the longing she has to see this place.  I wish she'd been standing beside me to feel the thrill rumble through us.

I followed the crowds and backed up against a stone wall to gaze upward until my neck hurt.  People all around me were awestruck, as was I.  Tickets!  I needed one.  When I walked around the entire building to be told at 10:00 a.m. that tickets were available for 5:45 pm tonight, I was dismayed. For just a moment...because I have a lovely dinner date with friends at 7:30.  I will go back on Thursday at 2:30, because Thursday will be ALL Gaudí since my friend, Steven A. told me about Casa Mila.  And then I found Parque Güell.  On Thursday!

I found Casa Battló and just sat and gazed at the beauty from a bench among the trees and birds.  And Las Ramblas!  Trees arched above me in a canopy as I walked (rambled...) the length of this notable walkway where shops, cafes and people surrounded me.  I noticed there were a lot of loners like me, so I fit in with all the lovers, seniors, teens and sellers too.  Artists lined the paseo with pen and ink  or with colors.  Like Montemarte in Paris (only different).

 I was flagging by 11:30 and decided to have a sit down with coffee, but when I found a covered area where birds flit back and forth and people lingered at tables, I saw a woman with chocolate and churros.  Yes!  And it was my turn.

Afterward, I headed toward the Mediterranean where I knew a monument to Christopher Colon stood tall above the roundabout.  I couldn't stand back far enough without dancing in traffic to take a photo of the entire statue.  The immensity surprised me and I remembered there is also one in Huelva... he is everywhere in Spain.

By now, my legs were crying.  I needed a Metro station and food.  I found a great little cafe on a side street as I followed the Metro signs to take me back to my hotel.  They warmed up a sandwich for me para llevar (to go) and as I rounded another corner, I saw the signs to the Picasso museum.  Should I go?  I'd seen the exhibition in Madrid and how could any of them beat the Guernica?  Maybe I'd see the old man with the guitar painting on the front of the artwork for my book, Wine, Vines and Picasso?  Off I went.  And waited in line for 30 minutes but musicians had everyone dancing in line even though the sun was hot on our heads.  Once inside, there were so many Picasso paintings, my head ached and my eyes blurred.  No guitar man painting and by now my legs screamed louder and my bocadilla (sandwich) was getting cold.

After an early siesta, I was ready for my dinner date with Javier A. and his wife, Conchita.   He'd mentioned a nice long walk before dinner at Barrio Gótico near the 4 Gats (4 cats) Restaurant.   Even though I'd already walked nearly 13,000 steps today, I was in the magical mood of Barcelona once again.  And I won't even mention getting lost in the Metro...

When I first saw Javier and Concheta in the lobby of my hotel, we stumbled over our words a bit but with each minute, it was easier.  This is a man whom I've exchanged emails with over the years, a friend who has written books about Estepona history.  They were kind to invite me to dinner, but first a mini-tour of the antigua area of Barcelona that included two churches, a museum, narrow streets that made me feel like I was alone in another time warp.  He is evidently a photo aficionado because he kept taking photos of me in all the places they introduced me to... In and out of mazes and finally to the restaurant.

The Els Quatre Gats or less formally call the 4 Gats is a cafe that famously became a popular meeting place for famous artists throughout the modernist period, including Picasso and Casis.  The inside is decorated in time period, ornate and ageless; the food was good, live music and lots of noise, which made a struggling Spanish linguist have even more trouble than usual...

It was a delightful evening and on the way out, Conchita bought me a small poster of the popular painting that takes up one entire wall.  And once in the small alley-type street, she took a photo of me and Javier.

Goodbye Madrid, Hello Barcelona

Just because I'm a wordsmith, doesn't mean I always have the words.  Today is one of those days.

As I prepared to leave Mercedes Trascasas and her husband, Janero Costas in Madrid today, I felt a bit detached, worried about my train trip with all these (extra) bags and leaving my cousin.

What I had not prepared for was seeing both of them pull my bags down the street, hail a taxi for me and then hop into the car.  These sweet people not only treated me like a princess for a week, but they also led me out of their city every step of the way...with my bags.

When we passed a huge shop named Casa de la Malletas (house of suitcases) I pointed it out to Mercedes.  Her eyebrows shot up and she shook her finger, "No mas maletas..." and she laughed as she motioned that I already had a backpack on my back and a backpack purse on my chest.

When the taxi driver stopped at Atocha Estación, they didn't miss a beat...or let me pay for the taxi!  Janero pulled the big red (new) bag, Mercedes pulled my normal bag and I was swaddled in two backpacks.  Into the station and up to the security gate.  Nope, of course they couldn't go in with me.  After big hugs and kisses, they disappeared and this mountain of baggage was now my party.  It was probably the biggest challenge (except driving El Carro) and that challenge followed me down the ramp, into the train and then out again.  But of course, there was a nice gentleman on both ends, so I am not complaining.  I am just saying...TAKE ONE BAG AND STICK TO IT.

The AVE trains here in Spain are efficient, quiet, clean and comfortable.  Everything about the train trip was great and I complement the Spanish transit system with five stars.  Watching the vistas change from farmland to mountains, trees and small villages along the way made the time slide by.  And then of course I fell asleep off and on, only waking up when my head fell and it shook me awake. Hopefully, I didn't snore and if so, maybe others did too.  It was relaxing and fast traveling at 300 km per hour unless it slowed for a stop to drop off and pick up other travelers.  The Renfe trains are also efficient and not speedy like the AVE trains. During my stay in Spain I have traveled on both types of trains and the bus as well.  I have never been disappointed.

I had nearly three hours to contemplate my visit with my Trascasas cousin(s) and one of the highlights of the visit was the camaraderie that Mercedes and I had with one another.  She had so many papers with Spanish to English words and I had my little book.  On our car trip, both ways, she'd study hers and ask me and Janero questions and I studied mine.  I smile every time I think of our anxiety to learn the other's language and the help we gave to one another.  One of her favorites was "one moment."  I will always remember the lilt in her accent and her twinkling eyes when she knew she'd said the words correctly.  I will miss her.

AND THEN I WAS THRILLED TO ARRIVE IN BARCELONA.  The plan was for me to meet Cristóbal NP inside McDonalds.  He suggested two options.  I knew I'd recognize the yellow arches, so of course, I chose that one.  However, I'd only seen photos of him in a hat and when I got there, nobody had a hat on and I was stumped.  Rolling all the baggage into the place to look for him was impossible, so I planted myself at the door and that is where he found me.  When he and his son grabbed my bags, I was a happy girl again.

...UNTIL I REACHED THE ROOM I'D RENTED through Airbnb.  I flew into panic mode, Cristóbal soothed my feathers, fed me, made phone calls and nearly three hours later, I was in a nice hotel with his Barcelona map in my hand.  I shudder to think what would have happened if I'd taken a taxi and had been dropped off at this awful place with all my bags and... But enough.  All is well.  We had a good visit and big hugs.  I will be forever thankful to have him as a friend --- I've known him over the internet since 2009 as we are involved in the Hawaiian Spaniards transcriptions of ship manifests and finding Spanish relatives of descendants like me...This was our first personal meeting.  At last.  

And I met his nice son at the same time, which was a good idea as he was our translator.  Although I understood many of Cristóbal's words, we would have had trouble without young Cristóbal.  It ended up to be a wonderful day...  

Walking through Toro and Tortilla Española

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trascasas: The Lost Cousins and a Bodega

A reunion of cousins called TRASCASAS in the courtyard behind Mercedes and Jenaro's house in Toro today.  Mercedes made the plan and they came to meet their "lost cousin" from America.  I was touched through the heart with their humble welcome, smiles and kisses on both cheeks in the Spanish fashion, one that I have come to love in this country.  Each cousin I met had a special quality and personality that will cling to my memories in the days to come.  Each cousin was proud of their Trascasas heritage, as I am.
From left to right front: Josefa, me, Pilar, Mercedes
In back: Rafa, Domingo and Tomás.  One cousin was missing, Marcelina.  I hope to meet her tomorrow.

When Mercedes brought out my books, The Girl Immigrant and Historia de una niña emigrante translated by Consuelo Mellado from Madrid, the world seemed to change.  They were enthralled with the books, the story, our family tree and liked hearing about the Spain to Hawaii to California history.   We exchanged email addresses and I hope we stay in touch with one another.  I know that Mercedes Trascasas and I have struck a bond of friendship that is another gold bar to my heart.

BEFORE THE PARTY, Jenaro had taken me to his bodega (a small house he'd converted into his wine-making haven) where he wanted to get some of his home-made wine for the party.  When I saw the red door, I was enchanted.  When he showed me the inside, I could hardly believe it.  He'd managed to create a facility that was efficient and I liked seeing all the wine bottles both empty and filled with white wine (malvasia) and red wine (tinto de Toro).

Me:  Why don't you have your own wine label on your bottles?
Jenaro:  Oh, I just make it to enjoy.
Me:  I think you need a label.
Jenaro:  Oh?  He laughed.
Me:  I think a good name is Puerta Roja (Red Door) since your bodega has the beautiful door.
Jenaro:  I like it.
Who knows, maybe this kind man will actually have his own label and use my suggestion?  He seemed to like the idea and repeated it to others.  How fun that would be!

Behind their house is a very old granada (pomegranate) tree.  The debris and falling pieces make a terrible mess, so I helped them clean it up, sweeping, scrubbing, pulling a few weeds and generally getting ready for the family party to be held about 8:00 pm tonight.  The gardens are beautiful and Jenaro brought in several fresh artichokes.

And then we went shopping for today's meal and the party.  When I followed them into the carnecería (meat market), I was in for a surprise.  There were hams hanging all over the place, chorizo on one side hanging with signs telling me it was sweet or not.  And then another store where I saw garbanzos in a bag to buy by the pound (Fuentesaúco is the queen of garbanzo towns where my abuelita was from just 20 miles from Toro) and then another meat market.  Why?  Because the first one didn't have conejo (rabbit).  When Mercedes pointed to the rabbit she wanted, the woman took it onto the chopping block and bam, bam, bam with a knife the size of a machete and poof.  It was wrapped and we were walking out the door.  My head was still in a jingle.

When I told Mercedes about the document I had for my great grandmother's sister's baptism and that it listed the name of the street where the Trascasas family lived... on Calle Doctor Olivaras, Janero and Mercedes drove me there and I felt my heart flip.  

And then Janero drove us to el campo again where Mercedes created another big lunch called la comida.  This time it was conejo (rabbit) with arroz (rice) and mushrooms.  And again, it was delicious.    And again, when it was siesta time, I grabbed my green chair and Mercedes grabbed her pink one.  We snoozed in the shade for about an hour and then she began to read Historia de una niña emigrante.  She peppered me with questions and then told me it was very interesting.  I think she liked reading about her Trascasas ancestors in the story.   I spent time reading the book Jenaro bought for me today, which was a picture book about the history of Toro.

After the cousins left about 10:15, Mercedes turned to me and asked if I was tired?  No, not really. She grinned and asked if I wanted to walk into town?  Without a beat, I agreed.  Janeiro had left to watch the fútbal game where Real Madrid was playing and won!  On our way, we met him coming home again... so he turned around and bought us a glass of wine at the new favorite bodega bar called Casa del Cabildo.

Just before midnight, we walked back home after I told them if I didn't get back by midnight we would turn into pumpkins (yes, it took some translating to get that across to them).  I will certainly miss these gentle people, but my head was awhirl after all the Spanish during the family party and all I wanted was my bed.

Speechless in Toro

MY TORO ADVENTURE BEGINS...in a Mercedes-Benz

Toro is a small village northwest of Madrid.  Driving through the slightly mountainous roads, we passed granite walls, tree-lined carretera (highways) and over-the-top modern buildings along the way.  When we passed Escorial, Janero explained its importance and pointed to the tall cross behind a low stone building. 

I'd spent the morning with Janero in his office while Mercedes packed for our trip.  He showed me documents he was working on and when I realized it was Latin!

Me: You translate from Latin to Spanish?

Janero: sí - y Alaman, Francia también ( yes, Germán and French too)

Me: How many books have you translated?

Janero: he shrugs shoulders and reaches into book case.  He pulls six down to show me and looks for more. I am stunned.

Me: and you and Mercedes write books together also?

Janero: sí.  (He pulls three books showing both their names in the spines.) 

Me: I am grinning when I see them.

Janero gives me three more books - all written by Mercedes. 

Me: you BOTH translate documents from other languages?

Janero: sí.  We are both doctors of languages.

I promptly dropped into a chair.  I had no idea these two people were so accomplished.  I knew they'd been professors at the university in Salamanca and Madrid, but this?  They were very charming and down to earth and amiable with one another.  It is a happy home.

The trees began to thin just before they pointed out Segovia and the Roman aqueduct there.  Millions of stones stood lined up in property separation walls for miles.  And then I saw the road sign for Ávila and my mind flew back to my first visit to the walled city and I smiled.  It is a fabulous city, but I couldn't see it from the autopista (highway).

When Mercedes gave me a small plastic bottle with the image of a strawberry on the front, I had no idea what it was; liquid strawberry yogurt!!

I hope I can find them in America (Danon)

Farm country swelled around me and dropped us into acres of vineyards and bodegas until that was all I could see.  I started thinking about all the grapes surrounding me and my mouth went dry as I imagined the bottles of wine piled in their cellars.

We passed Medina del Campo where Queen Isabel died. 

And then Tordesillas where an important treaty was signed between Spain and Portugal giving legal claim to Portugal to be called Brazil.  When we crossed the rio Duero, I knew Toro was around the bend. When I saw the sign for Provincia de Zamora, I slipped inside my great grandma's head. (Eustoquia Rita Trascasas Marzo). 

They eagerly pointed to Toro on the far hill, Jenaro drove down those memorable narrow streets where his black Mercedes just fit between buildings on one side and parked cars on the other.  He let us out in front of a nondescript building with a beautiful door and we were inside.  

That was the second time I was speechless that day.  I can't begin to describe the house.  Three stories high, ceramic, burnished wood, brass hardware, more and more and more.  Then, Mercedes led me outside the back door and we were on a ceramic floor patio with a large tree overhanging part of the area to add sombra (shade).  A garden with tomatoes, artichokes, herbs, roses, and.... There was a small building behind I assumed was the neighbors house (two story) and at the far end of the garden, a glass walled room I also assumed was the neighbors on the side.  Nope.  It was all the same property.  Each door Mercedes opened to show me what was inside, my tried to keep up.

We were barely settled when they motioned we were leaving on foot into Toro, which was only a few steps from the main area.  I remembered how much I loved the little village, marveled at everything I saw and smiled when I saw the clock tower, the stone archway... They seemed to know everyone (she grew up here).  They were walking steadily and I found myself in front of San Julian (church) because that is where ancestral documents from Toro reside.  Closed for the day and it's Friday... She made some phone calls, dismayed and anxious to please me.

Back to the house across flowering parks, bright shops, sidewalks narrow enough for one person and we were home again.  Ten minutes later, we were in the car and inside their favorite grocery store.  Oh, I thought.  Revving up for our three days in Toro.  I found items on shelves I had to look up on my translation app.  When Jenaro saw me holding a small jar filled with skinny snake looking things, he thought I wanted it.  When my app told me it was eels, I nearly dropped the jar and said, "no, gracias."  

Back in the car, I realized we were going out of town.  Oh, I thought again (I am doing way too much thinking).  He wants to show me his little vineyard he's been talking about.  I knew he made his own wine and his face glowed when he spoke of "el campo."  Five minutes out of town after crossing rio Duero, he drove us down a little road and pointed out their "little white house."  Then he pointed out his "little vineyard."  Stupefied, I stared.  He got out to open the large grilled gates where I saw the little plaque reading, "La Casina" and we drove through.  I counted 32 plants of grapevines and 36 rows.  The house?  The swimming pool?    The patchwork quilt of colors spread over rolling hills toward Fuentesaúco (my grandmother's village)?  

And then Mercedes and Jenaro opened the trunk and began unloading the groceries.  What?  Yes, she made a huge meal, he proudly showed me the property, and she refused to let me help her do anything.  The cold potato salad had so many things in it, I can't list them all.  And we drank his home-made white wine and then it was siesta time.  What?  She pointed to lounge chairs and I picked one up and followed the little fairy-woman outside near the covered patio.  Yep.  She gave me a sun-shade hat and crawled on, pointing to me and mine.  Speechless again.

I didn't know that Jenaro took a photo of us lazing in our chairs until I got wifi and heard the ping... it was so peaceful!

We spent the rest of the day there in that tranquil place, chatting about our shared ancestry, making lists so she can help me possibly find the Marzo side of mine and sipped tinto verano wine.  Jenaro mowed the lawn and walked through his vineyard, finding innumerable things to do after being gone a month from his little farm.  Little?  Hardly.

At 9:00, we drove back to Toro and I was so moved when I looked up toward the cliff that holds the village, my eyes grew misty.  When I'd been there five years ago with my brother, I'd seen a small house with a fenced in courtyard for sale.  I thought of it then, daydreaming that I was thirty years younger, buying the house and seeing out my days in Toro.  (Yes, I am quite fanciful at times).  

I was jerked out of my reverie by Jenaro's next words, "Now we change cars."  He smiled at me from the rear-view mirror.  

Me: "What? Change cars?"  

Mercedes laughed.  

Janeiro:  "We change the rich car for the poor car."  

The side of a building rolled up and we drove inside.  He parked the Mercedes and got into a cream-colored Peugeot.  I continue to marvel at each moment I spend with these charming people.

When I saw the tower, I told them the little house I fell in love with was nearby.  When I recognized it as he drove by, my mouth dropped open.  It is still for sale and it's owned by one of Mercedes' friends.  Small world.

Back at the house again and they ask me if I'm tired?  It is now 9:20 pm.  

Mercedes is grinning at me.  

"No."

Mercedes:  "We walk to eat?"

Me: "Sí."

She sits on the red couch in the beautiful sitting room as the grilled window cover is open and I feel a nice breeze floating in around us.  I am ready, but she is looking through the little phone book trying to find my Marzo relatives (if they are here in Toro still).  No one answers the phone numbers (two).  I think, Jenaro must be taking a shower and we are waiting for him?  Overthinking again because all of a sudden, Mercedes jumps up, grabs my hand and leads me to the front door.  I listen for Jenaro and she opens the door and begins to close it behind us as we step into the narrow, cobblestone street.

Mercedes:  "No, he is (somewhere). I can't follow her words.

Me:  I follow after her like a little puppy.

Mercedes is on the phone and within a minute, Jenaro steps out of a doorway where he's visiting with friends and he leads us toward the bell tower that is now lit up and beckoning.  I'm back in the area I fell in love with five years ago and my eyes swing into all the little alcoves and shops.  When we walk past the plaza mayor and into a street that was nothing before, I see it is now filled with tables and chairs beside a lively restaurant.  

Shish kabobs, red Toro wine, bread and chorizo fill the table.  A friend sits down (Fernando) to share our food and chatter.  By now, I am overwhelmed with the day and the shocks to my system.  The wind picks up and Mercedes introduces me as "the lost cousin" to everyone she meets.  They have so many friends here and the village seems to embrace them, even me.

As we wind our way back toward home, I see the little garden that announces T O R O in green plantings.  Mercedes steers me toward the rock pathway in the opposite direction and I see that Fernando is still with us.  Janero leads us into a small bodega with Toro wines lined up like dominos on the shelve along the long wall.  Another glass of Toro wine, he asks me?  But, of course, I answer.  

It is now almost midnight.

I am inside a house with three floors, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a large office with photos covering one wall that includes one of Jenaro meeting the queen of Spain, a large sitting room on two floors, a huge foyer that is as large as one of my bedrooms at home, a mother-in-law cottage with two floors, a garden, patio and a large outdoor kitchen room with a fireplace and sink (an apartment really).  Am I still overwhelmed?  Yes.

Meeting Consuelo, Picasso's Guernica and FLAMENCO SHOES

Mercedes welcomed me awake today with desayuno (breakfast) of toast and fresh-made tomato spread.  She taught me how I can make this myself and I am glad of it because it's become a special breakfast for me!   She peeled the tomatoes on one side and then grated it into a small bowl. Easy.  And I have a jar of this stuff pushed into my luggage to bring home with me because I imagined it was too difficult to figure out how to make it.  I love learning new things... 

We had an enjoyable time at the table as she helps me pronounce Spanish words and when she stumbles of an English word, I help her.  Lots of laughter here.

Mercedes and I walked to Café Tambor and I finally met the woman who translated The Girl Immigrant into the Spanish version, Historia de una niña emigrante: Consuelo M.  She is the former professor at Colegio Agustiniano in Madrid - a very delightful woman who made friends with Mercedes and Jenaro.  It was such fun connecting them to one another.  We talked for over an hour and complemented one another; me for writing the book and she for translating it so nicely.  It is always nice to put a face with a name when you work closely on an important project such as this one.

I was able to update my blog post yesterday but alas!  Not in time for the email alert to go out, so if anyone wants to read it, just go to the main blog page to find it... The link below is from my blog post in January 2013 when Mercedes first "found" me.  I am still reeling from the serendipitous event.  http://patriciasteele.blogspot.com.es/2013/01/cousins-reaching-us-from-spain.html

Afterward, Jenaro and Mercedes and I walked to the Metro station because I wanted to visit Pablo Picasso's famous Civil War painting, Guernica, at the Museo Reina Sofía.  While I was on the Metro, I saw people dressed quite fashionably while others had holes in pants, blouses etc., which I guess is now the mod.  When I saw a man open what I thought was a pill box and place an oblong pill in his mouth, I was surprised.  But when he pulled out paper and tobacco and rolled a cigarette in front of me... he used the little white thing as a filter Jenaro explained to me... I stared.  He licked the long edge to seal it and then wedged it behind his ear.  Hmmm, of course: no smoking on the train.

Most of Picasso's paintings are not pleasant to me and this was one of them, but it made a visual statement that is so important...painted in 1937.  To add to the element of understanding, the museum had many narratives to explain different views on the painting and it gave me an insight that made a massive difference in my thoughts about it.  The painting, then, was so emotional, I couldn't study it anymore.  

When we walked away from there, Jenaro treated us to a cold drink and he again suggested I have a beer, so I complied.  Not sure about it still...not like tinto verano or Ribera del Duero red wine... but there were four ladies sitting on a bench across from us who kept staring and whispering about us.  Did they think my polka dot dress too garish?  Did they think I shouldn't be drinking beer?  Did they know I was American and was stumbling over my Spanish?  What...?  Had to take a photo.

She cooks a very large meal in the middle of the day and she's a great cook.  I can't stop eating her food.  Garbanzo soup, garbanzo salad with tiny chopped tomatoes, onions and green somethings mixed with oil and vinegar... and then chicken flattened down to about 1/4" and fried gently.  Oh, then we have Bing cherries for dessert and oh...some of Jenaro's home-made wine from Toro.  YUM...

And then it was time for a siesta.  My cousin tells me this is very important and even though I lay down thinking I will pass the time while they rest, I always fall asleep... so I may continue that nice event when I get home again...

Mercedes knows the story about my wandering and lost flamenco shoes in Estepona.  She was determined that I get a pair, so we left Jenaro home and headed for the Metro station again about 7:00 pm.  It was still warm as if I was at the beach at the Costa del Sol.  The streets were filled with people and again, I saw some interesting sights.  Beneath the city while we waited for the Metro station, I spied a young man using his guitar case for a stool... and then once on the Metro, I was startled by the fancy clothes and shoes once again.  Madrid is a city to remember and I'm told there are about four million inhabitants.  Wow...

When we walked past all the jostling people in the main square, we found our way across several streets and past entertainers every few feet trying to earn money.  Balancing acts, comic-people dressed up (hotter than hades in there I'm sure) and a huge group of people with placards and anger... several police cars were assembled on the square and watching it closely.  I clung to Mercedes like glue, glad she wore a bright orange shirt to recognize.  All I needed was to get lost in that throng of people.

AND THEN I SAW THEM.... She'd steered me into a flamenco store called Maty's.  When I stood next to the rows of flamenco dresses, they threw my mind back to the féria in Seville where I'd worn the flamenco dress and a red flower in my hair.  These fit like a well-worn glove.   They aren't the black flamenco shoes with the red Cuban heels... but they are now mine.  The red shawl?  Well por supuesto (of course) I needed that for my flamenco dress, didn't I?

FRIDAY we go to Toro, the ancestral village of my Trascasas cousins.  Mercedes and Jenaro have a second home there and we plan to be there until Sunday night.  Unsure about wifi opportunity.  The village is one I have always longed to return to.  I can hardly wait to walk through the clock-tower entrance, see the valley from the bluff near the immense church and be part of my great-grandmother's homeland again.  And meet all the cousins at a family (food) reunion.  I'm pumped.