A CALLIE Wig

As many of you know, Callie is my main character in the Callinda Beauvais Series (fiction) and I am in Spain researching to write book #4.  When my brother's girlfriend (Christine) told me she wears different wigs to be "different people" and all her wigs have names, I smiled.  When she said one of her wigs was named "Callie" --- well I took notice.  Tonight is their last night in Calahonda and we decided to BE different girls.... and I am Callie tonight... EXCEPT MY Callie has dark hair with a silver streak in her bangs...but just for tonight, I was Callie in her younger days....but at the end of the day I like my silver hair best.

It was a lazy day.  My brother Rick and his son Chad and fiancé Cess left early.  Steven and Christine went shopping along the Costa del Sol and I lazed around the house.  The floors are clean, the laundry is washed and hung on the "dryer" on the patio and dried FAST.  Then, I read my Tales of the Alhambra until Steven and Christine returned.

A glass of wine, good conversation and one thing led to another with wig conversations.  We were going to walk down the Avenida de España to eat dinner at the TapaVino restaurant and we decided to go incognito.  Christine is Gabriella and I am Callie.  What fun.  Life is good.
Tomorrow all the family disappears and I am alone again... But wait!  I am going to Malaga to the Ciudad de la Justice to find ancestral documents...no lazing around for me two days in a row!!!

A Day with Documentary Amigos

An early day for El Carro as he sped from Calahonda toward Malaga and took me toward Benagjlbón.  The GPS was kind even though I was sure it was acting up again as the exit guided me up hills I didn't remember that Miguel Alba had taken me several weeks ago.  I had my coordinates right -- I was meeting Miguel, Eterio, German, Ruben and Paula at 9:30 a.m. at the Iglesia de la Candeleria.  I arrived very early because I did not want to be late...even though I've been told Spanish time is stretchy.  That is one of the Spanish rules that I refuse to accept.  Everyone was on time!

Ruben had his audio microphone and German had his camera, bags, extensions and they were very organized.  Eterio directed me and Miguel to "walk" up and down several beautiful, narrow streets lined with bright flowers in pots.  They dangled over walls, on the edge of houses and across alleyways.  Then, we went to the Museo Municipal de Artes Populares across from La Candeleria Restaurant.  The room was filled with antiquities of Benagalbón including old photographs.  One particular framed photo reminded me of my grandfather Bernardo RUIZ Romero.  Could it be his father, Francisco RUIZ Garcia, I wondered.  Within a few minutes Miguel Alba brought in a lady with pretty silver hair named Candeleria...who told us this man was Antonio Arias, no relation to my Ruiz family.

The crew filmed me walking through the museum several times, once talking, pointing and exploring and again without talking.  And again...in specific areas.  Afterward, Miguel explained several pieces of antiques to me involved in the sugar plantation history of our families.  I learned several more facts about the ship manifest I am anxious to share with Steven A. in Sacramento and discuss it also with Cristóbal in Barcelona.

Candeleria (the pretty woman with the silver hair) offered us the use of her patio and house for the next two filming venues.  What fun.  Writing in my notebook outside and then typing on my laptop inside, gazing, thinking and reading my reflections on Spain as Eterio suggested.   The flowers in the patio were bursting with blooms, the view across the valley showed trees and vineyards.  It was a perfect way to include this part of the documentary in the film.  Ruben and German set up both areas with precision while Eterio directed my actions.  And Paula translated for me when I needed it.  The entire crew is professional and funny and thoughtful and nice.  I will miss seeing them.

A stop at La Candeleria Restaurant for a cold drink and then, Miguel drove us up a very winding road toward Moclinejo where a bodega would be another filming venue for us.  But first, la comida in the restaurant in the main square in front of the ayuntamiento.  Menu del día was perfecto as was the conversation around the table.  Paula helped with translation and I stumbled through the rest of it.

Walking from the restaurant to the bodega was eye candy with the flowers, elaborately decorated houses, deep stairwells and curving streets.  This little town was nearly lost in the mountains and yet the character was so Spanish, I felt the ambiance seep into me as the white houses tightly embraced the cobblestoned streets (and me).

Juan Muñoz is the grandson of the Muñoz Bodega and happily explained the wines, the history and opened his small museum to us.  There is a large olla jar said to be from the 1500s with a small inscription showing it once belonged to a sephardic Jew.  The bodega was clean, organized and very neat.  After a lot of conversation and laughter, silly photos and setting up by German and Ruben, it was time to film.  Juan showed us the casks of wine in two areas.

The filming area was viewing brandy aged from 1974.  Over forty-year-old brandy?  Yes, I could do that.  The first take was nice, but we didn't have the positioning quite right.  Then the second take was talking a bit more but holding the glass by the stem so the film can see the wine in the glass.  The third take was more discussion.  The fourth take was comparing (me) the brandy to the red wine I usually drank.  Oops, we started too soon and made a mistake.  Juan leaned down to the grate in the floor and dumped my glass of brandy.  Yikes.  Forty year old brandy???  By now, I had swirled, smelled, stared at and drank four small glasses of this superb, very smooth brandy.  What?  We needed one more take?  Yes, of course I will do take number five.  Oh, I don't have to actually drink it if it's going to my head?  Take five went down smoother than one, two, three and four.

When I saw the wine casks over a hundred years old still being used like yesterday, I would have liked to take one home with me.  But by the time I had 5 "takes" of drinking that aged brandy I wouldn't have been able to find the barrel even if I'd stuffed it into my pocket.  Thank goodness Miguel was driving my car back down the mountain.  Walking up the lanes back to the car, we saw steps, flowers, more beautiful houses and I found seat along the way for a photo.  (as always)

These steps had pieces of colored ceramic tiles embedded in the front of each one.  Miguel told me it was similar to what I will see when I get to Barcelona.  The close up is the front of the bottom step.  The light fixtures at the entrance from the street surely reminded me of Antonio Gaudi's designs.

What?  One more filming session.  But of course I would do it.  This time at the Malaga puerto (port) where the Heliopolis immigrant ship was boarded and sailed from in 1907 with my great, great Aunt Dolores "Glory" RUIZ Garcia and her family.  Eterio wanted me to gaze at the cruise ship and ponder, reflect.

When Eterio and German showed me the video afterward, I was enthralled with their hard work and will be anxious for the final documentary next year.  In the meantime, they are planning a trip to Hawaii and California to film others like me: descendants of other Hawaiian Spaniards.  And I hope to meet them in California when the crew arrives near Sacramento this fall.

The excitement of filming was memorable and so are my new friends, everyone in the filming crew.  I already miss their quick smiles and exuberance.

Smurfed in Spain

 The little blue Smurfs were waiting and I am glad I wasn't traveling there alone! Juzcar is a village in Spain, high in the mountains below Ronda where the Smurf's movie was filmed. Today we walked along the narrow, curving streets and said hello.  I am not good at parking on a slanted street and had a tiny panic attack but my brother Rick and nephew Chad talked me down and we were soon walking the streets of this village I'd only read about.  Wow.  Blue houses everywhere.  Ravines so deep I wondered what would happen if someone slipped down the slope.  Could anyone stop themselves from falling a mile into water somewhere?  We could hear the trickle of a stream.  It was a narrow, serpentine lonely road getting there once we left the 400 curves toward Ronda.

At the first sight of blue houses, we were children again watching the Smurfs on television  Once in the village, we walked up and down the cemented streets marveling at the Smurfs sitting in windows, on ledges, above restaurant boards and in the city square.  When we found Smurfette inside a small square next to the church, we were enamored with the girl and stopped for photos.  And when I saw amapolas blooming at the top of the ravine (poppies), I leaned over the barrier to take a photo.

 THEN, we found a cafe and ate tapas, salad and finished with cafe con leche.  It was a whimsical day and sharing it with brother Rick,  Chad and Cess was great fun.  Our brother Steven and Christine took the other road to Antequera and Almogia.

When we saw the "stairs to nowhere, we thought it was time to go...

Then we drove another few miles to the cliff-side town of Ronda!  I'd told them about Ernest Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls and the Nationalists pushing the government employees over the cliff in Ronda...of course, that was our next stop.  We followed the pink artistica signs toward the main thoroughfare and parked.  I took photos of each street corner like dropping cookie crumbs to find our way back just as I've done a few times since arriving in a strange area of Spain.

Before long, we were at the Plaza de Toros, the overlook, the Nuevo Bridge and the underneath area of the bridge at the interpretive museum.  Seeing the steps taken to build and preserve the new bridge between old Ronda and the new area was fascinating.  Chad and Cess wanted to walk down below and we'd followed (Rick and I) to the area near the deep, downward steps.  Did I really want to walk all the way down to the bottom of the ravine?

Me:  Ok, Rick...you have a choice.  Walk down all the way with the kids or find a table in the square and have a glass of wine?
Rick:  Wine
Me:  Ok, kids, see you in a bit.
Chad and Cess:  We will be back in 45 minutes
Me and Rick:  Perfecto

Rick and I found El Campillo Bar Restaurant, sat underneath an umbrella and listened to the music of a guitarist in the square.  When the waiter asked if we wanted to eat, I said, "vino de Ronda" and we sat with olives, bread and red wine as we watched people around us.  When a large delivery truck drew up to the square, it stopped.  We watched the men exchange hand signals, our waiter walked over to a table near us, dropped down the umbrella at the patron's table, the truck was able to slide by and then the umbrella went up again.  No horns.  No frustrations.  Calm acceptance.  It was nice to see.  This happened three times while we sat there with our wine and we smiled at the relaxed attitude of everyone involved.

Chad and Cess returned sooner than they'd promised, out of breath and happy to have a chair beside us.  After more wine and salad and shrimp, they felt better and we were on our way again.  We had a third event to make haste.  We were meeting another cousin in Campanillas at 6:30.  We found a dulce (sweet) shop on our walk back to the car and I found Yemas for Patricia so I had to buy them of course.  A table stretched across the width of the shop was covered with sweets, fresh and open.  No plastic covering and barely fitting across the expanse...

I filled El Carro up with gas and didn't learn until later than they'd charged me $96.00 plus the correct $43.00 for the fill up.  Another problem to fix when I return home...

My faithful GPS brought us a different way from Ronda (less curves) to Campanillas and we found Encarna's house, her girls (Encarni and Natalia) and off we walked to a cafeteria.  But alas!  No wine.  They only served beer.  So after complicated deliberation...we moved to another bar a block away.  Sangria all around and tapas plates with salami, bread and cheese.  Much better.  But no dinner...  We chatted for over an hour and discussed (in Spanish of course) everything from family history to their language before we left them to find dinner.

We needed to eat --- Venta Gloria, our cousin's restaurant near Los Nuñez, was the logical choice.  We always receive great service from Andres, a big smile from Paco the bartender and hugs from the owner, Pedro.  What a surprise to find Lyn M. and her guests there eating dinner too.  Lovely.  By now, the day was running late, we were all getting tired, the food was wonderful including paella, boquerones, salad and wine...

After Pedro chatted with us (promising to visit us in America within five years) and some of us had dessert, Andres brought two bottles of something with very small glasses.  Andres told us we must drink it down in one gulp.  What?  Steven sipped and the face he made didn't  invite any of us to taste it.  Andres again made the hand signals to drink in one fell swoop.  So, he poured all of us a drink and up are arms we went.  One gulp.  It was delicious and I have no idea what it was other than his Spanish and my photo of the label.

Now, at home again, we are all exhausted and preparing for tomorrow.  Me to Benagallbón to meet Eterio and Miguel for the last documentary filming session and my family will drive off to a new adventure.

Getting Smurfed in Juzcar, listening to guitar music over a glass of wine in Ronda, meeting Encarna and the girls in Campanillas and later, meeting everyone at Venta Gloria Restaurant was again --- very special.

A Day with my brother, Rick

Over the years, it's been difficult to find brother-sister time with my brother Richard, aka Rick.  I've been the gypsy nomad in our family off and on since 1968.  My brothers stuck around Oregon while I was off to California, Ohio, Virginia and now Arizona.  So, finding quality time with my brother has been difficult.  Today, we changed that and it was a blessing to both of us.

I know only one way in to Fuengirola, the largest town near me on the Costa del Sol.  No matter where I go in the town, I always drive the same route... and today, I told Rick as long as we follow the Bioparc signs and then find the Plaza del Toros, I won't get lost.  And we did it!

First, cafe con leche at my favorite little cafe near the oficina turisimo (tourist office).  I remembered how to use the parking kiosk.  I lost my Fuengirola map on the bus a few days ago, so once we had that in hand, we meandered toward the beach... stopping in shops.  I wanted to look for a black blouse with a ruffle and Rick wanted to find his wife a gift from Spain.  I've nearly given up on the black blouse...maybe it's lost in a shop somewhere with my flamenco shoes.

We walked all the way from the cafe to the beach...stopping in shops along the way.  Rick is such a good sport.  How many men would wander in with a woman to check out the blouses looking for that elusive black one on my mind?  We were alike in our interest of the buildings, shops, people, cobblestone streets, turquoise sea with white crested waves roaring toward us.

When I spied a chiringuito restaurant on the beach with the espeto boat beside it, I shouldered Rick toward it.  We sat on the terrace with the sounds of the sea in our ears and a gentle breeze blowing against the straw/grass umbrellas on the hamacas in the sand below us.  Rick asked me to order la comida since he thinks I'm one of the Spanish locals now (smile).  So, salad, shrimp patties and deep fried fish balls (did that sound right?)  Ensalada mixta, tortillitos de camerones and pescado de adobo.  With sangria of course.  It was a long, leisure lunch brought in stages.  The waiters were obliging.  The food was good.  The sangria was chilled.  And we talked and talked and talked.

Once lunch was over, (he treated me) we knew it was time to go back for the car.  Our parking ticket was expiring and our plan was to move the car to the beach and spread ourselves on the sand.  Good thing I got a map since neither one of us remembered the street we'd walked down.  Talk about country kids going to the city...  Once we figured that out, we were in the car and driving El Carro toward the water.  A parking place?  Huh...where to go?  I found a spot and pulled in.

Me:  What are those blue broken lines in the parking spaces for?  I don't think we can park here.
Rick:  Well, there's one car here.  Why can't we park here?
Me:  Why don't you go ask that man in the cafe there...Ask if it's a problem to park here?
Rick:  Me?  You're kidding.  You're the one who speaks Spanish.
Me:  (to man across the way while I point toward El Carro)  Puedo poner mi coche allí? (Can I put my car there?)
Spanish Man:  *&*%$%&*))*^$#$^&)  (pointing south along street)  "...dos minutos" (two minutes).
Me:  (hmmmmmmm...) gracias (like I knew what he said)  I walked back to the car.
Rick:  Well?
Me:  I think we need a parking ticket and there's a kiosk two minutes down the street.  (I walk away and find a parking area that lists one hour of parking for 4 euros --- too much) and head back to car.
Rick:  Well?
Me:  I think there was some confusion (I ignore Rick's look) and drive El Carro down the street.

We find a spot and I spy a kiosk to buy a parking ticket.  (yay!)  When I put in coins, get my parking ticket and put it on the dash, we grab our swimsuits and head toward the chiringuito again since there are hamacas to rent next to it in the sand.
Me:  Our ticket says we can park here until 6:30.

The Mediterranean waits.  We change in the bathroom of the chiringuito restaurant.  We learn we will save 10 euros on renting two hamacas with an umbrella because we ate a meal there!  Within minutes, Rick finds us a spot right in the front row.  The waves crash around us and we stare up into the bright blue sky.  Ah, perfecto.

At 4:30, I've been snoozing a bit and I remember my friend, R, telling me how easy it is to figure out this 24 hour time because it's military time.  Huh.  Wait a minute, I think.  16:35 isn't 6:30 -- it's 4:30!  I jumped up (Rick was asleep) and count my coins to race to the car to get another parking pass for the car.  I'm barefoot because my sandals have ridden blisters on both feet.  The sidewalk is hot.  The road is hot.  The car is hot.  But we don't have a ticket from the ticket police, so I am happy.  I nearly run back to the sand.  It's hot too...
When I get settled again, I fall asleep and I'm rudely awakened by a woman's voice above me.

Asian woman: Mesaje?  Mesaje? Message?
Me: (groggy)  "What?"
Asian woman:  Mesaje?
When I don't answer immediately, she grabs my leg.  Now I am definitely awake.  When I realize she is asking me if I want a massage there on the beach, I say "no, gracias."
Asian woman:  she now moves to the end of my hamaca and grabs both my feet.
I sit up quickly and shake my head.  "No, gracias." I repeat.  (three times)
Asian woman:  Hummmmmmfff and walks away.
Strange encounter.  As she walks away, I wonder...maybe a massage is exactly what I need.

Rick slept through it all (smile)

It was a long, very nice day with my brother.
One that I will remember a long while.
And it took us so many years to find the time.
In Spain.
Life is full of surprises.

Tomorrow:  Juzcar - the Smurf village up in the mountains! http://www.andalucia.com/province/malaga/juzcar/home.htm

Sharing more than a Beach Towel

Today is Sunday.  Two cars.  Six people.  Three friends.  A chiringuito in Malaga.  And the Beach.
By now, those of you who follow my blog will know that a chiringuito is actually a restaurant and sometimes a tapas bar "on the beach" where you can let the sand sift through your toes while you eat. It is always a special place and first introduced to me by my amiga, Rina, during her recent visit with me.  I love chiringuitos because they are open to the elements, have umbrellas above our heads, I can hear the Mediterranean surf and everyone seems happy to be there.  Me too.

Paco Rosa and his daughters (Encarni and Natalia) from Fresneda (near Los Nuñez) invited us to share la comida, the biggest meal of the day, with them at the beach in Malaga.  When they said it was a chiringuito, my eyes must have lit up because both young women clapped their hands with delight and the plan was made.

This afternoon, while following them through the streets of Malaga (what fun dodging cars and keeping them in our sights)...I named Encarni "pied de plomo"  (lead foot or heavy foot).  She thought it was wildly funny when she heard me call her that once we stopped at Merendero Litoral on the beach.  The guys at the chiringuito all seemed to know these girls.  They'd reserved a table under the umbrellas and it's a good thing as there was a crowd inside, outside and beyond the umbrellas.

There were topless bathers, children without pants at all and others lazing on the sand.  One little boy about four or five pulled down his swimsuit in front of the surf and tried to pick out pieces of sand from his trunks.  Good luck with that.  He gave up, pulled them up again and jumped into the water.

I saw the little row boat filled with olive wood burning coals with espetos (sticks like shish kabobs) filled with several kinds of fish.  The "cook" was dripping sweat, red faced and smiling.  There were sardinas (sardines), calimari and other fish I did not recognize.  I did not know what kind of fish our table ordered.  I wanted langostinos al pil pil (giant prawns in garlic oil still bubbling hot when it was delivered...yum).  First, a huge salad, then plates of paella, deep fried gambas (shrimp) and then a large platter of...calimari.
Yes, I tried the sardinas again and ate three, like I did when Miguel Alba  took me to the beach a few weeks ago in Rincon de la Victoria.  I gingerly removed the head with my fork and then picked the fish apart, slipping my knife in between the meat and the bone, literally eviscerating the poor thing.  I think I ate about one tablespoon of fish and it was good, but..... No, I still did not like them.  Then, I took a slice of the calimari and no, it is not for me.  I ate my langostino, bites of salad and tasted everyone's plate...but no calimari or sardinas for me, thank you.

And there were pitchers of tinto verano and dessert of crema catalana which is close to creme brûlée  (dessert was on the table for anyone who wonders).  When we started to get up and took out towels for the beach, Paco pointed to our chairs..."sientete" (sit down) and a bottle was brought to the table with tiny plastic cups.  Liqueur de Herbieras (limoncello).  We all stood up, made a toast/salud and he wanted us to drink it down in one gulp.  I had trouble, but followed the crowd...

Then it was time for the beach.  The sea was roiling and Chad and the young women with Cess were in the water quicker than I could lay out my towel.  Steven followed and so did Christine.  Paco and Rick took photos.  Me?  I sat on my towel, thinking I wouldn't get in.  But I did.

When Rick asked if he could share my towel, of course.  Always room for a brother, right?  Sharing the day with my family and friends was perfect.  We watched the young people play, Chad swam like a fish and his water play antics entertained us for a long while.  Rick got up, I laid down and was lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves a few feet in front of me.  The group all together was too wonderful to ignore and I knew we were all sharing more than a beach towel.

It reminded me of the beach trip a few days ago in Calahonda when I wrote a few words during the special time together:

Sitting on the sands at Luna Beach alone was therapeutic in the early days of my sabbatical.  
Today, with my two brothers, my nephew and girlfriends added a new dimension to the beach time.
The waves were languid.
The sounds were musical enchantment
The sand was littered with tiny rocks, sea glass and sparkles
Peace permeated the day
No longer alone, the rush of familial camaraderie filled me up.
I came to find my ancestral family among old documents, dust and distant cousins.
And my brothers came to find me.
Life is indeed sweet