Spain: Home of Ham and Quite a Few Characters

Hola Beautiful World!

Spain has been truckfulls of fun, not to mention the cool new comidas we can try. Today was sweltering. At the beginning of the day I felt like a juicy grape, but, because of the near 100 degree weather, I feel like a raisin.

Because of the heat today, we were surprised to see Spiderman walking around the Plaza Mayor. But this was no ordinary Spiderman. This one was about 200 pounds heavier, his costume was too small, and he smoked cigarettes. What happened to good old Toby McGuire? Also, I don't remember Spiderman asking people to pay him for a photo with him. I think the only tips he got today were to lay off on the smoke and to eat some weight watchers.

Well, we're off for a paella (pie-ay-yuh) dinner that we all are super-psyched to go to! Adios muchachos! -K

One Giant Asador

Hola Mundo!
It's B, writing for the first time this vacation.
One of our faithful readers has kindfully advised me that I have been one of the members of the family absent from the blog to this point. It's not that I haven't enjoyed myself, it's that I simply lack the effort and mental capacity to write on a daily basis. I felt it was time I made an appearance.

Here in Castille y Leon, the central province in Spain, the most popular restaurants are asadores. An asador is a roast house, usually specializing in jamon, the national food. You order the vegetarian meal, and they throw some jamon on it. The jamon is great, but it is used so frequently in meals that it loses its specialty. It is no longer a special kind of ham, and is a staple of all meals.

And let me tell you, Castille y Leon is an asador by itself, hence the title. The temperatures here are roasting (no pun intended), and it's almost 100 degrees. But we're lucky it's a dry heat, and there is a 15 degree temperature difference between the sun and the shade. But, we have to walk to all corners of Madrid, so it's still hot even in the shade.

At yesterday's lunch, we experienced a moment of Spanish failure from Dad. Dad was lacking a spoon, and right after we received our food dad attempted to ask for one:
D: "Necesito un otro sopapillo, por favor"
M: "It's a good thing you were waving the spoon."
Dad, thinking he knows spanish best (he doesnt. that's my job), unintentionally asked for a fried Mexican pastry. Whoops. As M astutely noted, thank god he was waving the spoon. The waiter did understand, and dad did receive his spoon nonetheless. As someone who knew exactly what was happening, it was extremely comical, and I'm certain dad will ask for a cuchara (the real spanish word for spoon) the next time he finds himself in need of one.
Hasta la vista!
-B

Los pajaritos de Segovia

Segovia at nightfall. A light, dry wind from the northwest.

Dinner outdoors at 9-11 pm, under the 2,000 year old Roman Aqueduct. Roasted baby pig, lamb and veal, at Meson Candido, with a bit of Navarran rose wine and some salad.

M rhapsodic about her white jeans from the local store. K angling for ice cream (helado) afterwards. B using his Spanish to maximum effect.

And everyone laughing at the bird dropping on my shirt. Que lastima.

Dad

Some Thoughts from the Day

Today we drove all over the place. Here are some of the shining moments we had.

1. This conversation

K: What are we doing?

Dad: Driving up a hill.

B: Are we getting out?

M: Will there be a mall?

K: Is this the beach?

Mom: Be quiet!

B: Oh no...it's a winery!!!

BMK: AAAAAAAAHHHH!! NOOOOO!

2. I was using the restroom in the restaurant at dinner and didn't realize the lightswitch was outside the bathroom. I went inside, closed the door, and fumbled around for a switch in the dark. I found the light switch string hanging from the ceiling. "Aha!" I said, and pulled it. The toilet flushed.

3. K goes, "Awwww! That is such a cute dog!!!". He goes to pet it until B pushes him out of the way: "Dude. That's a stray." (Side note: dog was light brown but dirt caused it to be black.)

4. BMK getting hypothermia at the beach because we didn't have towels, I dried myself off with TP. Yes. It was that bad.

We head to Segovia tomorrow, and now I have to go to bed. Grr. Buenas noches, amigos!

-M.

You say Txakoli, I say Cha-Kol-ee

A great day in Basque Country.

Swerving at breakneck speeds over narrow 18th century lanes, feeling like a Spanish version of "The Dukes of Hazzard", with Mom playing the role of Daisy Duke.

One of our country lane excursions was to the top of a mountain in Mendaxa, perched over the Bay of Biscay, to pop in to a winery, Bodegas Gurrutxaga. Our trip to the bodega only required 2 stops for directions, one over-shoot of the driveway, and a slightly carsick family. We sauntered in, and Jose, the winemaker/owner was completely cool.

He welcomed us into the tank room, popped open a bottle of their Rose Txakoli (a mix of Basque grape varities), and poured glasses for us, while chatting in Castillian about alcohol levels, the number of botellas that he sells to the States every year, etc. Band I fumbled about in Spanish for about 1/2 an hour with Jose, loosely translating for Mom, when we understood enough of what Jose was saying. He mentioned that the wine writer for the NY Times had visited 2 days ago. We told him that if he gets a good review, he better start making more wine to address the increased demand. He shrugged and said he'd make do, and that he would not increase his prices. His prices, by the way - we bought 2 whites and a rose - 15 euros total. Awesome!!!! And, in my view, the white is even better than the rose.

As we thanked him profusely, and wandered back to the car, where M and K had been glowering for 1/2 an hour, we thanked him for being so patient with our Spanish. He responded that he could have spoken English with us, because his father in law lived in the US for 20 years. We gaped at him, shook his hand, and moved on down the road. Probably the only unexpected visitors that he will have this week - if not this month - until the Times writes that Jose is making some kick-butt Txakoli up there in Mendexa, in the misty, mountainous Basque outback. Then, the crowds will show up...

If you want some of this great Basque wine, go to the website of 56 Degrees in Bernardsville, NJ - they have some in stock, I think.

Dad

Victory in Hearts

So here I am, in a hotel room, perched on a cliff with a majestic view of the Bay of Biscay on the Basque Coast in Spain.

I am muy estatic (I am speaking Spanglish, which M may have described in one of her earlier posts) after my victory in a family round of the card game hearts that followed an amazing dinner at the Chateau that we stayed in in Bordeaux (bored- oh) last night. As I like to say, I wasn't BORED EAUXT of my mind. Haha. Anyway. Hearts. Victory. Right.

The reason I won is because I "shot the moon." In other words, I got every single point, and when that happens, you can subtract 26 points from your score or-- you know what? Anyone who is reading this must have possesion of a computer, so look it up and save the time of typing, because I type about 6-8 words a minute. In other words, a snail could finish a marathon before I can finish typing a school paper. The point is, I won for the first time.

I was in an especially good mood before playing Hearts because of the fabulous outdoors dinner we had just eaten. It started off with a tiny mug of canteloupe soup with 3 little "amuse bouches" (things you can eat in one bite.) One was literally a slice of a pig in a blanket on a stick. There was one that was a little spinach and white bean tartlet. The final one was something that resembled a mini pie shell filled with tomato cous cous. It was delicious. The rest of the dishes consisted of tomatoes and mozzarella, roast chicken, vegetable clafouti (a tart full of zucchini, cheese, and tomatoes, an awesome cheese course, and some mango tiramisu. I arrived feeling as if I could eat a cow, and left feeling like if I ate another bite I would spontaneously combust.

It's a good thing we had a light lunch today that M described earlier.

Well, my work here is done. Now that we're in Spain, I get to say "ADIOS!" -K

Pinxtos' FAQs: What are they? How do I pronounce them?

Today while traveling to our hotel in the city Mutriku, we took a several-hour stop in San Sebastian. Between gelato, watching people go boating, and visiting the aquarium, it was a fun trip. However, my favorite part was lunch: pinxtos. "Pinxtos?" you ask. "What are they?" Well, for those of you who don't know, pinxtos (peench-tohs) are tasty little snacks that the Spanish eat many of for lunch. We stopped at three pinxto spots including the Iberian-ham loving La Cepa (Google it). At these places we ate tortillas with potatoes, artichoke hearts, mushrooms, mariscos--aka seafood, salmon pizza, and Iberian ham sandwiches. Iberian hams are happy little pigs who are fed only acorns so that they are tastier than the usual happy little pig.These were quite a lunch, making me sigh with delight and inspiring me to repeat one of my favorite sayings: "My stomach is a happy stomach." I'm sure you would have found these delicious as well. We are resting at the hotel to make room for our late-night Spanish-style dinner. (Hopefully Mom will let us go to the spa tomorrow!!) Hasta luego! xo, M

AU REVOIR, PARIS

Off to Bordeaux this am by car (gulp) after a terrific night on the Eiffel Tower at 9-10 last night.

Highlights of yesterday:

- the Eiffel Tower lit by fllodlights (see pic above)

- K slyly photobombing some tourists who were insistent on taking their photo in front of us. We are not digging some of these obsessive people.

- awesome ice cream late at night for M, K and Mom; the place makes you buy two scoops because they shape the cone into a flower shape, with the first scoop flattened out like the petals of the flower and the second scoop in the middle.

- even better lunch of Poulet Provencal with out of this world fried potato slices, and a glass of Chinon Rose, on the Isle St Louis - 16 euros. In a restaurant run by a gray haired chef-owner and her cats. Not so much on the cats, but terrific food at half the price of the night before at some chic place.

- the chilled out park, Place Des Vosges, in the Marais district, followwed by Mom and M buying jewelry from a nice little shop

- getting out of Paris without renting one of the funky public rental bikes which are everywhere as part of Paris' public bike rental program. K has been looking at them yearningly for 2 days, every time we pass a vending site. The bikes are cool and alluring, yes, but there's no doubt we'd have ended up in a Parisian hospital learning the French phrase for "massive head trauma"

- the Parisians are nice - from the grandmother who made us lunch to the pharmacist who gingerly cleaned M's skinned knee...we've liked almost all of them. BUT, we may have a different perspective after we get the rental car in 2 hrs and start driving.

Dad

Is B a cat lady? Only time will tell...

What a long travel day. The plane was pretty empty, so we all laid down across rows. The airplane food, was, of course, delicious. We settled on a boulangerie for breakfast---yum! ---, visited two museums, bought K’s beret, and my knees almost broke from all the walking. Back at the hotel, all three of us collapsed in pain on our beds. The end of the Tour de France was wicked cool, and dinner was delicious.

This morning, we ate breakfast at the hotel then headed to the Louvre. We did a quick Top 10 visit, including the Mona Lisa of course. We also saw large compulsive tourist groups who insisted on taking their unsmiling photo in front of every. Single. Thing. In. the. Museum.

After that, we went to Notre Dame after K and I bought sunglasses—faux Raybans for him, aviators for me. We ate lunch at a place with kitty-cats where the cats spent most of the meal snuggled under B’s feet, leading me to the conclusion that he is a cat lady. While Dad enjoyed his espresso—and the check—we bought lollipops, bought me a ring, then took a tour bus.

I tripped and skinned my knees, and that will definitely leave a scar! I looked for white skinny jeans on my never-ending search, but no dice, but we did see someone who goes to school with B, and bizarrely, we had mentioned her at breakfast. We’re going out to dinner now, have a 9 pm appointment with the Eiffel Tower, and then we’re getting ice cream. Adios! –M.

Twas the Night Before the Plane Flight... (Copyright M)

Hey there, blog-o-sphere! (Haven't you always wanted to say that?) Well, it's the night before our plane flight to Paris (pronounced Pah-wee, if you ask my brothers) and everything is packed, from retainers to raincoats. Tuffy's caretakers have been informed about his sometimes-diva behavior, and our backpacks are stuffed. K and I plan to buy berets, fake RayBan sunglasses, and a hearty baguette to tote around in Paris and Bordeaux. We may post photos of that, so keep reading! France will be fun, but, unfortunately, we cannot blog in French, because, heck, we don't even know how to order a croissant in French. As soon as we cross into Spain, our blog entries will become a mix of Spanish and English commonly known as Spanglish. Last night, C told us we needed to get sleep on tomorrow's flight. Because she doesn't speak Spanish, I said to D, "Vamos a festejar todo el vuelo!" translating into "We're going to party the entire flight!" I was super-pumped to go to a Spanish airport because I took an entire airport unit in Spanish this year, but just as I started explaining in Spanish how we planned to go to the baggage claim and then pass through Customs, B cut me off--"They'll have signs in English."--otherwise putting an end to my airport anticipation. In other words, everyone is psyched and packed for the trip and we'll give you frequent updates. Au revoir! -M.

What's up fellow blogheads! It's July 23, the night before our plane flight to France, B's listening to music nobody likes but him, I'm typing, and M is reading over my shoulder with her faux RayBans on trying to act French. (So can you stop doing that?) I was finished packing first, so I've been sitting on the couch like a lazy blob, not contributing to society, or double checking my bag to be sure I have everything. M made a joke about partying on "el avion," (the plane) and C thinks we're joking (we are dead serious.) C has been speaking Italian and it's kind of funny to watch B & M yell at her about the correct way to say it. Well, I'm off to drive C & D crazy by doing nothing at all! Adios amigos! - K