The lighthouse of Cudillero

Cudillero - coastal, charming, and fifty shades of green. *sigh*

Settling back into a routine of balancing work, family, and fun has been difficult. Not only does the mercury in Madrid continue to dance above and around 30 degrees (celsius ya'll!), but my mind is clouded with daydreams of barefoot toes and mojitos. The carefree days of summer may be a couple of weeks behind us, but they're still visible in the rearview mirror. The temperatures are a reminder of that. But just when I've reached my limit of heat and stress, the sun begins to set on the Spanish capital, the temperatures fall, and I remember Cudillero.

Owning a car and living in a major metropolis seems, well, unncessary. It's true that the public transit system can get you anywhere you need to go. But, where you need to go and where you want to go are quite different. Sure, I need to get to work, but do I want to go to work? *insert Spanish shoulder shrug*
When Jeff and I are on our own time, our free time, what we want are wide open spaces - freedom of the open road. We're willing to go anywhere four wheels and a tank of gas will take us, and Asturias was our first roadtrip destination.

Beautiful, mountainous, chilly, green Asturias; a contradiction of Madrid in every way. Even as I sit here comfortable in my living room, a cool early evening breeze blowing through the open doors, I'm distracted by thoughts of verdant mountian-scapes and crisp nights in the little fisherman's village of Cudillero. We spent little more than forty-eight hours there, and much of that time was spent behind the wheel. Why? Because we wanted to. We zig-zagged up and around forested mountains, visited a bee and blackberry farm, explored a secluded beach, and stumbled upon a locals-only restaurant serving up the most unbelievable BBQ platter one has ever set out to devour in a single sitting. These little discoveries may seem ordinary, but having traded the suburban life for that of a concrete jungle I realize that I crave the connection with all things green and natural each time I assume the role of navigator in the passenger seat. We have to drive a bit further to find it in central Spain, but when we do my senses are once again awakened to what I want, and in this case what I also need.

Cudillero is calling me back...

Playa del Silencio

 

Cudillero from the "Crow's Nest"

Is this Ireland or Spain?

Sunset Snapshot of Cudillero

It's occurred to me that we need a name for our ship in the night, our beacon of freedom. Suggestions?

Well, we've done it again. Our latest run-in with misadventure struck during our trip to the island paradise of Santorini last week. It never fails. Despite our careful planning and extensive research that goes into preparing for a trip to our next destination, misadventure always finds us. Remember Not Your Average Travelers in Turkey or Bull Run of Another Kind in the countryside of Cataluña? It seems to be waiting in the wings ready to pounce at that perfect moment when you've switched to vacation mode and have left the real world behind. "Relaxation? Not so fast!" it taunts. We are uncertain when or how it will strike, but we can be certain it will without fail. Santorini was no exception.

A jewel of the Aegean Sea, Santorini is one of the most famous of the cluster of Greek islands knowns as the Cyclades, and for good reason. The biggest island, Thira, is a crescent shaped outcropping of craggy cliffs left behind from a massive ancient volcanic eruption. Thira faces a handful of other smaller islands that are a result of the submerged volcano. Together, with the water-filled caldera at the center, this circle of islands is called Santorini - and it is undeniably beautiful.

Idyllic white-washed villages cling to the cliffsides as if to stake claim to their rightful position in paradise. Gracefully domed churches of the deepest and softest blues meld with the skies above and the sea below. Winding cobblestone paths saunter in, out, and around cave houses and boutique shops teetering on the edge of land and sea. And then there are the sunsets. Oh, those sunsets! I'm not sure I have ever witnessed Mother Nature put on a more magnetic display of color and beauty. Remember that vacation mode switch I mentioned earlier? The sunset on that first night flipped the vacation switch to "on".

Or did it?...

Sunset from Ammoudi Port

Sunset over the caldera from Fira

What happens when the one and only power transformer on an island explodes? In August? In Greece? BLACKOUT. The entire island is left without electricity and running water, and it remains this way for nearly two days!! Once the initial panic gave way to frustration and realization that no power meant no showers and no air conditioning after spending a day in the blazing summer sun, I resigned myself to remember that this is Greece. And not only is it Greece, but it is an island far from the mainland. I would have to cast my "fix it now" expectations aside and instead change my perspective to see the positives in this situation.

Oia with power

Oia without power literally five minutes after the picture above was taken.

So, what was the outcome? For those first 36 hours I found the Aegean to be quite refreshing and cleansing after a long day in the sun. Dinners by candlelight were enchanting and romantic. Restaurants hung lanterns from rafters and tree limbs which cast a soft glow in plazas under a harvest moon. Sleeping with the doors open allowed a cool sea breeze to fill the room, the distant sound of crashing waves lulling you to sleep. No wifi, no devices, no TV. We were officially off the grid and loving every minute of it. Establishments, including our hotel, gradually invested in generators that at least provided running water at all times, but power remained touch and go until Saturday, our last day. While we were grateful to have the comforts that electricity brings once again, we found ourselves longing for the simplicity and tranquility of the blackout.

In a word, summertime in Madrid is HOT. No, wait...it's more than that. It's Dante's Inferno HOT. It's seek precious shade while you're waiting at the crosswalk HOT. It's oppressive enough to make you somehow justify the fact that you haven't left the house all day (ahem...or longer) for fear that fire-breathing monster in the sky will scorch your vulnerable, defenseless white skin the moment it spots you walking down the sidewalk. No thank you. "Besides," I think to myself, "I still have a box or two to unpack and there's another episode of Criminal Minds on the tube. Exploring can wait another day." But alas, you reach a point when you have to face the beast. Holing up in your now perfectly organized apartment, which no longer serves as your excuse to relish in the air conditioned indoors, now just makes you feel lazy. It's time to venture into the great big city. Sun or no sun. Heat or no heat. You must embrace what awaits you - the sweat, the thirst, and the extreme energy drain that comes at the end of a long battle with soaring temperatures. Bring it on. Besides, now I need an excuse to stave off studying for my driving exam. ;)

One as pasty white as I mustn't set off on a neighborhood walkabout without taking the necessary precautions. By the time I've made the decision to leave the creature comforts of home, it's midday and at least 100 degrees outside. The sun and heat are ready to do battle so I must be prepared. Armed with a map (wrong turns could result in an unnecessary drain on energy and precious hydration), a dab of SPF, sunglasses, some water, and my camera (my weapon of choice), I take to the streets. My mission: discover our new barrio, Salamanca. As I rounded corners and wandered the streets, I realized after some time that either I had misunderstood the blazing beast or I was well prepared for my walkabout. Either way I had lost myself in Salamanca's beautiful avenues and shady, treelined sidestreets. Wielding my camera at the cafe terraces, the shopfront awnings, the glass enclosed sunrooms, and the carefully arranged window displays all created a very effective distraction from the summer temperatures. Even Mother Nature had mercy and blew a steady breeze. Before I knew it, nearly three hours had passed and I had walked every corner of this beautiful barrio.

 Later, while recovering from a loss of energy and dehydration (yes, the heat scored a point), I felt quite content with our new digs. Despite the heat and sheer exhaustion, I felt relaxed having gotten acquainted with the 'hood we now call home.

The many faces of Salamanca

I can look, but I can't touch!

I'm sitting comfortably in my living room, flanked on either side by what can only be described as two very lazy felines, sipping a glass of crisp white wine on a cool evening in late June. Like so many summer nights before, I'm feeling purely and utterly content in my downtown Barcelona abode. The swallows are gracefully dive-bombing through the air catching their evening meal as the sun sets the sky ablaze with fabulous hues of pinks, oranges, and reds. The low hum of passersby, now mostly jovial tourists, wafts from the street below as their grumbling bellies and dog-eared guidebooks send them hurriedly on their quest of a dining experience not-to-be-missed while in this city by the sea. A plucky sound from an acoustic guitar is interrupted by the occasional explosion of a "petardo", or firework that is leftover from Monday's San Joan festival, sending myself and the cats into a moment of panic and dangerously high blood pressure. These are all the usual goings-on of a life in a bohemian barrio, one that I have embraced for four years in this very piso, but yet nothing about this night is usual.

My Great Gatsby themed surprise thirtieth birthday party!

It's after midnight on a cool Sunday night in May. All is quiet in the streets (a rarity!) and I'm snuggled on the sofa with my two furry kitties. I'm not tired in the least, and even if I were it would be strange to go to bed alone. Jeff has been in Madrid for a week now, but I'm still getting used to the silence that hangs in the evening hours. The month of May rolled in like a freight train with celebrations and parties and new beginnings. It's only now that I've had a moment to sit in silence, to think, to reflect, to absorb what has taken place over the last two weeks.

Living life in limbo for the last eighteen months has been anything but easy. Having no answers to life's big questions pushed my patience to its limits. For me, lack of foresight, the inability to make any kind of long range plans, and the seemingly eternal wait left me feeling powerless and filled with hopeless optimism. I was reduced to asking questions there were no answers to, and questions were asked of me that I couldn't answer. Life was at a crossroads as Jeff's graduation date drew nearer and the future was just as uncertain as ever. And then Spring arrived, bringing with it opportunities in our next adopted city...

Thursday night we found ourselves in the small canal town of Leiden in the Netherlands, sampling some farm fresh cheese and catching up with our friend Walt. I had noticed that Jeff seemed preoccupied by a large canvas painting on the wall. There wasn't much to ponder with this particular painting - a canvas rectangle divided in half between a royal blue sky and a flat green grass field, a silhouette of a windmill in the background and a curious milk cow gazing out from the foreground. Walt noticed Jeff's upward stare and said, "Oh, that? Well that's Holland. Cows, flat fields, and windmills." We had been to the Netherlands before nearly four years ago but saw nothing beyond the canals and coffee shops of Amsterdam. This time we set out to discover the country beyond city limits, a "Tour de Holland" adventure that would take us along western coastal roads, past northern landscapes, through eastern woodlands, and south to charming canal villages. I had a hunch the painting was missing a few Dutch details.

Today I am writing to you from the deceivingly deserted beach called Matemwe. For days now we have been the only obvious tourists on an otherwise locals only corner of the island. In short, we could not have found a more perfect location for our getaway.

I'm writing to you from a cozy armchair nestled in the corner of our jungle treehouse that's hidden away on the far northeastern reaches of the island of Zanzibar.