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?

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!

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...

"Cant de Barça" sung before and after every game. Listen while you read!

Though I never played sports myself, I've always considered myself a sports fan. No, I was never addicted to ESPN or paid any attention to the ticker during the news. I don't care about stats or rankings or betting on odds. I don't lose sleep over a hard loss. But there's something about being part of a roaring crowd, a band of fanatics, that draws me in and sweeps me off my feet.

Traveling up and down the Catalunya coast has become a way of life over the last four years. With a coastline dotted with countless seaside towns all boasting their own little slice of heaven, there's no shortage of weekend destinations to choose from.

My personal Happy Hour

It's on days like today that I need a great escape. While the end of the school year brings excitement and anticipation for that just out of reach vacation that we all crave, the last week of school is one of the most difficult of the entire year. Classes are over, grades are in, and emotions are running high.

The old town of Peñiscola

Living in a city like Barcelona, it's often easy to forget the world outside our city limits. And why not? We have everything we need here. Bordered by mountains and beaches, Barcelona is situated in a near perfect bubble bursting with eclectic neighborhoods, world-class restaurants, luscious parks, and a whole heap of bars and clubs to suit every taste. Now that summer is here, the city is alive...CONSTANTLY.

This month's issue of the Metropolitan, Barcelona's magazine for English speakers, featured an article that struck a chord with me. Entitled "Saying adéu for good", five former Barcelona residents talk openly about their reasons for leaving. For a moment I thought I'd find this article to be helpful seeing as though Jeff and I are struggling with making the same decision. However, the more I read the more I realized that none of the five people interviewed had lives that mirrored my own.

It's true that Spain is not well positioned economically, and in saying so this is potentially a good argument for relocating. The job market is grim, especially for young professionals, and the future is bleak for now. One family spoke of leaving because of the job market, but only because he had become redundant at his job. It's very difficult to "move up the ladder" based on merit as promotions tend to be based on experience and seniority. Nonetheless, Jeff is currently applying for internships, and he has submitted applications to companies far and wide, but in our heart of hearts we're hoping he'll secure something more local. Speaking Spanish fluently certainly works out to his advantage, as well as having a valid work permit, and landing an internship in Spain, or even Europe, will more than likely secure an international career path. Needless to say we are anxious to see how this will unfold.

Other complaints about living in Barcelona included a faltering education system, lack of community and a sense of belonging, and the ever present language barrier. Again I found it difficult to identify with any of these arguments. Education is certainly a real concern, and there's no doubt that the Catalan public schools leave much to be desired. But being connected to the network of international schools gives me a different perspective altogether. There are in fact many great schools in the city offering a top-notch education, and I happen to know some of the most fantastic teachers any child would be lucky to have. The reality is, however, that quality comes with a price making some of the best schools in Barcelona out of reach for many families. As for language and community, they go hand in hand in some regard. There are many internationals who simply do not make the effort to learn Spanish. As a result, interaction with the local community is greatly limited and the potential for building a meaningful life here is next to impossible. It came with a lot of work and effort, but Jeff and I both feel a sense of community and belonging which we are both grateful for.

What I ultimately took away from the article was a common thread among all five former residents: an unbeatable lifestyle. It turns out that almost all of them truly miss Barcelona and what it has to offer, and this is my greatest fear. I suppose it's a sacrifice either way, but where else are we going to find beautiful weather, proximity to the beach, mountains, and everything in between, a fascinating culture, and a high regard for embracing life to the fullest? The answer is, well, we don't really know! What we do know is that since living here we have been genuinely happy and that's not something easy to let go of.

Didn't we learn anything from Jack, Kate, Hurley and all the others? Once they left, all they wanted was to get back to the island.

*You can read more about Barcelona at the Metropolitan to keep informed about life and culture in the Catalan capitol.

As you well know by now, moving abroad has brought about many "firsts" and new experiences over the last three years. Though time has brought comfort and familiarity, at no other time is it more evident that "we're not in Kansas anymore" than during the holiday season. When a holiday like Thanksgiving simply doesn't exist, there's great deal of planning and improvising that has to happen. The one thing that doesn't change, however, is the anticipation of great food and great company to share these experiences with.

At some point during my carefully coordinated dance in the kitchen yesterday, I realized that it was, well, easy! The turkey had been brining all night, the cornbread was made, the side dishes and hors d'oeuvres were prepped, skype was my kitchen companion along with Michael Buble's Christmas serenade in the background. This was a turning point. Relatively speaking, preparing a Thanksgiving feast abroad had finally become a no-brainer! I stopped to reflect on our various turkey feasts over the years and I came to one conclusion...this year wasn't just seemingly easy. It WAS easy!

2008: Our first Thanksgiving was celebrated only about 6 weeks after moving to Spain. Being away from family for our first major holiday was yanking on our heart strings, so we planned to spend the holiday in Munich with Nathan, Shonda, and little Brianna-to-be. The universe had a special surprise for all of us, though, when baby Brianna decided to make her grand entrance a few weeks early! While Mommy and Daddy spent their first hours with their baby girl in the hospital, Uncle Jeff and Aunt Lauren prepared a Thanksgiving feast at the house. Reading labels in Spanish was challenging enough, but German?? Seriously?? In the end we pulled it off, packed everything to go, and brought Thanksgiving to the hospital. This takes the cake for the most chaotic yet memorable Turkey Day experience!

2009: This year we had just moved into our new apartment and we had only just begun to unpack. No big deal! Not even a partially furnished apartment could keep us from sharing one of our favorite holidays with friends. This would be our first Spanish Thanksgiving, so there was a lot of kitchen and cooking vocabulary building while searching the city far and wide for the right ingredients.This holiday was spent with Raúl and Marta, our Scottish friends Rob and Cat, their newborn Aurora, and even their parents who were in town to help with the wee one. I was stressed this time around, not being familiar with my kitchen and lacking essential gadgets, but in the end it was another success.

Thanksgiving 2010 and what's left of the turkey

2010: This year Thanksgiving was BIG. Enormous turkey (I couldn't lift it by myself), side dishes in massive quantities, and a crowd of 16...whoa! Prep started early in the morning, but luckily we had our dear friends Alex and Kelly in town to help us get organized for the impending feast. Our friends came from all over: Spain, Italy, Scotland, Venezuela, France, and the US. We asked our guests to contribute something to the dinner, and the dishes that were brought were very interesting! Even a typical Spanish tortilla found its place on the table. There was still a lot to be learned over the course of preparing this meal, but with the company of great friends and delicious food, the clean-up could wait until morning.

2011: A very successful Turkey Day! We had a much more manageable guest list this year which I think helped in easing my anxiety of entertaining a bit. In fact, not a single doubt crossed my mind this year that everything would turn out perfectly...not even when the water was turned off in our neighborhood for most of the day! We spent this year's Thanksgiving with our good friends Deby and Armando, Dawn and Francesc with their little boy Zach, and our new friend Dave. But the best part of this year's feast? Everyone helped with the clean-up and we woke up to a spotless apartment this morning. We've finally figured this thing out!

Our Thanksgiving family 2011

*A special thank-you to my Mom and Kirk. Thanksgiving wouldn't have been the same without your enormous care packages!

As the rainy season sets in, I find myself mentally preparing for what's ahead in the coming months. The days are brutally shorter, I'm never quite warm enough, and I'm much less motivated to make the usually pleasant trek to the gym if it were any other time of the year. Every year it's the same, and every year I find myself looking ahead on the calendar, longing for the impending sun-kissed, lazy days that define life on the Med.

Rain clouds rolling in as our day winds down to a close.

This is why in recent weeks I have surprised myself with an uncharacteristically upbeat attitude despite the dreary weather. Over the weekend Jeff and I whisked ourselves away to the unbelievably beautiful Basque Country in northern Spain. There was something about the soft, green rolling hills dotted with grazing livestock and Alpine country cottages coupled with dramatic rocky cliffs disappearing into an angry sea that stunned me. How could a place so drastically different from Barcelona be a simple 50 minute flight away? And why haven't I visited before now?! I was in love, and I hadn't yet experienced this region's crowning glory...the food!

We arrived in a surprisingly sunny Bilbao Friday morning and we hit the ground running. We knew the weather wasn't going to hold out for long so we made a beeline for the modestly glamorous resort town of San Sebastian. There we indulged in hikes in the hilltop park of San Telmo and strolled along the seaside promenade. It wasn't long before threatening clouds rolled in and we decided to head up the coast, stopping in charming coastal fishing towns along the way. As fate would have it, the moment we checked into our hotel, the heavens opened up. The storm, our faithful companion for the remainder of our stay, had checked in too. 

In seemingly any other case, the rain would only be the first of many mishaps to come for travelers, but this was not the case for us. The dreary weather deterred travelers to our tiny seaside town so we had the entire place to ourselves! How were we rewarded? With an upgrade to the junior suite! This was only the first of many pleasant surprises the region had to offer. As the weekend progressed, we spent a shameful amount of time hopping from pintxo bar to pintxo bar sampling the local savory treats.  We explored a prehistoric cave with paintings dating back to 12,000BC, and the creme de la creme was of course the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao. In a sense the rain was almost like a rescue for us. It allowed us to enjoy the idyllic Pais Vasco through an entirely different lens. We spent a significant amount of time indoors, safe from the treacherous weather, and we didn't have to feel guilty about it. 

A selection of Basque "pintxos"

During our flight home I reflected on the rain and I came to realize that several of my most memorable recent experiences happened in less than ideal weather:

• Jeff and I arrived in Barcelona on a bleak and windy October morning...not exactly the Spanish welcome we were expecting. That fall, winter, and spring turned out to be the soggiest in as long as anyone could remember. 
• Climbing to Saint Catherine's Monastery on Mount Sanai in Egypt was surreal...and wet. Spending the holidays in an iconic and biblical region would bring even the least of all believers closer to God.
• A trip to Porto, Portugal with two of my favorite girls, Dawn and Melissa, in March of this year was an altogether washout...until we found the Sandeman Port Cellars. :o) We were in good company with fellow tourists who were looking to make the best of a bad situation. The solution? Port wine for everyone! 
• Taking advantage of life on the road was a high priority this summer once Jeff got his moto license. Adventures both near and far always brought on some crazy experience, but getting caught in a monsoon takes the cake. We were several blocks from home when the floodgates opened. I admit I was a little afraid riding in the wet weather, but once we parked I was faced with a different concern. We were still a few blocks from home! What else could we do but embrace it? We decided to dance our way all the way back home with an audience of hopelessly stranded bystanders seeking refuge under the awnings of shops and overhangs. For a brief 5 minutes we were on stage, carefree and loving every minute of it!

Even in the darkest, dreariest of days I am able to find rays of sunshine.

Looking across the bay in San Sebastian

 

Standing on top of the waterfall at Pantana de Sau.

I've always been known as Snow White; someone who seems to have a sixth sense for communicating with animals. A recent moto adventure, however, proved that even the fairytale princess has her limits.

Having recently earned his moto license and a month of vacation, Jeff is not willing to let a single moment go wasted. So, an impromptu camping trip was in order with our friends Melissa and Carlos. After a day of offroading and gazing at waterfalls, we decided we'd set up camp for the night. The guys had a perfect spot in mind right on the edge of the lake, but access to this area required moving the electric fence that stood in our path. We noticed a herd of cows grazing just on the other side, but we proceeded anyway because afterall, what's a cow going to do??

We crossed the fence, feeling one step closer to some R and R, when we saw him, his horns like radar, sensing danger right in our direction. It was a bull, a monstrous beast programmed to protect his herd from any threat. In these situations we're cautioned to remain calm, make no sudden movements. Our reaction? RUNNNN!! The bull bucked and snorted after us as we wrecklessly sped from the pasture. We reached a tree lined clearing where we felt safe enough to dismount and breathe for the first time in what felt like minutes. We were terrified - shaken from the face-to-face encounter with a BULL.

A priority for setting up camp was to create a bull baracade. The guys positioned their bikes between trees in order to keep the herd at bay should they decide to wander in our direction overnight. We were safe, right? We couldn't have been more WRONG! We were woken by the sound of cowbells, not in the distance but right in our campsite!! Hearts pounding, we kept as quiet and calm as possible knowing the bull was somewhere nearby. Carlos and Melissa had the courage to unzip their front door just enough to find the bull literally standing right in front of them!! He was staring right into their tent sensing movement and smelling the air to assess any potential danger to his herd. He must have decided we weren't worth messing with and moved his herd beyond our campsite and over the hill.

This was our opportunity and we seized it. The herd had moved away from the pasture and we had clear access to the electric fence for what we knew would be a very limited time. Sure enough, just as soon as we were suiting up, the herd came back, the bull following up the rear and trapping us yet again. What were we going to do?! The fear set in again as the giant animal decided to stop in the middle of the road as if to say "just try me." He even took a few steps towards us just to make sure we got his message and then followed after the herd. We were trapped.

A fruitless attempt to find another way out left us with only one option - ask the fisherman who happened to be nearby to rescue us! Rescue us he did, giving us a ride in his luxurious Porsche Cayan right past the bull. He didn't even bat an eye! One problem still remained; we were out of harm's way, but how are we to spring the bikes from danger?? After a coffee and a discussion about strategy, the guys decided they would go back in on foot - on FOOT!? It was a scene straight out of a fairytale - the valiant heroes facing their doom to save their damsels in distress. Woe is me!

I've learned not to doubt Jeff's ideas, as crazy as they may be, because walking into the lion's den turned out to be the best strategy. The bikes were rescued and the road to safety was free...we live to see another adventure!

August has finally arrived, and that means VACATION!! Jeff had been looking forward to his 2 week vacation since the day he started working, but the question remains...what do we do? Our solution? Cruise the internet and book the cheapest tickets we could find to any destination. To our amazement we were able to find an incredible deal to Mallorca, a Spanish island in the Mediterranean Sea. We had been wanting to visit the largest of the Balearic Islands and now was our chance. We booked almost immediately and within a few hours I had found the perfect lodging to boot. All that was left was to pack the suitcases and we were off!

Flying Vueling...a Spanish budget airline...is always a gamble. We had flown Vueling a few times in the past and not one of our flights was on time. One was even cancelled! Thankfully the stars were aligned for our journey and the scheduled flight went off without a hitch. We were airborne for only a mere 30 minutes before we touched down in the capital city of Palma. Let the vacation begin. :o)


A quick jaunt down the highway with our incredibly friendly cabby brought us to the front steps of our quaint little hotel. You couldn't miss it...it's a bright blue and white building located right on the coast. Afterall, it is called the Hotel Playa Azul. What made the hotel even better was that it was located outside the city of Palma...far away from the crowds and noise yet still close enough for a comfortable bike ride into town. Our adorable little 4-star felt more like a B&B and the service was amazing. An incredibly friendly staff was always available whenever we needed them. The rooms were small yet incredibly clean complete with all the modern amenities. The food was tasty and the drinks even tastier. The beach was only a hop, skip, and a jump away!

How did we spend our time on our island getaway? Most of the daylight hours were spent seaside...afterall this is our favorite passtime. :o) Evenings were spent washing away sand and sunscreen, going for a bike ride, and watching the world go by while enjoying a cocktail on the terrace. Nights were spent dining by the water and moonlight while being swept away by enchanting island music. How could it have only taken us 30 minutes to get to a place that seemed a world away? This is what vacation is all about. :o)

The title says it all...almost. What the title does imply is that we have been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Costa Brava Historic Rally. This is an annual multi-day rally race of only antique/classic cars that takes place in Lloret de Mar, a small coastal town approximately 60km north of Barcelona. Furthermore, it promises the rare opportunity to catch a glimpse of the Lancia that I built a model of as a child! What more could a guy ask for? Maybe the opportunity to actually see a race???

Our voyage began late as usual as we made our way to the train station. We weren't worried though as the rally wasn't due to begin until 5pm. The train wound its way along the coast, passing many dark, dank, graffitti-ridden industrial towns. I could sense the uncertainty in Lauren's face as she gazed out to see the beautiful, torquoise Med on the right side, and the gray, hazy, run-down shops and villages on the left side; however, about an hour into our trip, the depressing grays gave way to bright, white-washed dwellings and neatly trimmed parks that dotted the beaches along the Med. I could feel my heartrate increasing as we drew nearer to the race! Nearly two hours after we boarded the train, we pulled into Blanes Estacio. It was a quaint little train station in the middle of nowhere. We disembarked the train, walked the twenty feet through the station, and caught the bus just as it was leaving. What timing! And for only 1.50Euro, it would be money well spent to see the race!

As we pulled into Lloret de Mar, the police were clearly visible in their neon green vests directing traffic around the roads that were closed for the race. My blood was racing and excitement mounting. I saw my first rally car...then the second! I stopped to ask the police officer what time the race would begin. The reply: "Ya ha acabado." ("It's already over.") What?!? Turns out that the race finished at 2pm and it was already 4pm. But she assured me that if we wanted to make the 2.5 hr journey (each way) tomorrow, we would be able to see the final leg of the race. I don't think so!

Sooo...being the optimists we are, we decided to make the best of the situation and proceeded to the Rally podium for some photo ops with some of the cars and then to the tourism office to see what else we could see in Lloret de Mar. We grabbed some maps (and the official Rally schedule (which wasn't posted anywhere on the web)) and headed out to explore.
We saw a cathedral built in 1608 and then headed back to the coast to see the "dancing lady" statue that overlooked the Med from the cliffs above. We're not really sure why she was dancing, but we just think she was happy to see us. From there, we hiked along the jagged rocks/cliffs to a castle even higher up the coast. The castle was built around 1000AD and was unfortunately partially destroyed in the 1800's by the British Canoneers and later in the 1960's when they built a road through part of it. Today, the only part left completely intact is the tower. Regardless, the tower still sits promininently on the cliff as a reminder of the power of royalty of years past. A true sight to behold far above the crystal-clear waters of the Med.