¡Feliz Navidad, Año Nuevo y Día de los Rayes!

I just typed out a huge blog and some how lost it, so frustrating!!!! In short, Christmas was low key but good. I'm now in Oviedo, the town I studied in five years ago in the north of Spain. It´s cold, but I´m having fun seeing all my old haunts. I´m planning to go to Segovia to see my other host family and then gradually road trip it back south. Merry Christmas, Happy New Year (make sure to eat 12 grapes at the stroke of midnight as is the tradition here) and Happy day of the Kings (or three wise men- which is a bigger deal here than Christmas)! Make it a resolution to come visity me and HAPPY, FELIZ, HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Picking Olives in Andalucia (Check)

I've gotten so swept up in the holiday bustle (teaching the kids “jingle bells” and planning the vacation) that I’ve gotten a bit behind on my blogging. Aside from the excitement of getting my car and driving all over the region, the weekend before last I also went olive picking! Some friends of ours have a grove that’s been in their family for generations; the trees themselves are around 200-300 years old. Everyone here thought I was absolutely nuts for wanting to do it, “it’s such hard work, and boring!” they said, but I kept telling them, “I’m a farm girl, I’m not afraid of hard work.” The tools required for olive picking are as follows: A giant cane (bamboo works well), an oversized comb, and netting. The netting is placed under the tree to catch the olives as one beats the tree with the cane. It seems a bit wrong to violently beat the unprovoking trees senseless and I prefer the much gentler method of the comb. The rhythm of olive picking is composed of the fluid swish of the comb raking through the leaves, the wack of the canes hitting the upper branches and the plop of the olives raining to the ground. After the poor trees were pummeled we all sat in a circle and sorted through the olives before depositing them into an old feed sack. After two trees, we braked for lunch. The mother of the family, a tiny woman with hummingbird like energy, had prepared a feast over the coals of the open fire. No Spanish meal is complete without at least 3 types of meat and potatoes in some form. I’m not sure if it was the sun or the work, but the pork was the most savory, flavorful pork I’d ever eaten. After a few more hours of work the sun advised us that it was time to pack up. This meant carting our tools and sacks of olives up a hill to the van. Having grown accustomed to carrying feed and hay bales while working in California, I hoisted one of the forty pound bags and began trudging up the hill; a sight which absolutely shocked the Spaniards (what, a woman is actually capable of doing man’s work!?!)
Mamá (that’s what I’ll refer to her as since I’m not entirely sure I was introduced to her as anything different) insisted that she pay us for our labor in oranges. So off we set in to the dusk to pick oranges. By the time we arrived to their grove, a bumpy over the river and through the sage brush ride away (it was a good christening for my car), it was completely dark and we had to pick oranges by star light. I followed Mamá who zoomed through the underbrush, periodically shooting up to grasp a particularly large orange. Not wanting us to get scurvy, we filled my trunk to the brim; I some how ended up with three bags to myself. I tried to make orange marmalade this week but it ended up more like a runny syrup, perhaps it will be good on pancakes. Ummmmm, pancakes...

What Holiday Is It?

Thursday was a federal holiday, "el día de la constitución" aside from celebrating the end of the dictatorship and the founding of the new democracy, it meads a couple of days off work. We (the other three American teachers, Joanna, Melissa, Lindsay and I) chose to celebrate the constitutional freedoms by touring around the province with Juan Miguel (one of the teachers from my school) as our guide. The first stop was a scrap of a cove that looked as if it had been torn from the an illustration of Never Never Land; in fact, I wouldn't have been surprised to see a mermaid pop out of the water. Whittled into the bluffs were a series of caves; in one of which were living a couple of Germans taking advantage of Spain's warm suthern coast.
The symbol for the region is called the "indalo" and looks like a little stick figure with an arch connecting its open arms. The symbol itself is thousands of years old and comes from the prehistoric inhabitants of the area. On our way to the mountain we stopped by the sight where the "original" indalo was said to exist. In order to get to the indentation of rock where it was painted, we had to scramble up a steep incline, crunching through dried sage and lavender as we went. Once we finally climbed our way to the top in a cloud of herbs, the indalo was so weather beaten it was hardly visable, but at least we can say we saw the original.
Next up was Aguilas, named for the giant eagle shapped rock that jutts up from the sea.
We made the manditory tapas and pastry stops and then headed for the mountain towns of Veléz Rubio and Veléz blanco. Entering the town of Veléz Rubio was like releasing a long withheld sigh. There was finally a sign of the changing seasons. Living on the beach surrounded by palm trees, the changes are more subtle: the air grows chilly once the sun goes down, the waves become more agitated as if regretfully ushering in the biting winds, and only the bravest of the English can be found fickely consuming weak rays of sun. The mountains, however, tend to be more traditional about their seasons and prefer the old fashion indicators of falling leaves and shades of brown.An impressive castle, which we learned was more for show than protection, perched on the hill top.
We ended the day by observing a fabulous sunset and munching on jamon serrano and cheese; it was one of those infrequent yet completely satisfying moments in life.

A Happy Ending

I FINALLY got my car!!! Bright blue and oh so beautiful! It's not only been a relief for me, but also for everyone I work with who has had to endure the saga, and all of the folks at the bank and the insurance agency in town. There were moments of despair but driving along the coast at sun set made it all worth it. I’m still taking submissions for names; so far I’m thinking Celeste if it’s a girl and Salvador if it’s a boy, ha, ha. Any ideas?

Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

If it weren’t for the subtle hints, I wouldn’t know it was the holiday season. Although it drops to the low forties at night, the days are still fairly warm and sunny here. The idea of snowmen and reindeer seem, some how, ridiculously out of place. I spent the weekend in Granada ambling through the streets. It was the ghostly presence of the snow-capped mountains (literal translation: “sierra nevada”) slinking behind the Alhambra, the festive lights louring you to the super market, and of course the chestnuts being roasted on every street corner that tipped me off that it is, in fact, almost Christmas.
Although Sundays can be a bit of a bore since absolutely nothing is open, it makes for spectacular people watching. It is still tradition here to dress up in one’s Sunday best and stroll around the town. For the older folks this means fur coats and dapper hats, while the children seem content enough to be paraded about in flouncy dresses and bow ties. I stopped by an antique market full of old coins and stamps; it made me think of my father.
Later, I met up with some of the people from work for a birthday meal for a friend of theirs. We made regional favorites from the area including a “drunken” (rum flavoured) cake. It felt good to be among friends, borrowed as they were.
Last Thursday we threw a real American style house party. I suppose I should explain that here one rarely invites people over. The home is considered a private place and one goes out to be with friends. We had fifteen people over to Joanna's new apartment for our Tex-Mex feast. I made the salsa and guacamole while Joanna made fresh tortillas, steak, soup and dessert; it went off with a bang. Of course it was followed up by lots of dancing; I'm now considered an expert on the electric slide.
As far as word on the car goes, it's been a real roller-coaster. The insurance I found fell through upon further inspection, expelling me into the depths of despair.Yet the twisted vineyard of the Spanish grape vine came through for me again and I got word of an American company with a branch here in Spain that was able to insure me in the blink of an eye. In fact, I now have insurance but no car, I'm still waiting for the money transfer to come through before I can actally purchase it- funny how that works. This afternoon I'll check again to see if it's come through; fingers crossed!