Wet Laundry

Vacation in Las Alpujarras

Feeling a desperate need to escape the heat in Granada, David and I did what most Europeans do in August: we took a vacation. Folks around these parts can be divided into two basic groups—beach vacationers and mountain vacationers—and since we both get bored out of our minds after a day or two of lounging seaside, we definitely count ourselves in the latter group. So on Aug. 5 we packed up our camping gear and hopped on a bus to the Alpujarras, a region of mountains and valleys on the southern slopes of the Sierra Nevada that's been described as the "Switzerland of Spain."

Good thing we don't get paid to blog ...

... or we'd be starving! Sorry we've been so negligent lately. If David and I had a blog post for every time we said we needed to write a blog post, there'd be a whole lotta posts here.

I've taken it as a fact of life that as we grow older, time passes more quickly. July, however, proved me wrong. ¡Madre mía! That month was the houseguest who overstayed her welcome and didn't seem to notice me gesturing toward the open door.

The heat had a lot to do with it: the temp is often in the high 90s by the afternoon, so we spent much of that time indoors, with the blinds drawn, in front of the fan. At least where we live things cool down at night a bit more than in the city, and we've enjoyed some nice evening meals with friends by the backyard barbecue and quite a few refreshing mornings on the terrace or puttering in the garden.

Also adding to the sluggishness of the month was that our only departure from Granada was a day trip to the nearest beach, in Salobreña, about an hour away by bus. It was definitely a fun trip, though. For 10 euro we rented a pair of cushioned lounge chairs under a big thatched umbrella, and spent the day reading, snacking and jumping into the beautiful blue Mediterranean. A passing beer and soda vendor—a guy with a mini-cooler—was always on hand when we needed refreshment. He had a catchy little sales pitch that he chanted in one long breath as he strolled the beach: "Agua-cerveza-cocacola-un-euro-no-fria-no-paga" (water, beer, coke, one euro; if it's not cold, you don't pay).

In any case, August has finally arrived, and we're kicking off the month by heading to the Alpujarras mountains for a week-long camping trip. We'll spend the first few days at Camping Trevélez and then a few more at Balcon de Pitres. On the agenda: hiking, exploring cute mountain villages, indulging in the ham and other edibles for which the region is famous, lounging by the campground pool and enjoying some considerably cooler temps—highs around 80 and lows around 60. 

And we promise a complete report, along with loads of photos, as soon as we get back. Really!

Cicada Summer

Summer is here, and the cicadas' song is about the only thing that hasn't ground to a halt these days, this blog very much included! Well, that's not exactly true. Our garden is blossoming (literally!) in the sweltering summer heat we're experiencing. Since this photo was taken, a week ago, we've already had our first tomatoes show up on the vines. Yeah, we planted late, but the plants sure haven't noticed! They're chugging along, as you can see from our garden photo page.

Summer's Here

The roasty Andalusian summer that the locals have been warning us about for months is finally upon us. Temps have been in the 90s since last week, and we're bracing ourselves for two months of the same or worse. We're drinking gallons of iced tea—€”I'm off to the  "100 Pesetas" (i.e., 99 Cents) store later today to get some more ice-cube trays—€”and subsisting mainly on salads. I'm also planning to pick up a blender so I can start making gazpacho, which folks in these parts guzzle like lemonade in the summertime, and my new favorite Spanish dish, salmorejo. This delightful chilled soup€—made of pureed tomatoes, garlic, bread and olive oil and topped with chopped boiled egg and serrano ham—is one of the culinary specialties of Córdoba, where we spent a few days last week.

In Granada, Corpus Christi Means Fun! Part 2

The center of the action for Corpus Christi week was at the fairgrounds on the edge of town, and David and I finally ventured out on Saturday night. From the moment we caught the special "autobus ferial" that would take us out to the fairgrounds, I knew we were in for a treat.

Olé, Toro!

I have mixed feelings about bullfights—they involve what anyone but Alberto Gonzales might well deem torture, after all—but curiosity had long overshadowed doubt when the bulls came to town. A few weeks ago, Granada celebrated its crowning festival of Corpus Christi during which the town pulls out the stops, including a ten-day long run of some of the world's best bullfighters taking on the region's best bulls in what usually amounts to a fixed fight. Because Granada doesn't have a regular bullfighting season, this was our only chance to see the spectacle locally, and what a spectacle it was.