Wet Laundry

A Year in Spain

Nov. 16 marked the anniversary of our arrival in Spain, and we passed the day in the same style as a year ago: sick with colds. Had I not been feeling so crummy that I failed to even notice the date, I might have at least appreciated the full-circleness of it.

Fall Recap

Signs of fall around these parts are different but unmistakable. It's less leafy than Vermont or Michigan but more drastic in its temperature swing than San Francisco. The endless evenings Spaniards relish and foreigners envy shrink at a rate that reminds me that we are indeed hurling around the sun in a elliptical path, and on the fast slope toward cold. The general falliness reminds me of—and makes me homesick for—Ann Arbor in a way I haven't felt in a really long time. The garden is yielding the last of its bounty as the remaining tomatoes struggle to ripen between shorter sun hours and increased rainy or cloudy days, the last of the fall lettuce has bolted and the peppers turn deliciously red.

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.

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.

The Green Acres Split

A week ago we wrapped up a marathon 17-day family visit—first with David's mom Dolores and sister Nora, and then with my mom, brother Colin and his wife Tiffany. In fact, Dolores' departing flight  was on the evening of the day that my folks arrived, so the Polidors and Curiels  got to enjoy a lunch out together. (Thanks, families—we had a terrific time and we miss you already!)

My family flew in and out of, and Dolores also departed from, Málaga, Andalucía's second-largest city, less than two hours from Granada. Because it's on the coast, near a long stretch of beachfront vacation megaplexes popular with sun-hungry northern Europeans—the European equivalent to Florida—Málaga brings in lots of cheap flights. (Those of you thinking about paying us a visit: hint hint!) For David and I, this provided a nice opportunity to explore a new place.

A Bean By Any Other Name

Last night we celebrated Passover with a lovely seder prepared by Amberly and made notable by a (not quite kosher, but oh so right) musical interlude. Mom, a newly arrived Nora, Amberly and I started the celebration a touch early so we could hustle down to our favorite place to take visitors: La Chumbera's weekly flamenco showcase. Sponsored by the Granada municipality with the stunningly lit Alhambra as a backdrop, this program showcases up-and-coming acts in serious flamenco, typically marked by youth and a touch of fusion. We were treated to both, plus a last name synonymous with classic Grenadine flamenco guitar: Habichuela. So well known was this name, that the ticket simply said Juan Habichuela, nieto—grandson. (Perhaps also to distinguish him from another famous relative by the same name...)

El Niño Fontanero

About three weeks ago our bathroom sink clogged up. We tried the ol' baking soda and vinegar remedy — twice — but to no avail. So we told our neighbor Juan, who's essentially the building super, and he said he'd get the local plumber on it. The days ticked by.

We Bought Lamps!

We bought two lamps yesterday. You're yawning, I know. You'd probably rather hear me say, "We bought flamenco dresses and bullfighting capes and a sherry bodega!" But here's the thing: these two little mundane items have somehow, magically, transformed our apartment into a home.

For the past month, since we moved into our place, we've only had overhead lights. I generally hate overhead lights; they make me feel like I'm in an operating room. However, we'd put off buying lamps because our cash flow in March was a little, um, sluggish, and I'd since convinced myself that, as far as overhead lights went, ours weren't so bad and maybe we ought to just make due without lamps.

But, oh, what a difference! Everything's all warm and cozy and homey now. We're not sure how long we'll stay in Spain, and I think, for this reason, I'd been treating our apartment as temporary lodging, not worth even a few small investments to make things more comfortable. And it's funny: now that I've made a small step toward making our house feel less temporary, I feel less temporary.

So yeah! We bought lamps! Now we just need a rug...