Mitchell is Moving

Tapas, Cortados, and Strawberry Slushie

2013-05-23T22:28:00.001+02:00

The other day, we returned to a local tapas bar called Bar Pepe. San Geraldo had read about it online, but we hadn't tried it until our friends Jorunn and Jesper were here to visit last month. The place doesn't look like much from the outside, just a simple little café/bar. But the food is out of this world. The warm welcome and unbelievably good (and cheap) tapas make up for the ordinary facade. We've been back twice since our first visit. Every dish I've sampled has been my "new favorite."

FISH CAKE.

PAELLA.

STUFFED MUSHROOM CAP.

SKEWERED CHICKEN.

Coffee

Summer is here... almost. I sizzled on the beach after breakfast this morning but, wuss that I am, the water is still too cold for me to swim. So I cooled my feet (and up to my knees now) at the shore. In honor of summer, we've switched to iced coffee when we have breakfast at Cafe Manila. That means we get served our usual large cortados (espresso cut with warm milk) with a side of ice. San Geraldo, the chef in our family, then does the "cooking." He manages to pour the contents of the coffee cup into the coffee glass without spilling a drop. I'm in awe.

GENIUS AT WORK.

AMAZING.

Strawberry Slushie
This morning back at Cafe Manila, our cortados (and ice) were served to us by the always-sweet Slushie (click for the introductory post). She had her hair done yesterday. She calls it "strawberry slushie," but I find it a bit more "red hot chili pepper slushie." I'm thinking it might look good on my "flavor-saver/soul patch." (If you're anything like San Geraldo, you'll need that phrase defined: It's the patch of facial hair below the mouth.)

OUR STRAWBERRY SLUSHIE.

MY STRAWBERRY FLAVOR-SAVER.
WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Oh, I Wish That I Could Be

2013-05-22T21:23:00.002+02:00

If you've been following me for a while, you might remember that I've got a problem with clinical depression. I've been going through lots of ups and downs in recent months. When I'm going through a depression, even a mild one, morning is my most challenging time of day. I give myself pep talks and keep myself busy. Sometimes that works. Other times (like this past Saturday), I have breakfast and go back to bed. But that's an improvement over years past. Before San Geraldo, I wouldn't even bother with breakfast.

HAPPY FAMILY.
DON'T LOOK UNDER THE BED; THERE ARE SKELETONS IN THE CLOSET.
(CLICK TO ENLARGE ON THE IRONY.)

Late afternoons are fine, unless I'm in a rock-bottom depression, which I'm not. Right now, at this very moment, I'm fine. Better than fine. Right now, I'm great. But it's already nearly 9:30 p.m. I obviously need to find ways to give the brain chemistry a jump-start first thing in the morning. Like everyone, I've lived a life filled with challenges. But, I've been very fortunate and many will say I should be grateful for all I have. I am grateful. But still...

I KNOW EXACTLY HOW HE FEELS.

I took a walk yesterday to the Fuengirola history museum. I couldn't find the entrance. When I did, I learned the museum was closed for the day. So, I crossed the street and strolled the zoo. It didn't really help, especially when I found one of my "friends" in the same sort of funk.

YES. THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO COMPLAIN ABOUT.

Today, the sun was shining and there was only the slightest breeze. I went to the beach in the afternoon. By the time I got downstairs, the wind had picked up and with it came the clouds. Lots of clouds. But then I did a dance to get my towel down in the wind and get myself on top of it and I found it funny. Clearly, I'm coming out of my funk. So, more explorations and more stories to come.

Tellingly, "Richard Cory" was one of my favorite poems (and then songs) when I was a kid.

Understanding San Geraldo

2013-05-21T12:38:00.000+02:00

This morning at breakfast, San Geraldo tried to tell me about a Youtube video he had just seen. Someone had done a selection of songs.

"You know the show," he said. "Oh! I'm drawing a blank."

I stared vacantly. He wasn't giving me much to go on.

"The Hermit in the Cathedral!" he exclaimed.

I tilted my head and looked at him. I knew there would be more.

He held his hand vertically in front of his face, thumb toward his nose, and sliced downward curving his hand in an "S" as he did so.

"The Phantom of the Opera?" I asked.

"That's it!"

"The Hermit in the Cathedral?" I questioned.

"Well, it was close."

"Yeah," I said, "You got the word 'The' right."

At that moment, Tynan came walking by. San Geraldo, who has no shame, told Tynan what he had just said.

Tynan thought a moment and commented,"Well, it does take place in a cathedral."

I looked at him askance, "Are you maybe thinking of 'Hunchback of Notre Dame'?"

Before turning to walk away, he smiled sheepishly and said,"Carry on."

SAN GERALDO ORIGINATING THE ROLE OF "'THE HERMIT" (IN THE CATHEDRAL).

Grandma and Grandpa Go to the Beach

2013-05-16T23:42:00.001+02:00

I didn't know my paternal grandparents at all well. My grandmother died before my second birthday. I remember that she was very kind, but I was shy (believe it or not) and would hide behind my mother while being coaxed out with raspberry-filled hard candies (hard candies are what we New Yorkers called "sucking candies"). I only ever had those candies at my grandparents' house, and I loved them. Interestingly, that's one of my earliest memories.

Unlike my maternal grandparents, who had seven children over the course of 18 years (a total of 13 pregnancies, I think), my father's parents had only three children over the course of seven years. I think it gave them a bit more time for fun when they were young, because there are plenty of pictures of them at the beach or dressed for a costume party.

My mother gave me an old photo album that belonged to my father. The album contains loads of pictures from my father's teen and army years, as well as some photos of his parents. I found several photos taken at Coney Island some time around 1920, either before or right after my grandparents were married (but clearly before there were kids). They look a little wild. Obviously, my family has always liked the beach.

GRANDPA.

MY GRANDFATHER ON LEFT.

IN FRONT OF ONE OF CONEY ISLAND'S HISTORIC BATH HOUSES.

MY GRANDMOTHER ON LEFT.

This Seat Taken

2013-05-15T20:02:00.002+02:00

It's tough living in paradise. I bruised my leg last week (and, par for my course, I have no idea how; it might have happened one of the 17 times I slammed my shin into the corner of the bed frame). My thigh and calf were very sore to the touch and my ankle was swollen. There were a couple of black and blue marks. It's almost completely better now, but I tried to give it a couple day's rest. I thought I'd sit on the terrace in the sunshine and read. Dudo and Moose had been relaxing outside for some time. They have both amazingly learned the rules of the terrace and they even come inside when called (well mostly). On this particular day, Dudo saw me aiming for the chaise in the sun and he raced me to it. I was in shorts, so he wouldn't sit on my lap (nor would I want him to). I asked him to move. He wouldn't. The lounge chair around the corner was in the shade. I was forced to go down to the beach. Favoring my leg as I was, I ended up bruising the ball of my foot. Like I said, it's tough living in paradise.

"WHERE ARE YOU GONNA SIT?"

THE SHADEY SIDE.

I WAS EVENTUALLY EXILED TO THE BEACH.
(CLICK TO SEE HOW I SUFFERED, BIG-TIME.)

"GOOD VIEW FROM HERE."

LOOKS LIKE HE PLANS TO BE THERE A WHILE.

FULL BODY TREATMENT.

CLEARLY SETTLING IN. NAP TIME.

"OH, ARE YOU STILL HERE?"

THE GQ POSE.

TRYING TO GET A LITTLE COLOR IN HIS CHEEKS.

THIS IS WHEN I GAVE UP.

The Bus Tour

2013-05-14T13:06:00.001+02:00

I should have known something was wrong as I pointed out Fuengirola's castle to San Geraldo. We were on the bus returning from the big shopping mall in town. The castle had at first been in the distance and was suddenly on the hill directly above us. I've walked to the castle a couple of times and knew it was further from home than the shopping mall. Even San Geraldo, who had never seen the castle, knew we were supposed to be heading away from it.

We had taken public transportation to the mall. Bus Line #4. For our return, without thinking, we hopped on Bus Line #1. The woman in front of us overheard our conversation. She turned around and said, "Not to worry. It goes this way first and then loops back around." She got off the bus at the next stop.

The bus got on the highway and headed west along the coast for quite some distance. Then, we turned off the highway and into the foothills. And then we took a very winding road. Fortunately, we only wound around a couple of minutes — just long enough for us to both think about the motion-sickness pill San Geraldo would have taken had we known we were going on a bus tour. We returned to the highway and headed back along the coast to Fuengirola. It turns out we weren't much more than 5 km (3 miles) from town. We now know we can take either Bus Line #4 or #1 to the shopping mall. And we got to ride on "new road" (for us). Our great adventure.

Speaking of Beaches

2013-05-13T19:45:00.002+02:00

San Geraldo and I went for a 4-km (2.5-mile) walk along the paseo yesterday afternoon. All along the way are beach clubs of sorts where you can rent a lounge chair and an umbrella. The staff usually speak multiple languages (at some level) to cater to the international tourists. The international tourists quite often haven't even attempted to learn to say "thank you" in Spanish. But that's another story.

The clubs are all pleasant and some are a bit more elegant than others. There are little boardwalks placed on the sand, landscaped entrances, archways, "services" (aka, toilets), and several of the clubs actually smooth the sand every morning using what looks like a giant, wooden, toothless rake. I'm sure it has a name, but I don't know it. Besides, I like the natural look better.

NOTE THE SMOOTH FLAT SAND ON THE LEFT.

The languages spoken vary. Spanish, of course, and English are the most common. But, quite often staff speak some Finnish, German, and French, among others, as you'll soon see. One of the places we passed yesterday was Playa Ronda Paco. A very nice-looking beach, and the staff apparently speak three languages.

THAT'S MORE THAN I CAN CLAIM.

Happy Dowager Duchess Day

2013-05-12T13:41:00.003+02:00

Wishing a very happy Mother's Day (in the USA) to The Dowager Duchess, our joy and inspiration.

With love from her Boys from Spain.

BROOKLYN, 1944.

SOMEWHERE IN NEW YORK, 1946.

WASHINGTON, D.C., LABOR DAY WEEKEND, 1947.

BROOKLYN, 1955.

NORTH MASSAPEQUA, 1957.

ON A LAKE (SOMEWHERE), 1958 OR 1959.
MY FATHER ROWED (MY SISTER HELPED). WE JUST LOOKED GOOD.

FAMILY VACATION. MAASTRICHT, THE NETHERLANDS, 1975.

AT HOME IN BROOKLYN, 1994.
(A PARTY HOSTED BY THE DUCHESS ON OUR FIRST VISIT FROM SAN DIEGO.)

GENIUS (AND PERPETUAL STUDENT) AT WORK.

THE BOYS FROM SPAIN, THE DUCHESS AND AUNT SYLVIE, SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA, 1997.

THE ALWAYS-BEAUTIFUL DOWAGER DUCHESS, 2013.
(FROM A RECENT BLOG POST.)

As Slow As Molasses In January

2013-05-11T13:46:00.001+02:00

On our friends' Jesper and Jorunn's last night in Fuengirola we went for dinner at one of the restaurants on the ground floor of our building. Jesper ordered a plate of berenjenas (eggplant) for us to share. It was served with what we were told was miel (honey) and it was out of this world. The "honey" was not actually honey but "miel de caña" or sugarcane honey. This dish was so good that we went back last night for more.

San Geraldo was thrilled to discover miel de caña because, as he said, "it tastes just like molasses," and he had been unable to find molasses in local stores to use for baking. Well, I just looked it up, it turns out not only does it taste like molasses, "miel de caña" is molasses.

BERENJENAS CON MIEL DE CAÑA.
(EGGPLANTS AND MOLASSES)

Since the miel de caña is served in a large syrup dispenser, we had plenty left after all the eggplant was gone. But that didn't stop San Geraldo. There was, afterall, a basket of bread on the table.

Seeing the expression on my face as he poured the miel de caña over a slice of bread, San Geraldo said, "The bread is just a means of conveyance. But, really, it's exactly like French toast." He thought a moment and added, "Except there's no egg, milk, or maple syrup... And it's not toast."

"Yes," I said, "Except for that."

"FRENCH-ISH" TOAST.

A Honey of a Sunset
(Click to glorify)

The Sweetest Slushie

2013-05-10T13:28:00.000+02:00

Our breakfast haunt is a place just down the paseo from us. It's called Cafe Manila. It's run by Brits who have lived here for years, and it's staffed by people from all over. Some grew up right here in Fuengirola. Some are raising families here. And they all have a love and respect for Spain and Andalucía. Although none of the staff speak American, they are fluent in Spanish as well as British English (which is a very peculiar-sounding language much more difficult to understand than Spanish).

There'll be loads of stories to come I'm sure about the gang at Cafe Manila, but this is a basic introduction to Ann. Ann likes to do creative things with her hair. She's got a tuft (bangs, fringe) in front that she regularly dyes in shades not found in nature (well, not found in the nature of human hair).

A couple of weeks ago, Ann arrived at work with a bold purple fringe. She then made the mistake of telling me that Cafe Manila used to serve "slushies" in oddly unnatural fruity colors. One day a long time back, Ann arrived at work having just had her hair done. Richard took one look and said, "What did you do, get your head stuck in the slushie machine?"

I began calling Ann "Slushie" — after of course asking her permission. She said she didn't mind at all. "Anything for attention." But now, apparently, the nickname has begun to appear in comments on her Facebook page (i.e., "Nice photo, Slushie!"). I'm pleased to know I have such influence.

This post isn't supposed to be entirely about Slushie. (I'm thinking of doing a future post called "Fifty Shades of Slushie." I can already hear her laugh.) This is instead to share a photo of Ann's son's latest sailing session just off the coast. At the ripe old age of 11, he's already so skilled that he's taken the boat beyond the harbor and out to sea.

FROM THIS DISTANCE, IT'S NOT EASY TO TELL WHICH SAILBOAT BELONGS TO ANN'S SON.
I JUST LOOKED FOR THE FAST ONE BEING SKILLFULLY HANDLED.
THEN I FOUND OUT IT WASN'T EVEN HIS CLASS.

ANN'S OWN SHOT OF HER SON SAILING FREE.

I'M SURE THAT WAS SLUSHIE HERSELF OUT ON THE WATER LATER IN THE DAY.

Meson Salvador and the Tail of the Bull

2013-05-09T18:26:00.006+02:00

One of our favorite places for a meal in our neighborhood is Meson Salvador. It was where we enjoyed our first lunch when we were apartment hunting in early February. We had no idea how lucky we were to stumble on the place that day. I must say that we have been treated consistently well just about everywhere we've been in Fuengirola. It's definitely a friendly, easy-going, warm, and welcoming town. But, the people at Meson Salvador refer to everyone as "familia" (family) and they mean it. We even feel perfectly comfortable and content hanging out with "the guys" [mostly] watching European football on TV.

The food is consistently excellent. I've gotten stuck in a rut with their incredible albondigas (meatballs) and I'm trying to vary my repertoire now (especially since they give me a hard time about my predictability). Last night I had croquetas de pollo (chicken croquettes). The time before I had a fish and vegetable fry. San Geraldo's favorite dish is "rabo de toro" (bull's tail). It's apparently the best rabo de toro he's had. He has ordered it almost every time and nobody raises an eyebrow. I guess some people are allowed to be predictable.

RABO DE TORO.
(BULL'S TAIL)

CROQUETAS DE POLLO.
(CHICKEN CROQUETTES)

SEAFOOD AND VEGETABLES LAST WEEK.
A LOCAL TRADITION.

MADRID VS. MÁLAGA. (THE LOCAL TEAM, MÁLAGA, LOST, 6–2.)

ALMOST EVERY VISIT ENDS WITH PIONONO.
AFTER MANY TASTE TESTS, I'M CONVINCED IT'S BETTER THAN BAILEY'S.

LOOKING BACK LAST NIGHT... WITH LONGING.

Mad Dogs and an Englishman

2013-05-08T21:09:00.003+02:00

NOT ON THE MENU.

It's been more than 30 days since our last visit to the National Police office where we submitted the paperwork to change the address on our residency cards. We have to do that any time we move. We were told by the very nice [Spanish] officer there that we could come back to pick up our new cards in 30 days. After breakfast this morning we headed over.

There's an information desk. It's manned by an expat (ex-patriot) Englishman, aged 70+. A bit crotchety, we thought last time, but nice enough to us no matter how nasty he was to others. He was occupied and another man who does paperwork (but doesn't usually help visitors) looked up at me. I told him in Spanish what we were there for and he, a bit gruffly (I assume because his job doesn't usually entail dealings with the public), directed me to the line for foreigners to pick up the cards. The line was a small mass of confusion with people coming from multiple directions with no apparent order. It was a warm day and even hotter inside, so San Geraldo went to wait on the shaded front terrace. When the Englishman was free, I leaned over and asked him if I was in the right place to pick up our cards. He looked at the form in my hand and snapped, "Not here!" and then busied himself with paperclips.

I said, "I'm sorry?"

He snarled (even curling his lip at me), "They're only up to 57!" The shuffling of paperclips had become frantic.

THE CHANGE OF ADDRESS.

I had no idea what 57 was. He pointed to a post-it note on his wall. In pencil was the number 57.

I said, "I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood. We were told to come back in 30 days. Is there a way for us to know what number is ready so we come back on the right day?

"Go ahead and stand in line for all I care. I'm telling you what they told me." OK, then.

ROUGH SEAS.

I looked down at my form and saw that San Geraldo and I both had number 61, in addition to a string of numbers that followed. I had no idea until then, that we even had "numbers." A very nice guy behind me said, "Oh, I've talked with that one this morning. Turns out I have number 62. I'm just going to wait and see if maybe they told him wrong." He was holding a British passport and went on to say, "I was also told to come back in 30 days, but I just finally read my receipt and it says it would be ready in 45 days." He added with an eye-roll, "He's a real charmer, isn't he?"

I looked again at my own form and discovered the same thing — 45 days. Too bad I hadn't bothered reading it earlier. One demerit for me. I decided to not wait in line; we'd return in another two weeks.

The only thing that truly bothered me was the behavior of the Englishman behind the desk. Why should a rude Englishman be allowed to badly represent Spanish bureaucracy? Surely, Spanish bureaucrats can sully their own reputations if they choose. It made me remember more fondly Things 1, 2, and even Thing 3, our first government bureaucrats in Sevilla. (Click here to see how memories can change.)

IT'S WORTH ALL THE BULL.

I wished my neighbor luck and walked out to San Geraldo, who was trying to stay cool, calm, and collected. I started to vent. He was clearly hoping my little rant would end quickly. So, instead of commiserating, he gently patted me on the back, which I thought was patronizing and, of course, that just about sent me over the edge. We walked home and stopped at a sidewalk café for something cool to drink. We had what turned out to be tasteless, poorly made "slushies." But they were at least cold. I became nice again (I think), San Geraldo cooled off, and we both relaxed. A woman sat nearby with a little rat of a dog. It yipped and squealed piercingly at every other dog that passed; there were many. We groaned. Then someone else arrived with a very large dog. It had a booming bark that nearly shook us out of our seats every time something of interest caught its eye. The sun was shining. It was noon. Noel Coward was right.

Call Me Master Sand Sculptor

2013-05-07T13:48:00.000+02:00

I have been so inspired by the exceptional sand sculptures on the beaches of Fuengirola that I've been thinking of trying my hand at the art. Then I remembered that I used to be quite talented myself when I was a kid. My specialty was the harbor seal.

KISS THE FROG IN FUENGIROLA...
AND ALL YOU GET IS SANDY LIPS.

NATIVE AMERICANS A LA FUENGIROLA.
(THE PEACE PIPE, CAMPFIRE, AND VOLCANO ALL GET LIT AT NIGHT... AS DO THE SCULPTORS.)

Although my harbor seal wasn't bad, I never honed it to the level shown by these local artists. And I don't have any photos to share. But I did find a shot of one of my "sand fortresses" under construction in the mid 1980s. San Geraldo and I were on the beach in Scituate Harbor, Massachusetts (about 20 miles/32 km north of Plymouth Rock where San Geraldo's ancestors landed the Mayflower in 1620). It was one of our many visits with good friends who lived there. In the photo, I'm caught mid-creation; the evil San Geraldo is caught as he's about to splash cold water on our sweet, unaware, friend Sarah (now a mother of two). From the looks of things, it's good I hadn't yet quit my day job.

I BUILT IT MYSELF.

(OH, ALRIGHT! I WAS ONLY SARAH'S ASSISTANT.)

Say, Jerry, What's a Cat House?

2013-05-06T12:05:00.001+02:00

JOE SENT ME.

I went for a walk the other day and met a cat hanging out in a window. As I approached, he sleepily stretched and assessed me. A marking on his face made it look like he had a shiner. Thinking of a San Geraldo story from the past, I wondered if he was the bouncer at this particular "house."

Innocence
In 1982, San Geraldo and I drove with our friend Susan from Boston to New York for the weekend. On the way back, we stopped at a McDonald's on the Connecticut Turnpike. While in the parking lot sipping our chocolate shakes, I noticed a veterinary clinic on the other side of the fence. There were two entrances. One read "DOGS" and the other, "CATS."

I facetiously said, "Ha. They don't fool me. That's just a cover for a cathouse."

San Geraldo, the young and innocent, said, "Huh? Is that like a kennel, only for cats?"

Susan and I looked at him incredulously. As you have probably learned, San Geraldo often gets incredulous looks.

"You really don't know what a cathouse is?" I asked.

"Yeah, like a kennel, right?" he replied.

I explained, "Jerry, a cathouse is a whorehouse."

"No it's not. You're making that up."

"I am not. It's where you would go to... well, not you... uh... It's where you go for pussy!

"Oh, stop it. It is not."

Susan reached her hand to his cheek, nodded, and said, "It is."

"Really?!?"

In unison, "Really."

"Well, that's just here. My mother won't know what it is!"

"Trust me," I assured him, "your mother will know."

When we got home, San Geraldo immediately phoned his mother in Minnesota. I stood close so I could hear her response. "Mom, what's a cathouse?"

She laughed and then, when he didn't respond, asked, "Is this a joke?"

"No," he muttered. "Do you know what a cathouse is?"

"Well, of course. Don't you remember Lulu's when we lived in Huron [South Dakota]?"

Stunned silence.

The next night, the phone was ringing when we got home from dinner. San Geraldo grabbed it. It was his Aunt Mildred (his mother's oldest sister). I could hear her cackle all the way from Oregon, "Say, Jerry, what's a cathouse?"

Our Spanish Cathouse

Click the photos. Some will get bigger. Some won't. The cats are in control.

DOWN IN FRONT! DUDO IS A LINDA HUNT FAN.

MOOSE HAS TWO SLEEPING SPOTS ON SAN GERALDO'S DESK. NOT MUCH ROOM TO WORK.

THE BEAUTIFUL BLANKET I WON... APPARENTLY FOR DUDO.
(CLICK HERE FOR THAT STORY.)

I AM REQUIRED TO SET A CHAIR IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM SO THEY CAN SEE OUTSIDE.

MOOSE ENTANGLED IN HIS OWN PERSONAL SUN BED.
(IT DOES FORCE SAN GERALDO TO KEEP HIS DESK A LITTLE NEATER.)

TRYING TO GET SOME PHOTOS OF THEIR NEW HOUSE. I WAS SUPERVISED.
AND YES, DOWAGER DUCHESS, THEY'RE ON THE TABLE.
I'VE GIVEN UP. THEY GO WHEREVER THEY WANT ... WITH NO APOLOGIES.

Finnish Fashion Fuengirola

2013-05-05T12:44:00.000+02:00

There are plenty of fashionable Finns in Fuengirola — back in Finland, too, no doubt. But here (and I assume, there) are Finns a bit more festive and, well, folksy. Maybe they're former Finnish flower children. Or Finnish farmers. The colors and patterns knock out my New York noir. I find it fun and fascinating. And, for now at least, I'm finished.

FRIDEBORG (NOT HER REAL NAME — AS FAR AS I KNOW) AT BREAKFAST YESTERDAY
CLICK TO MAKE THE FASHION MORE FERVENT.

So, Set 'Em Up, Jóse

2013-05-03T20:24:00.000+02:00

In recent years, before we moved to Spain, a drink with a meal was a rarity for me. Now, when we dine out, since a glass of beer is so cheap, I tend to have a small one with lunch or dinner. A common practice here — in the friendly places (which there seem to be an abundance of) — is for the "house" to buy us an after-dinner drink. Un chupito (click here for an important lesson on chupitos). That means that I quite often have not one but two drinks with dinner — and if San Geraldo doesn't like the chupito, I get to have three drinks!

Our friends Jorunn and Jesper have been visiting this week from Norway and Denmark. Jesper is a terrible influence. He now has me enjoying a carajillo after lunch. It's coffee with either brandy, whiskey, anís, or rum (ours have been with brandy). You may know it as Spanish coffee. Jesper, Jorunn, and I had just enjoyed a delicious lunch at a friendly place called Casa Kiki. With lunch we had gone through more than a pitcher of tinto de verano ("red wine of summer" — red wine with lemon-lime soda), which was delicious. Jesper then ordered three carajillos. DEE-licious. The owner of Casa Kiki then brought over three chupitos. Caramel vodka. DEE-LUSH-ISS. Somehow, I still got us home (the Mediterranean Sea is a good ... landmark.)

CARAJILLO, COMPLEMENTS OF JESPER.

CARAMEL VODKA, COMPLEMENTS OF THE OWNER OF CASA KIKI.

The night before our friends arrived, San Geraldo and I were at Meson Salvador for dinner. The owner, Jóse, not only bought us after-dinner drinks (vino dulce this time instead of the usual pionono), he also gave us a gift before we left — a bottle of new wine. The new wine is delicious, too. But I think I'm beginning to spend too much time at Sand Bar.

VINO DULCE (I GOT TO DRINK BOTH).
ON THE HOUSE AT MESON SALVADOR.

VINO NUEVO COMPLEMENTS OF JÓSE.
EVEN THE CATS WANTED IN (WELL, THEY WANT EVERYTHING).

BACK TO SAND BAR.

WHEN YOU START SEEING CHIMPS, IT'S TIME TO GO HOME.

ONE OF THE ARTISTS DURING A PRODUCTIVE PERIOD.
CLICK TO MAKE THE DRINKS BIGGER AT SAND BAR.

Hair

2013-04-30T16:21:00.001+02:00

A picture paints a thousand words. (Too bad it doesn't paint a thousand hairs.)

1954

1955

1956

1958

1962

1971

1973

1974 (WITH MY BEAUTIFUL NIECE).

2009

2013. MONDAY, LOOKING FROM THE TERRACE TO THE DINING ROOM.
THE REFLECTION OF THE SEA AND SUN ~~OFF MY HEAD~~ IN THE MIRROR.

Paradise Lost and Found

2013-04-28T23:30:00.000+02:00

With no good reason, I've been having emotionally challenging days. (Again.) No sympathy needed. No sympathy deserved. No boring details either. My moods are as changeable as today's skies over Fuengirola. We didn't have snow and cold, but we had a little of most other things today — sun, clouds, wind, rain, sun, wind, clouds, mist... Did I mention wind? They're called breezes here. San Geraldo is trying to understand the difference between "breezes" and "wind." I tell him it's all in your attitude.

I caught the changing look of Fuengirola as the day progressed. From top to bottom, the photos were taken from around 11 a.m. until 9 p.m. The colors throughout the day and evening were magical. The breezes, not so much.

The Duchess and Son Get Their Fix

2013-04-26T14:08:00.001+02:00

Some final memories of our visit to New York. Good deli food and Dr. Brown's cream soda (twice in one week) topped my list. If you haven't had cream soda, you don't know what you're missing. (Although, some people taste it and wish they didn't know what they were missing.) A colleague once introduced me to a great imitation. Simply mix vanilla vodka with ginger ale. If you have more than two of the vodka versions, the tastes are identical. If you don't like "original" cream soda, you might like the adult version.

DR. BROWN'S ORIGINAL CREAM SODA.
BLISS.

My Fix
Cream soda (without vodka) requires some good New York deli to bring out the flavor. We were lucky enough to have lunch twice at a place called The Stage Deli. The original Stage Deli, on 7th Avenue, closed last year; I have no idea what connection this little place has, but it was good. The sandwiches (in traditional delis, there's enough meat for four sandwiches) are usually too much for the Dowager Duchess to consume in one (or even two) sittings. So, she and I shared a sandwich, which meant that I got to supplement my meal with a really good potato knish.

CORNED BEEF, POTATO KNISH, AND A KOSHER DILL.
I'M OK FOR ANOTHER YEAR.

The Duchess's Fix
What visit with The Dowager Duchess would be complete without a visit to at least one garden center? We drove to the nearby Home Depot (our version here in Fuengirola is a store called Akí) and The Duchess swooned over the flora. There was nothing to "weed," but back in her apartment I did find a photo of the Duchess "weeding the garden" in Germany more than 30 years ago (click here to see that story).

A VERY UNFLATTERING PHOTO OF THE DOWAGER DUCHESS ...
AS SHE TRIES TO FIGURE OUT HOW MANY CAN FIT ON HER BALCONY.

THE DOWAGER DUCHESS — PULLING WEEDS IN THE BACKYARD.
AUGUSTBURG PALACE, BRÜHL, GERMANY, 1974.

MY FATHER, THE ROYAL CONSORT — ON HIS PEDESTAL.
AUGUSTBURG PALACE, BRÜHL, GERMANY, 1974.

Moonstruck

2013-04-23T20:39:00.000+02:00

The many phases of the moon in Fuengirola. This post is dedicated to my sister-in-law Linda and all other astronomy buffs. (Click any image to see a fuller moon.)

RISING OVER PLAZA SAN RAFAEL EARLY SUNDAY NIGHT.

PEAKING OUT EARLY AFTERNOON IN PLAZA DE ESPAÑA.

SETTING... OR RISING... ON NEARBY CALLE POETA SALVADOR ROEDA
(A SMALL STREET WITH A LARGE NAME — AND MOON).

FROM OUR TERRACE.
SLIPPING BELOW THE HORIZON ON THE PASEO.

IN ALL ITS BRONZED GLORY ON THE PASEO.
ONE OF MANY LOCAL SCULPTURES BY GOMEZ DE GUERRERO (BUT, HIS ONLY MOON) .

ANOTHER VIEW FROM OUR TERRACE.
SATURDAY, JUST AFTER IT SET ... ER... SAT.

DESPITE THE OPENING LYRICS ("...WHEN BOY MEETS GIRL..."),

DON'T FORGET THE GAY TARANTELLA!

Smoke Alarm

2013-04-22T21:17:00.000+02:00

While San Geraldo and I were making our travel plans, one of my cousins happened to phone my mother to tell her she was having a small party for her husband's 80th birthday. My cousin is much, much, much younger than her husband. (She didn't tell me to say that.) This is the second marriage for both, but they've been together a very long time.

IT'S AMAZING HOW MUCH HEAT (AND SMOKE) 81 CANDLES EMIT.

Years ago, when her husband's son gave them their first grandchild, my cousin teasingly asked, "So, old man, how does it feel to be a grandfather?" His tart response: "I've got a better question. How does it feel to be sleeping with one?"

THE BIRTHDAY BOY IS A RETIRED UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR. HOT AIR TO SPARE?
HE'S FLANKED BY MY COUSIN, ONE OF HER AMAZING GRANDDAUGHTERS, AND HER SON-IN-LAW.

There were actually two birthdays being celebrated. My first cousin twice removed turned 13. I grew up with the birthday tradition that you always had one candle on the cake for every year of your age and then an additional one for good luck. I thought everyone had this tradition until I met San Geraldo. They didn't get any extras in the frugal Midwest. What's your tradition?

THE BIRTHDAY GIRL, MY COUSIN TWICE REMOVED. GRACIOUSLY AWAITING HER TURN.
13 CANDLES PLUS ONE FOR GOOD LUCK.

A VERY CONTENT DOWAGER DUCHESS.

My cousin wasn't making a big deal of the party, really, just her husband's family at first. But she then decided to include her daughter and family, and her sister (my cousin, obviously, too) and brother-in-law. She knew we were planning a visit and, if it coincided with the party, she said she would love if we could be there. So, we arranged to be in the States at the right time and we drove from Brooklyn to New Jersey on Saturday.

HEADING BACK FROM NEW JERSEY WITH SAN GERALDO BEHIND THE WHEEL.
NEW YORK'S (DOWNTOWN) SKYLINE IN BACKGROUND.

The party was an absolute pleasure. Both cakes were delicious. The kids were sweethearts. The Dowager Duchess was elated. And San Geraldo even had a half-hour siesta.

VERRAZANO-NARROWS BRIDGE, LOOKING BACK TO STATEN ISLAND.

As we crossed the Verrazano Bridge from Staten Island on our return to Brooklyn, I thought back to when the bridge first opened in 1964. Before that, we could only get to Staten Island (one of the five boroughs of New York City) by ferry. The bridge goes over the "narrows" heading into New York Harbor, so it's officially the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. It was the world's longest suspension bridge until 1981. I think it has since dropped to number 8. There are spectacular views of the Statue of Liberty and the Manhattan skyline, but I couldn't get San Geraldo to pull over for pictures. (Something about it being against the law... or dangerous, I think. Party pooper.)

The bridge was named for Italian explorer Giovanni de Verrazano who is said to have "discovered" New York Harbor in 1524. (Four years later, he was eaten by cannibals on an island south of Jamaica.) My sister Dale initially thought the bridge was called the Verraznarrows Bridge. The name does flow off the tongue. Well, kind of.

YES, IT WOULD BE NICE IF THE ITEMS IN THE MIRROR WERE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.

The Swimsuit Edition: Looks Aren't Everything

2013-04-21T19:57:00.000+02:00

As usual, during my visit with the Dowager Duchess, I looked through some of her 30 or 40 photo albums. At this stage, just about everything has been scanned, but there are a few I haven't gotten to. My parents were a very good-looking couple — not that that should make a difference. But, I come from an extended family in which looks count for a lot. In one of the albums, I came across some early "glamour" shots of my parents. I supplemented, from the family slides I had already scanned, with early glamour shots of us kids.

CONEY ISLAND, BROOKLYN, 1948.
(UNBELIEVABLY, THE DOWAGER DUCHESS REFUSED TO POSE FOR A CURRENT PIN-UP SHOT!)

The Dowager Duchess is still beautiful, although she still doesn't think so. She looks back at old photos and comments, "Well, maybe I wasn't so bad." My father, fortunately, never seemed to be aware of his good looks. My friends all had crushes on him, as did most of the divorcées in our apartment building. But, my mother had no reason to worry. She once watched from a distance as he ordered a drink at a restaurant bar. A woman sitting at the bar crossed her legs seductively, batted her eyelashes, held a cigarette to her lips, and asked him for a light. He smiled, passed her the book of matches lying on the bar, picked up his drink, and returned to the table. I, at least, would have lit her cigarette.

OYSTER BAY, LONG ISLAND, 1960.
I CAN'T BELIEVE WE HAVEN'T HEARD FROM "SPORTS ILLUSTRATED."
(... AND WHAT IN HELL WAS I WEARING???)

Palm Trees Here and There

2013-04-20T21:20:00.005+02:00

The weather wasn't great for our visit to New York. Raw, rainy, overcast, and windy. When it wasn't raw and rainy, it was still overcast and windy. The Dowager Duchess lives very near the ocean. The winds, like those here on the Mediterranean, can be overwhelming. One morning, San Geraldo and I were heading out for a stroll to Starbucks in Brighton Beach. It began to rain and the wind was blowing so hard that our umbrellas couldn't be opened. Fortunately, there's a Starbucks drive-thru about a mile away.

AT THE STARBUCKS DRIVE-THRU IN BROOKLYN.

THE KID BROTHER (AND OBSESSED NY YANKEES FAN?)
ANOTHER STARBUCKS DRIVE-THRU DAY — ON THE WAY TO THE CASINO..

Sunshine
The day we left New York, Wednesday, it was clear and sunny and in the mid 70s (24C). Apparently, Fuengirola had great weather while we were away. Since our return it's been warmer than New York but otherwise overcast and windy, with some scattered showers. I'm told New York has had nothing but sunshine. Ironic or just bad luck?

SPRINKLER PALM TREE, CONEY ISLAND, LAST WEEK.
CONEY ISLAND PIER CLOSED FOR REPAIRS SINCE HURRICANE SANDY.

GARDEN ALONG THE BOARDWALK, BRIGHTON BEACH.
THAT'S BEACH SAND WHERE THERE ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE BEACH SAND.

SAILING LESSONS TODAY IN FUENGIROLA.
CLICK FOR A BETTER VIEW. TINY SAILBOATS CAME OUT FOR LESSONS LATER IN THE DAY.

Travels with Grumpy (and Grumpy)

2013-04-19T20:37:00.003+02:00

San Geraldo and I returned yesterday from New York. It was a wonderful visit with My-Mother-The-Dowager-Duchess. The Duchess is not a hoarder, but she does have her share of "stuff." The Kid Brother doesn't help, having left some of his own stuff behind temporarily when he moved out 26 years ago. Among his things was a set of plaster dwarfs (of the Snow White variety), all seven of them. That collection has dwindled down to two. Either he eventually took the other five home or they broke and were tossed (more likely). Ironically, Grumpy (Gruñon) was one that remained (click to see my recent post). I ignored the other Dwarf — he was bashful anyway — and I adopted Grumpy. Well, I actually kidnapped him; but don't tell the Kid Brother.

Look Who's Smiling
Grumpy's frown wasn't painted on very precisely. San Geraldo, my own Gruñon, thought Grumpy was smiling and, therefore, a different Dwarf.

"That's not Grumpy. That's Smiley," he said.

I had him look more closely at the facial expression and explained to him that there wasn't actually a Dwarf named Smiley. I then touched up the frown myself.

To be honest, there was a 1991 "Snow White" movie that had only six dwarfs and, in that version, there was in fact a Smiley. But, don't tell San Geraldo; he'll think he was right. Besides, in the original Brothers Grimm story, none of the Dwarfs even had names.

FROWNING ABOUT HIS VIEW OF CONEY ISLAND FROM THE BEDROOM WINDOW.
(THE CYCLONE, WONDER WHEEL — AND RETIRED ASTROTOWER — IN BACKGROUND.)

FROWNING OVER MOCHA AND LEMON POUND CAKE AT STARBUCKS, BRIGHTON BEACH.
(THE OTHER GRUÑON BEHIND HIM READING HIS KINDLE.)

WALKING HOME FROM STARBUCKS.
(GRUMPY OPTS FOR THE "Q" TRAIN.)

ONBOARD AND IMPATIENTLY AWAITING DEPARTURE AT KENNEDY AIRPORT.

IN FLIGHT. TWO GLASSES OF WINE.
DOUBLE-CHOCOLATE MILANOS COMPLEMENTS OF THE DOWAGER DUCHESS.
AND STILL GRUMPY. (WELL, THE WINE WAS CRAP.)

ABOUT TO DEPART MADRID FOR MÁLAGA ON THE HIGH-SPEED TRAIN.
(DON'T LOOK AT ME! HIS NOSE WAS BROKEN BEFORE WE MET — SAN GERALDO'S, TOO.)

Happy Cats

By the way, the cats clearly missed us but they're fine. Our neighbor María Carmen took tender loving care of them. Moose is presiding over San Geraldo's desk and Dudo is on my lap... again. Except for jet lag, all's well in Fuengirola.

Reinventing the Wheel

2013-04-16T18:17:00.002+02:00

The Dowager Duchess and the Kid Brother have been keeping us awfully busy since our arrival in New York Wednesday afternoon. I've got lots of photos and stories but no time to share them. We head back to Spain tomorrow. Sunday, the Kid Brother arrived at 8 a.m. (he had already arrived at 8 a.m. Thursday and then Monday, as well). We headed to the casino at Aqueduct Racetrack, gambled, had lunch, gambled some more, and then went shoe-shopping (sadly, not with gambling winnings). San Geraldo bought two very nice pairs of big shoes for his big feet.

NEW YORK CITY MOSAIC WALL AT RESORT WORLDS CASINO AT AQUEDUCT RACETRACK.
(CLICK TO MAKE THE BIG APPLE A BIGGER APPLE.)

The Dowager Duchess financed The Kid Brother's gambling, but gave me the money to dole out so he would think it was coming from me (I'm much better at saying "no"). The Kid Brother's financial management skills are no better than ours (San Geraldo's and mine). When I finally cashed out all our tickets, I had $77 remaining of The Kid Brother's original $100 budget. He couldn't quite understand that the $77 were not winnings and, in addition, the $77 did not get turned over to him.

BROADWAY MOSAIC AT THE CASINO.
(CLICK TO MAKE THE GREAT WHITE WAY GREATER.)

We rented a very nice car at the airport. We upgraded so The Dowager Duchess could be chauffeured around town in comfort. We insisted on a very new car (low mileage), so we could be confident that the car would not give us any headaches. The first thing I was thrilled to notice was that this car actually had REVERSE. And it worked. I didn't have to push us out of the parking lot.

THE RED "R" STANDS FOR REVERSE. AN AMAZING INVENTION.

On our second day here, we were going to head out shopping (in the blowing wind and pouring rain). Chivalrous San Geraldo went to get the car and bring it around to the back entrance of The Dowager Duchess's building so that she (and I) wouldn't have to suffer in the weather. However, about two minutes after leaving us San Geraldo returned. "We're not going anywhere," he said. "We've got a flat tire."

The tire was as flat as a pancake it turned out. We had picked up a large and pointy screw. So, our American rental car (made in Japan) wasn't going in reverse or forward.

WELCOME TO NEW YORK CITY. A SPANISH TIRE SHOP AND A RUSSIAN PHARMACY.
(IF YOU EVER HAVE A FLAT IN BROOKLYN, HERMANOS ARE THE GUYS TO SEE.)

We, of course, hadn't taken the additional "tire insurance," which would have cost $9 per day. So, now we figured we'd regret that decision. AVIS sent someone very quickly to put the temporary spare on the car, but we then had to get the tire repaired ourselves. We went back upstairs and went online to find a nearby tire repair place. San Geraldo phoned and we headed over. We double-parked out front and waited 10 minutes in the entry of a very funky (well, very dumpy) little store. The repair cost $10! So glad we didn't take that insurance.