Aventuras para vida...

10 mil

2011-06-13T12:39:00.000+01:00

A post from Myles

2011-06-03T22:57:00.000+01:00

Friends from all over the world.

One of my favorite things to do on a hot weekend day in Granada is to grab a couple euros from my wallet and go rally some really good friends. We go to the chuchería down near Plaza Larga, maybe Pepe's place with the newspapers, buy sweets, popsicles and pipas. Then we stroll the streets of our barrio, the Albaycin, without knowing where we were going. But, then we think, "Who cares, at least were having fun and a good time!" Eventually we walk around enough to figure out where we are. Then we head up to the park to play fútbol, eat our sweets and to hang around instead of stand on the side of the street watching motos and buses go buy... When our moms call us and say, "It's time for dinner and bed", we all think that at least there is the next weekend just waiting for us to have the best time ever and to have the same day all over again...

If you can try to come to Spain, you need to, because you'll make so many friends. I have friends from almost all over the world. Ismael is my muslim friend from Morocoo. Rafa, Mario, Yacub, Pepe, Omar and Joaguin are Spanish and Argentinian. Joaguin from cuarto B is from Italy and I have two friends from France and Britain. I love it here.

Grieving in Granada ~ Read this one!!

2011-05-18T16:01:00.005+01:00

You know that sick feeling you have in your stomach from time to time when you have to leave a special place or you lose a loved one? Our bellies are queazy these days in Granada. Almost daily the boys ask, "How many days again do we have left with our friends?" ¡Uf! We are going to experience a profound loss here in just over a month. It's really hard to explain. I know it's not like death because we can, and will, return to visit our friends. It feels intense because we've come a long way. When we came to live in Granada we essentially knew nothing of this place nor did we know any single person. We started from the ground up. We were very raw and fragile and now we are lively and strong and it's truly because of the people we've met here. Without the shared moments, days, laughs and cries, our life in Spain wouldn't compare. These connections are the ones that will be deeply missed.

Yes, sí, ya lo sé, I'm working on the profanity post...still. It's the one I'm going to write in Spanish so as not to offend the native English speakers. The Spaniards won't mind it. They'll just laugh at me and say "Pero hombre, ¿qué va?" Why so uptight? I'm really not that uptight - have hardly ever been - and now am even more lackadaisical than ever. But for those of my acquaintances back in the states who may shun this post, for you, hopefully some of the translation will be lost in the google translator above. It's taking me a long time because my entire existence of 42+ years of life has been that of dutifully trying NOT to swear and use profanities, except when, I was, from time to time, intoxicated during my university years or if I spilt the milk, then it was ok to yell "oh f@#k" (But, then, if I said it in front of my kids, I would immediately cover my mouth, eyes open wide, and apologize profusely for my maladies and horrible, horrible modeling skills.) Here, in Spain, I use a nice, flowered version of "oh f@#k", yes, in front of my kids, on daily basis, multiply times. The word is jolín. Rolls off the tongue nicely, doesn't it? By the way, the "j" is pronounced like an "h" in English. Correct intonation is a very important part of this expression. As you gently force (yes, you can force something, gently) out the sound from the depths of the back of your throat, you will tend to physically project yourself forward, ever so slightly, giving dramatic life to the expression. I wish I were a fly on your wall right now watching you practice.

Jolín is a mild way of saying joder (f@#k), and is sometimes used by children to avoid inciting the wrath of their parents. Let's just say this, jolín "softens the blow". Other forms that you might hear are (these are more often used by adults to avoid swearing)... jó, joer, jóe, jole. These can also be used to exagerate statements such as ¡Joer tío, es que me encanta esta canción! (holy s%%t dude, I love this song!) etc. I JUST couldn't resist on embedding this one...

Moving forward...I will save the rest our speech revolution for the future post.

Actually, this particular post has to do with a devastating event I witnessed in Granada yesterday. I can't begin to express the depth of our sadness towards this loss. In order for you to understand the magnitude, I'll take you back a few months and tell you the complete story. It all started with this act...

Yes, this poor gal carried her man around for various weeks, doing her duty as an advocate of species conservation. Little did she know, that her laborious efforts were all in vain.

She and her sistahs laid hundreds of thousands of eggs which snaked down the acequia above the Alhambra.

I would run by her daily, check on her status, say hello and give her a thumbs up.

The boys and I would rally to go up for walks and record the life cycle of a frog. They were devastated when the acequia began to dry a bit in between rain showers here and there.

They even went so far as to carry water up to help keep the area moist.

We became obsessed with the life of these soon-to-be amphibians, learning that they were a vital contribution to our healthy planet. They had to survive for the well-being of Granada!

Yesterday, this is what I saw on my run.

The acequia was recently shoveled clean, down to the bottom of the ditch. It is now bare.

The evidence was still fresh and wet, wriggling in the midst of metamorphosis, spewed all over the trail. DAMN those Alhambra greenskeepers!

I don't have the heart to tell the boys.

Cofradías y Capirotes, Santos y Vírgenes

2011-05-05T17:36:00.000+01:00

Tempted? It was a week of what felt like party life in a folklore land. We stayed up until 3am watching processions, wandered through the streets of Granada in search of various virgins meanwhile eating fresh coconut and ice cream, oh, and a fair amount of cañas y tapas for basic sustenance. Even though this photo was sniped some 4 days after our initiation and first exposure to Semana Santa, we were still taken aback by the swirling, fiery, red capes that came walking towards us this afternoon. I wanted to touch them and wrap myself in the silky fabric they were wearing and follow them all night long, but instead I went with Uncle Colin and the kids and bought una tarrina de yogur y trufle at Los Italianos in hopes to wane this desire. It worked, for a while. YES! We had our first and only family visitor this year! Hmm. Myles and Owen were thrilled to show Uncle Colin the ins and outs of Granada. It was clear that he enjoyed every minute of his stay - taking in the city, skiing in the hills, riding with the Ciclistas a go-go, and being coaxed in attending various religious processions. Although I tend to believe maybe he faked enjoying this part of his stay. We're thankful we were able to share this experience with him.

New vocabulary para esta entrada. But before this, just a couple items. Perhaps you've noticed a few additions to the blog. First and foremost I've inserted a new gadget that will translate the entire post into the language of your choice. The google translator above is for our Spanish friends who keep saying they'd love the blog even more if it were in Spanish! One of these posts will be written completely in Spanish so that the native English speakers can see how the native Spanish speakers are suffering. The translator does an ok job, but with my excessive use of colloquialisms, a fair amount of meaning is lost and readers are left with that quizzical look on their faces. Next is the addition of an Amazon widget at the bottom. I have been holding out on trying to market this blog in such a way that connects it to money. Many have suggested I work it. But I can't seem to put this idea into motion...yet. So, I'll make a joke of it, imagine that, and show you some of the items that we find immeasurable this year living Spain. What do a pogo stick and a hot water bottle have to do with living in Andalucía? I'm going to let you ponder that one for yourself. I am so thrilled to find that I can buy pig butt from Amazon for a mere $230.00! This will make our re-entry back into the land of red, white and blue so, so, so much easier.

¡SANTO VOCABULARIO!
I'm not sure if you noticed but I've thrown out the santo/a term a bit in recent posts. It's because the boys have a running joke about saints. We yell out ¡santa mierda! (holy @#$%) quite often, primarily because it's everywhere in the Albaycin, santa leche, santo pan, santa pizza, santo perro, etc. You get the point. As soon as I can get the profanity post together you'll learn a few more phrases that have helped us to express ourselves in those trying times when a simple, gosh darn, just doesn't seem to have the desired outcome.

Vocabulary for this particular post:

capirote ~ pointy hat

cofradía ~ religious brotherhood that care for the well-being of the statue, quite a wealthy group of individuals contributing many euros each year to the gold and silver inlays on the statues and general upkeep, these guys and gals are the ones dressed up in the capirotes, they tend to be flagellants, too, carrying crosses and heavy silver staffs of all sorts, some walk barefoot if they'd made sort of "promise" to god, all take their individual procession very seriously not talking to anyone

costaleros (braceros) ~ the heroic, flagellants (usually men, although I saw two women) who carry the tronos on their shoulders, everyone applauds after they take a break usually about every 2-3 blocks or so, apparently you have to request to be a bracero and it's not a given you will be accepted into the particular cofradía

tronos ~ plaster or wooden sculptures and structures of the Virgin Mary or different stages of the life, torture and death of Jesus Christ, weighing up to 5 metric tons

It's difficult to try to express in words what we experienced the week of Semana Santa living in Granada, Spain. Vivid images will remain in our kids' minds for life. Most images will be positive, some bad, but all extremely thought provoking, adhering to the basic requirements for this year in Spain. This past "spring break" was not spent climbing in Joshua Tree, Southern California like years past. Instead we took a step back in time, experiencing a cultural tradition that began during the Medieval Age.

Beginning stages of the bola de cera ~ Intricate verbal instructions from cute Spanish girls a must

Ok, so, first of all, you gotta let go of your first reaction as an American to the fotos in this post. Here are a couple tidbits to help you do this. The first thing I'm going to tell you is that capirotes have been worn for centuries and in many different cultures all over the world with no intention of any connection to pain and suffering...well, maybe the dunce cap induces a little bit.

These photos aren't so bad, right? We can see the faces and partial bodies of the people wearing them. It's when the entire body, head and face are covered that we begin to feel a bit uneasy about things. Unfortunately without learning the history of these hats and why they were worn, our initial reaction is that of disgust and sadness due to the connection with the US white supremacist group known as the KKK. (Which by the way still exists today not only in southern parts of our mother tierra, but all over the US. Heck, there are even a bunch of Tea Party movement activists trying to get one of the chapter's leaders to run for president in 2012...lovely. Yet another reason to become an ex-pat in Spain.)

¡Uf! Sorry! just had to get that out of my system...

The second thing I'm going to do to help channel your thoughts into a more positive direction is share the first impression our kids had of the first procession we witnessed. We had just finished a hike up above the Alhambra to check on the tadpoles and see the status of their emerging rear legs and were in route to Bar 22, to meet Sarah and Nikita, when we came upon Jesús de la sentencia y Virgen de la maravillas being carried down the Carrera del Darro. The cofradía was dressed in white gowns with red capirotes. Myles and Owen immediately agreed that they looked just like the garden gnomes we have at home. From now on, this is how I see every cofradía from Semana Santa. Can I just say here how much I simply adore the non-jaded minds of children? I wish sometimes we, as adults, could somehow erase certain bits of information we've stored in our brains.

We're way too serious.

Here's a little clip of a few photos from Semana Santa. Enjoy! We decided that out of all the virgins (names like virgin of pain, suffering, rosary, light, revival, consolation, morning, peace, victory, incarnation, marvels, sacrament, aura, health, stars, misery, conception, more major pain, death, work, solidarity, angst, happiness, triumph...to name a few) our favorite trono was that of the huerto! Claro, que sí, we'd choose the huerto because we live by the huerto! It was a trono with an enormous living olive tree on top and resembled more of a garden scene than any sort of act of penitence...nice.

Quotes to live by...

"You runnin' with the virgins, hun?"

"Then he "vended" it." (Gotta love this one. Vended comes from "vender" meaning to sell.)

"It's the virgin of 1000 feet!"

"Tadpole road is so cool!"

"Everything is so alive."

"I guess it's not polite to pass the gnomes when they are marching?"

"That sounds so sad." "I think it sounds heroic!" (two different kids, two different viewpoints)

"They're doing all this for their religion?"

"Those statues are HUGE!"

"I'm getting sick of seeing so many virgins."

"I don't want to see another virgin."

"¡Es muy moro aquí!"

It's 2 in the morning and there are 1000 people in the streets and they're all eating ice cream from Los Italianos!!!"

"Pero, tío, Owen.....¡VENGA!"

¡Flauta afiladora en el Albaycin!

2011-04-27T16:27:00.003+01:00

The previous thank-you post was uneventful, I know. So, here's a little treat to carry you through the night. Today when I was walking home from Gomez around 4:30 (normally a pretty quiet time of day due to siesta) I heard a beautiful sound that instantly took me back 20+ years. We all have them - smells and sounds that give us that magical power to immediately travel back in time to a specific event, feeling as though we never left. One that stands out for me is the smell and memories I have of my first car. The smell was a mix between one of those nasty, vanilla, pine-tree air fresheners and the hot, plasticky smell of vinyl seats. It was a 1969, sky blue, 2-door, 6 cyl., Plymouth Duster with a rear lift.

Hombre, that car was fast. I would like to think that I had the 8 cyl., 340 HP engine but I can't remember for sure. All I know is that I could easily spin a doughnut throwing South Dakota country road gravel everywhere. When it wasn't having electrical problems, we rocked Def Leppard's "Pyromania" and The Cars' "Greatest Hits" on the Pioneer car stereo that was worth more than the car, dragging main on a Saturday night, sometimes in Kimball, Plankinton or Chamberlain. I could go on and on. I don't even need the smells to easily step back in time.

Ok, back to Spain. My heart fluttered and I went running down the streets in search of the sound and found this fellow.

Now, I do have other smells and sounds that take me back to perhaps, more romantic and exciting times in my past, however, this flauta afiladora, translated as the "grinding flute", took me back to a time during my youth when I lived a couple blocks off the Plaza Mayor in Madrid. The year was 1989 ¡santa mierda!

In Madrid I lived in an apartment that was easily over 1000 years old. The little, one bedroom piso was just steps away from the main market square of Madrid. Winding cobblestone streets and lots of city action were right outside my window. My roommates were from Puerto Rico, New York and the Dominican Republic. We shared the cost of food, wine and cigarettes. Whoever received money from their US counterparts bought the goods for that week, or so. We dressed primarily in black (we weren't really goth, more The Cure types), branded a lot of leather, smoked, drank, frequented a bar with a python in the front window before and after classes and borrowed litros of leche from the guys at the bar below our apartment. Fun days. I just had a conversation with a friend here in Spain and we talked about how you can let it all hang out when you live internationally. Nobody really knows you, so, why not? (Mind you, this year in Spain is 180 degrees different...I'm a responsible, professional, mature, clean, kind, intelligent, rational, driven, goal-oriented parent.)

Cuchillero arch ~ entrance to the Plaza from our old apartment in Madrid.

Every three days or so, usually one weekend day to make sure the señoras were in casa, the sound you just heard above would come wafting up the streets. It always happened at a time when the city was relatively quiet - sometimes early morning and other times after siesta. I loved hearing this sound. It reminded me of the canyon wrens from the Grand Canyon and the southwest. Perhaps even more than the sound of the pito was how much I loved watching the men soliciting the señoras to bring down their knives to be sharpened. It was an act of kindness, salesmenship and neighborhoodly goodness.

The flauta afiladora originated in the Northwest province of Spain called Galicia. Galicia consists of many fishing villages where many fisherman need sharp knives. I took a moment to look into the history of the flauta afiladora in Spain and am sad to say that it is a dying part of the culture. Perhaps in some of the more remote pueblos, especially in the north, the afiladoras still exist, but in today's modern society there is no demand for these humble men. Beyond that, the skill of sharpening knives is not an career option at the universities. Rather, it is passed on from generation to generation within a family. Children of today have no desire whatsoever to walk with their uncle or granddad down the streets, blowing a flute in hopes to make a few euros. BUT "la crisis fatal" in Spain has given a bit of an edge to this story!

Flauta afiladoras became a part of Spanish society when times were tough, after the Civil War and Spaniards were inventing all sorts of ways to make some pesetas to buy food. Enter the young businessman walking down our street sharpening knives for people in the Albaycin. He's just trying to supplement his income during a time of crisis! You probably have some sort of knife sharpener in your kitchen and you might think it ridiculous to pay someone 1 euro to do something you could do yourself. However, think of the big picture and think of the human connection you are making when you roll up your knives in a dishtowel, carry them down to the street and talk about the weather, the rising or falling costs of choice produce or fish in the market and politics (PP coming back into power perhaps?) with your local flauta afiladora instead of just sitting in front of your tele...

Lastly, after running after this afilador I arrive home to find this. I'm working on the profanity post and another that will knock your socks off, but thought I'd be spontaneous with this post to share a portion of one of our days with you. If this isn't the best example of a successful, total language immersion program for a 10-year old boy, I don't know what is.

I'm saving the quotes about all the virgins for the Semana Santa post coming up but here's one of the latest. I've added a translator on the right if you need.

"No tenemos castillos y los niños no pueden entrar en los bares!"

"Por eso no quiero volver a los EEUU".

2011-04-26T16:31:00.000+01:00

Thanks for the 5000 hits! You guys rock!

Wisteria, Acequias y el Huerto de Carlos

2011-04-07T12:24:00.001+01:00

The profanity post is taking a back seat for a bit, proving to be more difficult than expected. It's in the making but I'm still trying to figure out the right approach. It might be one of the posts that I'll have to turn on that "adult content" setting in blogger when published.

In the meantime we'd like to share a few more Spain experiences with you...

We walk by Wisteria Wall every day.

As the the sun becomes more intense and her heat mixes with all the scents of our barrio, we close our eyes and experience la primavera in southern Spain, through our noses. They are stimulated by the sweet smells of Wisteria wafting up the narrow cobblestone paths. When we walk down to the market around 11am the warm air has begun to rise, making its way up the Albaycin. At many corners we stop in our tracks because the aroma engulfs us. This smell is so sweet you can taste it on your tongue. It's like lavender-infused honey.

When we ride or hike above the Alhambra the heat brings out the earth smell of the freshly tilled, red soil around the olive trees. It smells so good you want to do a face plant into it.

This acequia flows down from the Sierras into the Alhambra.

And the crystal clean snow melt from the Sierras rushing down the acequias, Arab irrigation channels dug centuries ago, is so fresh that you wish you could drink it forever (you could drink from the high mtn. acequias but not near the Alhambra). Here are a few that we found on some of our hikes outside of the city.

It's amazing how much effort has gone into these natural gravity flow systems. They are essentially found in every main canyon coming out of the snowy mountains down to Granada. The main acequia that provided water for the various sultan families originates 6km. above Granada. This acequia and a few others provided water for the working people of Granada living below the fortress as well, including the people of the Albaycin. There is even a "ditch" located near the Generalife called the "Sultan's Royal Ditch". Here's a clip for your viewing pleasure of our little adventure in the Alhambra and Generalife gardens.

The Generalife are the spectacular, fantasyland gardens above the Alhambra fortress where the sultans were able to just get away from it all (we all now how sultan life can be so taxing at times) and romp in nature, fall into a meditative state while gazing into the glass reflections of elaborate water passageways and bubbling fountains and simply contemplate how to become closer to their divine Allah.

This is an acequia we found above La Zubia. We decided to take a look inside and Myles and Owen ran down the hill inside it exiting covered in spider webs. Good thing the flood gates weren't open up above.

Long ago before advanced methods of dispersing water in the city were constructed, water flowed down into the city via the acequias and was stored in structures called aljibes. Imagine carrying your water jugs everyday to your local aljibe to gather water for the day. This is the aljibe located in front of Myles and Owen's school. Now it's a play structure for the kids.

Here's a link if you're interested in seeing some other aljibes in Granada. They are all strategically located around the Albaycin.

http://www.granadatur.com/en/routes/theme-routes/arab-water-tanks-aljibes-in-the-albaicin/

The Arabs had a thing for water. Well, you can imagine, coming from the dry desert, that water was king for them and they settled around it as well as went to war for it...similar to what we might do someday instead of oil...good thing we live by one of the largest fresh water lakes back home (except for the fact that everybody and their dog will invade us when it all goes down).

A pick-up game on level V - Owen is the little guy.

Moving in a different direction...You may recall that we live by a park called the Huerto de Carlos. I don't know who Carlos is or was but if he influenced the construction of the parking structure underneath the park, I bow down to him. If it weren't for Carlos our kids wouldn't have a park anywhere near our apartment and we'd have less funds than we already do because we'd be going out on the town more than we already do. Here's a little history of the huerto and how it pertains to Chisholm life in Granada...

The underground parking structure below was a great idea. There is little or no parking here in the Albaycin, another genius idea, in addition to excellent public transit, that forces you to choose a car-free life. I don't like to be forced to do anything, but I'm ok with this ultimatum. The underground garage construction left quite an eye sore above ground and within a short amount of time a park was born.

Let's talk about the intricacies of this park.

There are five levels. The level you choose to go to on any particular day is highly dependent upon your time frame, emotional and intellectual state of mind, clothing, creativity and more.

Levels I, II, and III of the Huerto (left to right)

Level I:

The lowest level in the park. This is where all the absolutely adorable Spanish and international children play. There is a slide and climbing structure, fountain and teeter totters. You're always safe here and are guaranteed to see someone you know (so be prepared to have to socialize). This is where all the cumples (birthday parties) happen where you can generally set up some food and drink without getting raided by the hippies.

Level II:

If you frequent this level you are perhaps the intellectual type or in love, bringing your novel, artist tools to sketch the vista of the Alhambra, your SLR camera, your notepad to write down your thoughts or poetry, your clarinet or guitar practicing your scales, jazz-infused flamenco or oldies but goodies like the Beatles greatest (and if so, everyone in the huerto eventually joins in singing and gathers around if you're a good musician). You may also desire to experience coolness via osmosis and look hip by simply being present at this level. You will leave after a few hours feeling quite beatnik.

Level III:

This is one step up towards the main level of the park (level IV) in both elevation and riesgo. Right now as I type this there is a nice Indian/Arabic style of music being played. There are always, always, always drums and usually a couple guitars and perhaps a reed instrument. So far, there has only been one night where I cursed the musicians but I think his inability to hold a tune had a bit to do with his consumption of altering substances.

Level IV of the Huerto

Level IV: This is where it all goes down beginning around 14h to 16h lasting until after midnight during the week and 2-3 am on weekends. Our living room window looks directly out to this level. Often times if I have the windows open and I'm cooking dinner people ask what we're eating and if they can join us. The boys like to stand on the balcony, eat pipas, spitting the shells onto the cobblestone street below and watch it all. It's pure entertainment. There are musicians, jugglers of all sorts (flames, pinballs, balls, etc.), poi performers, dogs and more dogs (which usually leads to a dog fight eventually - we all know which dogs are the problematic canines), lots of dreads and people putting beads in others' dreads, hippies bathing in the fountain, oh, and did I say great music? And of course, there are the alternating substances which generally are fairly natural with many, many 40 ouncers. Did I mask that enough so that only the adults know what I'm saying?

Level V of the Huerto

Level V: Myles and Owen spend most of their time here. This is the physical activity level and every day, multiple times a day, you can get yourself in a game of futbol, with players young and old. The only issue is if you wait until later in the day, after the crayola men have raked the earth/sand mixture, and picked up the botellón, you have to be strategic in your moves, avoiding the mierda del perro.

I'll leave you with a couple videos of recent activity in the huerto and a few quotes.

"All you have is lame Led Zeppelin. I want something fresh."

"¡Hombre, estáis enamorados!"

"¡But mom, that's how Spaniards eat!"

"¡Pero mamá, queremos ser españoles!"

"And if it's a bad word, don't blame me 'cause that's what my friends told me and YOU brought me to Spain!"

"Do lunchboxes exist in Spain?"

"There's so many cool things on these streets."

"Go chuche, go chuche, go chuche, go guche..." (danced with arms raised in the ceiling pushing motion)

Ciclistas a go-go y Boabdil (reposted video)

2011-03-31T00:39:00.015+01:00

Siesta time above the Mediterranean Sea in the middle of your ride?

Ok, let's resuscitate this thing.
Some of you knew that we moved to a new apartment in our barrio, the Albaycin, last December. We now live in a relatively modern structure with good light and heating, although we had an infestation of peach-colored, spongy, mold recently growing on the side of the wall that at one point in time took on the figure of the Virgin Mary... no kidding. We felt blessed for about a day. And now the spot that was replastered after the plumbing repair clearly resembles the border of Spain. What devotion to the Catholic religion and nationality we ask? Spaniards, gotta love 'em not hate 'em.
Before I go into more exciting events, I have to elaborate on our plumbing adventure. After the mold began to take on a life of its own and we seriously wondered about our respiratory health, fleeing the scene every day after the boys left for school, we called our landseñora. She informed us that she, in fact, was no longer our dueña and now we needed to call another located in Murcia, some 2 hours away. After about 24 hours we had the local joe come in to assess the situation (he called himself "boca arriba, boca abajo", hmmmm, should have kicked myself when he said this and called another plumber). Now, I'm no handy-woman, but I am competant, and if I had to, could sweat a copper pipe. Instead of being the pushy American, I chose the submissive, midwestern style of interaction, of which I'm still capable, and tried to give our friend the benefit of the doubt, or least a few more hours of labor (meanwhile, Brad is cursing me in the background in English the whole time).
Three weeks later, I look at the white-washed wall as I write this, and simply hope that the repair will last until we depart this summer. It was really kind of cute, in a stupid way - the whole interaction between boca arriba, Brad and I. The whole time I know Brad was chomping at the bit, trying not to go down to the ferretería, buy the parts, and fix it himself, while I'm talking politics about the current state of Granada and how so many people are on paro - unemployment, in Spain and boca arriba is professing his machismo Spanish self, slick hair, cheap cologne and all. I love it.
Onward...where to begin. I'm trying to compose myself after Brad left as well as realize single parenthood again. Our last weeks together as a family were incredible. Brad met a phenomenal group of mountain bike riders that without fail, rode every Tues and Thurs from Fuente verde at 16h, as well as Sat. and/or Sun. Some nights he would get home as early as 21h and others, well, let's just say this - the ride up the narrow cobblestone paths and stairs of the Albaycin became a slightly, more, technical challenge for him after hours at Boabdil.

A tubo, tapas and Carolina at Boabdil. Where else would you choose to spend any night of the week?

Boabdil was the son of the Arabic queen/wife Aixa (my hero) who unfortunately wed Mulhacén the Arabic king (the highest peak in the Sierra Nevadas named after him). Boabdil eventually overthrew and ultimately killed his father with the help of his mother. This is the name of the bar owned by Carolina's dad. We simply adore Carolina and can't get enough of her - Myles and Owen including. Friday and Saturday roll around and the boys beg to go to the bar. That doesn't sound so good does it? Well, tapas and tubos are the daily grind here. You simply cannot go without them. The boys love the salchichas, Brad loves the veggies and pancakes de calamari and I, well, I'll take the rich, earth flavored, dark-green olive oil, over manchego cheese from Madrid, aceitunas, and mussels. Granada is the only city in Spain that continues to serve free tapas with an order of drinks. They really get it. Boabdil is especially keen on this idea of feeding the hungry and otherwise intoxicated with their elaborate, large plates of you-never-know-what. We go to Boabdil sometimes to feed our kids. If you look at your budget and the time it takes to cook a great meal, the numbers are there, trust me.

A quick little taste of his/herstory. Long ago, like, centuries ago, a glass of wine was served with a slice of fresh baguette set ever-so-gently on top of the glass. It was meant to keep the flies out or tapar the glass. (hmmmm, kind of like tapperware, ah! I found the origin of Tupperware! Ok, don't laugh.) You can tapa your left-overs, tapa your tube of toothpaste after your significant other tells you to, tapa your mouth after making a fool of yourself, but you can't tapa the fact that this is something we should do in the states. Ok, so every now and then you might find yourself in a bar that might give you some peanuts to shuck (maybe they'll even let you throw them on the floor if they haven't experienced a law suit yet) or stale popcorn to gum, but never, do you get a few morsels of delectable bites that will tide you over and influence you enough to order another round, maybe two or three, so you can call it a full, course meal. It only makes good business sense, does it not? Brad and I argue, no, discuss, how we need to open a tapas bar in Squaw or Shwarma King thing...veggie or meat with a beer for $6.00 - takers - investors?

Back to the Ciclistas-a-go-go. What can a say about this chance of fate? I met the woman who pulls Myles and Owen out for one-on-one Spanish classes at Gomez last fall and began to have conversational English classes with her. We developed a close relationship and quickly realized that we had a lot in common. One was her bro-in-law and his passion for mountain biking and her family's love for the outdoors. When Brad arrived his first outing with Juan lead to a friendship that has grown not only with Juan but with many other riders from the group. I can't find the words to express how touched we were by how quickly our friendships formed with the ciclistas and how well they treated us, helping put on a surprise birthday party for Brad and a going away party as well. I continue to be in touch with the ciclistas even though Brad isn't here and we plan to have them shack up in our house in Truckee to ride in the Sierras as well as take them to Moab. Brad couldn't have chosen a better group of guys with which to ride and learn essentially all the single track of Granada, plus a little Spanish. They awarded Brad with a trophy of a rider that read, "El Americano quien sabe todas las rutas de sinlge-track de Granada." Use your dictionary. Heck, they even named a ride/drop after Brad because he was the first guy to do the drop (even on the vaca vieja - the second-hand Orbea he rode). I'm still trying to figure out how to embed audio/video/slideshow in one video. Any suggestions?

Like the new photo at the beginning of the post? That's our barrio. You can see everything if you look closely - the Mirador of San Nicolás, Gomez Moreno, the big pine tree by our apartment and our laundry hanging on the terrace.

Only a couple quotes for this post. I'll be writing about the Huerto de Carlos, the nun's buns and a detailed interview with a native madrileño on the intricacies of profanity in the Spanish language. I'll save some good quotes for that one.

"The hippies are bathing in the fountain."

"Bratt, Bratt, Bratt."

In šāʾ Allāh (إن شاء الله)

2011-02-01T22:52:00.000+00:00

Post #2 of our Moroccan adventure. Lil' O, aka Oster, now Big O, and his bro and ma and pa, woke up in Marrakech, Morocco Dec. 27th, his 8th birthday. The night before we rode the Marrakech Express some 600 miles south from Tangiers. This train is not like the high-speed bullets of Northern Europe but a slow moving machine that carried us into another world. I wouldn't have preferred it any other way. We fell asleep to the rhythmic clicking of the metal wheels passing over each piece of track; just like babies on a washing machine. (I never actually did that with my kids when they were babies).

Here's a typical scene of the Chisholm family in Marrakech to the right: Brad seriously testing his navigational skills (we'll go into this later), Owen wondering what in the hell his parents were thinking when they said it would be a "wonderful" birthday present to wake up in Marrakech and looking at his papa wondering if he's going to get us out of this mess, Myles daydreaming about motoring like the nearly out-of-control Moroccans on motorbikes and me getting into trouble on the periphery. Our first experiences in Marrakech were those of true over stimulation; that being too many external stimulii experienced by the senses: sights, sounds, smells and taste (oh the spices!). Some folks do just fine with external stimulation (bring it on I say!)...and others, well, let's just say it leads to anxiety issues. This photo looks like we're in a tranquil environment but now take a look at this clip which is filmed across the street.

The clip is taken about 11am but already there is movement, sounds, smells and all kinds of distractions going on in the main plaza of Marrakech, the Djemaa el Fna. You want action? Come to the Djemaa el Fna at any time of day because it never sleeps. You will see snake charmers, Shilha dancers from the Atlas Mountains, drink fresh-squeezed orange juice, have a cup of mint tea, get yourself a new set of teeth, listen to tales being told in Arabic or Tamazight (Berber-the indigenous high mountain language) and even though you can't understand a word, it's entertaining. You know that the story has to be thrilling because all the locals' eyes are intensely wide. In the past the Djemaa el Fna was just that; a place for locals to meet family and friends and enjoy local flavors and tales of old. Who doesn't love to sit and listen to someone tell them a story of adventure and heart? Why are we moving away from that tradition? Maybe we think the stories we tell our children that begin with "Well, son, when I was a child...and, yes, I walked uphill to school both ways and in 5 feet of snow and we ate lentils for 6 months!" are our way of carrying on these traditions. It doesn't seem as though the indigenous folktales are quite the same. Capturing our children's imaginations is where it's at, don't you agree? My apologies for the monologue...

After you your ears start to ring from hearing non-stop drumming and the resonating sounds of the double reed, instrument called a Mizmar; shown above (it's that sound that can either soothe you into a meditative state or drive you crazy, like the sound of a bee trapped in a bottle) you will throw the guide book away and wander into the Souks. Aaahhh, the Souks of Marrakech; we had a love/hate relationship with the maze of the medina where they were located. I was in love with them and transfixed, never wanting to find my way out of the maze only wanting to go deeper into the maze (which I did one day and got into heaps of trouble). Brad, after a couple days of haggling with the natives, assuring them we were not going to buy a silk scarf or metal door knocker, steered us into the outskirts of Marrakech where we could breathe a little better, well, marginally, as the moped and car exhaust left us thinking Morocco has virtually non-existent emissions controls. To this day, I wish to go back because there are still a few intricate passage ways I wasn't able to investigate! If I disappear someday you'll know where to find me. Here's a little slide show of some of the pleasures of the Souks.

Night seemed to arrive quickly while we wandered around Marrakech. After seeing the Saadian Sultan Ahmed el-Mansour ed-Dahbi's (say that fast 10 times) 16th century tombs (man has he got the Midas touch, as they say...), the Ali ben Youssef Mosque and the Cyber Park we decide to eat a bite at the eateries in the Djemaa el Fna. During the day, the plaza is open with the henna women and shoe-shiners and around 4pm the transformation begins to take place. Nearly dilapidated metal push carts are wheeled into the center, assembled and within a short amount of time (record time of 1hr) they are full on restaurants with multilingual waiters putting on their best show to sway you into eating at their stall. Our favorite was Omar's stall. He hooked Brad on his initial sales pitch: "What's up my homey?" "Hey my homey, come eat with me." "It's no problem, we make you good price." While his buddy cornered the boys and I with: "You so skinny!" "You have two children and so skinny!" "You eat good here!" "Does he not feed you?" Within seconds they had us laughing and seated next to the pig head stall nibbling on scrumptious olives and bread. Check out the movies below to get a little sense of the Djemaa el Fna at night. My apologies for the second clip moving so fast at times. Note to self: be more careful with what you eat next time you travel to Morocco. Try to remember that long night in the bathroom a week later even though the food looks incredibly tantalizing.

We had to catch the 19:45 bus back to our guest house, Dar Najét some 30 minutes outside of Marrakech; again another adventure. The outer city buses begin to fill up at 16h when all the kids are going home from school and continue to be packed, and I mean packed, chuck full of primarily men traveling home from work. We wanted to maximize our day and night so tried to catch the last bus. This was not a good idea. One, because it's so full and two, because there are no road side signs or bus stops so you have absolutely no idea of where to get off. Luckily our bus driver knew of our guest house and was able to yell at us to get off so we wouldn't have to use our fists to bang on the metal walls of the bus to request a stop like everyone else.

We needed our headlamps when the bus dropped us off in the middle of the farmlands beneath the Atlas Mountains. Once our eyes adjusted to the night sky we began to slowly make our way back down the windy dirt road. It was so quiet and smelled like fertile dirt; such a contrast to what we had just experienced for the past 10 hours in the city. The straw/earth home we slept in was owned by Narjét, the absolutely lovely Moroccan woman in this photo. We all slept like babies until the rooster crowed the following morning at the break of dawn (we didn't get up when he crowed just fell back asleep).

Chisholm quotes to end this blog...I'm having such a difficult time writing these past few days. A little distracted I suppose with life in Granada. I will try to get out the Morroco post #3 sooner. Please read the request after the quotes. THANKS!

"I'll stand the whole way if it means I don't have to sit on a lady's lap." (Myles and Owen both say this as we board a cramped bus into Marrakech. They had just spent the previous bus ride on women's laps who upon seeing them not having a place to sit, grabbed and pulled them to sit with them and proceeded to touch their hair, cheeks and arms as well as kiss them all the way into Marrakech).

"Why do they have to be so mean to the snakes?"

"Here comes the man shaking the coins selling cigarettes again."

"What year/make/model camel do you think we'll get?"

"Only the men are meditating, mom."

"Oh, there they go again....it's prayer time."

"This bus is doing really good. It only has one crack in the windshield."

"...Este es Africa." (sung in chorus by Owen, Myles and Mom trying to sound like Shakira)

"I wish they had pogo-sticking in the X-games."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have a question for those of you reading our blogs. I'm considering switching to another avenue for our "glob" of adventures and would love to hear your thoughts on any experience you've had with iWeb, wordpress, tumblr, livejournal, xanga or the one we use: blogspot.

THANKS!

As-Salāmu `Alaykum (السلام عليكم)

2011-01-16T00:06:00.031+00:00

NEWSFLASH! The year is 2412 and the location is some 6km from the old Arabic civilization once called Ma' Ahmid. Dune, after dune after dune of fine sand roll on and on throughout the Sahara Desert of Southern Morocco. A group of young anthropologists of northern European decent are scouring an area that has been proclaimed a primitive "tent city" of four milleniums ago. They find chards of glass, pottery, some rusted remanants of metal teapots and various patches of woolen fibers some preserved better than others in the dry sand. One young professional decides to begin sifting outside the established areas and comes across...could it be? A human tooth! And not just any tooth but a child's tooth! He runs back to the lab station and runs a DNA test to find that this tooth is not only from a child of some 9 years in age (with poor dental hygiene - must have been impoverished) but also is from a continent some 7000 miles away! What could this mean? Were there migrations that took place unknown to our historical references? How did they travel? All this time have we not learned the TRUE paths of the continental shifts? We've been bamboozled by FALSE HISTORY!

No, on the contrary, Myles Leo Chisholm, of northern California decent lost one of his upper canines in the Sahara Desert and while messing around-typical boy-(he chose not to put it away like his mom asked him to), dropped the tooth and forever it will remain. I wonder if it will ever be found.

We had a wonderful holiday this year! After our little Christmas celebration in Granada we headed south to Tarifa, Spain. Everything worked out just right for us to catch the 15h ferry to cross the Strait of Gibraltar arriving in Tangiers, Morocco around 16h. My dad wouldn't have done very well on this ferry ride. Hint-within the first 5 minutes the stewards were handing out barf bags to everyone...hmmm. The swells were easily close to 10 feet at times and I found myself hanging down below with our packs listening to songs like "Shake it Up" by the Cars and U2's "A Beautiful Day" while Brad and the boys tried to do some deep breathing excercises outside up on the main deck.

La Medina de Tangiers

We were all a little apprehensive about this trip; Brad's last experience in Africa was in Senegal and he wondered if this time we would bare witness to pool-size ditches full of raw sewage. My last experience was that of being extremely ill and this time I made sure I had all of our medical papers with us in case of a hospital visit. The boys, having only heard our stories were scared to death for fear they wouldn't reach double digits in life.
Our first encounter in Tangiers was to be expected. He approached quickly and boisterously, flashing his badge and trying to speak in first French, then German, afterwards came English, Spanish and some Italian. They can't figure our family out. I dyed my hair dark but have blue eyes, Brad looks eastern block-like, Owen Irish and Myles French? For those of you who have ever traveled in Morocco and/or India or the like, you know what I'm getting at here. We tried to stay straight faced and not show any signs of wavering with each linguistical attempt to sway us. But, unfortunately the boys didn't know about this type of guard (only that of don't drink the tap water or drink a carbonated drink with ice) and as soon as he spoke English they responded quite happily.
So, yes, we were swayed, and all within 20 minutes of walking onto the port of Tangiers. Ug! I couldn't believe this was happening. I swore we wouldn't be haggled in spending Dirhams on a guide for the Medina of Tangiers. But, once again, el destino-fate happens for a reason. We walked through parts of the Medina that we wouldn't have found on our own: the fresh produce and meat souks-markets, our first taste of the Alladin shoes and Arabic clothing, winding streets so small only two people can walk side by side, and of course the couscous and Tangines. One of the highlights was wondering through one of the textile areas where they spin wool and weave wool djellabas (typical full-length pullovers for men and women-incredibly warm!) and silk bedspreads and table covers. As fiber arts hold a special place in my heart I was very intrigued with how they were weaving. We found two men who were so kind and allowed us to enter into their work room and let the boys sit with them and weave. Take note: the clip you are about to see is of two young men, maybe around 20 years old each. I asked them first if we could watch and then if I could take a picture. Although Morocco is quite modern, there remains to be a large population who do not like their photo taken. I always thought it had something to do with the belief that a part of their spirit was stolen and lost but after asking Abdou(you'll meet him later) we found out that the Koran simply states that one should not house or have visual images taken due to the possibility of that image becoming an object of praise for people wherein they lose the spiritual connection. In short, remember those Scott Bailey, Rob Lowe, River Phoenix posters you had on your walls when you were in middle school?...tsk, tsk, tsk, from the persepctive of the Mulsim religion.

I'm going to digress a lot in this blog because there were so many things on this trip that I want to share with you....and remember for years to come. I still get a queasy and sad feeling in my gut when I think of these two young men. After I took the video of Myles and Owen (he's in there you just can't see him very well) weaving with them I asked if I could leave them a tip. They smiled beautiful smiles and said no. If I were to leave money it would be taken away immediately. Then I asked if I were to buy one of the table linens they made would the money go directly to them. No, was their response again. I then asked how much they make a week...some 80 Dh (dirhams). That is equal to 8 Euros or $7.00. I'm sick to my stomach writing this. I thought of how lucky our two boys are even though we are scared of the future for our children many times. Their will most likely never be even close to that of the weavers we met in Tangiers. This was the beginning of an ongoing feeling I had this entire trip and it was not due to all the bacteria I was eating and drinking.

Even though it was hard to stomach, we left a poverty stricken country as a richer family. The conversations we had with our kids ranged from: world poverty, child labor, the politics of a bourgeois society and capitalism, geography, geology, personal hygiene, French and Arabic language crash course, sign language of the Berbers, indigenous peoples of the world and their choice to etiher assimilate or not, education (is not always a given in life), oh, and of course, many hours of discussion about men, women and children in the muslim society we lived in for 10 days.

Because we have so many photos and videos from this trip I'm going to divide posts into little segments. I'm also hoping to embed slide shows to include more photos on the blog. Let me know how they all come out!

I wouldn't forget ending the blog with a few quotes. I could't write them down fast enough on this trip! Enjoy!

"I'm worth more than 2 camels and a rug, aren't I?" "Well, at least it's not 2 goats."

"You go to McDonalds. You like. It's delicious." - Said with thick Arabic accent but in English.

"I can't believe there are so many cars and people and mopeds."

"If they're going to use 1 scrawny little donkey to pull the heavy loads, they could at least put air in the tires!"

"It's like the Mario Car Game where you try not to slip on the burro pooh."

"Would you really trade us in for Dirhams?"

"You good person. I be your friend. Where you from? You good friend."

Aceitunas, Morcilla, ¡Felicidades para todos!

2010-12-25T14:57:00.001+00:00

A quick blog after a long hiatus. But I have a reason for being late, I promise! We've moved to a new apartment, which in and of itself took a bit of time because there was a slight mix up with a few items (one being we were moved into the ¨wrong¨apartment). Additionally the apartment does not have internet. Now, I know many of you think that in this day and age there should be high-speed accessible around every corner of the planet, but that is not the case here in Spain, and in particular, the Albaycin of Granada. Beyond that, it takes a few weeks to get it into your home (if there is no holiday in sight) and you have to have your NIE!!!!! Which (drum roll please....really, really loud.....) WE HAVE!!!!!!!!!!!
I can't stress enough how much @#%& I've been through with this process. Our last ditch effort here in Granada was that I had to hire a "extranjería" abogado (lawyer) to help us out because we were living illegally and things we taking too long. (In the end we found out that our paperwork went down the wrong hallway and they put us in the same pile as people applying for indefinite residency. Of course, our paperwork was denied and I was left with the feeling, once again, that I was going to have to beat feet back to the states with my kids.
Over lunch one day with Esperanza and Ricardo (this one only 2 1/2 hours long rather than 6) it came up that our visas were waiting in the wind and we wouldn't be able to leave the country for the holidays if we didn't get this taken care of. That's when Ricardo suggested we use his buddy abogado. In short, 3 weeks later and a few select Euro bills we have NIE's in hand. Myles, Owen and I are finally legal citizens of Spain. It feels strangely wierd and nice at the same time. They treat us differently when we buy things and no longer have to flash the US passport that sometimes would get us the looks of, well, you know, something to the affect of "and YOU´RE ones who started this whole thing and you're buying HOW MANY EUROS worth of groceries, especially including gross food like peanut butter and syrup here in Spain??!!

Ok, I'll stop. Anyway, I currently sit beneath the Sierra Nevada Mountain range south of Granada. The boys and Brad are skiing a half day before we leave for Africa tomorrow. (I woke up with a bum lower back...lovely). I thought I better get a blog off before we leave because it's going to be another 2 weeks before I post again. We're headed for southern Morocco via public transport and I think the next blog is gonna be a doosie, so stay tuned. (We're already taking our acidopholis pills to get our stomach juices ready for what's to come. The last time I was in Morocco I thought I was going to die on a floor in Asilah, south of Tangier. Hopefully this time things have modernized some 20 years later.) Needless to say, the boys are very unhappy with this decision as we are going to an Islamic country where Christmas is not celebrated and we had a pretty measly Christmas ourselves. See photo...They don't seem to want to understand that all the money we're spending on traveling is worth as much as unnecessary plastic items that come over on the slow boat....hmmm. Maybe some day they'll see it our way.

La familia de Araceli - a beautiful group of people we hope to stay in touch with!

Back to the title of the blog. About a month ago our dear friend Araceli (the boys' school secretary) invited us to her pueblo over a long weekend. It is north of Granada about 1 1/2 hours and called Belmez de la Moraleda (about 350 people live there, reminds me of Kimball or Plankinton, South Dakota). We had more fun than we could have ever imagined. We worked on the hills collecting aceitunas, ate incredible local food, cooked goat blood and onions and to make blood sausage called morcilla and most importantly enjoyed time spent with Araceli's family. Here's a clip of Brad, the boys and a few locals in the aceitunas field. Collecting aceitunas is an incredibly tedious and difficult job that takes a long time. The old fashioned way is to quickly hit the olive tree branches with a palo and as the aceitunas hit the ground usually the women would be on their hands and knees collecting each and every one of the olives. In this day and age the women still go out but not as much as the men. Each family owns little plots of land here and there throughout their county and during this time of year you see and hear everyone in the fields collecting the olives to be weighed at the cooperativos. After they collect them they take them to the cooperativo which weighs all the olives. They can then choose to keep the olive oil that is pressed or be paid out. It is a party time too because the harvest is done and money is in hand.

making morcilla

comida del pueblo

The morcilla process is quite an experience. I can't remember how many kilos of goat blood were used but it was around 10-15, some 25 lbs. of blood. This is collected after the matanza or killing of the goats. That was cooked with aprrox. 10 kilos of sauteed onions and various spices such as cumin, clavo, canela, pimienta, sal, etc. After all of this is thoroughly cooked in the large vats(see photo) over coals the mixture is then pushed into the lovely tripas or intestines, boiled, soaked in olive oil for a few days and then dried in the cellar for a year. If I must say so myself, it is delicious. Brad refraned from trying some directly from the vats with pan y vino even when the locals said, "¡pero tío, no hay ninguna carne!" (But dude, there's no meat!) We all laughed.

I'm going to have to close this blog on a really quick note because the boys are chompin' at the bit and ready to go. It's dark and we still have to descend down into Granada in la fiera, the beast. (Someday I'll include a photo of the usually running vehicle we are driving here in Spain. Instead of a "bra" on the front bumper, she's held together with duct tape, if that gives you any clue about her status. Let's just say we almost didn't make it up here today because she overheated twice en route up the hill).

The next two clips I'm sharing because we want to share some of the great things happening with Owen at school. We are so proud of him (Myles too!) and how he is fairing in school. He´s really taken to the language, his wonderfully, sweet teacher, Leonor and his classmates. Myles is doing equally as well, I just haven´t been able to catch him on video...he´s a sneaky guy and quite camera shy these pre-adolescent days. The second clip is of Owen at the Christmas performance at Gomez Moreno.

Lastly...our quotes for this blog:

"Can we stay?"

"So, how many days of school do we have this week?"

"He can put out my fire anytime!"

"Our car can make it in 4 hours...yours in 8."

"But it doesn´t have any meat, just blood and spices!"

"I think Spaniards are smarter than us."

"Mom, have you noticed that Spaniards let their kids do more things?"

"Can we get a goat when we get back?"

"What I did with Alberto is throw some mud at the toro´s butt."

"This was the BEST day in Spain so far!" (Said with much enthusiasm after a day of skiing at Sierra Nevada.)

"This car is a steamy beast!"

"You are a stupid idiot!" (said with a very thick German accent directed toward Brad in the lift line after he wouldn´t let him cut the line; go figure.)

"Yo entiendo que quiero entender."

Faltas, Sulayr, Patas Negras, Sobremesa...y ¡LLEGA PAPÁ!

2010-11-29T13:44:00.001+00:00

This is Owen, getting ready to do the "boomerang" with his trompo at the Huerto de Carlos. Notice his stance. It's rooted with both feet solid and ready for the whiplash affect of throwing down the trompo. His eyes are steady. His right arm is winding up for one of the best throws he's ever performed....ok, ok, I'm getting carried away here. Trompos continue to be serious business and are NOT for the faint hearted....The Huerto de Carlos is a park just around the corner from where we live that is the stomping grounds of all local Albaycin kids, at some time during the day. They don't necessarily frequent the park every day, but in general hang out a little bit there each week. It's a nice mix of hippies playing music, tourists, local moms with their babies and toddlers and more. It's open, with a couple fountains, is south facing with lots of sun and a magnificent view of the Alhambra. At any given time you are sure to run into someone you know either here or at the Plaza Larga around the corner from our home as well.
I love this atmosphere of getting out and hanging out in the barrio with everyone. I know we have this back home with our parks and beaches, but it doesn't feel quite the same. The park and the plazas are an extension of our home. Perhaps it's because we are in such a small space in our apartment that we like to be outside more.
Besides spending time at the huerto we have after school programs that include patinaje, baloncesto and karate that have given us the opportunity to get to know so many people. Myles has chosen to become a part of a basketball team with many of his buds from Curso 4B. Every Tues. and Thurs. we're off to the local park and rec depart. (specific to sports) for bball practice as well as on Fridays after school. Saturdays are game days taking us to primary schools all over Granada.
Mind you, Myles has only had a couple little week-long basketball camps in Truckee and now he's playing baloncesto with his friends, but everything is in Spanish! It's a kick I've gotta say. At least he's right in the thick of it with his teammates, as they are normally used to playing fútbol (soccer) and are learning the rules and game just like him (but they at least can understand the coach yelling at them). A new set of vocabulary: falta, tira, pásalo, doble, pasos, ofensiva, defense, rebote, ataque, etc. Here's a clip of them playing their very first game out in the Vega outside of Granada. Cute, if I must say myself....

The day after this partido de baloncesto we had another AMPA organized event. We went on a senderismo Northeast of Granada ouside of a littel pueblo called Lugros. But first it's important to let everyone know that ¡Papá ha llegado! The boys were so anxious for papá to arrive that they could hardly sleep the night before, eating breakfast was a challenge and when I picked them up from school just after comedor they could hardly contain themselves. We took one of the local buses out to the main bus station and waited for papá to arrive. Brad looked really tired when he got off the bus and the boys nearly took him down as they tried to crawl all over him. They love their papá so.
We headed back to the Albaycin walking up the Caldería and hand time to sit down and relax. The boys wanted to show Brad every single thing they could think of in Granada that night and Owen couldn't stop talking nor keep his hands off Brad. (He wouldn't leave Brad's side for the next week and still today, some three weeks later, he wants to be next to Brad all the time). This is going to be a tough one when Brad has to leave in a few months!

Back on track with the outing we had with AMPA. We all cimbed into Chris and Stik's landrover and headed North of Granada to a little village situated in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada called Lugros. Senderismo, hiking, is quite popular here with trails everywhere. I've just learned there is a trail called Sulayr which is an Arabic term that means la montaña del sol. This trail circumnavigates the Sierra Nevada mountain range South of Granada.
It's 300km and can be done either by foot or bike. Our hike up from Lugros crossed a small portion of the entire route. How I would love to do this on a mountain bike! Maybe in the spring.

All along the way the boys were collecting blackberries with the kids and eating them as fast as they picked them. Meanwhile the adults were trying to make music with the acorn tops. Well, they're not exactly acorns but sometime of nut that looks similar, but I'm told this particular nut is not just any nut. This is the nut of all nut that gives Jamón Ibérico de la pata negra its flavor and gusto.

A couple of hams trying to "play" the acorn tops like all the other silly adults.

Ok, let's digress a bit here...Jamón Ibérico is a staple here dare I say more important than café con leche, vino o cerveza? Every bar has huge, salted hind legs of pigs hanging which they pull down and carve for your tapas. When you go to the market you can buy it in small quantities sliced at the deli or if you're feeling like you need to have your own pig haunch in your kitchen, you can buy one for 150euros. You just leave it on the counter covered with cheesecloth and cut off a hunk when you feel like knawing on salted ham. Back to the black-footed pigs that eat the acorns we are playing as instruments on this hike...
These guys live a beautiful, free range life out in the countryside and ONLY eat bellotas, herbs and roots I'm told. The bellotas are the key ingredient to their exquisite taste. The meat is cured for some 36 months before sold. Brad has yet to eat pig butt. I don't think I'll be able to talk him into savoring this Spanish delicacy. Myles and I can eat handfuls of it while Brad hasn't touched it and Owen gags on it because it's so laborous to chew. So goes the division of our family in Spain.

Next up in line is a day...and night, with friends. It was a beautiful fall day, spent with wonderful company and yet another learning experience. When someone in Spain invites to their home for a meal (in particular the main meal of the day which is around 15:00) you need to plan on not returning to your home until the wee hours of the night. I love it! It so reminded me of the Soulek reunions that went on and on and on and we ate and ate and ate.
Above in this photo are some of the friends we have met at the boys' school. Juan and Julia live in a renovated tabaquerria in Churriana de la vega. Yes, that means they live in a renovated tobacco shed in the fertile lands outside Granada. We all brought a few items to share with the main course being paella.

Of most importance...notice the trompo in the lower right-hand corner...never leave home without it!
Juan put together a great paella of arroz, gambas, pimentones, legumbres, calamares, almejas, azafrán, ajo, etc. Not only was the food and company incredible but the environment as well. We hardly saw the kids at all as they were running around the little farm the whole time. Juan and Julia have horses, a cow, pig, ducks, chickens, dog, cats, etc. The boys loved it.

After filling our bellies and relaxing a tad we then moved into what is called sobremesa. This is when time seems to take on a new meaning - that without hours, minutes or seconds. Now, it could be attributed to the conversations that simply take you away or perhaps the 100% infused alcohol. When you feel the need to communicate and say something intelligent, you can have a shot of espresso, laced with a little more alcohol. Oh, and then there are the pastries. As you can see in the photo above, the light is low in the sky and time has passed and we are content...I need not say more. Sobremesa is something that I wish we did more of in the states. (The following questions need a heavy sarcastic tone) What are we worried about? The dishes getting washed? The left-overs going bad? Cucarachas getting into the dirty sink? Why are we in such a hurry? Why do we think what WE are doing is SO important to leave our lovely company so quickly and WHO really cares? (Ok, I'm getting a little smug here) Let's talk. That's what sobremesa is all about...table talk, eat, drink, talk, connect, laugh, breath, open up, discuss. I know we all have nice dinners with friends in the states and we hang out afterwards chatting etc., but it's nothing like sobremesa. Let's just put it this way...your butt starts to hurt because you sit there for so long. Enough said?

Back in town on a rainy day we meander down through the Albaycín to a market in the center of town to get our leche, pan, mandarinas, zumo, galletas, frutas, verduras, pollo, etc. This photo may look like taking the carrito is an easy job but when it's loaded down with many kilos of food and you're pulling it uphill from the mercado San Agustín you get a work out. Laugh it up all you hard core athletes! It really is a work out especially if you don't stop to have a caña! :) By the way, Holly, Katie and Sarah, I've had quite a few for you gals. Should I keep going?

Here's the end of this blog. This one was fun! Some quotes for the road:

"Do they have In-n-Out in Granada?"
"You've got to get the English out of your mouth, Dad."
"¡Brad, cuidado, Brad, cuidado!"
"Cheeseburger in Granada!" (sung to the tune of "Cheeseburger in Paradise by Jimmy Buffet)
"Ten cuidado, mi padre le gusta la pizza muchísimo, Iker!" (said with an awesome Andalucian accent!) (Right on Myles! He said this to one of his buddies, warning him that his dad really likes pizza and there might not be much left if they don't hurry.)
"Me pene." "Is that how you conjugate it?" (oh, Brad, careful with this verb...)

Zancos, Saleres....¿Halloween en una cueva?

2010-11-11T20:49:00.000+00:00

¡Venga! Here we go! We'll begin this post with a video clip of a recent celebration down streets Carrera del Darro and Plaza Santa Ana. This particular morning Esperanza and Ricardo, our old caseros called us up to see if we'd like to take a picnic out to Saleres and spend the day with them. Its been so nice keeping in touch with them. They are always so excited to hear how the boys are doing in school here. By the way, that particular day Myles made the local newspaper- Ideal! He was on page 3 of the paper with his buds in the comedor. The paper did a big write up on school lunches in Granada and highlighted Gomez-Moreno due to its use of comida ecológica and the fact that everything is freshly cooked everyday in the kitchen. Some of the schools have precooked and warmed lunches brought to the schools in insulated vans.
Back on track. We walk down from the Albaycin and hit the Plaza nueva and are greeted with a blue wave of people, balloons and banners. We find out that they are celebrating the river called El Río Darro which still exists today underneath the street we are walking on. They paved it over many years ago to make access for transportation of goods and people. Today you can still "go undergroud" to see the river flowing. Many people wish that it still flowed wild throughout the city.

After hopping into Esperanza's car we head south to a little pueblo hispanorromano called Saleres. What a beautiful day we spent with friends and local folks from the village. The village is in the vega which is the fertile land outside of Granada where a lot of produce is grown. I'm guessing there are around 150 people who live in Saleres and almost all of them came to the plaza on this day for a bit. There was music, food and artesanías. After having a bite and listening

Myles come un higo

to a few songs, we decided to "dar un paseo" beside the small river that runs through the village. This was really the highlight of the day. We walked through many little farms where husband and wife were out working in their fields, harvesting crops for the week to carry back to the village in a large basket. We nibbled on higos, mandarinas, peras, granadas y nogueras - it was an all you can eat buffet of fall fruits and nuts. I love this time of year! The sun's rays, low, casting elongated shadows. It warms your skin just so without burning...
After a nice afternoon walk we return to the plaza for our last copa and are surprised again by an imrov musical group of the remainders of the festival. This time we have some fun with a Brazilian/Portuguese fellow guiding the group. Everyone dances, plays an instrument if they have one or use their beer bottles as percussion instruments. Carpe diem as they say.

Next in line is a long awaited day of fun on a mtn. bike for mom. Another beautiful fall day and kids are at school. I haven't had a chance to do anything like this for a long, long time so I take the whole day to get out and about and it's a good thing. First of all, there are no guidebooks here with intricate mtn. bike routes so my route finding skills were tested. In past weeks, on a daily basis I have seen between 20-100 riders heading up the Cuesta de Gomerez, our old stomping grounds below the Ahmambra. So, on this particular day I decide to head up...and up...and up...and up. Once I was above the Alhambra I was able to select from a variety of trails....hmmm....how many hours do I have? My plan is to continue up toward the Sierra Nevadas and eventually descend down into the Sacromonte hills of Granada. It all seems really easy and doable. I found some great trails, rode through a couple goat herds, a private finca and finally after riding by what appears to be an old Spanish farmhouse, shoot out into the village set above the Sacromonte.

Camino de Beas

¿Coincidencia? I think not.

Next adventure takes us to an area North of Granada called Gorafe. Our intention is to celebrate Halloween in a cave, spend a day by the Embalse de Negratín, and try to soak in some natural hot springs at the end of it all. You should know that the boys are not very happy with me at this point because I've just talked about how this year we are not going to celebrate our normal holidays very much, if at all. They are devastated that I won't be spending money on cheaply made Halloween costumes, decorations, cards, gifts, unnecessary smelly stuff, a Christmas tree, wrapping paper, pink and red items made of sugar, chocolate Easter eggs, and the list goes on and on....you get the point. Well, they don't celebrate any of these holidays here the way we do. Of course they have Christmas and you can fall into the consumer trap we all do, but we have a plan to be in a country that will have nothing to do with this holiday. We'll keep you abreast as we get closer. Don't get me wrong friends....we're just doing a little test here and taking this time to reflect upon and remember what is truly special to us in life - friends and family.

We prepare to leave for Gorafe with our friends Chris, Stik, Sid, Sam, Dani, Sarah and Nikita. Even though we have no Halloween costumes to wear the boys are excited about the idea of riding in the back of Stik's classic LandRover through the hills and canyons of Spain. I'm excited for an adventure which soon proves to be just that.

We leave Granada late in the day and pull into Gorafe at dusk. Unfortunately the cave we set up to rent for the night wasn't exactly what we had hoped it would be so we shack up in Dani and Sarah's cave and proceeded to begin the festivities. Chris, being the prepared hostess brings out her French cooking appliance called a Raclette. It's kind of similiar to fondu where you share a group cooking experience. Each person has an individual cooking tray in which you place your cheese (called Raclette as well) in the bottom portion of the appliance. Once melted you pour over your potatoes, jamón and dip with bread...oh, and wash down with some Spanish vino de mesa and a few aceitunas - mmm, mmm, good.

We've been so fortunate to meet such wonderfully, wordly people here in Granada. Spending time with these folks is sort of like reading a new novel you can't put down. You want to spend more and more time with them, but you don't want to go too fast for fear of coming to the end too quickly-instead savor every bite.

We also cooked quail eggs on the Raclette which were pretty yummy. All in all the evening was really a nice treat with wonderful company. We took a little walk around Gorafe at about 10:30 thinking we might be able to find some chuches and try to do a bit of trick-or-treating but only found a few high schoolers leaving the local discoteca. By the way, the main stage for the discoteca was adorned with various crosses. We couldn't figure out if that was the typical interior design of the techno, strobe-lit scene or if it was special for Halloween...

The next day we decide to try and take a back route to Negratín through some absolutely beautiful countryside. It looks almost identical to the southwest where Brad and I lived in the states.

In nutshell we are unable to get to our destination after driving most of the day coming to this point where we had to cross a river which was just a little too high for the LandRover. Bummer! Stik and I say we have to return to figure out how to get to the lake cand hot springs via the backcountry roads.

Our final stop is to check out the tombs of Gorafe or Dolmenes. I didn't think too much of these little holes in the ground until I did a little research. My goodness! Nothing too important...they only date back to the Neolithic period, 4000-3000 BC, usually consisting of three or more stones on the perifery of the tomb and sometimes have a table-top stone to cover. They are found all over Europe, some in Asia and the Middle East. No biggy.

The boys ran around all the ancient tombs collecting "wheat" with their friends preparing to grind the husks and make bread when we returned home. At one point they sat down on the edge of the antiplano and stared out into the distance. "This place is like Moab, but with lots and lots of olive trees!" they exclaimed.

Spain is such a diverse country, in so many ways. When I lived in Madrid, I didn't have the chance to get out of the city too much. This weekend I was pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the countryside. When you climb up and out of Granada en route to Gorafe, you drive through snow-capped mountains reaching some 10K feet, then you eventually hit what's called the antiplano or high plateau, which is flat, flat, flat with olive trees galore. Our descent into the canyons before Negratín took us through any area quite similiar to the canyonlands of the desert Southwest.

That's it for this post. I'm behind and already have enough good stuff for the next post! Unfortunately I haven't been very good about writing good quotes down lately and my memory doesn't serve me as well as it used to. Here are just a couple to make the grade. Besos y abrazos to all!

"Eat your bread wisely." (Thanks Sara for helping me remember!)

"Mom, I'm really, really speaking Spanish now!"

"Can Digger and Kiva sleep with me in my bed for as long as I want when we get home?"

"¡¡¡¡¡Cola-cao!!!!!"

Los Cahorros, Freshman initiation y más...

2010-11-08T20:42:00.002+00:00

Ya, Ya, Ya! I know it's been way too long for a post! For a couple weeks I felt as though life in Spain had become, you know, usual, with nothing exciting. Once again I was wrong. After many emails coming in from folks asking for the blog I checked into my iPhoto and realized there were quite a few adventures that had happened. They were simply different from the folkloric experiences in past blogs that I thought I needed to be a focus of the blog. So this post will take on a more earthy feeling with just a couple inside views into Spanish life that you can't read in the guidebooks.
We have been sucked into life in Granada, and in particular the Albaycin, our local barrio. This is quite easy to do as there is so much daily excitement going on in the city. We are doing "double-time" with our adventure this year. Not only are we living in Spain, learning another language and culture, but we are living in a city as well. This is an experience I feel is invaluable for the boys. We love our little pueblo, Truckee back in the states. However, we've also always thought it would be a good idea to try city life at some point for the boys.
This being said, there is LIFE outside of Granada, and it is spectacular! One Sunday we packed into "Negrita", Sarah and Dani's little VW Lupo and we headed out of the city to Monachil.

After having a little nibble at a local bar we ventured up a canyon called Los Cahorros. It was clear that I had waited too long to get the boys out! They ran and scrambled their little hearts out all throughout the canyon!

It was also clear to me that we have two increible beings in our lives. They have adapted to so many changes thus far and I haven't had to calm one fit...except for the day Myles said he hated me. I'll never let him forget that. We now laugh about it.

Los Cahorros is a great hiking area which eventually leads to the Sierra Nevada mountains set above Granada. Additionally there are numerous climbing routes. This will probably be our first outing with Uncle Colin when he comes to visit. Get ready!
Granada really has the best of many worlds. The city bubbles with culture, action and beautiful Andalucian life (very different from northern Spain) and just minutes outside of the city you have a multitude of geographic regions to choose from for outdoor experiences. Well, there is a catch. You have to have a car, and we do not. So, I'm trying to figure out exactly how to get past that hurdle at the moment. We may be borrowing a friend's car from time to time, because as many have strongly said, "all second hand cars are lemons here". Guess we shouldn't pick up an old Fiat. Oh, and one other thing about cars. Our Prius...is a BIG car here. Four people can actually lift many of the little tin cans they drive and strategically shoehorn it in the desired parking space.
The final touch on our day in Los Cahorros canyon was our escort service out. For those of you who love goat cheese on your pizzas, salads and crackers, Spain is the place for you. There are cabras everywhere wherever hills are found. This of course gives the country a great amount of products from goat milk at a very "reasonable" price. Here's something for you language learners taken from a local who stressed to me, "Aquí no se dicen barato, somos más refinados, se dicen económico". "Here we don't use the term "cheap", we are more refined, we use "economical". It does phychologically have an affect on your purchasing power, no? Here's a clip who walked out of the canyon with us.

The following weekend we ventured out of Granada again. This time we spent the day with a wonderful group of families from the boys' Colegio. I have to say again how happy we are here with not only the school but the parent body as well. Every two weeks the AMPA organization (like a PTA in the states, but better!) organizes an outdoor experience. We will bike, hike, cross country and downhill ski this year with this group. Everyone helps out with carpooling, finding gear to borrow and transporting it. This particular Sunday we traveled South of Granada to an area called Láchar. Our mission was to ride through the tobacco fields of the Vega as well as see one of the last remaining torres "towers" of the Nazarí or "Nasrid", Muslim dynasty that ruled Spain (in particular Southern Spain) for some 700+ years. Spain is such a diverse culture with its multitude of influences coming not only from the Visigoths from the North but primarily from the Muslims and Romans, with the Muslims having ruled for a longer period of time. Because of this Andalucia is deeply rooted with a Muslim character that you see everywhere on a daily basis. We buy our meat at a local Muslim butcher due to the fact that it is raised and killed in what is called "Halal". We don't eat a lot of meat but when we arrived I set out on finding a butcher that perhaps had access to carne ecológica. You can find organic meat here but the Halal method of producing and butchering is even better. After having a discussion with the butcher I realized that this shop was quite similar to the way I remember my Grandpa Soulek doing so on the farm outside of Kimball, South Dakota. Instead of going into much descrption I'll add a link here for you to puruse on your own time if you're interested. The only difference is that Grandpa Soulek didn't pray any Muslim prayer to Allah when he was butchering but I know in my heart he did give some sort of thanks for the animal who was about to lose his life.
http://www.nytimes.com/1999/06/02/dining/the-new-neighborhood-butcher-in-an-old-fashioned-way.html

Back to the mountain bike ride, well plains ride we could say...we road throughout fields of grapes, corn and tobacco. This year the harvest moon fell on the night of Sept. 22, the last day of summer welcoming the first light of autumn the next day. This hasn't happened in 20 years! Our bike ride was in October and harvest season was still is progress. The primary harvest of this Vega is tobacco. Spaniards love their tobacco, although I will say since I was here in the late 80's, there is an ever-so-slight decline of smoking...and I stress "slight". As Myles put it, "Mom, the tobacco companies here must be really rich". "Everyone smokes!"

Once again you might all think I'm crazy, but I walked up to this particular tabaquería "Tobacco House" stuck my nose deep in the drying tobacco leaves and inhaled deep. It was one of the most beautiful smells I've smelled in awhile! No, it didn't smell like smoke. It was a fresh, green, earthly, wooden, clean smell. My first thought was to make a tea out of it! But my fellow Spaniards told me ¡no, Tamara, no!
So what are we in now, the 21st century right? Do you see the construction of the tabaquería above? It's not a factory built of cement producing massive amounts of nicoteen-laced death sticks. It's a natural, beautiful building built of wood and a simple corrugated metal roof. I would smoke a hand-rolled cigarette from these leaves...but I didn't, honestly!
Besides changing some 30 flat tires on this ride, adjusting a few brake pads and derrailers (Kevin Dwyer, thanks for teaching me how to be a bike mechanic!) we had a great day of laughter and conversations that will be remembered forever.
In traditional Spanish fashion, at the end of our excursion we ride into the pueblito of Lachár, pull up to the local bar, which is strategically situated between the school and church and begin to drink cañas. Don't get me wrong, I like beer but I have to say, I have to try my hardest to put down a couple cervezas after exercising. My inclination is to drink water and lots of it but that's not the way it goes here. I'm still working on trying to have a higher tolerance. It was a good thing Antonio was driving that day.

Moving on...part of my weekly routine is going to the market every three days or so. On one particular market day, I'm pulling my carro "pull-cart" down the cobbelstone street like a little old lady, jiggling and bumping all the way along. I come around the corner of the next plaza and am engulfed in a sea of turquoise uniforms. Entering the wild rumpous I ask a young señorita ¿Qué está pasando por aquí? Others close in on me and begin to explain with great, fermented animation of an annual occurence in Granada in this particular plaza - La Plaza universitaria. I have to laugh a deep laugh that I'm hoping some of my buds from South Dakota will do so as well after hearing this story. This particular day had to do with the freshman initiation of medical students at the University of Granada. Julie, do you remember us running from house to house trying to get home safely from school after basketball practice so that we wouldn't be thrown into a car, stripped down almost naked, covered with shaving cream and corn flakes and taken blindfolded to a corn field outside of town....Oh, the many ways to amuse small-town, farm kids. With this particular initiation all the freshman stand in the middle of the plaza and withstand the older med. students throwing and covering them with mustard, ketchup, mermeladas that stain, flour and of course, beer.

I'm setting myself up to continue with the next post almost immediately! I'll leave you with a final video clip of us heading up Los Cahorros. Oh, and of course, the quotes.

"Oh, this pan is so beautiful!"

"¡Cago en tu leche!" (I poop in your milk....otherwise, go to h*&l!

"When in Spain do as the Romans do."

"I want to live in Spain for the rest of my life."

"I wish Osama could stay with us longer."

"Wow, mom, did you see that?" "She did a 180 in high heels!" (Myles' observations of a female Flamenco dancer)

"Mom, I'm just not that kind of guy."

"Venga, mamá, venga, rápido, más rápido!"

"Vale, vale."

Hope you all are doing great. Next post soon to come!

Santo Meñique y San Miguel

2010-10-10T01:55:00.003+01:00

Get ready for another long post. Trust me, this one's worth it! We have learned not to be surprised by anything these days. We live day to day and enjoy every possible moment. During the week we have a consistent routine with the boys in school and me volunteering in the colegio during comedor. Additionally, I'm going to be teaching a couple English classes coming up soon. However, on weekends, we never know what's around the corner....literally.
This past weekend was the Romería de San Miguel - yet another Catholic festival. This one took on a new religious flair for the boys. San Miguel Alta is a cuesta set up above the Albaycin, located in the Sacromonte or Sacred Mountain. The Sacromonte is the area of cave dwellings above Granada. It sounds a little rough, but in fact some of the most beautiful homes are located there, as well as some of the crudest living situations where squatters live.
Saturday morning rolls around and about 9am we are awaken, quite purposely, by the locals getting everyone ready for the hike up to the top of the cuesta. (by now you should get the idea of what a cuesta is, right?)
Here's a little clip of them coming around our corner...(get ready to do a couple C1 vertebra stretches, sorry.)

In our normal fashion we hastily begin to get ourselves together to find out what's going on. Music starts in the Plaza Larga (right around the corner from us) and another large group saunters up our street. After paying homage to the little church right next to our piso, they continue up to the Mirador de San Nicolás. We follow them up and now things start to get interesting. We know some relatively fit macho Spaniards are meant to carry a massive, wooden altar with an Angel on top up to the top of San Miguel today but we didn't know about this particular pilgrimage...

El dueño del Santo Meñique

The group gathers in front of the cathedral and next to the mosque just up the street. (Interesting dichotomy you say? Take a moment to research a little Spanish history between the Arabs and the Christians when you have the insatious desire to learn more). The pilgrims are not only tapping into their alcohol resources which are everything from rolling coolers to sombreros filled with beer accessible by expandable straws, but displaying general merriment as well, which we have found quite typical of religious holidays here in Spain. Heck, if this is what it means to be Catholic, then why not? After a few minutes of wondering exactly what will happen next, I can't take it any longer and so I ask if this event has anything to do with the Romería de San Miguel. By the way, a romería is a way of traveling by foot or horse and comes from the word romero which was a common event during the times of religious pilgrimages to Rome. After this weekend I tend to think that the pilgrimages may have more of a sort of "roaming" feeling, with the idea of eventually making it to their final destination. It's all good...
Everyone in this romería at one point or another makes their way up to the fellow with the straw hat in the foto to the left. They hug him, kiss him and express their intoxicated general merriment to him, some more appropriately than others. I decide that he is most likely the organizer and is the one that can give me the betta on what's about to happen. "¡Pero, hombre!", (said with a low, deep Andalucian accent and a shrugging of shoulders, chin tucked)-I love being called this by the way-and proceeds to give me the typical Spanish kiss on each cheek and a tag to wear around my neck that states "Romería del Meñique". If you're interested in seeing a foto of this tag, let me know. It's a little X-rated, therefore, not included in the family blog. Now you know what romería means but do you know the word meñique? Look it up. It's a body part.
Oh, it's gets really good now and part of me begins to wonder if what I'm hearing is real or if he's taking me for a stupid American. The story goes like this...some 16 years ago this man is tragically involved in a car accident which is no fault of his own. The ambulance picks him up and takes him to the hospital where immediate medical attention is given. Unfortunately, beyond other medical problems, he looses his pinky toe. The doctors ask him if he wishes to keep it, "yes of course, it's a sign or milagro". After the accident he proceeds to receive an abundance of Euros from various insurance companies and is able to buy quite a nice little house in the Albaycin. This is the neighborhood in which he has always dreamt of living and now is surrounded by his friends and life is good. The pinky toe, or "meñique" comes home with him and in traditional Spanish "milagro" fashion, is buried in the backyard of his land. (Once again the "milagro" factor is brought to our attention and the boys and I continue to ponder why we don't have more "milagros" in our lives...)

A year passes and this fellow decides to put in a huerto or garden. As he is working the soil he comes upon his meñique and is simply touched by all that has occurred in his life and how this tiny phalange is a symbol of the new beauty upon which he is bestowed. (I'm feeling a little saint-like in my verbage here...) He decides it is truly a santo for him and begins to promote his annual Romería del Meñique or "Pinky-Toe Pilgrimage" that year.

Two pilgrims taking a look at the Santo Meñique.

The annual pilgrimage has occurred for 16 years and is almost as big as the one we are to attend on the cuesta of San Miguel later that day, but 180 degrees different in content. After this emotional account of experiences he shows me the handmade, wooden coffin and modest altar of the meñique and then proceeds to baptize folks. His kisses the women and puts his hand on the men's shoulders.Ok, you all think I've gone nuts at this point to even consider putting this story in our blog. However, It's these experiences that I absolutely love about the Spaniards. As Myles put it after I told the boys the story and then we took a look at the coffin, "mom, these Spaniards are classic!" I couldn't agree with you more, Myles. Finally, the procession packs up their goods and begins to march and dance down the cobblestone street to their next stop.

We decide we better go home and eat a bit before taking our second pilgrimage up to the cuesta. We walk through the Plaza Larga, down Panaderas and pick up our friends Sarah, Dani and Nikita at the base of the Sacromonte. Nikita is in curso primero at Gomez and we've become quite close with her family. Dani is a Madrileño and Sarah is from New Zealand.

It was a beautiful sunny day in Granada and slowly everyone made their way up the hill to a little church at the top of the cuesta de San Miguel. It was a relatively solemn gathering with all the pilgrims waiting in line to enter the church. There were two floors in the church and each one had a statue of the Archangel San Miguel standing over the devil. The one on the main floor was the altar carried up earlier that day.

Everyone was carrying some type of white flower they had either brought up themselves or taken from the altar, as it was adorned with white flowers at the bottom. There is quite a bit of energy in the church with many older women (I used to call the noogy grandmas when I was 20yrs. old because of their height) talking very seriously amongst themselves and almost everyone rubbing their San Miguel flyer on the ceramic cloud formation at the base of the archangel as they slowly walk by. Some are sitting quietly reciting their Hail Mary's and other prayers with their rosary beads. I've chosen to enlarge the foto for you of the Archangel and the devil so that you could get the full visual effect. I've also chosen to give you a backside view of the devil's butt, just because of the quote below by Myles.

head of a man, ears of a dog, reptile tail, grasshopper legs...

Serious posturing going on here...

After hanging around the backyard of the church for awhile watching the macho Spaniards on their horses and local barrio kids play soccer we decided to stroll back down the dusty hill to go home for the night. It was a Sunday after all and even though I have the feeling many locals stayed up until wee hours of the night celebrating how important the work of the Archangel San Miguel is in their lives, we recently arrived Americans decided we needed some sleep for
school tomorrow.

We had endured two pilgrimages in one day! And oh, what a learning experience it was once again for the boys. Here are some of the quotes that made it into this blogísimo:
"I want to be a policeman in Granada someday."
"Spaniards are so AWESOME!" "They party all the time!"
"I thought maybe she'd leave me just a little bit more than 1 Euro." (Owen lost a tooth and only got 1 Euro from the tooth fairy...)
"Mom, I'm talking in Spanish now!"
"I didn't know the devil has grasshopper legs."
"Well, the angel can't do anything anyway and the devil is going to get away because the chain is broke."
"I learned how to swear in Spanish today, mom."
"It's just not in their culture to do that mom."

Finally, one last post for some of my favorite Tuna bands with a lead singer called endearingly, "La abuela" - granny. These fellows were walking around the barrio during the Sunday events. You're right boys, Spaniards really ARE awesome! Enjoy everyone! Glad you're along for the ride.

Huelgas y la manera del Trompo

2010-10-02T02:01:00.000+01:00

This is a quick little post I'm hoping some of my friends in the education field will enjoy. I'm on a roll this week! By the way, I'm trying to post the videos from now on via You Tube or Vimeo. Let me know how they work. Wednesday, the boys did not go to school. No, it wasn't a saints day or national holiday....rather, all the teacher's and obreros in Spain conducted a HUELGA, a strike. At 23:30 and I could still hear the blow horns and fireworks going off in the distance.

It was a little nice to sleep in the morning of the huelga a bit, I must admit. We covered a little lectura, matematicas and Owen worked on his cursive (he says it's easier than printing!). By the way, cursiva is the way all children write here from the get go. Later on, around 5th grade they work on "letra" which is printing....exactly opposite of what the US does for writing. Anyway, after a little colegio en casa, we decided we better add a bit of culture to our day, so we strolled down to the Gran Via where the huelga was to take place.

I was glad I had heard of this event a couple days prior. I had a feeling it might be kind of crazy so I stocked up on pan, leche and a couple other items we have to get every other day. Some of you who live in Tahoe know how that feels when a big storm is coming. You head down to Safeway to stock up, knowing mother nature is ready to take her course and confine you to your abode for a good 24 hours. That was kind of the way I was feeling the day before.

It was a good idea I made this choice as everything was closed! So, the huelga was not just the public service employees but EVERYONE! The streets were quiet and all the metal, pull-down doors closed at every cafe, bar, mercado, tienda, zapateria, panaderia, carniceria, banco, you get the point, you name it. Everything was quiet until we descended upon Reyes Catolicos and Gran Via where hundreds of protestors were chanting phrases like:

"mas trabajo, menos policia"
"terrorismo es capitalismo"
"dinero para el obrero, no para el banquero"

Let's see you all get out your dictionaries and translators for those phrases! After a short Civics lesson, here's what the kids were able to decipher from it all.

So, I'll leave you with just a couple quotes for this blogito....

"I had the best dream last night...I was a WORD BENDER!!!!" (Owen loves the movie Airbender and had a dream he could bend Spanish words the way he wished....love it!)
"So why don't our teachers in America ever go on strike like this when they're unhappy at school?" hmmmm....
"This is a little scary."
"It's BATIDO time!"
"Oh, I wish I had my twin tips!"
"Mom, when we go back to America it's going to seem like we live in a mansion!"
"Ven, Mama!"
"Mira, Mama!"
"Pero, que haces, Owen?"

Last but not least, for those of you aching to know the inside scoop on the trompos I've been talking about, here's Myles to give you the betta. He actually set this up to send to his papa but we'll share it with you too...

Saints, Trompos, Tunas y La Virgen de Granada

2010-09-27T10:36:00.040+01:00

Myles, Jacob, Iker y Owen

The past two weeks have given us the time to ground ourselves in our little flat in the Albaycin. The boys have developed a good sense of place in school and with friends and I've been able to organize myself too. Although we've lived in Granada for a month already, I just now feel as though we have a good rhythm in our routine. One of the best things that has happened has been that Myles and Owen have developed friendships with some great kids. It's the little things that mean the most, like when a friend stops by and asks us to go to the park with him. When we're at the park, I love to bring a book and pretend to read, but actually I'm listening to the kids trying to figure out how to communicate amongst themselves. It's so refreshing that they don't get frustrated with their language deficiencies nor do they waste time thinking of how to correctly conjugate verbs. They play, laugh, yell, run, and it's all good. By the end of their playtime, they've learned another handful of words and phrases in Spanish...usually they remember them, but not always.

Futbol con amigos del colegio Gomez Moreno

Two of the popular activities to do at the park and at school are, of course, "futbol", soccer, and "trompos". Trompos are simple spinning tops that the kids fling and spin. They constantly try to do tricks and have "competiciones and batallas" to see who can do the best and most innovative trick. It's such a simple game and they love it! The trompos are sold at the corner newspaper kiosks and they are a hot, hot, hot item right now!

Owen and our friend, Osama with a trompo

Besides hanging with the amigos, we continue to wander about the Albaycin's maze of intricate little streets on a daily basis. There have been a couple interesting events that we've seen and experienced that now when I look back upon them, have been our first tastes of serious Spanish Catholicism, that will continue to have more meaning to us as the year progresses. Two weeks ago we woke up to many church bells ringing. It wasn't your typical Sunday morning reminder to-get-your-butt-out-of-bed-and-get-to-church-type of ringing. And it went on for a good hour. Ok, ok, already, we said. Let's go find out what's going on! Take a listen...

An hour later, we are walking down to Plaza Nueva to Pan y chocolate to get our daily bread, (no religious connotation here) and there are massive amounts of people in the square. Our local kiosk is not only the trompo vender and jazz music connoisseur, but also knows who's who and what's happening in Granada and Andalucia as a whole. (By the way, he also knows which paper to buy depending upon which political stance you take). He informs us that yes, today, there is a SAINT being named in Granada and some 500,000 people have come from all over to witness this event. His name is Fray Leopoldo, and he looks just like any other kind, serene friar you've perhaps seen in photos. His is also known as the "beggar of the three Hail Marys". This event, of course, spurs numerous conversations with the boys, one of which is the following. Owen asks, "Mom, what's a saint?" And a couple minutes later, "How do you become a saint?" Well, the story I was told by Richard and Esperanza is that you have to perform various miracles. "What's a miracle?" Well, sometimes I feel as though it's been a miracle that we've been able to do what we have so far! Brad thinks I'M a saint because he has a hall pass for over 2 months (just kidding, sweetie). I guess we all have our different levels of miracles that happen on a daily basis. And the conversation goes on and on from here. You can imagine.

Ever eaten a freshly picked date? (yellow, on left) They're delicious!

And today we are two weeks later and the Virgen of Granada is appearing! They are carrying her down the paseo of Reyes Católicos and everyone is in a festive mood. The older ladies are dressed to the hilt, little girls are adorned with silk ribbons in their hair, fireworks are exploding in various plazas throughout the city, and a great fair takes place in the Plaza de las Batallas. Besides the Virgen appearing, the fair sells loads of fall harvests of fruit, nuts, pasteles and the like. Some of the most popular are dates, both dried and fresh, all sorts of nuts, almonds, walnuts, pistahcios, etc., tortas that are creme-filled and sugar-topped and the others that come with chicharrones (meat) inside and on top. Not knowing the history of this particular Virgen, nor wishing to talk about what a virgin is, I'm likening it to a fall harvest festival. I guess that's my horticultural background coming out.

Pasteles y tortas

On our way home from the Plaza we are strolling up our regular walk up through the old Arabic mercantile area where all the Teterías are located (teterías are quaint, intimate tea houses) when we come upon a Tuna! No, this is not an open fish market but a band of wonderful musicians that stroll through town playing typical spanish songs. When I lived in Madrid (some 20+ years ago...eek!) about every 2 weeks various "tunas" would walk through our streets and practice their musical sets. Tunas are usually formed by a group of university students who like to play music on the side, kind of like your local garage band, I guess. They are not musicians for a living, but could be! They usually sing to the people walking by and often get everyone involved in a few songs, whether choosing to sing and/or dance. It's a live walking concert for all. The group that we met had just played for a wedding, they said, and now were going to make their way up to the Albaycin. Fortunately, about an hour later, we're home and what do you know, they come strolling by! Here's a clip to share with you. (By the way, I carry my camera everywhere and never miss a beat!)

And while we're on the path of street musicians I'll add a couple more clips I think you'll all enjoy. The first one is of Nicholas playing a percussion instrument called a "Hang".

Owen playing a Hang.
For those of you linguists, come on, I know you're out there, Hang is pronounced [haŋ]. It's looks like an enclosed steel drum and is one of the most beautiful sounds I've heard in a long time (except for the canyon wren of the southwest). We sat for probably an hour, mesmerized by the sound. It was a Sunday morning and we decided to take Tana, our former landlord's dog, out for a stroll. This is what we do on a daily basis....go for a stroll that is. Everyone does it and it makes for a lovely way to pass the time. Usually you run into someone you know or a street performer or musician. It's such a nice way to be out and about instead of in front of the tele...and we never USE A CAR!!!!! (can you tell I don't miss having to get into a car every day?)

As I was downloading this clip I realized how much was really happening in this video outside of Nicholas playing the Hang. There are people on bikes (there is a mtn. bike trail just up the hill called "llano de la perdiz"), on vespas, walking, etc. You hear talking, the sounds of the Hang and in the distance you can hear someone playing the castanets toward the end of the clip. Take a listen...

Is this blog long enough now? I need to post shorter blogs more frequently but it seemed as though this one took on a life of its own. It's great to hear from you all. Thanks for your support and interest in our adventure! Last but not least, quotes from the boys that have made the blog. (you know there's no way I can remember these by heart, so I carry a little notebook, which I call my brain, thanks Brad, with me and jot them down, even in the middle of walking down the street)

"Mira, mama, how I wrapped my trompo!" (3 out of 7 isn't bad)
"Why are only black people selling things?"
"¡Caca, estúpida caca!"
"Are you crazy, mom?"
"Finally I remembered baño when I needed to!"
"¡Vete, ya!" (Javier said this to Myles)
"Myles, ven por aquí!" (Iker yelling at Myles)
"You should check his whiteboard out, mom!"
"The English teacher is crazy!"
"I like our little house, don't you?"
"Mama, Pepillo gave me a trompo!"
"I learned a new word, mom, ¡pásalo!" ("pass it" in fútbol)

Until the next saints day, perhaps? Next blog I'll post how much fun we had with the Pretti clan when they stayed in Granada for a couple days!

Owen, Winston, Myles y Aidan in the Plaza de las Batallas

ok, ok, ok, I have to add one last video clip...this was of another impromptu musical display in the calle Calderia (where all the tea shops are). We are in a very small little plaza, the boys are spinning their trompos with the Prettis and some locals and there is no way you can be still with music and energy like this!

¡VENGA!

¿Éxito?...¡Sí!

2010-09-11T23:08:00.008+01:00

First day of school

Ok...so some of you are on pins and needles about whether or not the first day of school was a success. Before I tell you, I'd like to give a little history about the whole process of how we were able to actually get into our school of choice in Granada. It's a case of desire, tenacity and patience that enabled us to do so. After months of research from the states (which was more than extremely difficult and only resulted in a few updated websites from costly private schools), a friend suggested the public school Gomez Moreno. This school is located in the Albaicin, the Moorish quarter of Granada and is perfect walking distance from our flat. I attempted to "pre-register" from the states via two sources but that never really amounted to anything. After arriving with visas in hand, I was under the impression that our visas would need to be finalized first in order to have our "NIE". Our NIE will be our Spanish identification for the year, allowing us to do things like open a bank account, rent a car, and other more formal things citizens do here. In order to get the NIE I would need to go to the "Delegación del gobierno". The stern man at the gates of this magnificent building told me I had a nice Castilian accent, but, no, this was not the correct office. I would need to attend the "SUBdelegación del gobierno" office "just down the street". One half hour later after winding through various streets and following a handful of very kind but false directions, we arrive at the SUBdelegación, but, alas, it's actually, la Policia! No, this was not the correct address. We would need to take either bus #7 or #33 to the outskirts of town. Fortunately the lady helping me was so kind to call the office and check to see if we could get in. No, this was not possible, but perhaps "mañana", if we were early.

Ok, I'm telling myself to breathe and think positive that everything will go fine. On a whim, I go back to the stern, short, Spanish man who complemented my Castilian, and I throw out my best Andalusian "zeta" and ask him about enrolling my children in the school system here, because I know it ultimately has to go through the Gobierno..."¡Ah, pero hombre!" (this is an endearing term used with women but doesn't mean you are masculine) all you need to do is bring passports tomorrow and be in line here by 0900 for the Escolarización office on the 2nd floor. Oh, my god, this is too much.

La cola de mamás

So, tomorrow comes, "hago la cola" (I stand in line) with all the other moms from Granada and after 1/2 hour wait I have the formal signature for 2° grado (Owen) and 4°grado (Myles) in El Colegio de Gomez Moreno. I don't even need our NIE's for enrollment and will tackle that monster when the kids are in school and I have multiple mornings to deal...

This is excellent. I have paperwork in hand and we're all set. Within the next couple days we decide to visit the school in the off chance there might be some kids around and teachers. We have a lovely chat with the secretary, who Myles thinks is really cool and told me I should get my hair done like hers, and oh, we are informed that actually, NO, we are NOT enrolled in Gomez Moreno. She could not find us in the computer system. And, oh, the computers between the school and the government have no correspondence. We literally run down to our flat, grab our documentation and passports and fill out another lengthly set of paperwork for the school. Ok, now, I find myself asking questions over and over again to make sure I'm not missing anything.

Back to the title of the post. Before I translate the title for some of you, I'd like to say that the morning of Sept. 10th was really, really, really hard. We walked slowly to school and because our pan (bread) hadn't been delivered yet, we stopped in a nice cafe for chocolate caliente, un café con leche y tostadas. The boys are very nervous and not happy with me at all at this point. We arrive at Gomez and many families are lined up to enter. Children are excited, mothers are chatting, and there is a lot of great energy, but everything is in Spanish and it's really loud. Myles and Owen are looking at the ground and squeezing my hands really tight. When the doors open, there is a flood of children and parents moving into the playground where laminated signs are posted for the different grades to line up behind. Everyone shouts "¡AL COLE!" (pronounced kolay) short for "colegio" which mean elementary school, not college.

We are unsure of which lines to be in because they are divided into A and B sections within each grade level. We try to find out but it's difficult. We know that Myles has a male teacher named Javier and we don't know Owen's as of yet. The following is a little clip of what was happening. There are some brits (British) families (as well as French) in the school so you'll see that a mother who speaks English is trying to talk with Owen.

At this point in time Myles looks up at me and says "I hate you for this". I'm about to lose it as it has been a daily fight with him about WHY we are doing this and Owen is about to cry. The bell rings and Owen's class goes in and due to all the people I don't even see Myles enter the building with his class.

I end up fretting all day until pick up time at 16:00 as to whether I have made the right decision with these kids. Am I going to "luchar" this entire year "fight"? How will I endure and how will I remain a positive figure for them? This may be too much? What WAS I thinking? Are they going to totally digress in life? And this is all because of one of my grand ideas...

I return at 15:30 and peek in the playground door. Other parents have come early so I go in. I don't see Myles or Owen anywhere when all of a sudden Myles comes running up with a wet head and a girl trailing behind. He is all smiles and laughter and then Owen comes up with the same ear to ear grin and happy energy. They have met a beautiful sweet Spanish girl, Sofia, who has taken them under her wing. I about start to cry but am full of laughter and play some soccer with them on the field.

So, we have had "éxito" - success - this first day of school in the Spanish educational system. Besides everything going so well, I find out that this school is a model school other schools are planning to follow and the cafetería serves "comida ecológica", organic hot lunches, they have amazing after school school options, including rock climbing, sports, music and French, and the list goes on.... What was I ever so worried about????

Ending with quotes this time that are a little harsh, but true:
"I don't like to being out late at night in the city."
"She has too many piercings."
"Mom, everybody sleeps all day and parties all night."
"Mom, PLEASE can you come with me just the first day???"
"I hate you for this."
"Javier is SO NICE!" (Javier is Myles' teacher)

I'm posting this again. I forgot to add one last foto of the banner hanging outside the colegio. Much love to you all! By the way, if it isn't too troublesome, take a moment and sign up to follow the blog.

Cabo de Gata - X Rated

2010-09-06T18:52:00.000+01:00

School begins Friday, Sept. 10th for the boys. They will be attending a local public school called Gomez Moreno in the Albaicin district of Granada. The boys are pretty scared right now and so I thought we'd take a little break from everything and head to the beach for a few days. Ricardo and Esperanza, our landlords, suggested a tiny little beach town on the Mediterranean called, San Jose of Cabo de Gata. What a treat it was! The train ride from Granada to Almeria was beautiful through many hills of olive groves one after the other. Around Guadix there were hundreds of wind turbines and solar panels. We all agreed we need to see more and more of these in the US. On a side note, during siesta each day it is frowned upon if you use much electricity. So, that means from essentially 3pm-6pm there is minimal usage of electricity. What would happen for the US if they tried this, or even just in the city of LA? Besides, minimal energy consumption everything is just simply, simpler here. You go to the store and there are 3 types shampoo...not 50. You get one type of cafe con leche and there are no additives - no triple carmel machiatto with skim milk. And I must say, a cafe con leche here has twice the kick of Starbucks.

After we departed Guadix via bus we traveled through the suburbs of Almeria. Apparently as of just recently this was one of the poorest areas of Spain. Within the last 5+ years they have begun to construct greenhouses for year round agricultural purposes. Now the area is quite wealthy, but quite unsightly. Until you begin to decent the canyon last leads down to Cabo de Gata you pass hundreds of white, plastic greenhouses loaded with cultivations. You can get organic produce here and even the non-organic is better than ours in the US. They still farm the old fashioned way without the use of many pesticides. Because we are so far south, the produce is quite diverse and we will have many options in the winter.

We stayed at the Albergue San Jose, an international youth hostel where you pay for each bunk. We couldn't check in to the hostel so we went straight to the beach and jumped in. The water was SO WARM. It was easy right away to fall into beach time and just sit, relax and watch the ocean.

The siesta time at the beach was even longer and more tranquil than in the city of Granada. We weren't able to get into our hostel until 1800 and then the woman was late in opening up. Everything moves much slower. You all think there is a "Tahoe time", oh, it's nothing compared to Spanish time. :) Let's just say it gives you time to...reflect - something we all need to do more often.

Albergue San Jose - Our hostel

The waves were pretty good, some 2-2 1/2 ft. high and gave us the chance to body surf a bit. There were many urchins and shells to explore and lots to watch, primarily in human form.

For example, the boys quickly noticed that many men wore "whitey tighties" aka Speedos. By the end of this trip, both boys were interested in having their own pair because of the severe rash they had. Perhaps the old men knew something they didn't?

The sea does not discriminate.

Besides Speedos being a la mode, it was common for women and girls to be topless. I did have a conversation with the boys about this, but the auditory lesson didn't have as much of an affect on them as the visual. I think it took them about 24 hours to be able to finally close their jaws and stop running into people. The women, both old and young who were topless didn't bother them quite as much as the girls their age. Yet another lesson in our journey to take home. What I loved about the beach was all the different ages that enjoyed this experience-young children, babies, families helping grandparents in the water. There was also quite a cultural diversity at the beach. A few Northern Europeans, many Spaniards, Italians and Northern Africans all enjoyed the warmth of the sand and sea, eating, reading, laughing, playing paddle ball, swimming and snorkeling.

Here's a little clip of our time at la playa - the beach. I thought you all might enjoy it. Also, I thought I would add a photo of the common staple these days: pan, pan, and more pan (bread), salchicha (sausage) and/or jamon (prosciutto), aceitunas (olives), zumo (juice), queso (cheese), fruta (fruit)- in this photo melocotones (peaches), and usually a little vino o cerveza. Fortunately the boys will eat all of the above so I don't have to worry about them going hungry here.

Lunch anyone?

Owen's favorite - chocolate caliente

And last but not least some of the recent quotes that made the paper... "Wow, that was actually pretty fast!" (after only waiting a few minutes to get our train tickets.
"Mom, just to let you know, I might want to live here for 2 years."
"Ah!" "She's NAKED!" "Just act natural, just act natural..." (said under his breath)
"I don't want to eat anything salty right now because I drank enough of the sea."
Translation from Spanish to English: "You know we have a saying in Spain." "If the US sneezes, we get a cold." (after a discussion about "la crisis" that is occurring in Spain)

Sink or swim at Los Italianos

2010-09-01T16:00:00.116+01:00

The statues are quite thought provoking...and why is he wrestling a goat naked...and with horns none the less?

We are adjusting to Spanish time and in particular Granada time (which is even slower due to the heat). One of the ways we deal the heat is by eating a cool gelato at the end of the day. "Los Italianos" is the local's favorite. Many locals felt the need to tell us that MICHELLE OBAMA had gelato here a couple weeks ago when the Obama family was in southern Spain on "holiday". So of course we decided that we must frequent this place!

Gelato seems to be the key not only in a child's psychological well-being, but their ability to acquire a second language, as well. However, there's a catch to getting gelato and as Myles noted in the first blog, it entails stepping out of one's comfort zone. Ever heard the phrase "sink or swim" when it comes to learning a second language? Frankly, the boys are sinking at this point and would starve if I weren't here but, each day they improve. It's exciting to see how their language skills grow with much repetition and time and become more comfortable with their surroundings. It also helps when everyone is always so kind and calling you "guapo" (handsome) and patting your head.

So, I thought I would share a scene from Los Italianos that is just a smidgen of what Myles and Owen go through multiple times each day. Sometimes the boys tell me they'd rather starve than try to communicate, but usually I can get them to talk...somehow, someway. Interestingly enough, Owen, who is our quiet guy, is quite the linguist! It most likely has to do with his age and his easy going nature. Myles is more self conscientious of himself which I feel so bad about at times. He needs to lighten up and not be so scared of making a mistake. It's not like the Spaniards are going to beat him if he says the wrong word...

More Chisholm quote updates:

"Is it siesta time or fiesta time now?"
"You're in Vespa heaven, aren't you, Mom?"

"Do we have to walk, AGAIN?"

"Sir Farts-a-lot has just attacked the Moors in the Alhambra!"

"Is that where the princess lives?" (pointing to high tower above Alhambra)

Sir Farts-a-lot entering the Bib Rambla on a quest.

Enjoy! We love hearing from you all. Pass the post on to whomever you think might enjoy it!

I'm having difficulty uploading the video to this blog so, if you can't see it below PLEASE check out the link. I think you'll find it a bit amusing. I'll post more scenic photos next time.

http://gallery.me.com/chisholmfab4#100009

Planes, Trains, Taxis and lots of Patience!

2010-08-29T11:49:00.001+01:00

After many months of preparing for this adventure we now are in route to Granada, Spain from San Francisco, Ca. This is our first blog and I'm going to try and take a dear friend's advice and be "raw" in our posts. Apparently everyone will be more interested in following our adventure without it being a literary masterpiece. We left Truckee, Ca the afternoon of the 23 of Aug. and flew out the morning of the 24th. Our entire trip lasted some 38 hours including transport to San Fran., lay over in Atlanta, 9 hr. flight to Madrid, insane taxi ride to Atocha train station in Madrid (which Owen swore we were going to experience our first crash), 5 hours of half asleep lay over in Atocha train station, another 5 hr. train ride through the plains of Spain south to the hills of Granada, final Taxi ride to the Plaza Nueva in Granada and our ultimate climb up a steep hill and many cobblestone steps, to our flat above the square. Mind you, we have 5 pieces of luggage to get us through this year of life and we were all walking zombies at this point. Even though the boys were amazing, I wondered if traveling this way with them was more challenging than giving birth to them.

We arrived at our sanctuary - a small piece of heaven with lavender and bougainvillea surrounding the entryway, a stone's throw from the 8th century Moorish fortress, La Alhambra. The wonderful owners Ricardo and Esperanza greeted us with chocolate caliente for the boys and a baguette. We fell asleep to the sound of church bells chiming every quarter hour and slept for the next 14 hours straight. Here are some of the quotes from the boys that made me laugh and almost cry at times during this move:

"Can we go home now?"
"I feel like I'm around a bunch of aliens. Does anyone speak English?"
"Are we in America?"
"Spain looks just like Reno!"
"You just LOVE forcing me out of my comfort zone, don't you, mom?"