I'm back from Spain and sad sad sad about it. I have never ever ever eaten so well so consistently in my life. I didn't do a dish in 15 days. I did wrangle a toddler on 6 separate flights which was bad, so bad and sometimes Less Bad but usually Bad. The flight over AH and I confided to each other later that we were both thinking seriously about why we had children, like really, why have a kid, why? They are so much work and stress, especially when the airplane begins its mandated "quiet time". It is so hard to remember why sometimes.
Also, culture shock after 2 weeks is so possible - arriving back in Philadelphia's nightmare airport, I felt like fleeing the country immediately. (Incidentally, do not fly in or our of Philly if you can help it - flights were delayed on the tarmack or in the air every single time - 2 hours on the tarmack on the Madrid leg which alone which, please, TWO EXTRA HOURS sitting on the runway with the seatbelt light on the entire time and my toddler in my lap, I hate you I hate you I hate you Philly airport). I went from beautiful spacious light filled Madrid airport with salads and good bread and free baggage carts to this insane rabbit warren of employees yelling at you, arcane security checks, pizza warmed under heat lamps and Chik-Fil-A and American flags and nowhere to sit except the Bar and Grill which had, I kid you not, 39 TV's tuned to CNN and ESPN in direct line of vision for me which after 2 weeks with no computer, news or TV was severe sensory overload and I couldn't stop chanting "I hate America" and I didn't care that the 300 people in my direct earshot furiously texting god knows what heard it.
Despite the inevitable occasional oddness of sharing a house and vacation with a SIL carrying a Newt Gingrich book around (to her credit, she tried to cover it up if I was around and lord, we did gymnastics to make sure we didn't talk about anything controversial) and my very very determined woman with a plan that you shall obey MIL - it was fantastic. It takes a while to get in the Spain rhythm with the late lunch, the siestas, the kids staying up til 10 at night and then you getting to head down to the local Meson with the adults for beer and olives and cafe con leche - but I am pretty converted. This trip was neat because all of it - the house, the village, the family are directly connected to my daughter and her heritage and as someone who has never had any heritage except "5 generations Canadian" to claim, this is exciting stuff, to be part of the big old genetic stew of it all, through her. I hope they never ever give up the house because it is old and huge and crazy but Cantabria with its hills and cows and sheep is so dang beautiful, like New Zealand with the bonus of cheap, delicious wine. I also think Santander is like a mini San Francisco and it was kinda thrilling to walk on busy city streets and see people and eat outside and pop into stores. AH and I also left the baby for 24 hours with her grandparents and pre-celebrated our 5th!!! (If you've been reading this silly blog for awhile you may be as amazed as I am that we have already hit the 5th wedding anniversary, it feels like yesterday honestly ) which is actually tomorrow - by heading to San Sebastian and eating and drinking our faces off at the many many amazing bars and pincho places in SS - nothing nothing is better than glasses of rosado and plates of pincho and long walks with ice cream from the heladeria along the beach - and then starting all over again. I love that town. I also ate disgustingly well at the cousin wedding which turned out to be a HUGE affair - a Spanish wedding involves the kind of dresses I imagine people wearing to the Oscars or something and holy lord, it was so much fun. They even hired babysitters so we could go stress free to the reception which was by far, the most luxe event I've attended. Whole lobsters for every single guest - and that was the salad course. 150 guests. We heard family rumors of 250 Euros per plate - and an open bar. And bocadilos and chocolate con churros set out at 4 am to keep the dancing going. Baskets of esparadilles set out for the women so they could also keep dancing. My shy brother in law doing an actual face plant on the lawn at 6 am when we arrived home, keeling over from food and drink and good times.
Simone had such a good time - meeting cows and sheep and dogs and cats and chickens in all the surrounding farms and being hugged by a billion cousins and village and learning to say "Ola" to everyone and ask insistently for "pan" and "agua". UH, a good time except for the 2 days of agonizing hives she broke out in from some kind of allergy, a food one I'm guessing, as she was exposed to a lot, such as the 15 anchovy stuffed olives she crammed in her mouth before I could stop her - and lord help me, her first taste of ham - because I do not know how you possibly avoid ham in Spain, seriously, I would like to meet the vegans of Spain and shake their hands if they exist. The hives were upsetting because she already was suffering from some serious mosquito bites and she had never had anything like it, I couldn't go to a doctor, or Google it or soothe her pain in any real way. Yeah, that part sucked. But see, in the way of vacation lore, I've already forgotten it and concentrated instead on the most amazing tortilla on the planet that Tata, the woman who cooked for us, would make when we would go to the beach and eat in cold slightly sandy chunks. She was the best, best cook, but I still found the whole culture of having someone come over to cook and clean and do things for the house really weird. Especially when my Spanish is so poor and all I could say was "Muchas Gracias" over and over like some dumb sap. I am working on the Spanish I promise, but I did find this man at the wedding who was from Shanghai but living in Grenoble and we spoke French for an hour, and it was such a tremendous relief to not feel like a total moron. My number one goal for Simone is at least a fluent second language.
Things in Spain or Europe or wherever are not perfect of course but they have the neighborhood business DOWN, one of the things I most appreciate. The man who still delivers bread every morning and leaves it in little muslin bags you hook over your fence. The tiny ice cream store that has been in business since 1895 and uses cones that are made in the village and the ice cream made using milk from the dairy cows down the road. Every single tiny tiny village was guaranteed to have at least one Meson - a hole in the wall bar with a great espresso bar and plenty of wine and all the little tapas you would need. Most had far more than that. Kids taking over the stores of their parents, keeping it going. Old men and women giving us what I have come to call the Spanish Hairy Eyeball because we so clearly did not come from there, but shooting the shit at the bar with their neighbors over a shot glass of grappa. Fruit stands every five feet in Santander. Fresh orange juice every morning because the oranges from Valencia were so inexpensive and delicious that it wasn't wasteful to use 4 oranges for an 8 ounce glass. Making coffee in the stovetop pot and putting steamed milk in a pitcher and drizzling olive oil over toast. I think you can gather that it was a lot about the food. But it was also about family, one I accidentally ended up in, one I don't agree with much of the time but watching my kid jumping in the ocean with her cousins and walking up and down the stone steps that her great-great-great grandmother also walked on - it's going to be so special to her one day. Two more years and she may even be half decent to fly with...
I'm writing this because there are 490 emails in my Gmail, 942 items in my Google Reader, I haven't checked my work or school e-mail yet or looked at Facebook and I kinda just wanta throw my computer in the ocean but this seems like a gentle way to ease back into the modern world...