Citrus Potion

We leave for a big trip today. We will be away from home for 19 days. While there is excitement about the adventure, the launch is always such a drag. 

There is packing, checking in for flights and doing laundry. There is arranging the cat sitter, the snow shoveler, and stopping the mail. There is dealing with international bureaucracies and poorly translated websites while applying for visas and travel permits for three different countries. 

But for me prepping for a trip like this brings out a lurking monster. It's the monster of all of the stuff I should have done months, weeks and days ago that suddenly feels urgent. This time around, I suddenly felt drawn to...

• Clean out the basement and making sure my new studio space felt cute. 
• Test about 50 Sharpie pens to see which ones still worked.
• Return eight pairs of pants, one kitchen faucet, one book and a set of measuring spoons to Amazon.
• Send get well cards to a friend and the mother of a friend.
• Vacuum the deep recesses of my closet.
• Organize my exercise gear drawer.

And, most ludicrous of all, making a lemon-lime-mandarin potion with all the citrus in my fruit bowl that will go bad before we return. So, in addition to everything else I had to do to prepare for the trip, I spent time juicing several dried out lemons, limes and mandarins mixing them with simple syrup rescued from a remote corner of the refrigerator and luring my family to the kitchen for a refreshing glass of mystery beverage. I don't know why but using up that fruit instead of pitching it gave me a deep sense of satisfaction. 

Could it be the anxiety of all of the unknowns related to a big trip the energizes me? Maybe I control the things I can and that gives me a sense of calm. I don't know for certain why I allow the monster to appear but I will say that I am happy with the jobs I accomplished. 

Before we leave there are a few more jobs to be accomplished. As soon as I'm done I will close the door behind me and venture into the unknown of our adventure. I will do this calmly, confident that my fabric napkins will be well organized and predictably awaiting my return.

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P.S. It is not lost on me that in addition to everything else I have had to do, I wrote two blog posts in the last 24-hours. Like the six bullets above writing just suddenly felt urgent. 

Dusting Off the Old Blog

In just over 24 hours we will take flight for Singapore. The last time I posted to 'A Swift Adventure' the kids were 10 and 13 and were living in Spain. Now we are heading off on a 19 day adventure to Asia with two young adults.

We have taken several memorable trips since Spain but this one is a little different. We are are heading to Singapore to 'suss it out' as a sabbatical destination. Instead of just visiting as tourists, Mike will connect with colleagues at NUS, we will check out housing options and explore grocery stores thinking about what it might feel like to spend an extended time there. Unlike our Spain sabbatical, which was a real family adventure, this one will be very different since it will largely just be Mike and me. Our first empty nest sabbatical.

In addition to Singapore we will visit Cambodia and Vietnam. We had planned a trip to SE Asia in the spring of 2020 but that trip fell victim to Covid. While the sabbatical was the seed that got us thinking about this trip, we were so pleased that both Jacob and Lily's academic schedules lined up in a way that allowed us to visit Singapore and also finally take our long postponed Asia adventure.

Packing is such a funny activity. It seems to truly take the exact amount of time that you offer it. In this case we have had several days since everybody has been home and there were several days between the excitement of Christmas and our departure. While we didn't pack constantly, each day included trips to the pharmacy for scopolamine, ambien, and Covid tests, trips to Target for eye masks and sunscreen, trips to REI for I don't even know what, and of course Trader Joes for emergency snacks. In addition we had a family hunt to unearth travel gear that was misplaced in our move... mini locks, neck pillows, travel tags and binoculars. Everything was assembled in laundry baskets and today our belongings have finally been carefully and tightly squeezed into our carry-on luggage.

So, tomorrow morning we are off. First thirteen hours to Japan and then another seven to Singapore.
All in coach cause that's how we roll.

And away we go....

Lost in Translation - Honey, Tampons and Sensible Condoms

Our first day in Spain we were exhausted, hot and excited to finally be here. After doing a little unpacking we walked out of our apartment and into our new life. Our first stop was a café in the middle of a lovely park. It was tranquil in the shade watching the children play, dogs run around and couples walk hand in hand.

Since I spoke the most Spanish it was up to me to order. Lily wanted noodles and butter and so I ordered, “pasta con miel”. “Pasta con miel?” said the waitress. “Si, pasta con miel” said I. “Pasta con miel????” she said again with a face. “Si, pasta con miel”.

“Bitch,” I though. "I understand that you think we are stupid Americans and that European kids eat all kinds of fancy stuff but my kid just got off a transatlantic flight and she just wants frikkin buttered noodles.”

Finally she agreed and went to put in the order.

And then she brought it out. Pasta con miel just as I had asked...noodles with HONEY.

Thankfully the KIND waitress had the foresight to put it in a separate bowl. I burst out laughing and suddenly remembered that miel is the word for honey BUT mantequilla is the words for butter. The waitress laughed too and quickly brought butter.

And that is basically how it has gone all year. I order something and something else appears. I make a request and get it but it is different than what I expect. Imagine me in the emergency room trying to figure out how to care for Jacob who after an x-ray was diagnosed with the serious sounding capsulities and then realizing he had just jammed his finger on basketball.

Usually my language skills can be blamed….but not all of the time. In Barcelona asking if you prefer "carne" or "pescado" (meat or fish) is sometimes asked to see if you prefer men or women.

Just to make things more complicated there are so many words that bleed from one language to the other, odd translations and just plain oddities of the language. Happily 98% of the time it is cause for laughter, head-shaking and amusement. And, the other other 2% becomes a good story a week or two later.

Below are a few of my favorites. I’ve included pictures just so you will believe me.

ULTRA SENSIBLE CONDOMS...they were selling these sensible condoms at the gas station. Are these for people who really, really don't want to lose themselves in passion but rather approach their intimacy in an ultra sensible way?   Alas, sensible (pronounced "sen-see-blay") mean sensitive in Spanish.

TAMPON COOKIE…yummy, homemade and the most puzzling of all. Turns out the this is a cookie made of a ceramic stamp so each cookie has a picture on it. The problem is that cookie is in English and tampon clearly isn’t…or is it???

TRUFFLED BIKINI…do I need to wax before I order this? Turns out that sandwiches with two fillings are called bikinis. This one included truffle oil. It was actually rather tasty.

COLON…just what I always wanted to wash my clothes with. Honestly I can’t figure out this one since it  seems to mean the same thing in Spanish and English. Colón is Colombus as in Christopher Colombus but that word an accent over the “o” and the product doesn’t. Yet another unsolved mystery.

DOUCHE...OK, I know I have watched too much South Park but every time I see the French word for shower "douche" I can't help but giggle. I am especially amused when I see packaging for associated products, especially those that come in multiple fragrances.

BOMBERS…yes, in Spain bombers get their own special lock in the elevators. Turns out that in Catalan (the language spoken in Barcelona) a bomber is a fireman.

Good Idea

When I started playing tennis I often played with a woman named Frankie. She was over 80 and had flowing long silver hair. She didn’t run, but her ball placement was impeccable. I tried to emulate her but the result was usually a disaster. After my failures she would look at me, smile and say, “Good idea”. She liked that I tried but clearly there was space for improvement.

Pepa

I came up a “good idea” last October. We had been traveling a lot and found it stressful to be in different beds each night lugging our gear between destinations.  My idea was that we would rent a campervan (think Scooby-mobile) and travel through Southern Spain. With the camper our beds and belongings would move with us and we would avoid all the loading and unloading. I fantasized that we would explore country roads, stop for picnics, stroll though historic towns and spend our nights in camp grounds next to babbling brooks.

Good idea right???

So I booked it.

We flew to Southern Spain and picked up our campervan cheerily named “Pepa”. Pepa was cute, clean and well equipped. We were all impressed. After our technical orientation and cramming our stuff into the very limited storage we hit the road.

It was only a few miles outside of town that I started to wonder if my “good idea” might be a little ill-conceived. The backseat of the van, which cleverly turned into a bed, was uncomfortable for long drives. There was quite a bit of complaining and readjusting but finally it was OK. Pfhew…problem solved.

Penitents

And then we arrived in our campground in Granada. It had not occurred to me that urban campgrounds are crowded, dirty, noisy and located where land is cheap…which is to say, not close to the quaint, historic center of town. My mood darkened when the teenagers next to us turned on their music and I glimpsed the dark-green, frothy swimming pool. We ventured out of our campground for dinner and ended up in an empty Chinese restaurant with gooey, bland food. We finally went to bed only to be awoken at 12:15am when then kids next to us were being noisy. Thankfully, a shrill “Chicos! Silencio por favor!” from me shut them up.

We did enjoy seeing Granada, the Alhambra, and the processions of penitents in celebration of Semana Santa (holy week) before Easter. I was optimistic that things would look up.

And then it was onto Cordoba.

The campground there was even grimmer. We were initially given a

Children that have given up.

site that looked like a converted animal pen so I complained and we were moved to a site with a lone eucalyptus tree. Again we were far from the city center but we hoofed it into town to have dinner and see more penitents. I decided to buy a pillow in hopes that my mood would improve with a better night’s sleep. It didn’t. The next morning I decided to brave the showers. There was a long row of showers stall and a line of hooks outside each one where each woman hung her towel and clothes. When I walked out of my stall I was confronted by the dirty, crusty thong underwear of some other camper.

I knew something had to CHANGE and fast.

So I cried.

Ditched our camper for a carriage in Seville.

And then I started looking into hotel options. Almost everything was booked since it was Holy Week and we need a room for four people. For the obscene price 385Euros ($531)/ night we would be could have a nice room in a nice place in the center of Seville. Mike was ambivalent (ok, a little opposed) but after mulling it over and doing more research he said, “Book it!!” I did and onto Seville we went.

We got to Seville, ditched the camper at the train station, took a cab to our hotel and checked in. It was spacious, clean, and quiet, and the dirty clothes were our own. After a few blissful days without Pepa we took a cab back to the train station and resumed our adventure on four wheels

We were headed to Arcos de la Frontera, one of the famed white hill towns. We knew camping here would be a problem so we had already booked a hotel room in an inn perched on the side of a steep slope. We tried to drive to our hotel but our beast of a vehicle couldn’t make it up and into the little streets. We had become the kind of tourists that people point and laugh at. After skidding and sliding on a steep hill we backed down and sheepishly ditched the van. We now had to walk about a mile uphill with our luggage to our hotel.

Bull running Easter morning

We finally got there and it was super cute BUT….the innkeeper told us that we had actually reserved our room for the previous night and there was “no space at the inn” and since the room was prepaid there was no refund. Amazingly our innkeeper was able to find us another place close by.

Arcos was beautiful and we did finally enjoy a picnic next to a stream. We also were there for the running of the bulls which was fun although over in about 20 seconds.

Our last day of exploring southern Spain was beautiful but very windy and blustery. Ronda and Grazalema were gorgeous little towns hanging from cliffs and definitely places we want to go back to.
We took the long route through the mountains and spent our last night happily in a cute campground with a beautiful swimming pool. The kids played with each other and we had a glass of wine along with our pasta dinner. We had gotten used to sleeping in close quarters and there was peace in the kingdom.

So what did we learn???

Mixing camping and seeing historic towns was a bad idea especially in high season. But each done separately is great. And, just like my angled shot at the net in tennis how we travel continues to be a work in progress.

Good idea but clearly there is space for improvement

What are you doing with your life?

Before we left on sabbatical people asked me what I would be doing during our year abroad. I usually demurred at this question since I really had no idea. I would say something like…write a book, do some writing and take up painting. Ha-ha-ha. Now that I am here I can answer the question with a simple response: just living, but living a little larger than usual.

Laundry day again.

Much of each day I do exactly what I did in Madison. I keep the trains running on time. I do dishes and laundry, grocery shop, wipe blobs of toothpaste off the bathroom counter, nag children about homework, take kids to school and bring them home again. All of these things take longer in Spain because my language skills are limited, I don’t have a car, our washing machine is smaller and there is no Target. It’s my same life but here I get to do these things with a sunny sky overhead, beautiful architecture in the background and parrots flying down the street. I also try to channel my well-dressed Spanish neighbor ladies and pretend to be glamorous as I trundle down the street with my granny cart and sneakers.

Lighting up at 10K

I also spend a lot of my time walking. I got a Fitbit a few weeks ago and I have become mildly obsessed. It vibrates seductively when I hit 10,000 steps, which I usually do by about 1pm….then I keep walking. Mike has suggested I up the goal so it doesn’t vibrate until 15K steps but somehow it gives me a little high to feel the zzzz of the wrist band and know I will do more. Not having a car has been great for steps but my feet hurt and I use my step count to justify not going to the gym, which is probably not a great idea.

Cooking class in Morocco

The past months I have also spent an obscene amount of time planning our various adventures. I have become an expert at planning trips and I spend hours comparing prices, booking flights, hotels, activities, restaurants, routes, etc. I have planned trips that have included performances, cooking classes, camping with Bedouins, youth hostels, Gladiator fighting lessons, donkey, horse and camel riding, snorkeling, a picnic with a Berber farmer, camper vanning, visiting friends and even the occasional nice hotel. I have just finished planning our last adventure and now feel DONE. We will come back to Madison exhausted but sated.

Venetian canal

When I told people I would paint while I was here it was said in jest. Barcelona was home to Miro, Picasso, and Dali so it was a joke. And then in October I bought a children’s set of acrylic paints and got started. And then I bought more paints and brushes, and then a book and then more paint, all the while just playing around. And then I quit my Spanish class and started painting classes. Now I paint 2-3 times each week. I find it incredibly hard and it challenges me in new ways. I have a lot of difficultly seeing what color things actually are and understanding how to simulate shape and light with paint. I have been trying for days to learn to paint clouds and am still stuck.  I always thought that puffy clouds were white. Turns out they are white and blue and grey and purple. I told Mike that I plan to turn our home office into an art studio when we get back. I am only half kidding.

Enjoying a cacot.

The last category of my activity would fall into the category of exploring and saying “yes”. Ask me if I want to have a wine-soaked lunch at a new restaurant, my answer is yes. Ask me if I want to spend the day at a graffiti expo, yes again. Ask me if I want to do a civil war tour of Barcelona, I will pause, since it sounds rather boring, but I will eventually come around to yes. Ask me if I want to go to a burlesque performance…you guessed it, yes. Ask me if I want shot of just about anything…yes…although I will regret it. I have been trying to be open to all kind of new people, experiences, adventures and ideas.

So, that is what I have been doing. We have four more months and lots of guest coming so I will definitely have to add entertaining to my list. And, now I have to come up with an answer to the question, “What will you do when you go home”. For now my answer is “write that book I have been meaning to write”, ha-ha-ha…

Stay tuned!

Holy Crap

I had read about them. We even had a family competition. Who ever saw one first would win. We were all looking for “Caganers”. The Caganer is a Christmas character in Barcelona. He is the man in the creche with his pants at his ankles taking a dump.

At the beginning of December shops started to carry little statues of caganers. Small ones, big ones and even thematic caganers from Obama to Sponge Bob…even the Pope. Each statue is different but each one has a bare butt and includes a pile of crap.

As if that wasn’t enough poop for one holiday, Christmas in Barcelona also includes the Caga Tio or the Crapping Log. It is small log with a smiling face and cute little hat. Starting on December 8 children feed the log and then on Christmas Eve it is ordered to poop. When that doesn’t happen (it is a log after all) the children beat it with a stick singing a traditional song. When the children are distracted the log then craps out Christmas presents.

This is serious business. Jacob’s Spanish class even took a field trip to the Christmas market see the Caganers and Caga Tios for sale. His class was taught the song and even acted it out…they beat a girl with a stick while singing the song. Here is the video.

It turns out that there is a long history to this tradition. Its roots are in the rural culture and the importance of the fertility of the land, cycle of life, importance of the soil, blah, blah…

For our family however it led to endless amusement. We bought our own which we added to the children’s gingerbread scenes and we excitedly gave one to my brother who suffered intestinal distress while visiting. We also gave Mike's brother a caganer magnet. Kind of takes getting a "crappy gift" to a whole new level.

Much of our amusement is the result of culture shock (although Mike says that poop is always funny). It was something completely new and so it felt weird and silly. Spain is a place of long held traditions and people are attached to those traditions. Living here for a year is allowing us to experience those traditions, learn a little about each one and understand that even in the era of the internet, culture really is different all over the world.

And different is fun even when its crappy.

Homework Sucks

This year all four of us are taking Spanish lessons. Jacob and Lily have classes at school; Mike and I are taking adult classes. Mike and I believe that this year is an opportunity for us all to learn, expand our horizons, develop an international perspective blah, blah, righteous blah, blah.

My work...waiting to be done.

It's all good except that I suck at homework.

Like many children, Jacob and Lily started to receive homework very early in their academic careers. Each afternoon they would come home from school and I would hover and nag them to have good study habits...do your work before you play, don't have distractions, stay organized, don't procrastinate. As the children received more difficult homework we encouraged them to go the extra mile, have somebody review their work, and never turn anything in late.

Lily doing Spanish homework.

For the first time since Jacob and Lily started school, I now have homework. After years of coaching the children you would think that I would be responsible, efficient and earnest in completing my deberes (homework in Spanish). Turns out that the maxim, "those who can't do, teach" fits me to a T  (apologies if I just offended all the great teachers I know!!).

I suck at homework. I procrastinate, do the minimum, am sloppy and a couple of times have done the wrong assignment. When I first started doing homework back in September the procrastination and mediocrity immediately felt familiar. It was like discovering an old ugly sweatshirt and finding that it still fit and was still unflattering. Even as I write this I have homework to do and yet I am procrastinating by blogging.

Getting it done!

Jacob and Lily however come home from school, sit down at our dining room table and get to it. Until I had homework hanging over my head I didn't realize what a good job they were doing. Watching them dig in is rather inspiring. They have started to say to me, "Mom, have you done your homework?" Often the answer is "No," and then they mock me (which I deserve).

As the weeks pass I am improving, being more responsible about my homework and of course learning more Spanish. I am slowly regaining the moral high ground and this is of course far more important than learning dumb old Spanish!! Hmmpffff.

Why? Whhy? Whhhhy?

After a day of traveling

Traveling with children is not for the faint of heart. It involves planning, schlepping, whining, sweating, sleep deprivation, yelling and an unrelenting outflow of money. Yet, we love it and keep going back for more.

Why????????

Are we sadists? Maybe. But, I think it is more likely that we are optimists and cultivators of selective memory.

Here's how it goes for our family....

Pooped

We get a notion for a trip and I start planning. We have a couple of tiffs as we chose transportation, hotels, and activities. I feel resentful that I have to be our family trip planner...oh woe is me (ok, I understand that this is not a sympathetic position!!). Soon we find ourselves venturing to REI to buy a picnic knife and compact first aid kit. We get excited for our adventure and embrace the fantasy that our experience will mirror the sunny faces we see on Facebook and in travel magazines.

Exploded yogurt

And then we launch. The journey to our destination usually involves overpriced, crappy food, a spilled beverages, an argument either with each other or an airline about who is sitting where, and fairly regularly some vomit. Soon we are in our destination. We are tired, we are hungry and we are discombobulated.

The drama of locomotion quickly ends and settle into our trip. There are highs and lows. We enjoy flaky croissants for breakfast and beautiful afternoons on soft sand beaches but more often than not sweaty, grumpy hours plodding through "important" historical sites. Fairly regularly I fantasize about abandoning my children. Every traveling family I have ever spoken to experiences the lows. Even when it is great, it is hard.

So why do we keep doing it? For two reasons:

First, we do it because even though there are hard parts, there are even more awesome ones. Swimming with schools of fish, the vista from a turret, seeing something up-close you have only seen in books, realizing your child loves calamari, enjoying a sunset cocktail with your hubby while your kids watch Sponge Bob  in a hotel room....

Muddy fun

Equally important however, is that my memory of our travel experiences is totally selective. In my memory a tantrum becomes a humorous story, the lost child an anecdote of new found independence, the emergency room visit an opportunity for cultural reflection and of course vomiting on your sibling is always funny in the retelling. I forget the pain and look back happily on the family memories we have created.

Giggles in Valencia

We are not the only suffers of this selective memory. When our friends tell of their grand adventures it is a pollyanna version. We could be liars but I think that we honestly all forget the cruddy parts and focus on the best ones. Our photos probably help since we take pictures of the best parts and rarely pull out our cameras when our child is proving a urine sample in a remote emergency room.

Just floating around

David Hockney recently said, "Happiness seems to be a retrospective pleasure." This is especially true about traveling with children. In the moment every trip has its highs and lows but as time passes and the edges of our recollection are softened an adventure is refined and distilled into something purely wonderful.

And when we get to the point of wonderful we start the cycle all over again.

Size Does Matter and Other Life Lessons

Living in Barcelona has led to a few poor decisions. Nothing has been very major but each time we make a mistake we chalk it up as a "lesson learned."  We are getting better and hopefully  learning our mistakes. Here are a few things we have learned....

Lesson One - Size Does Matter
Many things are smaller here than in the US. Predictably, cars, washing machines and people. Some things I
did not predict. When doing immigration paperwork we were turned away because our passport photos (from Kinkos) were too big. Really? I thought they only came in one size. Wrong! When traveling within Europe our cute matching set of REI roller bags did not
meet the European size standards. Arrgghhh...four smaller suitcases later we are rolling again. Living here means challenging our assumption about everything including size.

Lesson Two – Function matters

When we arrived we needed to stock our kitchen completely with dishes, pots, glasses and a few pieces of key kitchen electronics. One thing we felt we needed was a toaster. Since we are only here for a year we bought the cheapest toaster without really thinking through our usage. While the toaster worked perfectly for what it been designed, normal flat bread, we only toast baguette. So, back to the store we went for toaster number two  with little baskets for skinny or wide bread.

Lesson Three– Not all clocks tell time and always eat hot a churro

When school started we found that we were in need of alarm clocks for our bedrooms.  We went to the local flea market hoping for a bargain. After discussing the various features with the sales person at the electronic stall we bought three for 5 Euros each. Sadly only one of them actually kept the time. I guess the joke was on us because while we were asking about all of the features we forgot to ask about the accuracy of the time keeping. The good news was that there was a chucharria (stall selling crisp fried foods like churros, potato chips, and donuts) at the market so the journey may still have been worth it.

Lesson Four – Some days we want to suck

The box is all I have left!

This week I will be buying our third vacuum. Third you ask? WTF? The first was in our apartment when we arrived. It looked good but the socket at the end was broken. I went to the hardware store and bought the piece to fix it. Mike fixed it but when we plugged it in, we smelled smoke. The second one we bought second hand. We were very optimistic. Mike washed the filters and we were good to go. We decided to store it in a vestibule attached to our apartment that is accessed by a locked door or service elevator. Poof, it is gone. We think that our portero  (doorman) accidentally threw it out….or it was stolen. Regardless, I now need to buy #3.

Lesson Five– Choosing to live with my decision…for now.

In the US I have a Nespresso that makes delicious coffee. I love the machine so much that we brought it to Spain. What I hadn’t counted on was that it would need a big ass converter since it has such a high wattage. The converter I need weighs over 20lbs and costs about $50. So, I bought a….yes, you guessed it….a cheap coffee maker. Guess what? I hate the new machine and really want a Nespresso. I keep visiting the Nespresso machines at our local department store.  I am conflicted. Yes, I can afford it but is it worth it. I have decided to live with my poor choice...for now.


Lesson Six - Cut myself some slack
I started writing this post a few weeks ago. Since then I bought a Nespresso maker (see lesson six). I am now much happier and seem to be making fewer mistakes. Maybe the real lesson was to relax, cut myself some slack and drink a good cup of coffee in the morning.

Paella - A love story

Mike and I recently celebrated our anniversary. Typically we mark
the occasion with small gifts and dinner out. This year was different. On my constant quest to “shake things up”, I enrolled us in a day-long Spanish cooking class. Mike was game and even seem pleased by the idea.

The class was targeted at English speaking tourists, which felt shameful since it was back tracking my quest for an “authentic” Spanish experience but the TripAdvisor reviews were good enough for me to get over it.

Barnacles

The class started with a tour of the main marketplace in Barcelona and included a review by the chef of the best stalls to buy particular products. Some of the products were familiar, like nuts, spices, fish or fruit. Some were things I had heard about but not seen, like bull penis or goat heads. And some were things that had never

Turkey Eggs

occurred to me to be food, like barnacles or turkey eggs.   I am not sure why it never occurred to me to eat turkey eggs, it just hadn’t. Also, it had never occurred to me that bull meat was different from cattle or cow meat but at the market in Barcelona it gets its own stall. Who knew?

Our class of about 10 people wandered through the market acquiring the food we would use to cook our meal. We bought monkfish carcasses to make broth, razor clams for an appetizer, eggs for crème Catalan (like flan), shrimp and mussels for paella and melon for soup. Each ingredient was rather humble on its own and nothing was terribly special but we were assured it would come together. The class returned to the kitchen and together we made a feast.

Mike and torch

We learned to crisp Serrano ham between baking sheets, the difference between a Spanish and French omelet, how to make fish stock and most importantly for Mike, how to caramelize sugar on top of a dessert using a blow torch.

The pièce de résistance of our cooking was a large paella. We chopped, cleaned, trimmed, stirred and with lots of attention built our lovely, fragrant paella. From rather humble ingredients we created something special. The chef told us that. “yes, he makes paella for every class” but even knowing that it was delicious and felt special because we had made it.

During the whole class we were constantly plied with wine, which contributed to the merriment, but I like to think that the meal was like our marriage: with some attention and work something marvelous is within reach.

Nudists on Rosh Hashana

School started last week. Despite the long days (leaving home before 8am and coming home around 5pm, Lily and Jacob did well and have quickly made friends. Although everything went smoothly, it was busy and intense. To add layers of complexity, Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year holiday, started on Wednesday.

We had aspirations to do a good job marking the New Year. We would have a nice dinner the first night and practice tashlikh the second by throwing bread crumbs into the sea.

The afternoon of erev Rosh Hashana, Mike went to the market and bought a chicken. In the US buying chicken means picking out a package...here it means asking for it to be de-headed and gutted. Mike also found a recipe on-line for honeycake which required converting to Fahrenheit to Celsius and teaspoons to milliliters - it was a little dry but very tasty. Dinner was lovely and we were all quite happy with ourselves  even though we did a bharucha with Fanta-lite (I forgot to get juice) and our candles were votives (forgot Shabbat candles too!).

The second night was more ambitious: our plan was to take a taxi to the beach with a loaf of bread (Spanish baguette for 45 euro-cents) and throw bits into the water to symbolize casting off the sins of the past year. Before casting our sins away we would have a nice dinner beach-side

We had previously had bad experiences eating at the beach. The restaurants are generally tourist focused, and either very expensive or very mediocre. This time we did our research ahead of time and found a place online called Base Nautica (a sailing club) that was known for low-price simple but tasty food.

Usually getting to the beach takes only 15 minutes in a cab. Unfortunately since we left at rush hour it took us more than 45 minutes and over $20 to get there. Ok, so we start a little late. We were dropped off about half a kilometer from the restaurant, so we enjoyed a leisurely evening stroll down the beach. Along the way we found some public exercise equipment (think Spanish Muscle Beach) that the kids had to be pried away from. The beach was beautiful and we marveled at how lucky we were to be there and to be together.

We finally got to Base Nautica  around 7:30. Unfortunately they closed at 7!! This is HIGHLY unusual in Barcelona since most places don't OPEN until 8pm!! Our only choice was to walk around and find another place.

What we found first however was that Club Nautica fronted onto Barcelona’s nude beach. What kind of million-person city has a nude beach? Barcelona. Who goes to such as nude beach? Mostly men. How does one respond upon finding one at a nude beach on Rosh Hashana with one’s family? You walk around and check out the scenery of course. What do you do when you realize that it is probably inappropriate with your children. You leave feeling a little embarrassed for yourself.

We finally found a place for dinner (worse than mediocre) and threw our bread into the water just as it was getting dark. 

This was not our most religious or reverent or observant New Year, but probably one that we will never forget.