the return of the jura

In just under 12  hours, our friend T. will be sitting on the roof terrace, beer in hand, watching Big Jim fan the grill. I suppose we're ready. Because I've been having these marathon work sessions, Big Jim has been in charge of the other arrangements. Normally, he is hyperorganized and likes to plan agendas and menus in advance of guests' arrivals, but last night I had to ask him what we would be grilling tonight.  He casually replied, "Oh, I'll just marinade some chicken legs and pork kebabs and make some rice and a salad." And as far as a schedule, "Well, T. and I plan to get up early Friday and hike Maroma (the 6500-ft. mountain that serves as a backdrop to our village), and we'll all go to the beach Sunday." But what about Saturday and Monday...could it be that Big Jim has finally regained some of the spontaneity that I first loved about him, but that was stifled during the 4 years he lived in order-driven Germany? (I feel I must add my ancestry is three-quarters German; I love Germans and Germany. But many of the things they do amuse me. Like, for example, the way 50 people will stand on a street corner and there won't be a car for miles, but no one will cross the street until the light changes. And god forbid if you do [I have]; many will look away and "tsk, tsk" you under their breath. It's hilarious.) For two-and-a-half years, I have had to remind Big Jim, "Relax, you're in Spain. There's no hurry. Tranquilo." Perhaps because this is T.'s sixth visit in less than 3 years, Big Jim is not stressed. There is less pressure knowing that we won't have to play tour guide with him for a week. It's interesting that T. keeps returning so frequently because he has been one of the doubters in the past, one of those who hasn't understood why we would want to live here and struggle. Last summer, he and I were up late talking and he asked me how long Big Jim and I were going to live here like hippies. The use of word "hippies" threw me because I wouldn't say we live like hippies. We have a three-bedroom house, running water, a DSL line for crying out loud, and sufficient possessions to fill at least 75 backpacks, not two. When I think "hippy" I think living a van or squatting in an abandoned finca, camping on the beach, busking for food money. Seeing my confusion, T. followed up with "I mean, what's wrong with living a bourgeois life in the suburbs?" I replied there's nothing wrong with choosing that lifestyle, but we wanted to do something different. He then said, "Well, you want to have children. How are you going to reply when your child insists on having $120 Nike trainers?" "First of all, I won't buy Nike anything out of principle, but if the child really wants them, he/she can save his/her allowance and buy them on eBay for much less." (I love eBay.) :-) Gradually, though, as T.'s visits putter along, we see changes in him. He sleeps in a little later, volunteers to take the dogs on their morning walk on the goat track, spends more time on the roof reading, begins to appreciate the value of good home-cooked food (back in Frankfurt, he goes to the same pizza shop for lunch and orders the same sausage and artichoke heart slices everyday). He must recognize it too, or I don't think he'd keep coming back. Big Jim and I are particularly excited about this visit because he's bringing our Jura coffee machine with him. The Jura is the Jaguar of coffee machines, and one of the Big Jim's most valued possessions. When I would visit him in Munich, he would take me to visit the machine at the shop. He'd hand me a tiny cup to sample the coffee, "Taste that. Isn't that the best coffee you've ever had?" After three trips to admire the coffeemaker, I finally said, "Just buy the thing already." And he did. Last summer, it was time for its service, and of course there is no place in Spain that does the servicing. So T. volunteered to take it back to Germany with him. It was with Jura for a couple of months; the people there were upset with us because we had made 6000 cups of coffee before returning it (we were supposed to send it back at 5000 cups). I can't believe it's been away for a year. The Jura can be dangerous, you see. It's like having coffee on draught 24 hours a day. You simply stick your mug under the nozzle, decide if you want a small cup or a full mug, and press the button accordingly. The machine warms the beans and grinds them; it tells you (in three languages) when to empty the grounds or fill the water tank (which has its own filter) or when it needs to be cleaned. It's brilliant and really does make the best coffee. Tomorrow morning, there will be no filling the kettle, scooping the coffee into the French press, waiting for the coffee to steep. No, just a touch of the button is all that will be required, which is probably a good thing, seeing that tonight is the first night of the feria. :-) hasta manana, mylifeinspain