one more month... (warning, rant to follow)

until Big Jim gets a paycheck. And what a happy day that will be. Getting Big Jim this job has hemorrhaged our bank account to the tune of 3000 euros. He can claim back the costs for most of it thankfully (turns out we've also had to front the hotel charges), but before he can do that he first needs to open a bank account in Holland, and before he can do that he needs to get the equivalent of an American social security number. He has an appointment to get the SSN tomorrow and will go the bank Friday, so it will be sorted soon. But UGH. It's times like these when I truly appreciate living in this village. Here when the money machine mysteriously snatches your card, the bank manager Luis will instruct you to enter the back of the ATM, "The door's not locked," he assures you, to collect it yourself. You do as you're told, although baffled that this man is permitting you access to loose trays containing thousands of euros. Or like the first weekend of July, when all the bankcard authorization centers in Madrid closed, disallowing every debit or credit card transaction (Man, you should have seen the tourists freak out...recently arrived from the airport with just a few English pounds in the pocket and no way to get dinero to feed the kiddies for 4 days...). Unable to withdraw the money for the rent, Luis advances you the money and tells you to just pay it back when the machines come back to life on Monday. No one here would ever ask you to pay for nights in a hotel room that have yet come to pass. I seriously doubt that most of our neighbors even have a credit card. How would they survive elsewhere. For most of the locals here, life is still a hand-to-mouth existence. Antonio raises the chickens and rabbits his family eats. They collect and dry fresh camomile and other herbs. For the past week, after siesta, Antonio and his son Pepe have sat outside my office window with huge burlap bags full of almonds, using a hammer to crack the shells. After two days back in "civilization," Big Jim already sounds relaxed and comfortable in his new surroundings. I wonder if I would be.... hasta manana, mylifeinspain

safe arrival

Just a quick entry to let everyone know Big Jim arrived safely in Amsterdam last night. C0uple little bumps in the road:

• He was told at the check-in desk that his bag was way overweight. This he knew not to be true because we had weighed his suitcase at home, and it was 4 kg less than the 20 kg allowed. Big Jim managed to argue his way out of that one.
• He arrived at the hotel and found out his room had not been paid for by the company as they told him it would be. Not a huge issue at the moment, and Big Jim will have plenty of time today to resolve the problem with HR.

When I spoke with Big Jim on the phone last night, the precious Boo was sitting at my feet (both dogs have been my permanent shadow since I returned from the airport, although Boo did sleep half the night by the front door, so sad). She barked whenever he spoke; I think she must have heard his voice. Both dogs barked whenever I called Big Jim by name; therefore, I must come up with a new nickname for him that the dogs will not recognize. Suggestions?

He officially started his workday 10 minutes ago. This may sound corny and I know he's a big guy who can take care of himself, but I worry for him the way I imagine mother's must worry for their children on the first day of school. I want for the other kids to play nice with him and the teachers to be kind. I want him to just do his best and not worry about anything else. To shift from being househusband/jobseeker/gardener to corporate executive again in less than a week, and in a new city, country, etc. is a huge, huge change.

Back in Spain, after C. and I returned from the airport, he took me out for a glass of wine and a little reassurance. C. is a great friend, and one of the myriad people I know here I can ask for help should I need it and will be looking out for me. I am very grateful.

My plan for the week is to spend my time at home, spoiling the dogs rotten and giving them double doses of attention, and catching up with Big Jim in the evenings. I also have to deal with the kitchen. First I need to locate and dispose of the object that mysteriously began leaking in the fridge yesterday. Then I need to come up with creative ways to use the fruit and veg we bought before we knew Big Jim was going to Amsterdam. Today, it's the cabbage, so I'm thinking coleslaw. :-)

hasta luego,

mylifeinspain

the dogs know

...something strange is going on. Mr. Beebs has been especially needy and pathetic the past couple days. Every time Big Jim leaves the house, "his dog" sits by the door and whimpers inconsolably. And during the precious Boo's five years (the first two of which Big Jim and I were still doing the transatlantic thing), she's seen plenty of suitcases packed to understand the significance. I anticipate it will take a week or so before they adjust to the Big Jim's absence. Big Jim's almost ready now. I spent some time with him this morning playing stylist. I had forgotten how much planning has to go into mens' proper business attire: the suits, shirts, ties, cufflinks, etc. My current "business casual" clothes consist of pjs or linen sundresses or loose capri pants and tank shirts. And because the village is the way it is, one can wear the same outfit for days without anyone noticing or caring. It's only when we go to the coast do we realize our jeans are looking a tad rough. He just finished sending off a few e-mails, and now all that remains is the physical packing of the bags. Big Jim has made our tv lounge into a staging area, so the actual packing should not take very long. I am a little nervous at the moment---my stomach's fluttering---but I am also so proud of Big Jim. He has been through so much yet he persevered despite an often demoralizing job market. We have had to put our lives essentially on hold for three years, and I feel overwhelmed with joy that we can now finally begin the long-delayed next chapter. hasta manana, mylifeinspain

21 hours and counting...

until we leave for the airport tomorrow. Wow, how the past few days have flown! Big Jim's off to have a short siesta. He was up at 7:30 to iron shirts while it was still relatively cool. Seemed strange to wake up and not find him still in the bed, but this is something I'll have to get used to. We then went down to the coast to do some shopping, mainly to stock up on the heavy things (ie, water, dog food, etc.), so that I won't have to worry about humping them up to the house while Big Jim is away. Our "street" is not accessible to cars; therefore, we typically park as close to the stairs up to the casa as possible and then carry the bags and crates from there. We also treated the car to a bath, its first in about five months. Regular carwashing just isn't done around here because it's pointless, particularly at this time of year, the dry season. There is so much dust in the air, on the ground, everywhere. When we return to the house from walking the dogs, picking up bread, and so on, we typically have to rinse our feet in the bidet because they are filthy. Sidebar: I thought the bidet was a charming feature of the bathroom when we first moved into Calle Salares. However, we only ever use it for the aforementioned foot baths (and for a couple days to wash dishes when our kitchen sink was installed). I now view it as more of a nuisance, just a second toilet to clean. The novelty has certainly worn off. Our final stop was also a bit of car maintenance. We went by the Peugeot dealers to buy a new pair of limpiaparabrisas (windshield wipers). The summer sun had literally baked them, and they were showing signs of deterioration; therefore, we thought it best to replace them before the rainy season was upon us. While Big Jim was having the car washed, I started our shopping at Lidl. It felt very strange pushing the cart around the market without him by my side, asking questions like "What's the red pepper situation?" I missed that; yet another thing I will have to get used to.... After we returned, I had my gardening tutorial and the lesson on managing our computer network. I am happy to report I passed both classes with flying colors (yes, there were even pop quizzes along the way; Big Jim was a teacher way back, you see). All that is really left to do is the packing itself. We may go to the beach tomorrow early for a final sendoff to the summer, but it depends on the weather. As we drove down the mountain today, the lower elevations were covered in a thick fog, and this continued all the way to the coast. The temperature there was practically chilly compared with that in the village. So we'll have to see. Last night we treated J. and M., their son, and M.A. to dinner at Bar Loro. It was Big Jim's unofficial celebratory meal. We also thought it was the least we could do to repay J. and M. for their generosity regarding the house. We've now seen pictures of the farmhouse, and it is beautiful and huge! Eight bedrooms, a living room large enough to play 5-a-side football (soccer for the Americans reading), an amazing kitchen (you can imagine Big Jim's excitement), a proper sauna, and a boat should Big Jim care to relax out on the canal. The apple and pear trees will soon need to be picked; Big Jim has already mentioned making cider. J. and M. provided details about getting to and from the nearby train station and even noted who the good neighbors were and who should be avoided (they referred to them as the "pig people"; they are called this not because of their porcine features but rather because they raise pigs). Big Jim has calmed down considerably, especially now that he knows he doesn't need to find an apartment for us there straightaway. The company also confirmed a laptop and a mobile phone will be provided with his position, so he doesn't to worry about moving one of our computers or getting a Dutch phone plan immediately and he can leave the Spanish one here with me. We are putting a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door this evening, and we're taking no phone calls. The past few days have been such a whirlwind that we decided tonight and tomorrow had to be reserved for us. And those friends who we haven't been able to see will have to understand that Big Jim will still be back a couple weekends every month, and they can catch up with him then. :-) Hasta luego, mylifeinspain

awaiting the storm

Still hot and now very humid. There's a dense haze covering the village, so we are anticipating the storm shortly. Every time Almendena has left her house this morning, to pick up the bread and fish, etc., she has shouted "Que calor! que calor!", so we know it really is hot. (Almendena incidently never speaks at a volume most people would consider normal. She regularly has conversations from her terrace with a woman who lives two streets over.) Big Jim's housing is squared away. He'll stay in a hotel for the first two weeks, and then he'll move into J. and M.'s house outside Amsterdam for the winter. It's a huge 7-bedroom farmhouse that they've been trying to sell for the past two years but haven't been able to because of the depressed market in the Netherlands. Big Jim will even have access to the car they keep there. Since they've moved permanently to Spain now, they're just thrilled to have someone they know and trust keep an eye on the house for them. So things are falling into place nicely. Big Jim's got a bit of the new-job jitters, but that's to be expected. He has his agenda for the first week, which basically includes lots of introductory meetings. Because he's been a contractor for so long, he used to people expecting immediate results straightaway. I've explained to him it's a different story with permanent jobs; companies do not expect you to save the world the first week in the office. mylifeinspain is now two months old. Thanks for stopping to have a read. If you haven't signed the guestbook, please do. :-) Also, for those who have found the site by googling for "octagenarian porn" and "hirsute 70-year-olds", this probably isn't the site you were looking for. But thanks anyway for stopping by. Okay, must be off, lots to do. hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

heat wave

I don't believe the temperature went below 90 F last night, and it's already climbing this morning. According to the weather forecast, this is the final day of the heat wave, and we'll be greeted tomorrow morning with thunderstorms and 20- to 30- degree cooler temps. The power has been off several times, probably the result of the few air conditioners in the village being used. When our digital camera is working again, I'll have to post some pictures of the tangles of electric wires that hang through the village; I don't believe most Americans would believe me otherwise. It's a fairly primitive setup, so it is understandable why the power goes off when there is just a hint of rain. The wind has already picked up considerably; methinks it's going to be one doozy of a storm. Less than 24 hours, that's how long it took for Almendena to comment on the now shabby appearance of our house compared to her newly painted one. I forgot to mention how she followed the painter all day with her bucket and scrub brush, cleaning up every spot of misplaced paint as soon as it hit the ground. I think she even wiped down our plants, and I know for sure that she washed our front door. Anyway, when I walked the dogs that evening, she was sitting on the Herb Thief's front step, and I said to her, "Que bonita casa!". She replied, "Y tu casa, no!" But she had a good laugh about it. I still think I'm going to have to speak to Pepe the landlord about having our house done, and maybe we'll even split the cost with him. It's important to maintain good harmony with the neighbors. The official contract for Big Jim's new job arrived yesterday. Very exciting. Our good friend C. has offered to drive us to the airport Sunday, which will be a big help. That way I don't need to worry about my fragile emotional state and driving our stupid English/French car. I have a love/hate relationship with airports. I love traveling and going to meet friends and family, but the tearful good-byes are never easy. And over the years, Big Jim and I have had more than our fair share of these. Still lots of work to be done before Sunday. Big Jim has many shirts to iron. He's a strange one, though, and loves to iron. When I first met him, he ironed everything, including his tee shirts and jeans. I managed to convince him that it is completely unnatural and just wrong to iron jeans, so he has relaxed a bit on that front. It will be an adjustment for him to wear suits again every day, considering that during the summer months here he has only bothered to put a shirt on when he leaves the house. We've received lots of nice messages from our friends and family---thank you everyone for the good wishes. :-) Off to take my first of what will probably be several cold showers today. hasta manana, mylifeinspain

still dazed

Big Jim officially leaves for Amsterdam Sunday evening and starts work Monday. We had hoped we could prolong his departure for another week, but the company ends their fiscal year August 31 and therefore there are advantages to having Big Jim on the books before then. So much to do in the next couple of days. And it's really, really hot in the village at the moment: it was 115ish yesterday afternoon and still close to 90 when Big Jim walked M.A. home at nearly 3am. The slight breeze on the roof terrace last night felt as though someone had just opened an oven door. Today seems to be more of the same: it's already 90 in the office and it's only 9am. We invited M.A. over for dinner last night and to celebrate. She was one of a handful of people who knew about Big Jim's interview last week and only because she happened to stop by just as B.J. was on his way out the door to the airport. Big Jim made a beautiful meal (Balinese chicken), and we did have the bottle of Moet that we've been saving for a long, long, long time. Emotionally, it's a bit of a rollercoaster at the moment. We both alternate between laughing and joyous crying and then sad crying because we'll miss one another and trying desperately to focus on what needs to get done between now and Sunday. My brain has short-circuited as it often does when I try to process too many bits at once and thus I've been fighting off a migraine since yesterday afternoon. The dogs don't know what to make of us. After we received the news yesterday, we spent a lot of time on the telephone and e-mailing friends and family. In the village, we've only told M.A., J. and M., and R. our neighbor thus far. I'm sure the word will spread fast enough. :-) J. and M., being the lovely people they are, have offered their house outside of Amsterdam, which is currently empty and for sale, to Big Jim. The company is paying for a hotel for him initially, but J. and M.'s generosity is much appreciated and will give Big Jim more time to find an apartment of our own. So we most likely will take them up on the offer. Big Jim has ceremoniously emptied his "job basket" and has recommended our good friend D., who still lives in Munich and has been out of work as long as Big Jim, for the other positions he was currently put forward for. Well, must get to work. I have a deadline that I can't miss and Big Jim is focusing on admin and the computers today. hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

breaking news

I am so, so, so happy to announce that Big Jim has received a job offer for a PM role at UPC, a large broadband provider, in Amsterdam. We have waited for this day for almost three years, so you must understand our joy. We are over the moon, and the Moet is in the fridge chilling. More details later....his start date is still being ironed out, could be as soon as Monday. Yippee!!!!! mylifeinspain (and now soon mylifeinspainandthenetherlands)

keeping up with the lopezes

We awoke at 6am to the banging of a ladder and the scraping of paint. It's been a frenzy of housepainting the past two weeks. First, Antonio and Iluminada; next, Antonioformerpoliceman; then, the Herb Thief; and now Almendena. The painter is living large. Big Jim and I await the comments that our house is looking shabby....This is the third round of painting of the year. The women have already done touch-ups the week before Semana Santa and again before the feria. Having not touched the paint since we moved in 19 months ago, we are officially shamed. The pups are exhausted from our walk this morning. I decided to take them on the goat track, and they had good fun as always: Mr. Beebs chasing precious Boo with an oversized olive branch hanging from his mouth and dragging behind, running through the water in the irrigation ditches, etc., etc. As we reached the edge of town, I called them so that I could put their leads back on, and then realized I no longer had my keys. Checked the pockets, but no keys there. Bugger. I removed the leads and herded the dogs, who looked up at me with big confused eyes, back onto the goat track. Retraced our steps and thankfully found the keys by a large rock at the far end of the path. Must have dropped them when we pulled aside to let a man and his huge German shepherd mix pass. The dogs made the most of our second journey and replayed their earlier antics on our way back to town. Sweating from the mid-morning sun, I was half tempted to join them in the water ditch. :-) Things continue to be crazy here on the Big Jim job front. I hope to have news to share soon. But as M.A. tells me they say in Norway, we're not skinning the bear until its shot. :-) hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

mountain fever

Big Jim and I had a nice albeit busy and a tad strange weekend. Friday night we took the dogs out to Perico's for a change. The precious Boo in particular loves people watching, and the cafe in the square is perfect for this. Mr Beebs was tormented by the village's Bully cat, who was making his rounds of the tables in search of dinner. He appeared disappointed by our choices of gazpacho and salad. It was an early night for us because Saturday morning we had planned a food shopping excursion to the coast to restock the pantry. We had to be back in time to feed J and M's five dogs. Big Jim and I had thought managing food distribution for our two dogs and a kitty cat was a challenge. Their three larger dogs---Lab, border collie, and local mutt Chica---eat together outside. The elderly Cavalier King Charles spaniel eats alone in the kitchen. And finally, the little terrier will only eat in the dining room next to the fireplace. Yesterday we went to the beach. Not very many people out when we first arrived, although the crowds did show up later in the afternoon post-siesta. Very few people in the water, and we found out why quickly. The sea was less Mediterranean and much more North Sea temperature. Big Jim took a 30-second plunge and quickly retreated to the towels. With only a handful of beach weeks left of the season, I was not going to let freezing water keep me from bobbing around the waves. And after my body eventually adjusted and my teeth stopped chattering, I figured I might as well get in all my swimming at one go. So I paddled around for about 30-40 minutes to the amazement of those on shore. Big Jim and I then had our lunch and promptly fell asleep. I don't believe I've ever slept so well or so long on the beach. When I awoke, I could not believe it was 6:15, only 30 minutes before our previously agreed-upon departure time. It was a glorious nap. One of the reasons Big Jim and I try to leave the village at least once a week or so, even just for a few hours, is to avoid what we call "mountain fever". Mountain fever tends to be more prominent during the rainy winter months, when the weather precludes travel. Hallmarks of mountain fever include overall crankiness, bitchiness, lethargy, impatience, malaise. For some reason, the fever seems to have hit many people early this year because Big Jim and I attended two birthday parties this weekend---one Saturday night, the other Sunday night---full of people with all the signs of mountain fever. The fever is highly contagious, so we tried to limit our exposure to the afflicted as much as possible. The only remedy for these people is road trip. Get in your cars people and drive! Another busy week here, but only one deadline for me so it will be a bit more relaxed than last week. Big Jim has a revised attack plan for the computer repairs, which he assures me will be completed by the end of the week. I'm not convinced, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. :-) hasta manana, mylifeinspain

noche del vino: final thoughts

The Noche del Vino is the last of the village's three summer festivals (in addition to the feria, there is a 5-day cultural festival in June). And so, after the last grape is stomped and the final guitar is packed in its case, the harsh reality sinks in that the long hot dusty summer days are dwindling and autumn is just around the corner. Summer is the social season in our village. During the cold and rainy months, most people hibernate in their homes by the fire while pots of stew simmer on the gas stove. Which brings me to my final observations about this year's Noche del Vino. Any other day or night of the year, tables of expats occupy at least 50% of every bar and restaurant in the village. On the night of its largest and arguably most important festival, the expats were nowhere to be found. With an expat population that is pushing 900, I could count on my fingers and one foot the number who were out for Noche del Vino. And why? I have been asking around, and the most common response has been, "Well, once you've seen Noche del Vino, it's pretty much the same every year." Uh, what?!?! I couldn't believe I was hearing this line over and over again. Someone in the Usual Suspects crowd must have offered this as a reason for not attending, and now almost all the expats are using it. And what a silly line it is. It's like saying "Well, once you've done Christmas or your birthday or Halloween, it's pretty much the same every year, so why bother." Okay, I can sort of understand those who don't want to stand out in the 100 degree F heat for the pisa because yes, it is a little touristy and pretty much the same production one year to the next. But to pass up an amazing night of music, one that would easily cost 35 or 40 euros elsewhere, in favor of another night in watching BBC reruns on satellite TV---this I cannot comprehend. Why not book the table you sit at with your friends 364 nights a year but this time have incredible music in the background?!! As my mother would say, it boggles the mind. I suppose I am finally accepting the fact that there are many different types of expats who have settled in and around the village. There are those like Big Jim and myself and most of our friends who have a genuine interest in the local culture. Our knowledge is still very limited, but we want to learn more and actively seek out ways to do so. And then there are those who live as on an extended holiday or have retired here as someone from Pennsylvania would in Florida or Arizona. They have come simply for the good weather and have little curiosity about how their Spanish neighbors live or think. I do not intend to criticize their choices, but I confess to not thoroughly understand them. It's a wonderful feeling to be able to crack a joke in Spanish and make the neighbors laugh. And to be able to clap along with the music and discuss local politics at the cafe. I suppose I feel as though some expats are missing golden opportunities that would enrich their experience manyfold. Everything at the Noche del Vino was free---all anyone had to do was show up. And yet, so many chose to stay home. I hope that next year more expats rethink their reasons for not participating and come out and enjoy the fun. hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

noche del vino: la musica

Hands down, the night of music is my favorite part of Noche del Vino. The only problem is that its start time and my need for sleep coincide. This year, however, I was determined I would stay awake. Not that I've done too badly in the past---I can usually make it until 3:00am or so, but then I begin to flag, missing the last couple hours of performances. We made reservations at Bar Loro for dinner. Bar Loro is situated just below the square, so although we could not see the stage from our table, we could hear the music very well. Loro was incredibly busy, which was to be expected, and we were happy we had our table. We felt badly for some of the tourists, who had clearly read in their guidebooks that the evening meal in Spain is typically eaten late in the evening because at 10 on the dot hordes of them appeared and disappointedly found all the tables taken. Big Jim and I had small plates of bacalao and calamares, respectively, and we shared a salad. And because we had missed our weekly ice cream fix at the beach, we each had a chocolate mousse ice cream for dessert. Yum. As we were finishing up, one of the musical groups did an impromptu performance in front of the church. Big Jim and I went up to watch. This group, Panda de Verdiales de Periana, was fantastic. There were about ten guitar players of all ages, standing closely together in a circle, strumming like mad. I loved seeing the young guys, probably in their early 20s, blond spiky streaks dyed in their hair, playing alongside the ancient oldtimers---it was a village jam band, and their guitar work was inspired. Simply awesome. We settled our bill at Bar Loro, and made our way to the square to collect our first free glass of the local wine. The first glass is always a struggle for me. The wine is just too sweet for my taste, but somewhere near the end of the little cup, an internal switch goes on that says, "drink more, drink more." This is the danger of the local wine; it plays with your head. J. and M. had saved seats for us, so we joined them for the remaining performances. They had opened their art gallery and museum (which contains the old mill, antique ceramics, agricultural artifacts, etc.) earlier in the day, and many of the Spanish tourists in particular were thrilled to see the work they had done. I could go on about all the performances, but I there were two that I thought were especially fabulous. The first was the singer Arcangel, who is from Huelva. When he and his guitar player took the stage, Big Jim and I looked at one another in realization that the two men had had dinner a couple tables away from ours at Bar Loro. They took a song to warm up, but from then on, they were amazing. I read up on Arcangel the next day, and I found that he has sung with Vincente Amigo, who Big Jim and I saw play a couple years ago. V.A. is so, so good that I highly recommend you buy his CDs and if you ever have the opportunity to see him play, go, go, go! The second particularly excellent performance was by the dance group Jabega. M. and I are of the same mind on the subject of male flamenco dancers: there is nothing more hot than a man who dances flamenco well. I realized this when I was a student in Seville and first saw my grammar professor dance during the feria. This reserved but sort of cute geeky comic suddenly was oozing sex. I was stunned by the transformation. The posture, the grace....it's difficult to explain, but it gets me every time. The entire troupe was fabulous, and they could have danced all night long because my eyelids were no longer heavy. Jabega was the final group to perform, and the Noche del Vino ended earlier than in past years, at 3:40am. Perhaps because those who work outside of the village still had work Monday morning. Big Jim and I said our good-byes and walked on air back to Calle Salares. An excellent night. mylifeinspain

quick question

Today, August 18, we received our electric bill for June. The bill was dated June 24 and was supposed to be paid by July 15. We received a late notice for this bill three weeks ago. How can one be expected to pay a bill on time when it arrives almost two months late? Inquiring minds want to know..... Very proud of myself....was the first person to hang the wash this morning. Almendena's mouth almost dropped off when she saw I had finished as she hung her first dress. Haha. More later..... mylifeinspain

noche del vino: migas

Next to the stage where the pisa takes place, the migas are prepared. Some migas are similar to our American bread stuffing; those served at the Noche del Vino are made from a flour dough, which is continuously chopped and picked at with wooden paddles to form little bits as the dough fries in olive oil. To serve a large crowd of several hundred people, five huge (and I do mean huge, about 1 meter diameter) paella pans are set up over wood fires. At a side table, women are busy chopping onions and tomatoes for the salad that will accompany the migas. Many of the Spanish neighbors who have decided not to brave the oppressive heat to watch the pisa still come out to collect their plate of migas to eat back in their cooler kitchens. Here's what you need to make migas: 2 lb flour olive oil 6 sausages y 3 strips of bacon (can be omitted or substituted with ham, chorizo, etc.) 10 cloves of garlic (unpeeled) 1 cup water (more or less) Salt In a large bowl, add the flour, salt, and slowly add the water, mixing to form a dough. You want to form a soft, smooth dough, so adjust water quantities as needed. Set aside. Add a quarter cup or so of olive oil to a large frying pan, and heat to medium. Add the garlic cloves, and when the skin begins to turn gold, remove from the pan and set aside. Next, add the sausages in the same oil, fry until done, and then remove and add to the plate with the garlic. Repeat the same for the bacon. Now place the dough in the frying pan, adding a little more olive oil if needed. Using a flat wooden spatula or paddle, chop at the dough continuously, breaking it into smaller and finer pieces (miga = crumb; hence the name of this dish). The final consistency should be similar to eggs that have been scrambled into bits. When the migas turn gold, add the sausage, bacon, and garlic back to the pan, stir several times, and serve. This dish can be served with whatever you fancy. As I mentioned, a simple tomato and onion salad is the side dish at the Noche del Vino; grapes or other fruit would also be nice accompaniments. Enjoy! mylifeinspain

noche del vino, pisa tradicional

As it's approaching 90 degrees F in the office, I'm taking a brief work break to continue with my Noche del Vino report. The festival officially began with celebration of mass, but because neither I nor Big Jim is Roman Catholic, we skipped on that. The pisa, or stomping of the grapes, was supposed to begin at noon; however, we know too well that events never begin as scheduled, so we set out closer to 1pm. We were amazed to find all the shops open because traditionally everything is closed on Sundays here, except for a few of the cafes and restaurants. The store owners were switched on to the wealth of tourist euros in the village, so who could blame them for being opportunists. Several farmers had even opened their bodegas and were selling their wine in recycled Fanta bottles. We arrived at the Plaza Vendimia just as the first farmers were bringing their baskets of grapes to the stage. Enormous sheets of white cotton had been strung above the square to shield onlookers from the fierce afternoon sun. I looked on with envy at the older Spanish women who had wisely brought their fans with them. It was hot, really hot. For this reason, the crowd appeared to be smaller than in recent years, but there were still many tourists, and all the old randy, I'mmarriedbutstillaplayerwinkwink Spanish farmers were wearing their best jeans and rope-soled sandals. The pisa this year seemed a bit unorganized, but then again we don't expect things to always run smoothly around here. :-) For example, the pisadores began their stomping while the priest, who is the MC for just about every event in the village, was still testing the sound system: "uno, dos, tres, si, si, si, uno, dos, tres, si, si, si..." blared from the stacks of speakers. Ten minutes into the stompfest, he finally began his official greeting and introduced the pisadores. It was also difficult to view the pisa close up because the section directly in front of the stage was cordoned off for press people and a television crew. I understand the desire for publicity, but I thought it was a bit of a bummer, particularly for the many people who had traveled from all parts of Spain and Europe to see the pisa. Oh who am I kidding, the tourists, identifiable by the souvenir neckerchieves they donned, were all huddled around the barrels of free wine. Big Jim and I passed on the wine, and after about an hour of wandering the crowds, we decided to head home for a more appropriate beverage, ice-cold tea that Big Jim had made using fresh mint grown on the roof terrace. We stopped to buy a loaf of bread, and I gladly accepted the plastic fan the owner was passing out. I had no objection to the shameless marketing of the Churreria del Nino Bonito, which was emblazoned across the fan, and Big Jim and I flapped their ad all the way back to Calle Salares. to be continued.... mylifeinspain

noche del vino, part I

Well, Big Jim and I managed to stay awake to see the last of the musical performances last night, um, I mean this morning. And wow, we were glad we did. Some amazing singing, inspired guitar playing, incredible dancing. I haven't seen such fabulous footwork since J.K. and I saw Savion Glover at the Merriam Theatre a few years ago. Great stuff. Big Jim and I also successfully avoided resacas (hangovers), which few in the village can say this morning (it's 11:30 am, and the town is dead quiet). Lured by the free alcohol, some of the tourists especially underestimated the strength of the local wine and were wobbly before the music even began. I had three little Dixie cup-sized glasses, which was plenty. Any more and I would probably still be in bed. :-) Big Jim and I have a few superbusy days ahead of us, so my blog entries will be on the short side this week. I will be adding details and highlights of the Noche del Vino during my work breaks and will also post the recipe for migas that I promised. hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

noche del vino, prologue

Here's a schedule of today's festival:

Part I

11 am Mass

12 noon Grape stomping (pisa), followed by dancing of the local flamenco groups

2 pm Traditional lunch of migas (I'll be posting a recipe for these shortly), grapes, and of course the local wine

Part II

Time: the program just say "Noche", normally this kicks off at about midnight

Four cantadores

Three dance groups

Four flamenco guitar players

The stage construction is complete, including the replica of a traditional finca house. For those who have not reserved a table, several hundred chairs will be set up later this afternoon.

Updates to come....

hasta luego,

mylifeinspain

cock-a-doodle-doo

This is the sound we've been listening to for the past two hours. Antonio has moved a rooster from his large coop at the end of the street into the small bodega adjoining the house. I suspect the little fella may be tonight's dinner or tomorrow's lunch, but I'm not sure. Hmmm, never had this problem before. Is it wrong to hope his stay is a short one? For those not in the know, roosters are loud and they crow all day, not just at sunrise. hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

friday review

I know I sound like a broken record, but how did it get to be Friday again!?! Here's a summary of things I've missed from the past week, as well as updates, in my favorite list format. :-)

• M.A. treated Big Jim and me to dinner Monday night at a restaurant we had never tried in Canillas. Very, very good food and free of tourists, which can be an added bonus at this time of year. I had gazpacho (I am searching for the best bowl in the area; this one received high marks) and banderilla de pollo, which essentially is a grilled chicken kebab, and Big Jim had pork al ajillo. M.A. was repaying us for the weekly meals we shared with her during the 5 months (yes, 5 months!) her new kitchen was being installed. The funny thing is now that her kitchen is finally finished, she hardly uses it. While the work was being done, M.A. got in the habit of eating with friends or in restaurants and now can't seem to break her new routine.
• According to my further research, the proper traditional tortilla is made with no onions. However, when people actually make them, almost everyone includes onions. Go figure.
• Thanks to everyone who e-mailed regarding L.'s stolen watch. No news from the police. Her theft has sparked conversations regarding what exactly it is our local police do. Apparently they handle no crimes (L's case has been turned over to the Guardia Civil). From what we have gathered, their main functions appear to be making sure building permits are in order and clearing the car park before the Saturday market. They are quite creative in this regard. Rather than ticketing and fining people who don't move their cars before Saturday morning, they simply have the cars towed to various places in the village, and the owners have to search for them.
• Big Jim's scaled-down job search for August continues to prove fruitful; many positive calls this week. :-) No progress on getting him to move the four computers he's working on out of our computer junkyard of a house. I thinking of making an end table using the two CPUs sitting next to our winerack. :-(
• Pretty unspectacular meteor shower again last night. We wound up inadvertently getting into a political discussion with our neighbor R., who is also American (it may seem there are many Americans here; not the case, just a fluke that all four of us live close by to one another). I always try to avoid these conversations because R. is an unbashed racist, and in my experience I've found it impossible to have rational debate with racists. The discussion started innocently enough; because he's been in Spain since 1986, I thought he might know how our absentee ballots are counted in the upcoming presidential election. If one is registered to vote in one of the 50 states, I assume the absentee ballot would be added to that state's numbers. However, if someone lives permanently abroad and cannot register in a specific state, where do the votes go? Does anyone know the answer to this? Anyway, R. missed the point of the original question and went on to proclaim Bush's superiority and Kerry's "wishy-washy-ness". Because I know R. is a steadfast Republican, I tried a different approach. I asked him if he thought Bush was a good Republican, if he thought Bush well represented the basic tenets of the Republican party, ie, fiscal responsibility, small government, etc., etc. R. quickly admitted no, Bush is not a good Republican, "but he sticks to his guns and is tough on terror." Urg. There were two ETA bombings in Spain last weekend; did this news reach any of the American media? There is more terrorism in the world now than ever. A commission warned Bush in February 2001 of an impending attack on American soil, did he jump into action then? No, he waited until after September 11. I eventually went to bed, leaving Big Jim to argue on my behalf.
• Construction for the wine festival is coming along nicely. Big Jim managed to get his hands on a couple of the souvenir posters and a program. This is the 29th annual festival; I had not realized before that the Noche del Vino only originated post-Franco. The farmers continue to sample their wine. I have to confess I don't like much of the local wine. It's a bit thick and too sweet for my palate. We're lucky, though, that Antonioformerpoliceman is our neighbor. I do like his wine, and we've recently found out that he is considered the master winemaker in the village. He sells 2-liter bottles for 5 euros, yum.
• Tourists abound. While walking the dogs one morning, I came across a group of French tourists aimlessly wandering on the edge of the village. One man asked me where the square was with the church. I turned them around and gave him directions in Spanish, which he then translated to French for the rest. I do love the multilinguistic aspect of Europe. We used to have a German neighbor. James conversed with him in German, and I in Spanish.

I've had a busy work week myself, but not too crazy. I've been working ahead, though, because I have three deadlines for the middle of next week. No matter how hard I try to balance my schedule, as a freelancer, this proves to be impossible most of the time. But there are many other benefits of working for myself that I would not trade.

Happy Friday, and watch out for black cats! :-)

mylifeinspain

meteoros and murcielagos

Last night Big Jim and I ate our dinner by candlelight on the roof terrace. (We almost always eat our evening meal there during the summer months, simply because it's cooler than in the house.) Big Jim, amateur astronomer, was anxiously awaiting the first night of the Perseid meteor shower. Earlier, he had tried to explain in his best Spanglish the significance of the evening's light show to Antonio and the Herb Thief's husband, but they appeared to be half-soaked after a day of wine testing for Sunday's festival. At 10:50 we spotted the first, and it was impressive. It shot up into the sky with a long trail that was visible for a good 4 seconds or so. And then we waited. And waited. Forty minutes passed and nothing. I confess this is where astronomy loses me; I just don't have the patience. We spent the time watching a hard-working gecko stalk insects for his dinner and counting the many bats that swooped overhead. I sat trying to remember the Spanish word for "bat" when the image of a paper haunted house tacked to a bulletin board in my eighth grade classroom popped into my head. "Murcielago," I said to Big Jim. "I'm pretty sure it's 'murcielago'." I ran downstairs to the office to check the dictionary. I was right. Since I've been in Spain, I have had this experience countless times, when words I've had buried in a cobweb-covered recess of my brain for 20 years or more suddenly come to me. At 12:30 I was dozing and went off to bed. Big Jim stayed up until 3:00 and was rewarded with more meteors as the night deepened. After last night's disappointment, I haven't completely given up stargazing. We plan to watch again tonight. hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

crime and punishment?

Other than the occasional act of vandalism and kids smoking joints down in one corner of the main parking lot, crime is virtually unheard of in our village. For the past six months there's been a problem with groups of teenagers congregating on the steps above the main square. Having grown up in a small town, I understand their boredom. And my town even had a second-run movie theatre and college parties to try to sneak into. However, the situation has been growing increasingly worrisome. On weekend nights, the crowd has swelled to 50, 60 kids. Passing women have been harassed, and the noise has been more than just "disruptive". Neighbors and business owners have complained to the local police. Nothing was done. Our friend N., who owns an art gallery at the north end of the square, decided to organize a "take back the corner" night. She began to keep the gallery open later in the evenings and blared classical music into the street. This worked temporarily, but as soon as she closed the gallery, the gangs of teens returned. More complaints were filed with the police, and again nothing was done. One police officer (there are a total of three local policemen in our town; there is also a Guardia Civil office, but they don't involve themselves in these sorts of issues) admitted part of the problem was a familial one. The village comprises essentially seven or eight old families, and the officers weren't comfortable getting cousins, nephews, sisters, etc. in trouble with the law. People were assured the problem would be handled by the families. But the crowds continued to take over the corner. This past Sunday night, our friend L., a 76-year-old Brooklynite, was walking home at 11pm after having dinner with N. As she approached the corner of the square, some of the teens yelled to her, but she carried on walking. Suddenly, 15 of them surrounded her, one grabbed the watch from her arm, and they all took off. In shock but not out of her wits, she wisely went into a nearby bar. Two men returned with her to the scene, and the couple of kids still loitering about pointed out the home of the alleged ringleader. When they knocked, no one answered. L., a former dancer, is tiny woman (I believer her Boxer weighs more than she), but she's one tough cookie. The watch is insured, but she's most devastated because it was her husband's watch, which she's worn ever since he died 10 years ago. In all her years growing up and living in New York, she's never been robbed. Big Jim ran into one of the policemen Monday morning. He asked if Big Jim had seen anything when he walked the dogs Sunday night. He also told Big Jim the Guardia Civil was involved in the investigation and that the mayor had been notified. According to the policeman, the word on the street was that the thieves were not from our town but from nearby villages (which contradicts what L. and the two men from the bar were originally told). L. realizes the watch is probably sitting in a Malaga pawn shop and gone forever. The question now is whether the police will actually do their job and if need be, bring charges against someone from the village regardless of family ties. As Big Jim told the police officer, "It is important that the people are caught because next time, Antonio, the victim could be your mother." hasta manana, mylifeinspain

too much sun and rough seas

Different sort of beach day yesterday; it was though the tides were out of synch with a lazy Sunday afternoon. First we were unable to park in our usual spots because all the places were taken. So we drove a little further to a lot near the bus station. As we got out of the car, I asked Big Jim whether he knew the way back to the beach. From his response, I gathered that was a stupid question. We walked a couple blocks, and Big Jim crossed the street and carried on for several more blocks. I then asked him if there was a reason we were walking on the sunny side of the street. Natives disregard the lyrics of this popular tune, gladly trading the phrase's optimism for the slightest sliver of shade. I will walk so close to buildings that I'm practically hugging them if it means I can escape just a few rays of the afternoon sun. As we wandered through the back streets of Torre del Mar, it became apparent Big Jim was simply heading in the direction of the water but really wasn' t sure of the way. I decided to enjoy the diversion because we had never properly explored this part of town. After about 20 minutes of looking like lost tourists we popped out of a sidestreet right next to the press shop we were looking for to buy the Sunday newspaper. As soon as we hit the beach, we knew for sure it was going to be a different sort of beach day. The umbrellas were all pitched on an angle and low to the ground to guard against the winds. Straw mats left unattended and not sufficiently weighed down rolled and sailed across the shoreline. We staked our claim for the afternoon, and as Big Jim was putting up the umbrella, I noticed a complicated buoy system with multiple channels had been placed in the water since last week. I asked Big Jim what he thought they were all about. His darkly humored reply was, "To guide in the Moroccans." (Moroccans and other Africans attempting to cross the Med is a serious problem. The distance separating the two continents can appear deceptively close; for example, on clear days we can see the Rif Mountains in northern Morocco from our roof terrace. Every year, thousands pay fortunes to cross in illegal boats and some even dare to swim the narrower bits; many, many die.) The sea was rough and there were few people swimming. But I ventured out anyway; I had come to swim. As soon as my toe touched the water, I knew why people had chosen their towels over a dip: the water was bloody freezing! Still undaunted (I had come to swim remember), I took the full plunge. Once I got past the breakers, the water calmed some, but there was a strong pull to the east. It was not a day for lazy floating; I had to work hard so as not to come ashore in Torrox, several miles down the road. From the towel, Big Jim watch the windsurfers with envy, longing for his board back in the UK. He never ventured in past his knees yesterday, convinced he had seen a nasty "floater". I think he was mistaken; there was more seawood and driftwood than normal. I even saw a few small jellyfish, which was a first. After about 4 hours of reading and napping, I felt a wave of urgency to get out of the sun, instantly knowing I had been out for too long. As we walked back to the car, my suspicions were confirmed as I saw the stripe of red across my nose and cheekbones reflected back at me from the store windows. We walked along the promenade with our ice creams, opposite our normal direction, noting the restaurants and shops we never knew existed. One Italian restaurant and pizzeria looked particularly worthy of future investigation. On the ride back, we passed through Algarrobo, which is celebrating its feria. Families had gathered by a large bar-b-que to eat sausages and chicken cooked over the olive wood fire. Our favorite "Crazy Kangeroo" ride was entertaining those brave enough to dare. Many people lined the streets, and the gang of older men sat in the shade of the bus stop. Everyone appeared to be having a good time, but the thought of more feria partying made me weary. And then I remembered, only 6 more days until the Noche del Vino.... hasta luego, mylifeinspain

caleta

We had a nice night Friday. At the last minute, we decided to give our friend V. a call to see whether she was free to join us. She lives just outside of town, but we hadn't seen her for a couple months. Luckily she had no plans, so we had a good time catching up. And the pups were happy that V. couldn't finish her plate of calamares because they shared the leftovers. :-) We had an early night: V. had to be up at 6:30 because the builders would arrive at 7:00 to continue work on her pool, and Big Jim and I had planned to travel to the weekly Saturday market at Caleta, which is a seaside town near Torre del Mar. I confess our own village's weekly market is a bit of a disappointment. There typically are three produce stands and one flower stand, one man selling shoes completely inappropriate for village life (ie, stiletto and platform heels), another man selling 20-year-old CDs (not bad, though, if you're looking for some older Johnny Cash or Willie Nelson recordings), a woman selling linens (also not bad; I did get a nice tablecloth for our terrace table, cost 10 euros), and a couple of Moroccans selling electronics of questionable origin. Fairly uninspiring stuff. Therefore, every few months Big Jim and I decide to go to the market in Caleta, which is considerably larger, covering several city-length blocks. We set out late morning, barely managing to escape the traffic in the village, which was overrun with people from the campo, coming into town to collect their mail, shop, and socialize. Sidebar for brief, mini-rant: Dear People of the Campo: I know how much you love your Mitsubishi Monteros and Land Rovers. They make you feel rough and tough, modern-day pioneers even. And that's fine. But what makes you think you should be driving them in villages that were built in the days when a mule was the only available source of transportation? Our Peugeot 405 is practically too wide to negotiate some streets; whatever gives you the idea that a Landcruiser will be able to? There are two parking lots on the edge of town; park there! The bottlenecks you create are an inconvenience to the rest of us. (Although I do confess to smile when I hear the grating sounds as you add another scrape mark to your SUV's fender.) The market at Caleta was more crowded than usual, mainly because of the recent influx of tourists for the August holiday. The bargains on produce were great as usual. For 10 euros we bought 3 kilos of tomatoes (6.5 lbs.) , 2 kilos (4.5 lbs.) of amazing peaches, big bunches of beautiful spring onions and carrots, and a huge sack of garlic. We also had a look at our favorite place, the spice stand, but they didn't have any of the sundried tomatoes we love (I think we're going to try to do own). Sufficiently weighed down with our purchases, we made our way back to the car and drove over to Eroski, where we had some little sandwiches and coffee as a snack. The store windows at the mall have all been changed to display the newly arrived fall clothes, which just seems all wrong to me. How can one think tweed when it's 90 degrees F outside. Sidebar for another mini-rant: To the vacationing tourists: What gives you the idea it's okay to do your shopping while wearing only your swimming costume? Would it be too much trouble to throw on a pair of shorts or a tee shirt? I cannot help but notice the similarities between the bumpy, wrinkly skin hanging out of the back of your meathanger and that on the recently plucked chicken thighs I've just picked off the shelf. It's not good. Headed back to the village, where I spent the rest of the afternoon working and chatting with my parents, who called after just returning from vacation in Chincoteague, VA, and Big Jim worked on jarring the vat of curry he made earlier in the week. We had a quiet night in, watching the DVD of "Twelve Monkeys" our friend T. brought us on his recent visit. I hadn't seen it since it first came out in the theatres and had forgotten what a good and interesting movie it was. Always weird to see Philadelphia on the screen, but comforting in a way as well. There's even a scene shot on my beloved Ben Franklin Bridge, which made me a bit misty. We're planning a typical Sunday today. I'm now off to make ratatouille (yes, more eggplant), which will be our snack on the beach later this afternoon. It's looking to be a good beach day; the sun has just creeped over the mountain, and it is already 85 degrees F. The village will be bustling this week as the preparations for the wine festival (held next Sunday) begin. A replica of a traditional farmhouse will be constructed next to the church in the main square. Stages will be erected at the second square, at the top of the vilage, where the actual grape stomping and dancing takes place. The farmers must bring samples of their wine to be tested on Thursday; those deemed the best will be served (for free!) throughout the festival. The Noche del Vino is the big summer showcase for the village, even more important than the feria. More details during the week.... hasta luego, mylifeinspain

it's friday already?/fried eggplant with honey

Slept longer this morning than I planned to. But that's because C.K. and her crazy antics woke me up at 3:30. I heard one of the windows banging, and I thought the strange winds we've been having all week in the middle of the night had returned. I checked the windows upstairs, but there was no wind. The banging continued, so I went downstairs. C.K. had somehow managed to get herself tangled in the lace curtain in the dining room. Judging from the displaced window box outside on the sill, I reckon she had another late-night rendezvous with one of the neighbor cats. Big Jim's had a busy week. We had decided last weekend that because August is essentially vacation month for Europe, he would only spend an hour or two every day on job apps and focus on getting these four computers sitting around our house back to their owners (By the way, update on M.A.'s computer: the guy who sold it to her is a jerk. When Big Jim finally spoke with him after 5 days of leaving messages, he told Big Jim he would only buy it back from M.A. after Big Jim had fixed it....another scammer) and other admin projects he has going. The unemployment figures out of Germany, where Big Jim has done much of his work, have not been encouraging either....still over 10%. All that aside, he received more job calls this week than he had in all of July. Go figure. Most of my deadlines are completed for the week, so today will be a relatively low-stress day. We haven't been out for dinner in the village for awhile, so we are planning to take the pups with us to Bar Loro this evening, where we can have our salad and gambas pil pil outside under the starry sky. Today's recipe is for my mother. When my parents visited in March, we had dinner one night at a restaurant called Cortijo Paco. I told my mother she had to try the eggplant because it was to die for. She seemed skeptical, but I asked the waiter to bring a plate for us all to share. Fifteen minutes later, he returned with a huge platter, heaped high with thin rounds of fried eggplant, drizzled with honey. We never thought we'd finish them off, but we did easily, and a fight almost broke out over the last few. My mother continues to rave, months later, "I'm still thinking about that eggplant. And I don't even like eggplant. But it was soooo good." I must admit, eggplant was not something I considered as a popular Spanish food before I moved here. However, our local produce shop almost always has the most beautiful eggplants, so we eat them often. I've since read that the Moors brought eggplant with them when they settled in Andalucia, and from here, the fruit spread throughout the continent. Here's what you need: 2 eggplants (try to find a couple that are long and thin rather than squat and ovoid) 2 eggs about 2/3 cup of flour 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 cup milk olive oil (for frying) 1/4 cup honey First, in all parts of the world, there is much controversy regarding whether to salt eggplant to remove bitterness before frying. I confess, I do. I slice the eggplant very thin (1/8 of an inch; if you have a mandoline, this would be a good time to use it), layer it in a collander placed in the sink, sprinkle sea salt over it, set a plate on top, and put a small brick on the plate to weigh it down. Leave for 30 minutes and then rinse off the salt. Many, including James Beard, the famous US chef, claimed this salt business is just an old wives' tale and completely unnecessary. Your choice. Mix the flour, baking soda, and a little salt in a bowl. Add the milk and eggs. Whisk. Heat the oil at medium. The oil should be about 1/2 inch deep in a large frying pan. Dip the eggplant into the batter, and drop into the oil. Fry for about 30 seconds on each side. The eggplant should be a gold color. Drain on paper towels. The honey should be warmed, also on medium heat. Arrange the fried eggplant on a platter and drizzle with the honey and serve. Enjoy! Have a happy weekend everyone. :-) hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

the word on the street

Gossip is the thread that holds small towns and villages together. Or so it seems. (Or sew it seams. thread....Okay, I am cracking myself up over that pun, especially because I'm still on my first cup of morning coffee....methinks I have been living with Big Jim for too long because the bad jokes are rubbing off.) I didn't have to move here to know this because I grew up in a town not much bigger than this village. I'm probably going to get in trouble for saying this, but when I was in high school I believe my mother was less worried about the trouble I was getting into and more concerned with what her friends would have to say about it. The gossip here is different though. The expats in the village have made it a sport, extreme gossiping. One can find oneself embroiled in a gossip controversy without even trying. Take our friend V. A few months ago, she went to have her hair cut. At the time, V. was having a lot of work done on her house, which the stylist asked about. V. replied that it was slow-going but that she was happy with the work. The next morning, her builder confronted her, "How dare you complain to everyone in the village about my slow work!"Someone had overheard her, told two friends, and so on (like in the Pantene commercial), and in less than 24 hours, it had gotten back to the builder. And of course, her positive comment, that she was happy with work, was dropped along the way. I think part of the reason that gossip is so pervasive in the village is because so many of the expats have nothing better to do. Many who have come here are retired or at least semi-retired, apparently hobby-less, and spend most of their days sitting in the cafes yapping with other expats. After they finish moaning about the decreased values of their investments back in the UK, the horrible teenagers and their mopeds, and their complaints to the town hall regarding the fireworks (there was a recent letter from an expat published in the village newspaper, demanding that rockets be outlawed because every time one goes off, he fears the village is under attack by terrorists....oh pulease. Go back to reading your tabloid newspapers so that you can worry about more serious topics, like the poison you're eating in salmon and all the invading Romanians who are trying to steal your pension benefits back in the UK.). One of the reasons I love M.A. is because although she's retired, she's not idle. She reads several books a week. She and our neighbor R. get together every Saturday night to practice music (R. plays the cello, and M.A. may have the only baby grand piano in the village---I would have loved to watch the movers that day because M.A. lives at the top of the village on a street with no car, yet alone truck, access). She has a bridge club, Spanish lessons, etc. There is one couple who practically lives at one of the cafes. They often occupy the same table from 10:30 in the morning, when they arrive for breakfast, until 11:30 at night, when the cafe closes. They apparently eat all their meals there and only seem to move when their dog needs to go a for walk. They gab nonstop, passing the latest "news" to the rotating cast of expat characters who stop off briefly for a coffee or cerveza during the day. Another group---we call them the Usual Suspects---meets up every day at 5:00 at another cafe, hangs out for a few hours, goes home for a quick dinner, and then meets up for more drinking at one of the restaurant bars. Don't get me wrong, I am not completely averse to the occasional fat-chewing or drivel-filled conversation---but these people do it everyday and for hour after hour! In the past, Big Jim and I did pull up a chair sometimes and join them; we've stopped though because we were bored stiff most of the time. The major topic was complaining about the Spanish this or the Spanish that. At one point I nearly bit my tongue off because I wanted to shout "Well then go back to the UK already!" There have been polls that say more than 50% of British would move out of the UK if given the opportunity. There are also reports that 50% of UK expats who come to Spain move back in the first two years. I think this is because vacationing in Spain and living here are two completely different animals. Very few of the UK expats here have learned Spanish or have even tried to. Their solution is just to speak English at the Spanish in a very loud voice. One brilliant UK tosser (I have picked up quite a bit of slang from Big Jim) was quoted in the news yesterday, on the topic of working as an expat in the EU without speaking a second language, "Well, if I have to use their currency, they should have to use my language." I'm realizing this entry has turned into a bit of an English bash, which wasn't my intention. But perhaps there is a connection somewhere. Many of the expats have come to Spain because they were dissatisfied elsewhere. A new locale, even one with many sun-filled days, does not cure all preexisting conditions, especially that of discontent. And maybe it's easier for some to go on about the problems of others rather than addressing their own. Big Jim returned from walking the dogs last evening with news. During the day, speed bumps have been put up throughout the village in attempt to slow down the crazy kids and their mopeds. One would think the gossip cronies would be happy about this, but rest assured, they'll find something to complain about. "Why now, they'll just use them to pop bigger wheelies!" And then they'll turn to more scurrilous subjects of who's shagging whom and who had too much to drink last night. Me personally, except with Big Jim and good friends like M.A. and J. and M., I keep my mouth shut unless I'm comfortable with what I'm saying being recirculated and transformed many times over. Returning to sport analogies, I've found defense is the best offense to combat the never-ending rumor mill of these elite gossip professionals. hasta manana, mylifeinspain

busy busy

Not one but two work deadlines today, folks, hence the brevity of the past couple entries. However, alexpalex commented that I forgot to mention the existing controversy regarding whether a proper Spanish tortilla should include onions. There are those who believe the official Spanish tortilla should be made of just eggs, potatoes, olive oil, and a little salt. I did a brief unofficial survey and found a ratio of 7:3 of the recipes do include onions. As one author commented, I'm paraphrasing, no two tortillas will ever be the same. He continued, I make tortilla the way my mother makes it, who makes it the way my grandmother made it. His recipe, incidentally, included onions. I suppose, like with every "traditional" recipe, variations crop up over time simply because one grandmother's taste buds are different from those of the neighbor's grandmother. Case in point, there is a traditional PA Dutch recipe that I adore, called potato filling. If you scour every recipe for potato filling from the Internet back to great grandmothers' old church cookbooks, you will find thousands of recipes for this one dish, no two exactly alike. Back in Spain, there were probably a few grandmothers who got indigestion from onions and therefore omitted them from their tortillas. I plan to research this more thoroughly and will also poll Almendena and the other neighbors on the matter. Will keep you posted....in the meantime, I also suggest you make the tortilla both ways, with and without onions, and see which you prefer. And Spanish readers, please comment: did your grandmother include onions in her tortilla? hasta manana, mylifeinspain

how do you know...

you've been sitting in front of a computer too long? When the little spider who has been living on your desklamp and laptop decides to attach his new web to you. I'm sitting here watching him travel back and forth from the lamp to my arm, not sure exactly what is the best thing to do. I don't want him to continue this arduous work, because as soon as I get up to fetch another cup of coffee, the web will be ruined. I also don't want him to fall into the deep dark hole that is my keyboard. I think I'll just wait until he makes it safely back to the desklamp before I make a move. Any other suggestions? (killing the little bugger is not an option) mylifeinspain

the local spanish

My muscles ache a tad this morning from my many swims yesterday. :-) It was a good beach day, not too crowded, although we did notice many untanned recent arrivals from northern Spain. Vacation season has officially begun. I had good fun listening to the different accents; it was refreshing to hear a mother asking her young son "A donde vas?" rather than "don-e va?", which is how it would sound if spoken by a native of our village. When we first met our landlord Pepe, he walked us from the main square to the house on Calle Salares. As we passed friends of his along the way, he stopped to have brief conversations, and I could discern little of the exchanges. They truthfully sounded like no more than a series of grunts. Our neighbor Antonio shortens "adios" to just "yo", which transports me back to South Philly. When Almendena calls her daughter, "Marisu," she is really saying "Maria Jesus". Last year Big Jim and I took a weekend trip to Morocco to buy some furniture for the new house. The one morning we were sitting on the breakfast terrace at the hotel when a group of two men and women sat at the table next to us. Suddenly I realized I could understand everything they were saying. I grabbed Big Jim's leg and whispered excitedly in his ear, "I can understand them; they are speaking Spanish. Proper beautiful Spanish." I was relieved. For my first year here, I thought I had some sort of mental block that was keeping me from understanding most of the locals in the village. Now I knew it was just the dialect spoken in the village that was causing me trouble. This was reinforced about six months ago, when I joined our friend V. and her son and his friend for a drink at Bar Loro. At one point the friend, who was from Asturias, decided he wanted some dessert. I sat back and watched as he tried to explain to Miguel the waiter that he wanted a baked apple with ice cream on the side. The two Spanish men, one from the north and the other from the south, could not understand one other. I finally explained to Miguel what the man from Asturias was requesting and then translated back Miguel's response. I felt vindicated. That said, I had the same experience when I met a woman in the village from Glasgow. During our first conversations, I swear I only caught about one of every five words. Now that my ear is better trained I can usually follow what she's saying; if not, I just nod and smile when it seems appropriate. The sea was rough yesterday, but still nothing compared to the waves I'm accustomed to in the US. It was bad enough, though, for Big Jim to swim out at one point and tell me he thought I should come in. When I got closer to shore, I saw what he meant. There was a strong undertow, and the waves were really pounding the beach. I just watched the movement of the tides and surfed in easily (and without having my swimsuit ripped off, which almost happened to Big Jim). I was glad to see, though, that most parents had gathered up the small children and taken them back to their towels; it had become too dangerous for the little ones. We found lots of sea glass yesterday, including some hard to find purple pieces. I think I am going to have to transfer my collection to a larger jar. I can't believe it's August already....only four or five beach trips left for the season. :-( hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

the scam artists

Big Jim ventured into what is typically my culinary milieu last night and made chicken fajitas for dinner. They were excellent. We then had a long chat on the roof terrace trying to find some stars, but no such luck. Because we had such a rainy 9 months before the summer and quite a bit of moisture is still left in the soil, it has been unusually humid during the day and hazy at night. Big Jim has been frustrated about the used computer M.A. recently purchased. When they went to see it, it seemed to work fine. But now that B.J. has brought it here it install some software, it has proved to be temperamental, sometimes refusing to boot up at all, other times doing so without a problem. He has tried to contact the seller, but he's not returning the messages. I tell Big Jim it is possible the guy has gone away for the weekend, but in my gut I believe B.J.'s instincts are probably correct, that the guy is a bit of a scammer. If this is the case and if the guy doesn't cooperate, we'll have our friend J., who is an attorney, file a denuncia (a type of formal legal complaint, which seems to cover everything from assault to not tying up your garbarge bag properly) against the guy. We unfortunately have run into many expats with fishy backgrounds and suspect motives. The first property we rented was a disaster. The women who managed the house and rental units frankly was a bit of a drunk. Big Jim first realized there was a problem when he went by her house one morning to drop off a check for the electric bill. At 11 am, she asked if he wanted a drink; he declined, joking it was a bit early for him. She then opened a double-door kitchen cabinet that was lined with wine boxes; a solitary wine glass stood in the middle. When one of the rent payments went missing in an electronic banking transfer snafu, she left rambling accusatory messages on the answering machine that became more hostile as the hours passed and her condition became more inebriated. We were relieved when after 6 months, she decided to resign from the management position (and we hope checked into a rehab facility). Our contact now was the owner directly. He lived in Ireland, but we had met him briefly and he seemed a decent enough sort of guy. Turns out we were wrong again. :-( On one incredibly hot September Friday morning, a man in a Land Rover turned up from the townhall. Big Jim was running errands, so I was home alone. The man had a notice to shut off the water. I did not recognize the name to whom the letter was address: it wasn't ours, it wasn't the former manager's; and it wasn't the owners. For this reason, I told the man I thought he had the wrong house. He left but returned 45 minutes later. He told me and Big Jim, who had since returned, that this was indeed the correct address, and he had been instructed to turn off the water because the bill had not been paid for two years. Two years! His advice to us was to go to the townhall immediately and try to resolve the situation. I looked at my watch; it was 1:15. He added, "And you'll want to go straightaway because they usually lock up at 1:40 during the summer. I swear he chuckled as he loaded our water meter into the Rover. Big Jim and I dashed into town, running up the fittingly named Calle Rampa, to the ayuntamiento. The door was unlocked. I explained to the receptionist why we where there, and she replied, "Sorry, the man in charge of the water department has just left for a two-week holiday, and there is no one else to help in the meantime." We were screwed. Fortunately, the property had a large water deposito, which was full, so the situation was not immediately dire. Regardless, when we returned, we immediately began water conservation measures and put in a call to the owner. We heard nothing from him until the following week, and he claimed the bills had been paid from his bank account in Spain. He also told us the name on the letter was that of the previous owners; he never bothered to have the bill swiched into his name. The water level in the tank was still high, and we patted ourselves on the back for our cut-back efforts. A couple days later, I was working in my office when I heard the man who owned the avocado farm that bordered the house. He was with another farmer, cursing up a storm. Straining to hear their conversation, I realized he was angry because there was no water at the finca. The man from the townhall had turned off his water by mistake! Not only had our water not been turned off, because he had taken our meter, we had had used almost a week's worth of water for free. The next day, the water man returned, and now our water really was shut off. It would be another week before the man in charge would return from his vacation, so Big Jim and I doubled our conservation measures. When we finally were able to meet with him, we were horrified to find out more than 2000 euros was owed for the water. Not one payment had been made since the owner had purchased the property! Letters had been sent to the previous owners, but since they no longer had any ties to the property, they simply ignored them. After we had all the details, we again contacted R., the owner. His suggestion was that we pay the bill and then deduct the amount from our rent for the next couple of months. He also implied that we should cover the water bill for the time we had been living in the house, even though there was no mention of the water in our lease. We refused on both counts. If the amount owed had been a couple hundred euros, sure, we would have done as he had advised. But 2200 euros, no way! That was equal to almost two months' rent. And although we could empathize with him regarding his claim that the water should have been covered in our lease, we refused to budge. We had agreed via the lease to cover the electric and phone charges, but nowhere had we taken on the responsibility of the water cost. His claims that the bills had been paid were false, as confirmed by the bank manager. The invoices were put forward by the ayuntamiento, but R. never had sufficient funds in his account to cover the quarterly bills. Six weeks later, our water was finally reconnected, but only after we had to arrange for a plumber to come reattach the water meter. At least our conservation efforts were rewarded, and we never ran out of water. A few weeks later, Big Jim and I took a holiday to the US to celebrate Thanksgiving and visit many of our friends. When we returned in early December, we had another most unpleasant surprise: an electric bill for 990 euros and a notice that the service would be turned off December 23 if not paid immediately! The concerned us greatly because we had been paying the electric bill to the former manager and later to R; clearly they had not been forwarding our payments to the electric company sevillana endesa. We were doubly worried because we were having guests arrive for the Christmas holidays in two weeks. First we contacted the former manager. She insisted she had forwarded our payments to R. to send to the electric company. She had records of the transfers, so we focused our attention on the owner again. After the water debacle and now the problem with the electric bills not being paid, Big Jim and I also began looking for another place to rent. We had had enough. R. first denied not forwarding the payments, but after sevillana endesa sent us copies of the complete billing history, he conceded there might have been an "oversight" on his part. Not wishing another 6-week battle to resolve the problem, as well as risk having the electricity shut off during the holidays, Big Jim and I agreed to pay off the debt and deduct the amount from the next month's rent. Sorted, but by the end of the month, we had given our notice to R. that we would be moving out. Our landlord now, Pepe, is the dream landlord, attentive and considerate but not intrusive. We have only had one problem, and that involved a contractor we hired to install a new sink unit in the kitchen. The previous was ancient and built for someone much shorter than Big Jim or myself. Before we moved in, we gave a copy of the keys to L., a plumber recommended to us by a contractor friend of us, so that he could measure the space and put in the new sink. Several weeks passed, and there were no signs of work. One day, Big Jim arrived at the house early to meet the men delivering our new refrigerator. He found L. asleep on our recently purchased sofa. Long story short, his wife had kicked him out after being told he had impregnated not one but two local young women; he then was booted from the local hotel after failing to pay his bill; according to the neighbors, he had been squatting in our house for several days before Big Jim found him. It turned out he had done no work to order the sink unit, but one of B.J.'s tool kits was missing. After we reported the theft to the police, it mysteriously reappeared outside the kitchen window several days later. Within the week, L. had left town. We were grateful we had given him no money in advance. Slowly reports came out that others' credit cards had been stolen, thousands of euros paid and no work done, etc., etc. We were some of his lucky victims. There are many other tales of woe....the real estate agent who sold building plots that were not for sale and then promptly left town with the buyers' money, the many people who buy properties but are never given the escritura (deed) to their new homes. We all would like to think we are clever enough to spot the scam artists, but some of them are very slick. It is important not to be blinded by the sun of southern Spain and leave one's brain at the airport. I was doing some work yesterday and came across a term in an article that looked a little funny. I did a quick search on the Internet, and it only found one match. I skimmed the referenced article and soon realized the work I was editing had been plagarized, including the misspelling I noticed, from the piece I found on the Internet. This is the fourth case I've found in the past year, without even trying; I dread informing the publisher tomorrow. So scammers come in all forms, from small-town plumbers to well-respected academics. I'd like to believe that most people are good decent honest sorts. And in my heart, I know they are. I think our village has attracted more than the average number of bad guys, though, because they realize people come here enthusiatically, without well-established connections, and with some cash. I hope that the situation with M.A.'s computer can be settled quickly and amicably. I'll keep you posted.... hasta manana, mylifeinspain