5 days

...until I leave for Pakistan. Yes, this trip snuck up on me, too. :-) I finally have delved into the "Lonely Planet" guide, and I am just overwhelmed with the many travel options. Currently, my first choice is to drive up the KKH (Karakoram Highway http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karakoram_Highway), which follows the Indus River part of the way, to the Karakoram mountain range and national park. This area shares a border with China and is home to five seriously high mountains, including K2 at 8611 meters. This is the perfect season to travel there, so Big Jim is just checking with the Colonel to see whether we will need any sort of special permission or military escort, etc. But for now, I must remain fully grounded and keep my head out of the clouds just a little while longer. Have at least put together a pretrip "to do" list and even managed to cross off one item already (confirmed dog reservation at kennel). Dusted off the slow cooker, which is handling all food prep for the next few days. Not sure whether I will have much time for regular posting during the remainder of the week, but I will do my best. And I will be posting from Pakistan, thanks to Big Jim's ADSL line. :-) Hasta pronto, mylifeinspain Oh, almost forgot...in a followup to yesterday's rant, I found out where some of our homeland security dollars have been spent---armed dolphins! Read the story here: http://observer.guardian.co.uk/international/story/0,6903,1577753,00.html

NTY's quote of the day

"We're going back to the drawing board. With an earthquake or a major terrorist attack, we'd obviously have no warning. We haven't looked at mass evacuation or temporary housing for hundreds of thousands of people."SANDRA S. HUTCHENS, chief of the office of homeland security at the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. I am going to have to stop reading the news as I attempt to leisurely sip my morning coffee because I come across bits like this that make my blood boil.... What precisely has the Department of Homeland Security and its 150,000+ employees---the largest of all federal agencies---been doing for the past 4 years if not developing evacuation plans and strategies for managing an attack on the "homeland"?!!!! And don't mention the ridiculous color-coded alert system as its stellar achievement; any 5-year-old child could have come up with an equally brilliant plan.... Not that the English are doing much better. http://www.guardian.co.uk/comment/story/0,,1575411,00.html Note to self: Avoid riding London tube as surely will be detained because bad vision requires I look down while negotiating flights of stairs, a sure sign I am terrorist. Is it me or are we not living in some truly strange times? Am off to contemplate the world's future while taking the dogs on a long walk. Hope to finish a more tranquilo composition later today. Hasta luego, mylifeinspain

diary of a (nearly) madwoman

On the fifteenth ring, she hangs up the phone. No answer. She fidgets in the desk chair. Something clearly is not right. No e-mails, no Skype call last night at the normal time. Just a semi-frantic IM that he was going off with the Colonel to the police station after Nasir was stopped for speeding. And that was midday...yesterday. No, something had to be wrong. He should have been home from work an hour ago. This is so NOT like him. She sits another minute. "You are being silly", she tells herself. "You know how Pakistan is. The Internet goes down all the time, and there have been lots of thunderstorms lately, so perhaps the phone service is just out." She manages to talk herself sane and goes back to work. But not before she checks her e-mail (again). No new messages. Sigh. She looks at the clock and turns back to her editing. After reading and rereading the same sentence five times, she decides to try his number one more time. This time he answers. But he is very groggy. And he can't seem to hear her. "It's me. It's ME!" But he keeps repeating, "Hello? Hello?" The line disconnects. She calls back immediately. But now the phone just rings and rings. "Why is he asleep now? It is only 7:30." She is certain something is very wrong. But what? Perhaps he mouthed off a policeman and is now stuck in a Pakistani jail? Or hit his head and has amnesia and is lost? Maybe he still hasn't recovered from their argument-to-top-all-arguments last week? Or has been kidnapped and drugged---yes, he sounded very out of it---by some militant group? "Call Nasir. That's it. I will call Nasir. He's his driver; he will know where he is for sure. Now where is that number.... " She begins to sift through the bits and scraps of paper stacked on her desk. Again, momentary sanity surfaces. She realizes she is being borderline hysterical. Clearly, he is ALIVE she rationalizes. It was his voice that picked up the phone. There is no reason to call Nasir. Yet. She returns to her laptop and begins to type him another message. "Hello husband, Where are you? I haven't heard from you since yesterday when you were going to the police station. If I don't hear from you by noon my time tomorrow, I will call Nas...." A small white box appears in the right bottom corner of her computer screen; he has just signed into Skype. Before she can hit "cancel" on the e-mail, the shrill ringtone announces his call. The dogs jump up from their sleep and bark their greetings as they always do. "Hi, I'm sick," he says. "Oh good. I thought you were dead. Well, not dead but kidnapped or something horrible." "Whhaaaat?" "Well, you didn't call last night and then you didn't answer my e-mails, and then you didn't pick up your phone...." "I have been in bed for almost two days. A bug of some sort got into my ear, bit me, and the bite got infected. So I am on all these antibiotics and feel horrible. I have to go back to the doctor tomorrow...." She nods sympathetically, but is smiling to herself, "You can be so silly sometimes." Yours truly, the almost certifiable madwoman (aka mylifeinspain)

painting

This is one of the paintings I bought last week (you can click on it to enlarge). It is of the village, with the square predominant on the right, the plaza deserted except for two playful dogs. When the artist brought this out from the pile in storage, I knew immediately I had to have the painting. And not just because of the dogs! No, the painting depicts the village in a way I always want to remember it....After many dinners that have turned into late nights, we have escorted M.A. home to her house on the other side of the village. The dogs come with us, and because the motos have all been parked for the night, they are allowed to run free through the streets. Up and down side streets in search of kitties to chase, always returning to make sure we haven't strayed too far ourselves, the clicking of the dogs' nails on the cobblestones alerting us to their location. Eventually the street winds up to the plaza, and it is here that I always like to pause, look up at the stars, and take in the stillness, the absolute quiet of a village asleep. Until...galumph, galumph, precious Boo gallop/skips into the square and a few seconds later Mr. Beebs darts from a side street, low to the ground, ears back flying. We are all reunited. Okay, maybe I did buy the painting because of the dogs. :-) Hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

10 things i was going to write about the past week had it not sped by so quickly

1. This tiny, tiny baby gecko I found in our washroom one night.
Same little guy, but up close. Dig his Spiderman-like grips, so cool. 2. Took off work Friday afternoon to have long lunch with L. 3. Found out Big Jim's contract in Islamabad will officially end September 30, which is good because that means he can be tourist with me during my vacation in Pakistan (can you say "air safari over K2"...can't wait!). Also good because we hope he can find a new contract closer to home. He has started to apply for jobs and brushed off the CV. 4. We added Barcelona to our list of potential new places to move to. 5. Along with the pups, enjoyed clear sunny blue skies.

precious Boo
and Mr. Beebs 6. Went to the post office to retrieve a couple packages I know for sure are waiting (and waiting) to be delivered (and contain some time-sensitive material). After I wait in the queue for 15 minutes, a woman I have never seen there before tells me I have to come back another time because, see like, the package is in the back (yeah, so?) and she is busy waiting on people. As I stomp out perplexed, I spot the huge stacks of late notices from the electric company. It appears no one in the village hss received their initial electric bill again (myself included). This is bull *bleep*. 7. I bought three paintings from an English artist who lives in the village. Will post fotos after S. delivers them to the house later this week. 8. Meet one of the pups' new friends. She (Lady Bird) and her mate have recently moved into a space along the goat track.
Normally, she is up and about and likes to come to fence to greet us. And let me tell ya, Lady Bird is one, big bird. 9. Went to a birthday lunch for my neighbor R. on Sunday. His birthday is 9/11. His brother's birthday is 3/11 (day of the Madrid bombing, for those who have forgotten). Creepy. But the lunch was delicious. 10. My friends I. and R. from Norway have relocated to the village permanently. I. and Big Jim can have contests to see who can talk the most at dinner and who can make the best curry. Competition will be tight. :-) Hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

too much almendena

The weather has been strange here all summer, and today is no exception. We have sun and a clear blue sky as expected, but it is windy, flower pot-tossing, curtain-flapping windy. As I walked the dogs to the goat track this morning, it became quickly apparent that my wardrobe choice was a mistake; my currently fashionable, multitiered cotton knee-length skirt was the perfect windcatcher, and I had to gather it up at the sides to keep it from sailing over my head. This is no easy feat as one also tries to guide 85 pounds of dog down the street. Fortunately there were few farmers at work along the goat track. The last thing I needed was to do a Marilyn Monroe in front of these already-randy old men. I hurried the dogs back home along the lesser-traveled path, and found Almendena and the Herb Thief chatting outside my front door. I told them I had to go change my skirt, that there was just too much wind for me to easily walk down the street. They chuckled, and then Almendena asked me whether I would like some grapes. I said, sure, of course. She ducked inside her front door and came out with three large bunches for me. Muchas gracias, muchas gracias, I replied. Then she tells me that I should not worry about flashing my underpants to the village. When she was picking grapes out in the campo all weekend, because of the heat, she stripped down to just her bragas and sujetador. For reasons I cannot fathom (perhaps to make sure I understood?), she lifted her skirt to reveal a giant pair of panties and then her knit shirt to display a more than generous bosom befitting a middle-aged woman who had birthed five children. Almendena and the Herb Thief fell into a fit of giggles like little girls; in surprise/shock, I lost my hold on one of the bunches of grapes. What does one do, say when your neighbor voluntarily flashes you their underwear? I thanked her again for the grapes and herded the pups through the front door. When it was securely closed behind me, I threw up my hands and whispered "Dios mio"! And then for the first time in a week, I laughed. hasta manana, mylifeinspain

happy birthday!

Today is my grandmother's 94th birthday, so Happy Birthday, Grandmom! And I managed to find a picture where you are almost smiling (it wasn't easy!). :-) Will call you later today. Love, mylifeinspain

jabs

As anyone who has traveled outside of the "developed" world knows, before the trip a series of vaccines is usually required. Although the village is full of expats, almost all are from the West, so I suspected the local medical center did not receive many requests for typhoid fever innoculations. But before I went traipsing around the coast in search of treatment, I figured it would be worth a shot (pun intended) to see whether I could receive them at the consultorio. So Tuesday bright and early I walk down to the health center. The row of chairs winding around the room is full, the womens' folding fans out and aflutter. I explain to the receptionist-type person what I need. She tells me to come back that evening between 6 and 7 and speak with Rafael, who apparently is the jab man. At 6 on the dot I arrive again at the doctor's office. The chairs are mostly full, and many people seem to be clutching small pieces of paper. A gaggle of older women from the far corner yell over to me, "What's your number?" I sputter, "I don't have one." Their heads drop, and from the huddle I can only hear whisper, whisper, whisper. Hmmm, should I have a number I think to myself. I scan the posters hanging from the walls and bulletin boards looking for any additional information on how this place works. My exposure to the national medical system in Spain has been very limited because I have private health insurance. Finally a door opens and Rafael comes out. He's an easily recognized figure because he has long, curly blond hair, usually tied back, and he's often found outside the consultorio, which I have to pass by every morning on the way to the goat track with the dogs, having a cigarette. I jump up and tell him I was told to see him about my vaccines. He says to come in. I explain my situation, that I am traveling to Pakistan next month and need to get a bunch of vaccines. I pass him the list I have jotted down from the CDC web site, with the Spanish translations. He tells me he can do nothing because he is a nurse, that I first need to see the doctor, for which I need a number (!), then go to the pharmacy to buy the shots, and THEN come back to him and he will give them to me. I ask why the receptionist didn't seem to know the correct procedure. He gives me the typical village response, a shoulder shrug, and tells me to return in the morning to get my number from the receptionist. Err. Which is what I do. I am assigned a 9:15 am appointment (and the number 7) for the next day with the most unfortunately named doctor, translated into English, Dr. Kill. To my relief, there are only a few people in the waiting area when I return; the receptionist hasn't even arrived to work yet. An old man sitting just inside the door immediately asks me my number. Finally in the know, I proudly respond, numero siete. A minute later, Dr. Kill's office door opens, and the old man tells me to go ahead; he is number 8. I explain, again, to Dr. Kill what it is I need. She looks at me perplexed. She asks me, "How do you know these are the correct vaccines?" I tell her I had reviewed the CDC and WHO web sites and that these are the recommended vaccines for visitors to southeast Asia. At the same time, though, I am thinking to myself, well you're the doctor, shouldn't you know whether they are correct. Anyway, my answer apparently satisfied her because she scribbled out the prescription, told me to take it to the pharmacy, and bring the vaccines back the next day between 12 noon and 1 pm. I go straight to the farmacia and hand over Dr. Kill's note. The pharmacist tells me she will do her best to get the vaccines, but that she couldn't make any promises. "Come back this evening, and I will give you an update." Ugh, I am beginning to think I probably should have just made the hour-long trip to Malaga, where I probably could have just received the shots at one of the larger clinics. But to my surprise and delight when I turned up at 6:30 pm, all four vacunas were waiting for me. I shell out 75 euros and practically skip home with my booty, which I have been told to stick in the refrigerator right away. Friday morning I look at the clothes in my closet carefully. I need to select something that will allow Rafael easy access to my bottom and at the same time retain the most of my dignity. I chose a cotton skirt that zips up the back. When I arrive at the medical center, the room is packed. I am happy I have my book with me. I see the evil woman from the supermarket, known for giving the wrong change, is waiting with her son. Soon half the room crowds around a baby carriage that is holding a sleeping 5-day-old little one. Very cute. :-) I return to my book. An older English man comes in and stops at the front desk. He says to the man filling in for the usual woman (who is on vacation---after my many visits this week, I know the score) "prescription". Manbehinddesk responds, "No entiendo." Louder, "PRESCRIPTION". Manbehinddesk again says, "No entiendo." I look around the room and find I am the only other expat waiting. I ask the English guy what exactly he wants. He tells me he dropped off his prescription the week before and is looking for his medicine (retirees get this service as part of the national health program). I translate this to manbehinddesk, who then starts looking for the man's medication. I return to my seat; older English man doesn't even say thank you for my help. I shake my head; couldn't the guy have at least looked up the word for "prescription" in an English/Spanish dictionary? It's not difficult, really. And how does he think the rest of us learn another language. Despite my irritation, I decide I must calm myself. The last thing I want to be when my jab time arrives is tense. Rafael's door opens twice, but both times other folks beat me to the punch. Why he's not on his own number system I do not know, but after three and a half years here I know there are certain questions you just don't ask. The third time the door opens, I am the first person up. I hand over the vaccines to Rafael. He mysteriously sits in front of a computer for awhile, punching away at the keyboard. I have no idea what he is doing, but it seems rude to ask. So I wait, and wait, and then find out he has been making me a nice official-looking certificate for my little blue innoculation booklet, which I have been carrying around since birth. Then the time comes to finally drop trou. I barely had unzippered my skirt, then bam, bam, bam---it was all over. And as in many feared and dreaded life events, I find I hardly felt a thing, the shots themselves proving to be one of the most painless aspects of the entire process....well, and admiring Rafael's insanely long eyelashes. (Oops, sorry, BJ. You too have very nice eyelashes. ;-) Hasta pronto, mylifeinspain

broken-hearted

I have spent most of this week following reports from New Orleans and the Gulf coast. An old friend of mine from Philadelphia, who since relocated to New Orleans, was stranded there in the thick of the chaos. He is now safe in Baton Rouge, but he sadly had to leave behind his two Siamese kitties. His family and friends back in the Philadelphia area are now busy contacting animal rescue groups with the hope that perhaps they can be saved. But I am so, so sad---and angry---that the situation there has become so dire. That people are still sitting on rooftops waiting for food and water, that the federal government has been so slow to react and organize, and that people are dying because of this inaction---I just can't get my head around it. I am sick of survivors being vilified for simply trying to find food, water, medicine, diapers for their babies. The vast majority of "looters" are not criminals---they are simply trying to survive. How can we judge them. Reports are now coming out as well that many of the armed groups of "marauders" are people so desperate to get the attention of rescuers because they have friends and family still trapped in attics, people who are now dying from lack of water and medical attention. It is an absolute disgrace. Call me a cynic, but there is a part of me that wonders what the response would have been had Katrina hit the uber-rich Hamptons or say Nantucket, rather than poor and mostly black southern Louisiana and Mississippi. Would the response have been so slow? Or would Martha Stewart-esque gourmet picnic baskets been dropped, would Davies-Gate toiletry kits been quickly distributed, would luxury hotel chains have opened empty rooms to these refugees? Please do what you can to help. Network for Good http://www.networkforgood.org Red Cross http://store.yahoo.com/redcross-donate2/ For many links and much info: http://www.airamericaradio.com/katrina With every sip of water and bite of food I take, for every cuddle I have with the pets, I cannot help but be immensely grateful. These are everyday things that we all take for granted. But today I cannot. Hasta pronto, mylifeinspain Postscript: In case you were wondering, Cheney is still on vacation in Wyoming. Condie spent Wednesday seeing "Spamalot" on Broadway and buying shoes at Ferragamo's 5th Avenue store. When confronted by another customer as to how she could be shoe shopping at such a crisis moment, Condie had her security people remove the woman from the store.