Madrid!

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 8

We started our morning with parent teacher conferences at the kids’ school—C.C.’s Spanish teacher, then her regular teachers, then Milo’s teachers.  Each meeting lasted a half hour, which is a lot different from the 10 minutes we get twice a year at PS 10.  I guess that’s what we get for paying the big bucks.   Both kids are doing super well, and we really like their teachers.  So that was all good. 

We then dashed home to have a snack, zip up our suitcases, and take a taxi to the train station, where we caught the 1 pm Ave—the high speed train—to Madrid.  The kids have off today and Monday, and Alec is giving a paper at a conference in Madrid on Tuesday, so we thought we’d make a weekend of it.  I’ve never been to Madrid, and it’s been 35 years since Alec’s last visit.  The train ride was smooth, fast, and easy.

We checked into the RoomMate Laura hotel (Roommate is a small, Spanish chain with modern rooms and reasonable prices).  Our room has a couch that makes up into two single beds, a kitchenette, 1 ½ baths, and a sleeping loft.  It’s very cool and very comfortable, and located right near the Plaza del Sol and the Plaza Mayor.  We all put our feet up for about an hour and then headed out for a stroll and some food.

Madrid has a good vibe—lots of energy, lots of history, beautiful architecture.  The streets were full of people.  We strolled through the Plaza del Sol and then, as we approached the Plaza Mayor, heard the sound of live mariachi music.  Which seemed a bit strange, but perhaps it started here and not in Mexico.  I really don’t know.

We then came upon a churreria—the Chocolateria San Gines.  The stream of people entering, the smell, and the old school trappings of marble counters and brass light fixtures drew us in.  We stood at the counter and ate our chocolate con churros y porras as if we had not been fed in weeks; I guess we all needed a sugar boost.  We have not kept up our Churro Chart—we haven’t had any since our last disappointing batch in Gracia, but I think it’s time to resurrect it.

The Mercado San Miguel was our next stop—an old iron building that has been completely retrofitted with modern glass and fixtures, and is more a place to eat prepared food than to buy raw ingredients, although you can buy fish and charcuterie and cheeses (see C.C.’s photo of the enormous octopus below).  We ate dinner as we wandered through, sampling olives stuffed with mussels, cheese-filled dates, sautéed mushrooms on toast, seafood salad, and tuna with roasted red peppers.  I washed mine down with some delicious rioja.  The kids were pretty cranky, though, and the market packed, so we retired to our comfy lodgings early and got them to bed.  Lots more to see tomorrow…

Photos of the Day

Culture Shock?

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 8

When the kids´school held its August orientation for parents who were new to Barcelona, they invited an American woman who has been here for 18 years—a therapist—to talk about culture shock.  I paid close attention—for my kids’sake, not for myself.  I remember that she said it takes about six months to adjust to a new culture, and up to two years (!) to feel like you are really living someplace.  It seemed awfully long to me.

It took going back to the states a couple of weeks ago for me to realize just how much cultural adjustment I´ve been going through.  I felt oddly relaxed, perhaps because I wasn´t translating all of my thoughts into Spanish, perhaps because I just knew where to go for things I needed, perhaps because I got to hang out with people I love and who have known me for a very long time.

The thing is, if you asked me to make a list of things that have been difficult about moving to Barcelona, I would have a hard time completing the task.  It´s nothing that obvious.  And when I think about what I miss about my life in New York City, aside from my friends, my bathtub, and pizza by the slice, there is not much I can name.

So I found it interesting to make the realization that, below the surface, there is a whole lot of adjusting going on, and that it takes this much time.  After all, it was my idea to come here for the year.  I am hardly one of those “trailing spouses” one hears so much about who gets dragged from country to country for their (usually “her”) partner’s job, caught in an endless cycle of setting up home and working to create some sort of normalcy in a foreign land.

Perhaps it’s the word “shock” that I have a hard time with.  A shock is sudden, jolting, noticeable.  For me, it’s been much more stealthy.  And yet it’s there.  Even if you are the architect of the change that occurs in your life, it’s still change.

Sweet Potatoes, and More Mushrooms

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 8

I was unprepared for how chilly it was this morning when I left the house at 8, headed to yoga.  I tend to dress for the weather of the previous day, which doesn’t work so well given how variable it can be here.  There’s no New York 1 here, so I guess I have to start checking weather.com.  On my way from Plaça Catalunya to meet my friend Jodi for lunch, I passed a street vendor selling roasted chestnuts and… roasted sweet potatoes.  I asked him whether folks just eat them whole, and he said “sure.”  If you got a bad spud, it would be pretty useful as a handwarmer, too.

After school, C.C. and I dropped Milo at soccer but it felt too chilly to sit there and wait.  So we went to Dr. Coffee for some hot chocolate as thick as pudding.  Good stuff.

As it turned out, we never got the mushrooms made yesterday for our guests.  Although it felt like we cooked for hours, we just ran out of time.  I decided to re-purpose them and made a lentil and wild mushroom hash with poached eggs.  Syrupy balsamic and fragrant olive oil drizzled on top.  Really good vegetarian dinner.  I have too much Spanish homework to do to give you the recipe right now, but let me know if you want it and I’ll be sure to include it soon.

Photos of the Day

Those are sweet potatoes under that blue cloth.  C.C. is finishing her dragon book an about to dig into the hot chocolate

The Pope is in town!

Human Highlighter Suit Tally: 8

I did not leave the house once today.  It was a beautiful day, but somehow it just didn’t happen.  The Pope was in town, although I do not think he had anything to do with my confinement.  For a week or more, folks have been hanging yellow and white papal flags out their windows in honor of his visit, although truth be told there were far fewer papal flags than there were on September 11, the national day of Catalunya.  Which tells you something right there.

The Pope visited La Sagrada Familia today, a church that is widely recognized to be architect Antonio Gaudi’s masterwork.  Construction on the church started in 1882, and will not be finished for another 20 years or so.  From what I gather, the Pope did some hocus pocus today that consecrated the building and made it an actual church.  We stayed away—I don’t go in much for crowds, and anyway I saw a different Pope conduct Easter morning years ago in the Vatican.

Back home, we spent the morning cooking lunch for our local friends Iu, Nerea and their two children Joan and Iban.  Alec made the fisherman’s stew—suquet—that went over big once before.  It’s a risk to cook Catalan food for a Catalan, but I think we passed the test.  At Milo’s behest, I made an apple cake that he had made with his kindergarten class.  Of course, Milo does not eat apple cake, but he was pretty proud of the recipe he had illustrated and brought home.  Unfortunately, the recipe did not say what size pan to use, what temperature to cook it at, or how long to cook it.  I figured I’d turn the oven to 350 and start checking after a half hour, and it came out fine.

We also made chocolate chip cookies.  Joan and Iban had never had them and let me tell you, it is a powerful thing to give a child the first chocolate chip cookie he has ever eaten.  It’s magic.  I have a distinct memory of giving a friend’s 2 year old son chocolate mousse from a spoon.  His eyes got huge and he started circling the table asking everyone for more.  It was like what I imagine it would be like to watch someone get hooked on crack.  They didn’t invent the word “chocoholic” for nothing.

Photos of the Day

Our resident paleontologist, and the suquet