It All Comes Out in the Wash

SPANISH LAUNDRY

Clothes dryers are a rarity in Southern Spain (possibly rare in Northern Spain, too).  Self-service launderettes are apparently rare here, as well. A week’s worth of laundry done by a professional service costs between 18 and 43 euros — that’s between $27 and $65 (local laundry as opposed to El Corte Ingles), so that’s not a practical option, although it’s what we did during our entire hotel stay. For large items (like linens and towels), finding a self-service laundry in the neighborhood is still a priority for us.  But, we have an excellent clothes washer in the kitchen and a clothesline outside the window.  

SO MANY NEW EXPERIENCES.

Even our ritzy friend, Albert, does his laundry this way.  He can’t comprehend why Americans would "ruin" our clothes (and waste all that electricity) to machine-dry.  So, today, I took another step toward becoming Sevillano.  I did a load of shirts and hung them on the line.  We’ll have to pick up a drying rack for the bathroom.  In the’70s, I remember sitting and drinking beer in my sister’s backyard in South Yorkshire while I watched her hang clothes on the line.  This is the first time I’ve ever done it myself.  Such incredible excitement!

DEAR JOHN

Before leaving California, we contracted with a shipping company to send to Spain our five pieces of furniture and multiple boxes of cooking supplies, books, art, and other miscellany.  We obtained quotes from two different companies.  The first company was huge, with an international body that handled everything from start to finish. The price tag was also huge. 

The second company was still quite large, but contracted out the components of the move, shipping to England where the Customs process was a breeze and then drop-shipping to Spain.  Their quote was about one third the price.  In our situation (a lack of independent wealth), it was a no-brainer.

And that’s exactly what it’s turned out to be, a process with no brains.  Jerry was told delivery around August 1 would be no problem.  The rep in Florida was a very nice guy, but not quick to respond to Jerry’s emails or phone calls.  He always had some good reason for his delay. And he was always very prompt to respond or follow up when a payment was required.

 THE VIEW FROM ONE OF THE BALCONIES THURSDAY NIGHT — WHILE I TALKED TO THE SHIPPER.

Once the items were shipped, Jerry began to work with a rep from a partner company in England.  He had the same first name as the rep in Florida (let’s just call them “John”).  He also had the same response-time problem, along with the same ability to have a good excuse on hand. English John asked if a large truck could get to the address. Jerry said that no large truck could fit anywhere near our street.  It took weeks of calls from Jerry to English John to get a delivery date.  On or around 1 September, we were finally told.

Thursday night at 11, I received a call from the driver saying he would be here around 9 Friday morning.  He asked me if there was room on our street for his very large lorry.  I told him absolutely not.  In the morning, the driver rang our bell.  He had walked about a half mile from where he had left his very, very large lorry. He spoke no Spanish except to ask me when I answered the buzzer in Spanish, “Hoe-lah. Ha-blow in-glaze?” 

This one cannot be blamed on our lack of Spanish competency.

To wind up a long, boring, whiney story, our stuff will be driven to Malaga tomorrow where it will be moved to a smaller truck and sent the two hours back up to be delivered on Friday. Jerry and I wrote a scathing letter (well, scathing is an exaggeration) to the two “Johns” we contracted with.  Frustrating, but obviously not tragic — and still worth the hugely lower price tag.  Less than a week and we’ll have our stuff… we hope!

ON OUR WAY IN FOR LUNCH TODAY.

PAELLA AND TORTILLA

After lounging in bed all morning, we discovered we had no food in the house.  So we went downstairs at noon for breakfast. We came back upstairs, we reviewed and Jerry sent the “Dear Johns” letter, and I had my very satisfying encounter with the clothesline.  

PAELLA, TORTILLA, AND CERVEZA.

A few ours later, we took a stroll in the neighborhood, did some shopping, and then stopped at Café Santa Marta for a late lunch.  They have excellent paella and tortillas (egg and potato “pie” here as opposed to the tortillas of Mexico).  We had both.  Jerry’s two Coca Cola Lites were the most expensive part of the meal.  My beer (a small glass is called “una caña”), Jerry’s sodas, two tapas portions of paella, and our shared tortilla — and the cost was significantly less than a simple lunch at Burker King — and so much better.  Amazing.  And delicious.

THE ARCHWAY OVER THE DOWN ESCALATOR LEADING TO OUR SUPERMARKET.
IN THE FORMER BUS TERMINAL.  JERRY NEEDS TO GET BACK THERE SOON.

Watch Your Language

The last time we went to IKEA (Monday of last week, I think), we had a delightful taxi driver named Paco who talked with us the entire time.  He had a great sense of humor and about 12 cups of coffee worth of energy.  He was originally from Pamplona in the north of Spain. The Spanish he spoke was Castellano, which is the Spanish of my Rosetta Stone language program, and the Spanish of formal business and education. Jerry and I found Paco extremely easy to understand.  We were able to have a very good conversation and Jerry followed quite a bit of it without my needing to translate it all.

NOT CREPE MYRTLE.  AN UNKNOWN (TO US) FLOWERING TREE IN OUR PLAZA.

Paco has lived in Sevilla for 18 years and thinks it is one of the most wonderful cities around (we agree).  But he said that — for at least his first three months in the city — he understood less than half of what the locals said to him.  He joked about Sevillanos barely pronouncing their single “r’s” instead of rolling them like he does.  He complained they spoke so fast he couldn’t tell where one word ended and the next began.  It sounded like he was describing New Yorkers and I told him so, which he found very funny.  It was encouraging for us to realize we could actually understand a lot of Spanish when spoken slowly and not in local dialect.  Paco’s enunciation was precise and beautiful.  (Is it really too much to ask that everyone speak to us as if they are narrating a documentary?)

Like Paco, we will have to get used to the local dialects. And, unfortunately, by the time we do get used to “Southern Spanish,” we will have already made our way tortuously through all our major purchases, moves, and installations.

FINALLY RAIN.  WET STREETS FOR THE TV INSTALLER TO SLOSH THROUGH.

In the meantime, Digital+ (the cable television company that truly provides exceptional service) was here this morning during a brief, but beautiful, downpour and I was reminded once again that I no longer demonstrate the communication skills of a semi-intelligent adult.  The installer spoke a dialect of Southern Spain that enabled me to understand possibly two out of every 10 words.  The only thing I immediately understood clearly was when he looked at the outlets behind the TV and said we didn’t have what we needed.  Apparently we need to have some kind of antenna ("satellite") installed either on the roof or on the outside wall near the TV outlet.  I took him downstairs to the lawyers’ office.  Neither of the lawyers were in; their assistant called the boss and he told her it would be absolutely fine for us to install something outside but he needed to be here to approve where it goes.  Perfectly understandable.  He’ll be back tomorrow morning to check it out and give us the nod.

AT LEAST WE ARE NOW CAPABLE OF ORDERING A MEAL.
MOUTH-WATERING SALMON, ASPARAGUS, AND PIMENTOS AT CAFE ALAMEDA MONDAY NIGHT.

Out of the next 40 words from the installer, I understood the eight that explained that Digital+ did not do the antenna and outlet installation.  We’d need to get someone else for that before Digital+ comes back to plug their box into our wall outlet to give us our service.  (I guess I lied.  It appears my ratio of words spoken to words understood was much greater than 10:2.)  

After the installer left, I was ready to throw in the towel and head back to Movistar/Telefonica for simple cable — and wait seven or more years for their installer to show up.  I used a few choice English words I'm not supposed to use and then, fortunately, Jerry talked me off the ledge.  He went online and found someone who installs everything Digital+ needs.  I'll just have to attempt to communicate with this new Sevillano.  Maybe I'll be lucky and he'll have grown up in Northern Spain.  

So, another thing that should have been easy to accomplish is made slightly more difficult because I don’t speak Spanish well, and then even more difficult because I don’t readily understand “Southern" Spanish.

I wonder if we should have moved to Pamplona.

ON SECOND THOUGHT, MAYBE PAMPLONA'S NOT SUCH A GOOD IDEA.  EVEN MORE BULL.  

Six Strikes, You're Out

We have been sleeping in our apartment since Sunday night.  It's bliss.  Our "stuff" is supposed to arrive from California via England via Madrid Thursday.  We can't wait for that to happen. 

We now have wireless connectivity for one of our laptops.  Via Vodafone.  I finally gave up on Movistar after phoning Monday morning and being told that someone would call me Monday, and then going into the store Monday afternoon to be told that if someone didn't call me Monday night, they would probably call me Tuesday. 

Since this had been going on since Thursday; and since this was my sixth visit to Movistar and I still had no contract; and since I had stopped off at Vodafone in the morning and learned that if we signed up with them for internet, we would have immediate wireless connectivity even though the hardwire installation might take more than three weeks; and since I found a cable company that could give us more channels (also immediately); and since when I told the sales rep at Movistar all this, she just shrugged her shoulders... I said thanks but we wouldn't be signing a contract with them and I moved on.  Movistar struck out.  But, in case you don't know, it's really only three strikes and you're out in American baseball.

LOVED THE UNIFORM BUT, AT THE AGE OF 5, I COULDN'T HAVE TOLD YOU THE RULES OF THE GAME.

Vodafone was true to their word.  The only problem is we can't seem to get the modem to work for us both.  So, Jerry has connectivity.  I share his computer as needed.  And I go over to Starbucks for a Frapuccino and 45 minutes of free WiFi.  That's where I am right now.

On Friday, I bought a new permanent smart phone to replace the cheap, temporary, basic phone I've had for the past few weeks.  But, because I kept my number and changed service providers (from Yoigo to Vodafone), my smart phone and my internet connection that comes with it will not be live until Friday at two. Government regulations.  I didn't realize that and couldn't understand why I had no service on my new phone.  Miguel at Vodafone explained it to me.  I'm sure the sales rep who sold me the phone last week would have explained that to me, as well, and it was simply lost in translation.

WHICH BRINGS ME BACK TO BASEBALL

Several years ago, our Norwegian cousin Jon Olaf asked Jerry to explain the game of baseball.  It's not an extremely complex game, we thought.  It would be fun and simple to explain, we thought. 

EXPLAINING BASEBALL, IN NORWEGIAN,
TO BONNIE THE DOG.

Jerry began by telling Jan Olaf that there are two teams with nine players each.  There are nine innings in a game, with three outs per inning. 

"What's an inning?" asked Jon Olaf. 

Jerry attempted to explain an inning.  That wasn't too difficult. 

But then, "What's an out?" 

Jerry tried to explain that one way of getting "out" was to get three strikes.

"What's a strike?" 

Jerry discussed the very basics of strikes — the swing-and-miss kind and the strike-zone kind — and that if you got four balls before you got three strikes you would walk. 

First, Jan Olaf laughed at the idea of anyone having to walk anywhere with four balls. 

But then he wondered where one would be walking... And... "They use more than one ball?" 

Explaining Spanish phones, internet, and TV to me is kind of like explaining American baseball to Jan Olaf.   

Except that Jan Olaf was fluent in English.

Hurricane Irene and the Dowager Duchess Face Off

JERRY AND I WITH THE DOWAGER DUCHESS ON HER 80TH BIRTHDAY IN 2007.

Jerry and I just watched a live broadcast via MSNBC.  The reporter was standing on the Coney Island Boardwalk just down the street from my mother's apartment.  The view was from the exact location of a photo in my 5 July post.

MY VIEW IN JULY.  THE FIBERGLASS GUY WITH HIS FIBERGLASS BURGER
HAS A WHOLE LOT OF SHAKIN' GOIN' ON TODAY.

My mother's neighborhood has had a mandatory evacuation in anticipation of Hurricane Irene.  My mother and many of her neighbors, however, stayed put.  They usually feel invincible from the weather, living in their high-rise apartments.  My mother could go further into Brooklyn to stay with her sister who has had home care for a few years, living with the advanced stages of dementia.  My mother loves her sister but didn't think she could cope with staying with her.  Her other option was to go to one of three shelters designated for people in her neighborhood.  That was even less appealing to my mother, the "Dowager Duchess."

SIMILAR VIEW THIS MORNING.

Many of my mother's friends are staying home as well.  Her next-door neighboor is 89 and is in poor health.  She refuses to go to her niece's home away from the ocean.  Too many impossible stairs to climb.  My 84-year-old mother is going to take care of her, if she should need any help.  They live on the 17th floor and the winds are supposed to be worse up high.  The central hall is completely interior with no windows.  My mother says they'll just drag chairs out there if they need to. But, my mother is not at all concerned.  She worries my brother doesn't eat enough.  She worries Jerry and I spend too much money.  She worries she won't get the self-defense class she plans to take this semester at Kingsborough Community College.  But she doesn't worry about earthquakes, hurricanes, or any other natural disasters. She's a New Yorker.

The Shortest Distance Between Two Points... Does Not Exist in Sevilla

There really are very few straight lines in Sevilla.  Well, that's not entirely true.  There are many straight lines in Sevilla.  Each one, however, is brief and connects with another straight line going in an entirely different direction.

PUERTA DE CARMONA.  ONE BLOCK AWAY FROM OUR HOTEL.

STATUE OF THE ARTIST FRANCISCO DE ZURBARAN.  PLAZA DE LOS PILATOS.
IT TOOK US 25 MINUTES TO FIND IT IN JANUARY.  WE WERE ALWAYS 5 MINUTES AWAY.

Adding to the confusion of the crooked streets is the fact that streets change their names constantly.  It's no wonder we keep ending up at the Metropol Parasol when we think we're heading to the river

PASSING THE HOSTAL ATENAS.  CARS AND PEDESTRIANS TAKE TURNS.

AFTER DODGING THE CARS, FOLLOWING THAT ALLEY ON THE RIGHT.

I finally, four days ago, figured out a shortcut when walking between our hotel and our apartment.  It's only taken me the better part of a month.  It's a much more pleasant walk and cuts out quite a bit of ground.

AT THE ENTRY TO THE ALLEY.  IGLESIA SAN ILDEFONSO.  BEGUN IN 1794.

ONLY PEDESTRIANS DOWN THIS ALLEY.   CHURCH OF SAN PEDRO BECKONS. 
BUILT BY THE MOORS AND MODERNIZED IN THE LATE 1300s.

I thought I had it all figured out a few times in recent weeks by studying the map before leaving  the hotel. But those shortcuts always doubled my travel time. The photos taken on my walk today clearly illustrate why it takes so long to get somewhere.

I WAS HOPING THAT THIS STREET MIGHT TAKE ME SOMEWHERE.

Four days ago I decided to head down the tiny pedestrian alley that I always knew for certain would not take me where I needed to go.  And there I was!

SO NARROW AT ONE POINT, MY SHOULDERS NEARLY TOUCH BOTH WALLS.
AT THE END OF THIS SHORT "STREET" IS THE METROPOL PARASOL.
AFTER THAT, IT ALL MAKES SENSE... TO ME AT LEAST.

Coming Out of the Dark

My friend Carole thinks this should be designated a holiday.  So I've decided that from this day hence, 26 August will be known as the "Dia de la Luz" (Day of the Light).  Jerry and I will have to get ourselves a paso so we can be processed through the streets of Sevilla every year on the backs of eight (at least) burly young men.

In case you've missed my point, we have electricity in our apartment!

ONE OF THE BANDS WE SAW ACCOMPANYING ONE OF THE VIRGINS IN JULY.
I MIGHT HAVE THEM AUDITION FOR THE FIRST ANNUAL "DIA DE LA LUZ" IN 2012.

Now, I'm waiting — for two days — for Movistar installation to phone.  I'm learning what "very quickly" means in Movistar-speak.  No landline.  No internet.  No TV.  But we have luz!!!  And there's a Starbucks a few streets away with free WiFi.  We'll manage.

Less Strange, Still in the Dark

THE KEEPER OF
THE PAPERWORK.

We were back at the Foreigners Office again this afternoon.  Our bag-on-wheels was filled with our passports; our visas; and every single piece of paper (in duplicate, triplicate, or quadruplicate) we have filled out, signed, had translated, notarized or apostiled, and then stamped by the Los Angeles Consulate, Customs, or one or two places in Sevilla.  We were told last time that we would only need four items for this visit, but we weren't taking any chances.

We also brought the form (one of those aforementioned four items) we were given two weeks ago by the Foreigners Office.  We went to a nearby bank the other day, paid our 15 euros, and watched as the form was stamped, scanned, and registered.  It was a tremendous relief when the woman at the bank went online to look us up using our NIEs (Numero de Identidad de Extranjeros, our Foreign Identity Numbers) and easily found us in the NIE database.  We thought that was a good sign.  We figured we were ready to face La Rubia, Thing 1 or Thing 2 — or even Thing 3 again if we were allowed direct access this time!

DONE!

Our appointment was during a range of time, from 3:30 to 6:00 this afternoon.  So, we taxied over and got in line at 3:21 and waited for the doors to reopen after siesta, this time fully understanding the check-in process.

We were given our numbers.  They began distributing with ticket #10.  We were 18 and 19.  We sat in the waiting room for less than 10 minutes until our numbers were called.  We then waited in the next room (where Things 2, 3, and 4 worked) for about 3 minutes.  And then we met Thing 2.  He didn't look up.  He didn't smile when I said, "buenas tardes," but he did at least return the greeting.  I gave him our forms that indicated we had appointments and we were there to continue the residency card process.  He didn't look at me and muttered in Spanish.  Well, what are you here for?  I told him we had appointments to continue the process of obtaining our residency cards.  Without another word, he began taking documents from me.  He only needed four documents (we had been correctly informed and we were overly prepared).  He took two of our new photos and trimmed them to the correct size in a nifty little contraption.  I commented on how much I liked the contraption and we then became friends.  Before I knew it, he was done with my paperwork, handed me a receipt and began to work on Jerry's.  I joked again about the contraption (telling him how much I love contraptions) and he was then truly my friend.  He showed me Thing 3's contraption, which was much more contemporary and he complained that his was an antique.  I told him I was an antique, so I liked his better.  He laughed out loud.  He told us we would receive notification (an official appointment letter) within about 25 days when it was time to come pick up our cards. He then bid us both a very warm good-bye.  We were done in about 35 minutes and went to Starbucks to celebrate with Frapucinnos and large pieces of expensive and stale chocolate cake. But we ate it anyway.  Because we were happy.

IRONY. THERE IS "LUZ" IN THE REST OF THE BUILDING.
BUT THE BULB OUTSIDE OUR DOOR NEEDS REPLACING!

ABOUT THE LUZ

I had a funny conversation with the lawyer at 11:00 this morning.  It made me appreciate that, although he may not work with our same sense of urgency, the "luz" company (Endesa) is not entirely innocent.  The lawyer said he phoned Endesa yesterday and was told he couldn't call again until Friday.  This was because on Monday they informed him it could take up to four days for them to get back to the apartment to turn on the lights, and Friday will be four days.  They had committed to turning on the lights no later than Friday, and therefore (he laughed as he said this) they allowed him the right to phone Friday and not before.

But, the truly exciting news is that the lawyer phoned me again at noon while I prepared a draft of this post (before heading over to the Foreigners' Office).  The man from Endesa will be there for the "luz" Friday afternoon at 4.  Is it possible we will be home this weekend?!?  Let's hope this light at the end of the tunnel is not just the headlight of an oncoming train!

The Poplars of Hercules

HERCULES AND JULIUS CAESAR WELCOME VISITORS TO LA ALAMEDA.
THE FIRST OF SEVERAL COOLING FOUNTAINS IN WHICH TO PLAY CAN BE SEEN AT CENTER.

The Quadalquivir River (Sevilla's river) used to run right through the city center in what is now La Alameda de Hercules, an enormous plaza in the center of the city.

THE RED AWNING IS CAFE ALAMEDA, WHERE WE HAD AN EXCEPTIONAL DINNER LAST NIGHT.

The river through that area was cut off by a damn in 1383 and then, in 1574, the Count of Barajas drained the remaining water, built irrigation channels and fountains, and planted trees.  The alameda trees (poplars in English) give the plaza — and the neighborhood — its name.

ANOTHER FOUNTAIN.  ONE OF A FEW PLAYGROUNDS AND MANY CAFES IN BACKGROUND.

Last night, after IKEA made their fourth delivery to our apartment (the apartment without the "luz"... maybe tomorrow?), I assembled the slats for Jerry's main bed (my third set of slats; I'm now a pro), we picked up our new sheets and towels from the laundry, and we then went to dinner.

THE LIONS AND SHIELDS OVERSEEING ANOTHER REFRESHING FOUNTAIN.

At Jerry's inspired suggestion, we broke from tradition and did not walk over to Carmela in Santa Maria La Blanca.  Instead, we walked over to La Alameda, which is only about 5 minutes away from our apartment.

THE REMAINING ROMAN RUINS TODAY.
CALLE MARMOLES (MARBLE STREET) IN THE BARRIO SANTA CRUZ.

There are four columns that mark off a promenade through the trees of La Alameda.  Two columns were retrieved from a nearby Roman temple.  Two are "contemporary" reproductions made in 1574 (after one of the original Roman columns was broken during moving).

CASA DE LAS SIRENAS (MERMAID HOUSE) ON THE ALAMEDA.
ONCE A PRIVATE PALACE, NOW A GOVERNMENT EXPOSITION CENTER.

ONE OF TWO MERMAIDS.

So, the two columns at the southern end of the square are the original Roman columns topped by Hercules (according to myth, the founder of Sevilla) and Julius Caesar (referred to as the restorer of Sevilla during Roman rule).  Those "contemporary reproductions" at the north end of the square were topped in the 18th century by lions with shields, representing Sevilla and Spain.

Through much of the 20th century, La Alameda was one of the poorest neighborhoods in Sevilla. Plagued with drugs and prostitution, in 1989, there were around 35 brothels. Until the later part of the 20th century, it was one of the most often flooded areas of the city.  But improvements have been made and flooding is now a significantly low risk.  In recent years, it has become a very nice neighborhood with some of the best nightlife in Sevilla.  It's now a thriving, diverse, and kind-of-bohemian neighborhood (which of course means there's a large gay population).

THE ECLECTIC EAST SIDE OF THE PLAZA. RESTAURANTS, CLUBS, A GARDEN SHOP, AND
DOBLEZERO, A SHOP THAT PROVIDES EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO GROW CANNABIS AT HOME.

Oh, How I Wish That It Would Rain

Last week, I titled a post "Be Careful What You Wish For." Today reinforced that statement. It has been hot in Sevilla. This is not unusual. We know that it is always hot in Sevilla in July and August.  But, we haven't seen a drop of rain since our arrival 14 July.  So, I had been thinking, "Wouldn't it be nice to have a little rain to freshen the air and wash the pavement."

Yesterday was 41 degrees (106F). Today dropped below 31 (88F). I thought it would feel cool after all this heat, so I suggested we take a walk to the plaza in front of the Museum of Fine Arts. There's an art show every Sunday morning with local artists displaying and selling their work.  We could then find a tapas bar nearby for lunch and we could then go to the movies. There's a movie theater a couple of streets away from there that shows movies in their original languages. There's always at least one in English.

PLAZA MUSEO (MUSEUM PLAZA) WITH THE MUSEUM IN THE BACKGROUND.

We had breakfast at the hotel, I hustled Jerry out of the room early (well, 11:00), and we walked the 20 minutes or so to the museum.  Before we left the room, I read online that there was a 20 percent chance of rain.  This made it a bit more muggy than we had anticipated, but it was definitely significantly cooler.  We loved the sound of thunder in the distance as we walked by the Metropol Parasol.  But, the chance of rain was only 20 percent so, no big deal.  We arrived at the plaza under dark and cloudy skies.  That helped to cool the air, so we were grateful.

WILL HAVE TO GET BACK ANOTHER DAY TO CHECK OUT THIS GUY'S ETCHINGS.

We immediately came upon an artist named Mercedes Paz.  She had beautiful paintings and drawings, many with a flamenco theme.  The subjects were interesting and edgy: dancers caught in repose and looking less exotic, groups and individuals caught behind the scenes when no one was supposed to be looking, flamenco dancers past their prime.  We fell in love with one very large watercolor crayon drawing of a proud, aging, and less-than-svelte dancer.  As we talked to the artist — and learned that she lived in Los Angeles 30 years ago and has a friend who owns an antique store in Santa Barbara — it began to rain.

GREAT ATTITUDE.

Fortunately, Mercedes had shrink-wrapped all her drawings and water colors.  Although it didn't rain heavily, it came down steadily enough that all the artists packed up their things for the short-term. We sheltered under the huge fig trees in the plaza to protect our precious purchase (it was surprisingly inexpensive, by the way).

IT'S A SUNDAY IN LATE AUGUST.  EVERYTHING IS CLOSED AS I HEAD TO THE APARTMENT.

Jerry and I, wet and a little uncomfortable, decided to head over to our apartment a few minutes away to drop off our first Sevillano original.  The rain lessened as we walked and the sun came out.  The sun caused the streets and buildings to steam and this 31-degree day was suddenly much less tolerable than the recent 41-degree days.  I headed upstairs and dropped off the drawing.  Our moods and shirts had  dampened along with the day.  We took a cab back to our little air-conditioned room.  I sure hope this is our last Sunday in the hotel.

POSTSCRIPT:
I went back out to the plaza and our apartment this afternoon to take some pictures.  Nobody, but nobody, is gonna rain on my parade! (And I have now renewed my gay card for another year. I wish getting a residency card were that easy.)

Home Away from Home... Away from Home... Away from Home

SANTA MARIA LA BLANCA THIS QUIET SATURDAY NIGHT.

Jerry and I have been to Restaurante Carmela in the plaza of Santa Maria La Blanca between five and six nights per week during the past five weeks.  It's not that we enjoy eating out three meals a day (although we have been known to do so at times even back in California); it's just that we don't have a home yet in which to eat.  I have fantasies of enjoying my first breakfast at home Tuesday morning.  We'll see if that actually happens.  At least dinner at Carmela is consistently good. We usually get tapas portions and enjoy a little feast.  Oh, and have I mentioned the mojitos? Yes, I suppose I have.

ALBONDIGAS CON LANGOSTINOS Y CHOCOS.
PRAWN AND SMALL SQUID MEATBALLS.

The plaza is large and airy, and the breezes are usually refreshing even on the hottest of nights.  Yesterday and today were both over 41 degrees (that's 106F).  Last night, when we had dinner at 10:00, it was still 38 (over 101F).  Whatever breeze existed, and there wasn't much, was in the plaza of Santa Maria La Blanca.  We were grateful for it.  Sunday through Wednesday is supposed to be 29–33 degrees (84–93F); we might need our sweaters.

ARROZ CON CURRY, GAMBAS, Y SETAS.
RICE WITH CURRY, KING PRAWNS, AND MUSHROOMS.

We have been getting to know the servers at Carmela.  We know so far that two are studying at the University of Sevilla.  One is avidly pursuing the English language; another is studying law after puttering around in liberal arts for two years.  Another server is clearly in love; you can see it on her face when "he" stops by for a visit.  And then there's the one who worked double shifts leading up to her vacation at the beach this week with her husband; it's their first wedding anniversary.

BOMBITAS DE QUESO CAMEMBERT Y MERMELADA DE TOMATE.
CRUSTED CAMEMBERT CHEESE WITH TOMATO MARMALADE.

It's nice to have someplace familiar, comfortable, and welcoming to visit every night. They make us feel like we're home, even though we are still not home.  They joke with us about our "luz." They all gave us warm anniversary wishes.  And they teach us a new Spanish word here and there, and laugh at some of the things we say.

"Balls!" said the queen.

"If I had two, I'd be king."

Before arriving in Spain, I knew that "cajones" meant "drawers"; "cajas" meant "boxes"; and "cojones" were "balls" (the ones usually found on the male anatomy, not the kind you play with... well, never mind). Last week, while I was telling one of the servers our IKEA saga — that the apartment was filled with furniture, but it was all in boxes — I got my words mixed up.  I'm sure I don't have to tell you what I told her we had all over the house.  There was quite a bit of laughter around the service bar for the remainder of the night.

SOLOMILLO SOLO TUYO.
SIRLOIN WITH POTATOES, SWEETENED ONIONS, AND MOJO SAUCE.
(FOR THE FIRST THREE WEEKS, WE THOUGHT THE ONIONS WERE ORANGE MARMALADE. SO GOOD!)

JUST DESSERTS
After dinner, we always stop just outside the plaza on a little street called Puerta de la Carne ("Meat Gate") for freshly made ice cream.  There are multiple ice cream shops, but Heladería Villar is our favorite.  They serve a huge variety of flavors, freshly made. And the owners and the one staff person are as friendly and charming as they can be.  Jerry has Belgian chocolate — every night.  He broke with tradition once, accidentally, and will not do so again.  I try to vary.  The last two nights, I've had half Belgian chocolate and half mango.

BELGIAN CHOCOLATE.

They have the best pistachio and there's a date ice cream that is so natural it tastes like you're eating fresh dates, which in my opinion is not a very refreshing ice cream flavor.  Amazingly, we have both lost weight since being here.  Although we're indulging, we're not eating large portions.  And I suppose it's also partly because we (well, I, mostly) walk miles every day.  The heat certainly encourages the burning of excess calories.

MANGO AND BELGIAN CHOCOLATE.

ANYTHING FOR A BUCK... OR A EURO
I probably should also mention the various and sundry "annoyers" and street entertainers we see every night.  There's the extremely pushy and unpleasant shoeshine guy.  He looks like a pervert, just about crawling under tables to blatantly ogle everyone's feet.  Jerry's sneakers and my sandals are, thankfully, always a huge disappointment and he quickly moves on. When Carmela was in town (I assume she's at the beach now), she would make him leave.  He never did so quietly.

As for music, there's the very shrill flutaphone player who has not added to her dismal repertoire in five weeks; but, come to think of it, that's probably a good thing.  Another, a recorder player, performs while on roller blades and is training his very devoted dog to not bark incessantly while he plays.  He's actually good and plays some Simon & Garfunkel, which makes me happy — as long as the dog behaves.  Then there's the very well-dressed but not very talented accordion player who performs "Cielito Lindo" — every night.  It was bad enough when the long-suffering mariachis in Old Town San Diego and Tijuana received incessant requests for that song from the tourists. How many times can a performer take requests for "Cielito Lindo" without going bonkers? But no one is asking this guy for "Cielito Lindo."  Should I pay him (and the flutaphone player) to stop?

We don't tip them all and we don't tip every night.  And, even though some are talented, hearing the same musicians perform the same tunes every night for five weeks does get old.  So, I was really happy to see a new duo arrive Friday night.  These two young women — one androgynous, who made a statement with a huge pompadour of flaming red hair — and the other, barefoot and in a chic little dress, were a really pleasant surprise.  The redhead strummed simply on the guitar while the chic one sang in French.  The singer does Edith Piaf and does her well.  Her voice was powerful, pure, and beautiful to hear.  They performed one number and received applause (which doesn't happen) and then, appearing embarrassed, passed the hat (well, walked around with a tiny cardboard box) before moving on to the next restaurant in the plaza; unlike the accordion and the wandering flutes, their sound can't carry over as much area at one time.  The song they performed next door was even more beautiful.  They were back tonight and even better.  They received even more applause everywhere they went.  And they were much more comfortable, and very successful, passing the hat.

THE REINCARNATION OF EDITH PIAF.

So now I don't just look forward to going back to Carmela and Heladería Villar, I also look forward to the possibility of some new and good music.  Oh, yeah, and the mojitos.