Olga Chickaboomskya, Prima Ballerina

I have been surprised to see Spanish TV ads (not many) for Halloween and also some stores in Sevilla carrying costumes and decorations.  I don't know if kids actually go around trick-or-treating, but I guess we'd better buy a bag of our favorite candy just in case.  If no one shows up, we'll just finish it all ourselves (we've done it before and, although it's a hardship, we will do it again if we have to).

When we lived in Connecticut, Jerry and I were invited to a costume-required Halloween party.  Poor Jerry loves costume parties.  I say "Poor Jerry," because he's married to someone who does not share his love for costume parties.  I tried — a little — that one time.  I had found a devilish Venetian mask years before and decided to take it off the shelf and build a costume around it.

Jerry is a huge fan (as am I) of the Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo, a brilliantly talented and hilarious all-male ballet troupe that dresses in drag and performs and parodies the ballet classics.  We have seen them perform several times.  Inspired by Les Trocks, Jerry decided to go to the party as Olga Chickaboomskya, retired Russian prima ballerina.

One day Jerry left his office at Yale University, wearing a very serious gray suit and very serious silk tie, and headed over to the very serious dance supply store.  He said to the three women who worked there, "OK, you have one hour to make me look like a prima ballerina."  I'm sure this was a first in 1980s New Haven.  The women immediately loved him.

APPLYING THE LEE PRESS-ON NAILS.
JERRY STILL DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO SIT LIKE A LADY.

They started with the tights.  They actually had his size — well close.  The leotard was, amazingly, no problem.  And the largest tulle tutu just fit around his waist.  The ballet slippers were a challenge.  Jerry wore a size 13; the slippers only went up to 12.  But he figured he wasn't really going to dance and he wouldn't be on his feet very long, so he would manage.  He finished with a feather boa.

WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO? SHOOT THE SWAN? THIS LOVELY? MY SWAN?

At K-Mart in our little town of Guilford, Jerry found $1 clip-on earrings with giant "rubies." He bought Lee Press-On Nails.  Jerry has the biggest hands I have ever seen.  The fake nails didn't completely cover as intended, so he had this odd little colored piece of plastic centered on each of his own nails.  He found a turban and a huge "diamond" broach he could pin to the front.  A friend loaned him a large Russian-looking cape.  When he returned from K-Mart, he tried on the clip-on earrings and one of the clips immediately broke.  He went right back to K-Mart and explained that the earring broke the very first time he put it on.  (The man has no shame.)  They gave him a replacement pair.

NOT READY TO LEAVE MY COMFORT ZONE.

The fun truly began (well, and ended) when we got ready for the party.  Our friends Cesar and Daisy, who were not going to the party, came over.  Daisy was our designated make-up artist.

YES, I TRULY FELT I WAS FINALLY IN HELL.

We set up a stool in the kitchen and Daisy went to work.

Cesar and I stood off to the side.  Daisy worked for a long time.

"Daisy, put more color on his eyes," we coached.

A few minutes later, "Put more color on his eyes, Daisy."

"I did!"

"Daisy, it's not enough."

"Close your eyes," she ordered as she slapped Jerry on the shoulder.

Jerry did so and we saw vivid, sky blue upper lids.

"Now open them."

He did so and we saw no color at all.

She complained, "His eyes are so damned deep-set, you can't even see the make-up!"

"Spread it outside and above his eye lids," we instructed. "Make it really obvious."

"But that would be tacky," she said... and then burst out laughing at the inanity of that statement.

She slathered on more and more of her expensive make-up — heavy lipstick, a beauty mark, heavy blush.  None of it was really easy to see.  I knew Jerry was a hunk, but I had never appreciated how heavily masculine his features were.  There was nothing pretty about him (well, except that the blue eye shadow really brought out his sky-blue eyes).

SEE HOW THE MAKE-UP BROUGHT OUT HIS BLUE EYES?
THE LORD OF DARKNESS LOOKS LIKE A DEER CAUGHT IN HEADLIGHTS.

But he stood, posed, and the vision was complete.

OLGA DIDN'T YET KNOW SHE WAS DRIVING.

I was so uncomfortable being in costume that I wouldn't even drive the 15 minutes into New Haven.  I made Olga get behind the wheel.  He had to shift gears while being careful not to knock off a Lee Press-On nail.  The party was a bit of a bust.  Jerry eventually removed his ballet slippers; it took 10 minutes for his toes to unbend.  He spent much of the remainder of the evening complaining that he couldn't wait to get out of "these damned panty hose."

I FORGOT TO INCLUDE THIS SHOT IN THE ORIGINAL POST.

I wished we had stayed home with Cesar and Daisy.  Maybe the whole thing would have been more fun had I had a better attitude.  But I don't think so.

I am so glad no one has invited us to a costume party this year.

An American Meal in a Spanish Kitchen

Jerry has been cooking dinner a bit more often lately.  So, no longer is every one of our meals in Sevilla enjoyed in a restaurant — although, on another recommendation from Ricardo, owner of our electronics and appliance store Casa de las Planchas (House of the Irons), we did have an excellent tapas lunch yesterday at Mesón Olalla in Plaza de la Encarnación.

One of my favorite meals that Jerry used to cook in California was Cinnamon Apple Pork Tenderloin.  Jerry discovered the recipe when he was about to prepare dinner one night in Irvine and I offered to run to the store to pick up some things.  He gave me the list, which included some cut of pork or another and I returned home with a beautiful pork tenderloin.  That was not what Jerry had in mind but, undaunted, he went online and found this pork tenderloin recipe on About.com.  We loved it so much it became one of Jerry's standards.

The other night, Jerry decided to produce the same meal here.  He couldn't find pork tenderloin and he forgot to buy cinnamon.  So, he improvised.

I feel obligated to comment on improvisational cooking.  It is something I cannot do.  If I were again to prepare Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and someone instructed me...

In your microwaveable dish, add 1-1/3 cups hot water.

Pour the pasta from the box into the hot water

(be sure to remove the packet of cheese sauce first).

Stir the pasta and put the uncovered dish in the microwave oven.

Cook for 7–9 minutes on HIGH.

You must stir the pasta every 1–2 minutes so it doesn't stick together.

It has cooked long enough when there is no longer water in the dish.

Make sure to check it often, and do not overcook.

... that is precisely what I would do (although I would have no idea how to know if it was being overcooked until it was in fact overcooked).

But, back to Jerry, someone who can safely improvise in the kitchen. As a side dish for the excellent pork, apples, and raisins, he included another old standby, sauteed cabbage.  And he added a new dish (for us), spinach with raisins and pine nuts.  ¡Increible!

THE RECIPE

Ingredients:

• 1 to 1 1/2 pounds pork tenderloin
• 2 tablespoons cornstarch
• 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 2 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
• 2 cooking apples, peeled, cored and sliced
• 2 tablespoons dried cranberries or raisins

Preparation:

Preheat the oven to 400°. Place the pork tenderloin in a roasting pan or casserole dish. Combine the remaining ingredients in a bowl and stir. Spoon the apple mixture around the pork tenderloin. Cover and bake 30 minutes. Remove the lid and spoon the apple mixture over the tenderloin. Return to the oven and bake 15 to 20 minutes longer, or until pork tenderloin is browned and cooked through. A meat thermometer in the center should register at least 150° to 160°.
Serves 4.

Parking, Snacks, and Kisses

KISSING, CHEEK TO CHEEK
Now that we live in Sevilla, we have learned that the appropriate greeting and farewell to friends (and sometimes acquaintances) is a kiss in the direction of a check.  Not just one cheek.  Both.  When Jerry said good-bye to Margarita Saturday afternoon, he gave her Spanish kisses with a bit of a flourish.  Margarita laughed (we seem to have that effect on her) and looked at me and said.  "He's so snobby!"

We realized we had yet another thing to learn, so asked why his kisses defined him as snobby, and she explained that he didn't even touch her.  His face was somewhere to the right and left of hers as he noisily kissed the air.

So, Jerry tried again.  He held Margarita's shoulders and planted a kiss on each cheek.  She laughed again.

"Well," she said, "That was like you were kissing granny! Come on, Jerry, somewhere in the middle!"

She explained that one SHOULD touch cheeks, but one should NOT touch lips to cheeks.  If you don't touch cheeks, you're being a snob.  If you touch lips to cheeks, you're kissing grandma. 

Jerry gave it another try and was told he had perfected his Sevillano cheek-to-cheek air kiss.

PARKING, CHEEK TO CHEEK
We took a walk this afternoon in the beautiful sunshine and continuing heat.  Granted, it is no longer 40C (104F).  But 31C (88F) is still a bit too hot for hours of walking in the city... especially if you're Jerry.  I must make it clear, however, that we are not complaining (much).  This is a lot better than raw winds, incessant rain, or snow. 

TODAY'S TREAT.  HEAVEN FOR ME (HELL FOR JERRY).

We stopped for tapasitas (not a meal, just a snack) at what turned out to be a low-end restaurant.  The food was nothing to write home (or here) about.  Except for the olives.  I love olives.  Jerry does not.

CALLE SOL (SUN STREET) AS IT MEETS PLAZA SAN ROMAN.

After our tapasitas, while on our walk down one of Sevilla's charming streets, Calle Sol, we passed a temporarily parked car.  The picture says it all.

KISSING THE WALL.  SEVILLANO STYLE.

I Was Born Glamorous

GLAMOROUS AND ALREADY BORED WITH IT ALL.

Another beautiful Saturday in Sevilla.  And our first Saturday as legal residents. 

We rolled out of bed around 9:30, had our first breakfast of Greek yogurt and fruit and then went downstairs to El Sanedrín for our second breakfast of tostadas and café con leche.  I had my half tostada with ham, olive oil, and tomato.  Jerry had his whole tostada with butter and marmalade.  De siempre.  As always. 

While we sat and enjoyed another perfect, sunny morning in Sevilla, Margarita called.  I told her where we were and she joined us about 10 minutes later.  Jerry and I were already having a pleasant morning.  But, seeing Margarita as she headed across the plaza made the sun shine even brighter.

Margarita has lived in many countries.  She travels as often as she can and is enlightened, interested and interesting, funny, kind, charming, well-mannered, free-thinking, independent, and stylish. I think Jerry and I should start a fan club.

ARRIVING.  ON THE PHONE WITH MOM.

We sat and talked for two hours about politics, language, dialects, slang, culture, religion, prejudice, family, roots, tradition.  We laughed often.  If only the world were filled with Margaritas (and her namesake drinks aren't bad either).

Jerry and I had gone downstairs in the cool of the late morning.  I wore jeans and an old cotton sweater, which became much too warm as the plaza heated up. 

As we sat and talked, I realized that not only was I feeling uncomfortably warm, but I also hadn't showered or shaved.  I suddenly felt like a slob.  I apologized to Margarita for my appearance.  Her response as she looked me up and down?  "You?  You were born glamorous!"

Another reason to love Margarita.

We Sevillanos Love a Parade

Yes! Jerry and I are officially Sevillanos.  We took the bus today (in the unseasonable heat) to the Plaza de España to visit the Office of Foreigners.  Our intention was simply to see if they could give us any information on our residency cards, which we had not yet received and which were a bit overdue.

ACROSS FROM THE CATHEDRAL. SOMEHOW MANAGING TO MAKE BEAUTIFUL MUSIC.

We arrived at the office around 4:00 in the afternoon. There was no line outside the office.  There was no one in the waiting room.  There was no one handing out numbered tickets. The guards ignored us when we walked in. I told them what we were there for and they told us to just go into the office (of Things 1, 2, and 3) across the hall.  We did so and were met by three different staff people at their desks and only one customer.  The woman at the first desk immediately greeted us and told us to just step right over to the other available staffer.  He also greeted us pleasantly.

SINGING THE BLUES.  BRILLIANTLY.

I told him why we were there and handed him the receipt I had been given on our last visit in late August.  He looked at my name and immediately began rifling through a box of residency cards.  This was too good to be true.  And then it appeared that it was (too good to be true).  As he flipped through each of the cards in my alphabetical section, my heart began to sink.  There were about 30 cards and he had already flipped through all but three.  But then it happened.  He hesitated at the third card from the end.  He checked the card against my receipt and handed me my very own, official-with-my-hideous-photograph, hard plastic, finger-printed, signed, hologram-emblazoned "PERMISTO DE RESIDENCIA."  I wanted to hug the guy.  He then very quickly found Jerry's card, which was the second one in his section.  Jerry and I beamed. I told the man this was a very important day for us. We thanked him profusely and we left.

GETTING ORGANIZED BEFORE PERSONALLY ESCORTING US FROM PLAZA NUEVA.

Once out on the terrace, Jerry and I high-fived.  We then hugged.  And we then kissed — Spanish style (air kisses to the side of each cheek).  We stopped for a mini celebration of chocolate cake and mango smoothies and then walked home.  To our home.  To the address imprinted on our legal Spanish identification cards!

LEAVING PLAZA NUEVA.  LET THE DRUMS ROLL OUT.

THE MOST JOYOUS DRUMMING, EXPRESSING EXACTLY HOW WE FELT.

It seemed all of Sevilla was out to celebrate and serenade us today.  On the Avenida de la Constitución, we stopped and listened to a talented hammered-dulcimer player (at least I think the rickety old — and beautiful sounding — instrument was a hammered dulcimer).  Next up was an incredible guitar-playing blues singer, beer bottle in hand.  After crossing the Plaza Nueva, we came across a large group of marchers in costume.  We thought it was a political rally but soon learned they were performers representing the International Festival of Sevilla Perfopoesía — poets and poet/performance artists from all over the world here for an annual festival.  We just happened to stumble onto the start of the Perfopoética Parade.  Talk about poetic!

A COLORFUL CELEBRATION TO OFFICIALLY WELCOME US HOME.

A Rose by Any Other Name

.

EARLY (FOR US) THIS MORNING

It's another holiday in Spain (or, more precisely, it is several holidays in Spain).  Since 1987, the first holiday has been called Fiesta Nacional de España, but it began to be observed in 1935 as Dia de la Hispanidad (Day of the Hispanicity), which didn't become an official national holiday until 1981.

THE REMAINS OF COLUMBUS.

The Dia de la Hispanidad was created to commemorate the anniversary of Columbus's pillaging of (excuse me) landing in the New World, which means it's Columbus Day.

It is also the Day of the Armed Forces, which is, I am told, usually commemorated with a military parade in Madrid.  Other than that, there's not a lot of fanfare or flag-waving because it's all overshadowed by another feast day, the Fiesta de Nuestra Señora del Pilar (Day of Our Lady of the Pillar), the patron saint of Spain.

As a matter of fact, two different people told me yesterday that today was a national holiday.  Neither person told me about Fiesta Nacional, Christopher Columbus, or the Armed Forces.  They both told me it was the Fiesta de Nuestra Señora del Pilar.

This morning at around 8, after Jerry and I had decided to snuggle comfortably in bed for another couple of hours, we heard chanting and voices outside.  Once we completed our muttering about the noise, we realized what it was and opened the shutters and doors to the wonderful fragrance of incense and to see another paso in the street below as it headed for the Convent of Santa Rosalía.

THE RETURN JOURNEY BEGINS.

Three hours later, the procession was much larger and included a 50-piece band (Jerry counted) for the return march from the Convent of Santa Rosalía to the Brotherhood of Vera Cruz (about 3 blocks away).  I have great video of the procession and the music, but I haven't been able to convert the video to a format that will open on my Mac (without having to download new software).  So, you'll have to trust me that the band was very good.  I wonder if they're available 29 February 2012 for the first quadrennial Procesión de San Geraldo.

ON THEIR WAY HOME.

El Procesión de San Geraldo

Jerry is a human being filled with inconsistencies.  It is one of the many traits that makes him so especially interesting (i.e., never boring) to me.

He is a perfectionist, precise and careful in all he does.  Except when he's not.

He is masterful with words and language.  Except when he's covering all his ducks or getting all his bases in a row.

And he is extremely outgoing, charming, and social.  Except when he wants to hole up at home for days on end and not have to speak to anyone.

So, given the added challenges he faces currently (and temporarily) with a lack of skills to communicate intelligently in Spanish, it's no surprise that he some days would just prefer to stay home.

AN EXAMPLE
Yesterday, Jerry went to the pharmacy and did well in communicating that he needed to refill some prescriptions.  The pharmacist asked him a question in rapid-fire local dialect.  He thought he understood and, pointing to his head, said he was sorry but he couldn't remember.  "Un momento," he said, as he searched his wallet for the business cards I made up containing all our pertinent information.  He showed the card to the pharmacist and pointed to his phone number. The pharmacist laughed and explained that she had asked for his name (nombre) and not his number (numero).  She also told him that she had been a bit concerned when she thought he didn't remember his name.

So, Jerry has suggested that he might like to become a recluse.  Initially, he said I could "roll him out" once a year just like the locals roll out the statues of Jesus and the multitudes of Virgins.  He suggested that I find at least a dozen very sturdy men to hoist him up, carry him downstairs, and then haul him around town for a couple of hours before hauling him back upstairs.  Of course, he wants to be accompanied by a large band of musicians.  He said I'll just need to go around in advance to put up posters.

When he told Margarita his idea, she thought it was hilarious and suggested the event be called "El Procesión de San Geraldo."  Margarita asked if Jerry had selected a date for his annual procession.  He then decided he did not want to have to be "processed" every single year.  So, he suggested Leap Year.  He thought 29 February would be ideal.  He would then only have to be hauled out and dusted off once every four years.

I just looked it up and Jerry is going to be very disappointed to learn that Leap Year is coming up.  He's going to have to leave the house again in a little over four months.  So, watch for the posters.  The first Quadrennial Procesión de San Geraldo will occur 29 February 2012.

THE FIRST QUADRENNIAL PROCESIÓN DE SAN GERALDO?

Life in a Bottle

CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR ON THE PLAZA SAN SALVADOR THIS AFTERNOON.

We went out for dinner Thursay night with Margarita.  She led us to a tapas bar in a plaza we had never seen before.  This was surprising considering that in my aimless as well as my purposeful wanderings I have been all around the streets surrounding the plaza and never stumbled upon it.  Originally, Margarita had been aiming for a tapas bar on Plaza San Salvador.  I know that plaza.  The Church of San Salvador is the second largest church in the city (after the cathedral).  It was built on the remains of a 9th century mosque and began to be used as a parish church in the 13th century.

CHURCH OF SAN SALVADOR ... THE SITE OF THURSDAY NIGHT'S BOTELLON.

There is a bar across the plaza that I have noticed is always booming in the evening and late at night, filling the plaza to overflowing with people.  As we turned the corner onto the plaza you could hear the buzz of revelers.  Margarita immediately said, Oh, no. We'll go around the corner to someplace quieter.  No need to try and have dinner in the botellón, she said.  A botellón (a big bottle) is a phenomenon that began in Andalucia in the 1980s as a way for workers to enjoy a cheap drink outdoors without paying the expensive (at the time) bar prices.  It has evolved into a popular activity for young adults.  The crowds looked mostly to be in their early 20s.  So, the mobs I always see in this plaza are not only the overflow from the popular bar.

THE TAPAS RESTAURANT DURING THE DAY.
THE BAR (BEHIND THE TREE) WAS CLOSED.

We headed out of the plaza and around the corner to a smaller plaza.  To Margarita's consternation, it looked like another botellón.  Mobs of people stood everywhere.  The tapas bar she was headed for sat right next to the crowd and had lots of empty tables.  We didn't know if people were waiting to be seated.  Margarita walked up to the host and asked and he laughed and said the tables were all available.  The crowd was simply overflowing the patio from the bar next door.  So, this was not a botellón.  It was just a popular bar.

THE VIEW FROM OUR TABLE THURSDAY NIGHT.

We sat at a table and proceeded to enjoy yet another incredible tapas meal in Sevilla. We passed back through Plaza San Salvador and a now even larger mob.  But, except for a guy peeing against a wall in a side alley, there was no unpleasant or rowdy behavior.  Of course, botellónes continue until the wee hours of the morning.  So, there's no telling what went on once we were snug in our beds.

Lady of Spain, I Adore You

This afternoon, I met Lola and Albert for a drink at their favorite little bar near the Church of the Magdalena.  When I arrived (in my shorts, T-shirt, and sandals) at the usually quiet corner, I was surprised to find a throng of stylishly and elegantly dressed people (all seemingly in their 20s) crowding the tall outside tables.  It was a flamboyance of Spanish style.  They had obviously just come from a wedding.

Jerry and I have commented often on the elegantly dressed women in the city.  Just this morning while having breakfast downstairs at El Sanedrín, we noted couples strolling by on their way to weddings.  Most of the women wear incredible headpieces that I had been calling hats (the type of headpiece sported by so many of the women at the recent royal wedding in London).  We see them in specialty shop windows all over town.  I learned from Albert and Lola today that these playful headpieces are not called hats (sombreros), they are tocados.

I have wanted to snap a picture several times, but have not wanted to offend anyone.  Since, we were all now hanging out at the same bar, and since they all seemed so happy and relaxed, I decided to ask.  Albert commented to one of the well-dressed guys — someone he knows — and he got the attention of his friends.  In Spanish, I told the women that I had never seen such style as I now see among the women of Sevilla and I asked if they would mind if I took a picture.  Not only did not they not mind, they stepped into the plaza and positioned themselves so the sun would be over my shoulder, and they posed for me.  Later, another group posed for one of their friends.  I ran over with my camera and they didn't hesitate.  Someone had just turned his car down the tiny street.  He came to a stop, blocking traffic, and pulled out his phone to snap a picture as well.  Everyone simply laughed and smiled for the camera.

I love the people of Sevilla!

Learning to Simply Live

It has been challenging for me to comprehend or even contemplate the fact that we now live in Sevilla.  This is not a vacation.  I do not need to "take in the sights" every day.  I can appreciate the sights, I can be surprised by new things, but I do not need to — nor should I — go on a sight-seeing tour every day of the week.  It's OK to run errands, do laundry, read a book, and just hang around the house every so often.  This may be the toughest thing for me to learn to do.

THE MOON OVER THE CATHEDRAL LAST NIGHT.  SIMPLY LIVING.

TALKING THE TALK
This morning, I met Lola for breakfast and we spoke Spanish.  That is the new Thursday morning ritual.  We have English Conversation Tuesday and Spanish Conversation Thursday.  We are having a ball learning about each other, our cultures, our families, and our languages.  Albert was there today as well and, as always, he adds wonderful energy, insights, and humor.  He was there for his morning coffee when I arrived Tuesday, but quickly departed so Lola would not feel uncomfortable about using English.

But it's different on Thursday.  Everyone is welcome as long as they stick to Spanish.  Margarita happened by and joined us for a cup of coffee.  She began to speak English with me, but was quickly informed of the rules.  No English on Thursday (well, we cheat here and there).  Our plan (mine and Lola's) is to spend an hour together, but we have had such a good time this week that the hour stretches into more.  Tuesday, we spent two hours.  Today, three.

We have already begun to teach each other common idioms as well as silly and inappropriate expressions in our native languages.  These are, of course, very important.

WHAT'S JERRY GOT COOKIN'?

We (Jerry) couldn't get our oven to work (Jerry has been cooking on the range top only).  We both scanned the instruction manual, which is in Spanish, and were convinced the oven needed repair.  However, today while I was off enjoying Spanish Conversation Thursday, Jerry read and translated the entire instruction manual.  On page 62, he discovered that the timer needs to be set for the heat to go on.  Now, how does even someone who reads and understands Spanish know that tidbit without getting to page 62 of the instruction manual? And how many people read entire instruction manuals?

Anyway, we (Jerry) now know how to turn on the oven.  That knowledge really wouldn't serve much purpose in my cooking-incompetent hands. But I can't wait to taste what Jerry produces.

Sugar Substitute

METICULOUS CRAFSTMANSHIP IN BOTH TOWERS.
BUT THE ONE ON THE RIGHT IS PARTICULARLY SWEET.

When Jorunn was visiting late last week, we crammed a lot of sight-seeing into two afternoons.  Jerry and I had first toured the Cathedral and the Giralda (bell tower) on a cold January day.  Jorunn and I did the same on a hot September afternoon.  This time as we climbed, there were beautiful breezes blowing through the tower that made it very pleasant. The icy breezes that blew through the tower in January caused Jerry and me to rush right back down without taking in the spectactular views.

ON OUR WAY UP.  THE GUADALQUIVIR RIVER IN THE DISTANCE ON THE RIGHT.
THE NIÑA, THE PINTA, AND THE SANTA MARIA SET SAIL FROM THIS RIVER.

It was especially fun to see the Giralda from street level this time. Wednesday afternoon, when Jorunn and I were out walking in the neighborhood near the apartment, we passed the pastry and ice cream shop "La Campana."  In the window was an intricately reproduced Giralda (about 5 feet/152 cm tall) that appeared to be carved out of marble. I thought, what an odd thing to have in the window of a pastry shop.  On closer inspection, we saw the little sign that said the La Campana Giralda was made completely out of sugar.  So, now I think I like it better than the original.

FROM THE TOP.  THE BULL RING CAN BE SEEN AT CENTER.

Circus of the Sun

Jerry took us out Sunday for a night on the ... tent.  Cirque du Soleil is in town and Jerry suggested, spur of the moment, that we get tickets and head over.  The show is "Corteo," one we haven't seen — and we've seen most, from all but one of the shows in Las Vegas to many of the road/tent shows.

BOUNCING BEDS.  MY FAVORITE ACT.  UNRESTRAINED JOY.

We had spotted the tent on one of our rides back from IKEA, so we knew that although it was across the river, it was walkable (perhaps 2 km).  However, given that it was still hovering around 31C (88F) when we headed out, we decided to take a cab and then stroll back in the cool after the show.

A TRAPEZE ACT WITH NO TRAPEZE.  JUST ARMS.  PHENOMENAL.

The tent was set up on an undeveloped parcel of land.  I didn't know what the neighborhood was called.  And, once we got in the cab, I realized I also didn't know how to say tent.  Also, the word for circus — circo — had slipped my mind.  But we had another great cab driver.  He had no idea what Cirque du Soleil was.  When he asked if I meant "Circo del Sol,"  I said without thinking "no."  That had to be something else.  After all, we never translated it to Circus of the Sun when we lived in the United States.  Fortunately, Jerry and I knew exactly where it was, so simply directed the driver.  We (the driver and I) had a great conversation.  I'm amazed at how much more I can understand now, seemingly by osmosis.  Once we neared the tent, we straightened out the confusion. I explained that we don't translate the name into English and that I didn't know the word for "the house that the circus is in" (that's what I said in Spanish).  I now do, thanks to the driver.  In this case, the word for tent is "carpa."

AFTER THE SHOW.  LOOKING BACK AT THE CARPAS.

We figured Cirque du Soleil would be a great show to see.  Our language skills would not be put to the test.  The only talking they ever do in their non-Vegas shows is some random word here and there.  Most of what you hear is nonsense language. Even the songs are written in no known language. But, just to keep us on our toes, this show had narration.  Of course in Spanish.  There was an actual story we were supposed to follow.  "A clown pictures his own funeral taking place in a carnival atmosphere, watched over by angels." I managed to keep up with most of it and would pass info along to Jerry — unsolicited — as I thought necessary. But it wasn't necessary for the enjoyment of the acts.  There were several inside jokes written just for the Sevillano audience.  I did catch a joke about the two football teams.  At one point, one of the clowns made an absolutely hilarious comment that had the entire audience roaring with laughter.  I have no clue what he said...

CROSSING THE RIVER ON THE WALK HOME.
BRIDGE IN BACKGROUND IS THE ONE WE CROSSED IN JULY AFTER THE TRIANA FAIR.

Eating Healthy

Jerry stirred up another gourmet success from the pages of "The New Spanish Table."  Tonight it was Garbanzos Salteados Con Gambas (Chickpea and Shrimp Saute).  Fresh shrimp that he meticulously peeled and cleaned.  Before the shells and other stuff were discarded, they were used to make the stock.  It didn't look like much food when all was said and done, but it was very filling and ended up being more than enough.  It was also exceptionally delicious.  And we were pleased to note that it was extremely healthy and high in protein.

GARBANZOS SALTEADOS CON GAMBAS

So, after our satisfyingly delicious and healthy dinner we went for a walk in the slowly cooling night air.  When we reached La Alameda de Hercules, we stopped at our favorite spot for a couple of cups of chocolate fondant ice cream (which contains protein, riboflavin, calcium, and other essential vitamins and minerals).

A NOT-SO-STONY STONY VISAGE ON THE CATHEDRAL.
I THINK SHE MIGHT HAVE JUST HAD SOME CHOCOLATE FONDANT ICE CREAM.

Don't Get Your Knickers in a Twist

While Jerry was still working but not long before we left Irvine, we went clothing shopping.  Among our purchases, were several new pairs of a variety of brands of underwear for Jerry.  He prefers Lycra-blend boxer briefs — his favorite brand being Under Armour, while I like the fit of low-rise cotton briefs by Kenneth Cole, DKNY, and Calvin Klein.  Probably more information than I should be sharing, but it helps the story.

In Jerry's new assortment were two pairs of Nautica boxer briefs.  One day, when he came home from work, I was sitting and visiting with Jerry while he changed out of his work clothes and into jeans and a T-shirt.  He took off his pants and as he walked across the room I noticed something odd.

"Jerry," I commented, "your underwear is on backwards."

He immediately looked down at the front, then twisted to look at the back and replied, "What?  No, they're not.  The label is in the back."

I said, "Well, so are the Y-front and the pouch."  I was stunned as I stared at the obviously awkwardly fitting boxer briefs.  "Don't they seem to be shaped kind of funny to you?"

He took them off, inspected them, and realized I was right, although he couldn't comprehend why the designer would move the label to the front of the waistband when everyone else puts it on the back.  "Ludicrous," he said.

I agreed it was an odd thing to do, but couldn't stop laughing and told him I couldn't imagine going an entire day without realizing something was wrong. I teased him about not even knowing how to dress himself.

The next day, Jerry was getting dressed for work and I walked into the room just as he was pulling up his pants. 

"Jerry," I said, as I stared at his waistband.

"What?" he responded distractedly as he continued to pull up his pants.

"Jerry," I said, more pointedly nodding my head and rolling my eyes in the direction of his waistband.

"What?" he demanded.

I responded slowly, enunciating carefully, "Your underwear is on backwards."

Over several weeks, I shared the story often and Jerry was a very good sport about it.   Even when it happened again.  Yes, three times!  And some days after that, he came home from work and dropped his pants to display boxer briefs with the brand name "Levis" stitched repeatedly around the waist band.  Backwards.  He had those on inside out.  What a dolt!  It's a good thing he's cute (well, among other fine qualities).

WHAT GOES AROUND
Wednesday morning in Málaga, we got up early.  We both set aside our clothes for the day (underwear, socks, jeans, shirts, belts) and then packed the rest for the trip back to Sevilla.  After I showered and shaved, I began to get dressed.  But I couldn't find the underwear I had set aside.  It was not with my other clothes for the day.

Jerry was already dressed and sitting at his computer checking email.  I muttered that I must have repacked the underwear I had set out for myself and I pulled another pair of underwear from my bag and slipped them on.  When they were up around my knees, I looked down and noticed something peculiar.  I was already wearing the missing pair of underwear.

Jerry and I were meant for each other.

An Afternoon in Torrox

After a much too short visit to the Mediterranean coast, Jerry, Jorunn, and I arrived back in Sevilla Wednesday afternoon.  It is much easier obtaining a seat facing forward on the train when you travel in a party of three.  We had a set of facing seats with a table between us.  Jerry was looking in the right direction from the start and didn't have to spend the trip standing in the hall by the vending machine.  The table provided lots of room for our books, for Jerry's laptop, and for our "treats."  Jorunn rolled out a box of Norwegian chocolates for the ride home.  Total bliss!

 THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA AS WE APPROACHED THE TOWN OF NERJA,
WHICH WAS RIGHT AFTER WE MISSED OUR TURN NORTH TO TORROX.

As planned, we rented a car Tuesday morning and drove east along the coast from Málaga and then inland a few kilometers to the town of Torrox.  There are three versions of Torrox — the original town a little away from the water, Punta de Torrox (the point that dips into the Mediterranean Sea), and Torrox-Costa (unsurprisingly, the town on the coast).

THE MAIN PLAZA AFTER LUNCH.  TIME FOR SIESTA.

The "towns" on the coast are contemporary and have no charm whatsoever, just an enviable location on the water.  The original town — our destination — is situated high above.  It is historic, picturesque, and has beautiful views.  It is the first "pueblo blanco" (white village) Jerry and I have had an opportunity to visit in Southern Spain.  You'll see from the photos why these villages are known by the name.

VAARIN, JERRY, AND JORUNN JUST BEGINNING THE CLIMB FROM THE PLAZA.
WE HAD NO IDEA WHAT WE WERE IN FOR.

Torrox was settled in the time of the Phoenecians and Greeks who traded in olives, figs, and wine.  The Romans increased the town's stature by producing a type of anchovy paste (no thank you).  The Moors arrived in the 7th century and brought new agriculture, terracing, and irrigation that is still in existence.

NEVER LOOK BACK.

We parked the car and began a brief, steep climb to the main plaza, where we had a very pleasant lunch with Jerry's first cousin once removed, Vaarin.  We heard no Spanish being spoken in the plaza.  Vaarin spoke Norwegian with the staff and with Jorunn, and some English with us.  The tables surrounding us were filled with Brits.  The waitress was a young blond who spoke English with a Norwegian accent.  Jerry and Vaarin shared stories and family photos.

STILL CLIMBING.

After lunch, we hiked up the surprisingly charming and exceedingly steep streets of Torrox to see where Vaarin is spending her annual 5-week escape from Norway (which is already cold and, as usual, rainy).  The climb was daunting, but the views were stunning.

THE VIEW NORTH FROM THE ROOF TERRACE.  SO WORTH THE CLIMB.

Once we arrived at Vaarin's house, we then climbed three flights of stairs to the roof terrace.  Breathtaking (both the views and the climb... especially the climb).  We sat and visited for a while and, once Jerry's sweat-soaked shirt had dried a bit, we began our descent to the car.

THE VIEW EAST FROM THE ROOF TERRACE.

Vaarin insisted on taking us the scenic way down, showing us her favorite streets and views.  It is like walking the hills of San Francisco, only smaller, quainter, steeper, sunnier, and hotter.  Vaarin's stamina is awe-inspiring.  It must be that Viking stock (Jerry's stock was watered down by his father's side of the family).

ON THE WAY BACK DOWN.  VAARIN'S FAVORITE VIEW SOUTH TO THE MEDITERRANEAN.

The First Few Hours in Málaga

The train ride down to Málaga was a pleasure.  Sevilla's train station has a sweets shop.  Jerry ate a bag of chocolate-covered raisins.  We shared a package (of two) chocolate-dipped Oreo cookies.  When those were very quickly gone, we shared a package (of six) traditional Oreo cookies.  Maybe we should stop at a market and pick up some healthy snacks for the ride home on Wednesday.

THE VIEW NORTH

Our assigned seats did not face forward (remember the January train rides?) but we didn't even bother asking. Once onboard, we simply changed our seats to ones that faced the right direction.  Jorunn arrived at the hotel just a few minutes before us.  Jerry charmed his way into the hearts of the front desk staff, and we ended up with a deluxe room with a beautiful view.  Jorunn is just a few doors down (well, she's at least got a really nice big bathroom).

THE VIEW EAST.

We all unpacked, called Jerry's cousin in Torrox to make plans for tomorrow, and then headed up to the sixth floor roof terrace for mojitos and peanuts.  I was too lazy to head back down one flight of stairs to retrieve my camera, so smart phone photos will have to do (yet again).  A rental car will be delivered to the hotel in the morning and we'll drive the 46km to Torrox.  Dinner in an hour — more or less.  SO relaxing.

I Need A Vacation Like Nobody's Business

It's hard work not working.  Well, it's hard work moving to another country, finding a new home, trying to get utilities connected, learning one's way around, assembling furniture, learning where to shop, trying to get utilities connected, buying and repotting house plants, missing family and friends, trying to get utilities connected, hanging pictures, trying to get utilities connected, and doing it all in another language.

A LITTLE BIT OF GREEN INSIDE TO GO WITH THE GREEN OUTSIDE.

Did I mention trying to get utilities connected?

It's also a complete joy to do all of the above (except trying to get utilities connected, although that was a complete joy when finally accomplished).  And I am grateful for every minute (well, ALMOST every minute, since sometimes I am an ingrate) of this great adventure we have created for ourselves.

In any case, we are now a bit run down.  We also haven't transitioned from attempting to create a new life here to actually living one.  So, we are very excited to have the opportunity to get out of town for a few days and to then actually come home.

SOME MORE GREEN.  WE STILL NEED MORE... AND LAMPS.

We have a dear friend, Jorunn, from Oslo, Norway (met through our wonderful cousin Inger) who will be in Málaga. Coincidentally, Jerry's first cousin once removed (his mother's cousin, his grandfather's niece...) — from the other side of the Norwegian family — is on holiday in Torrox, which is about a half hour further along the coast from Málaga.

Jerry only discovered this first cousin once removed (and other extended family from his grandfather's line) about 10 years ago and they've been in email correspondence ever since.  We had great plans in 2001 to go up above the Arctic Circle to meet this branch of the family, but hard times hit at the hotel and we couldn't get away.  We hope to be able to make that trip in the near future.

THE TWO OF US.  NOW SURROUNDED BY FAMILY.  (HAD WE KNOWN HOW MANY WALLS
WE'D HAVE, WE WOULD HAVE SHIPPED MORE OF THE FAMILY PHOTOS.)

So, we're taking the train down to Málaga Monday to meet up with Jorunn.  We'll spend Monday night in Málaga and then we three will head up the coast (either in a rental car or by bus) to Torrox to have lunch with First Cousin Once Removed and her nephew (Jerry's second cousin). We'll then head back to Málaga for another night and we three will then train back up to Sevilla.  Can't wait to be relaxed tourists in Málaga.  Can't wait to see Torrox.  But, I especially can't wait to see Jorunn again and to meet more of Jerry's Norwegian family.

I wonder if I should start practicing my Norwegian again.  No I don't wonder.  That's just too much for my already addled brain to contemplate.  Uff dah!