Did I Miss A Holiday?

DOWAGER DUCHESS AND SON, WHEN I WAS 5.
(LITTLE BROTHER ON THE WAY)

Last Sunday was Mother's Day here in Spain. Today is Mother's Day in the States. So, happy Mother's Day to our very own loving, fascinating, and inspiring Dowager Duchess. We will be Skyping shortly.

As far as I know, there was no holiday yesterday. But, even so, there were two processions in our neighborhood.

As we were about to sit down for dinner around 10:15 last night, I heard drums and brass instruments (very brassy sounding brass instruments). I ran out to one of the side balconies and looked up toward the Plaza de San Lorenzo to find a good-sized procession approaching. I couldn't see the size of the paso (float), but a large number of costaleros were well ahead of the procession having finished their shift and in need of a beer. It would have to be a substantial paso because at a glance I counted more than a dozen tired costaleros.

The paso took quite some time to finally get here. They stopped and started several times. I don't know why. The style of this float was different from what I've seen. No Mary, no Jesus, but instead what appeared from three floors up to be a king sitting in front of a tree. I doubt the tree was an aspen although it continually quaked as the entire thing was carried on the shoulders of the costaleros. I've been unable to find where this procession originated, where it was heading, who they were carrying, the reason for the tree, or what was special about 12 May. At least I no longer feel forsaken. Two processions in one day.

COSTALEROS AFTER THEIR SHIFT, HEADING OFF FOR A BEER.
(POOR-QUALITY PHOTO, SO I TRIED FOR ARTSY.)

I LOVE THE CLOTHES.

MAYBE A GOOD DESIGN FOR SAN GERALDO, IN THE SHADE OF A TREE.

MOTHER'S DAY LUNCH
My allergies are still acting up and, with temps hovering in the high 90s (mid-30s C), the air-conditioned house is much more pleasant for us both. We went out for breakfast, but San Geraldo (the artiste) prepared a simple salad lunch at home.

SO MUCH PRETTIER THAN PEANUT BUTTER ON RICE CRACKERS.
(OR EVEN WHAT I WOULD DO WITH THESE SAME INGREDIENTS.)

The Knife is Too Dull, Dear Liza, Dear Liza

One day last summer while we were still staying in a hotel, we were walking through one of the old neighborhoods of Sevilla and heard the brief trill of a pan flute. About 30 seconds went by and the trill was repeated and continued to repeat — a little louder, a little closer each time. Finally a man turned the corner walking a bicycle, a pan flute in his right hand. On the back of the bike was a knife sharpener. The pan flute was his calling card as he walked the streets offering his services.

STATE-OF-THE-ART SUZUKI KNIFE SHARPENER.

A short time later we moved into our own place. One morning, I heard the trill of the pan flute, looked down from my balcony and saw the same man walking our street. Since then, we've regularly heard and seen two other pan-flute-playing knife sharpeners announcing their presence. They use the same basic trill, although one adds a little flair by playing one up-scale and then one down. The two guys we regularly see now have their sharpening machines attached to their motos, which they walk alongside. This morning, while enjoying a nice quiet breakfast at Niños del Flor (Flowerchildren) — a café we love but would prefer to not have to walk to every morning but must because El Sanedrín downstairs stopped serving breakfast, heavy sigh — one of these knife sharpeners was parked across the street from the café sharpening knives. The noisy moto acts as the sharpening machine's power generator. Fortunately, he wasn't there very long.

SO MUCH FOR PEACE AND QUIET.

I have never been able to grab a good shot as one of the guys is walking by. This morning I was too lazy to get up and walk closer. I did manage to capture just a bit of the "music" a while back (when we were enjoying breakfast right outside our door, on our own plaza, at El Sanedrín).

 THE PAN FLUTE. NOT MUCH, BUT YOU'LL GET THE IDEA.

Strike Up the Band
As I sat and typed this little post, a small marching band (brass and drums) walked below our windows making excellent music. So nice that things are back to normal in town.

The Little Drummer Boy

The wonderful Sevillanos have not let me down. They gave me another parade.

Jerry and I walked over to the optometrist this afternoon and, on our way back, when we were almost home, we heard the drums of a marching band — a not very enthusiastic marching band. I can understand their lack of enthusiasm. The sun was bright and the temperature hovered somewhere around 38C (100F). But I hustled over in the direction of the drums and arrived right behind the small paso (float) and band at Plaza del Duque de la Victoria (home to the main El Corte Inglés department store).

DISPLAYING TRUE SEVILLANO STYLE.

Bringing up the rear was a man walking alongside a little boy. The boy was not yet part of the troop. His father had to keep holding him back from trying to join the marchers. His father laughed and told me the drum was new and he was simply trying to teach him to play it only outside. They, like I, had stumbled on the parade.

STOPPING FOR A MOMENT.

This particular group was from the Capilla de la Fábrica de Tabacos (Chapel of the Tobacco Factory).  The factory itself is now the center of the University of Sevilla. The chapel is across the river in the neighborhood of Triana. The troop represents the Hermandad de Columna y Azotes (the Brotherhood of the Column and Whips... don't ask). The band is called "Los Cigarreros" (The Cigar Makers). Thankfully, instead of making cigars, they make music.

LOS CIGARREROS.

DETAIL WITH THE COSTALEROS (THE GUYS CARRYING THE PASO) VISIBLE THROUGH THE MESH.

The Palate (and Purring)

We stayed in for lunch yesterday (Jerry made a healthy tuna salad) and we took a walk to the neighborhood of La Alameda for dinner. We had an early (9 instead of 10) dinner at a Mediterranean restaurant that we've been to once before, thanks to the excellent recommendation of Adela who works downstairs at El Sanedrín. The restaurant, El Paladar (which means "The Palate"), is a tapas restaurant specializing in Spanish dishes with a Mediterranean/Arabic twist.

EL PALADAR. WE HAD JUST VACATED THAT TABLE OUT FRONT.

We love El Paladar. The atmosphere is funky and alternative. The staff and a lot of the regular clientele look like my friends from the late '60s and early '70s. It's relaxed, friendly, and the food is delicious, always tasting fresh and healthy. They even have a large selection of vegetarian dishes.

Last night we enjoyed seafood "meat"balls, couscous, spinach croquettes, and chicken brochettes with tabbouleh/tabbouli/tabouleh/tabouli (I think I've covered every spelling variation).

SEAFOOD "MEAT"BALLS (BEFORE WE FINISHED THEM OFF).

COUSCOUS WITH CHICKEN, VEGETABLES, AND BEANS (AND RAISINS).

SPINACH CROQUETAS (ONE DOWN, TWO TO GO).
NO BROCHETA PHOTO (I DIDN'T THINK OF IT UNTIL ONLY THE SKEWER REMAINED).

We each had two beverages. We were "quite satisfied, thank you," which I learned from a British relation is much more appropriate to say to a Brit than "I'm stuffed." That means something entirely different that The Dowager Duchess would not approve of...

Where was I? Oh, yeah, we were stuffed and the total bill was only 18 euros.

WHAT THE CATS WOULD LIKE US TO BELIEVE THEY DID THE ENTIRE TIME WE WERE GONE.

No Parades, No Marching Bands. Time to Move.

HERCULES AND JULIUS CAESAR AT THE ALAMEDA. ON THE LOOKOUT FOR ANOTHER PARADE.

We've gone an entire week without seeing some sort of parade in Sevilla. It's very disappointing. I wonder if we should be looking for a new, more exciting place to live. Of course, the street musicians never stop — but in some cases I wish they would. Especially the bad accordion player (and it's not the accordion itself that's bad) with his twice-daily repertoire out on the plaza. How many times can one hear a medley that begins with "Those Were the Days [My Friend]" and ends with "Cielito Lindo"?

SEEN (BUT NEVER HEARD) THE OTHER DAY ON THE PLAZA DE LA ENCARNACIÓN.

The apartment has really come together. Usually after a move, we've got all pictures hung and everything put away within the first month. When you only stay in one place two years at a time, it's important to settle in quickly. We've been a bit more relaxed here and still haven't finished hanging pictures in the bedrooms or hall. (Maybe that means we're here for the long haul.) But the main rooms are pretty much done... just in time for the arrival of the cats, which has "required" us to move chairs in front of the balconies so they can see out the windows, as well as to move the plants within our view when we're sitting in the living room so we can catch Dudo and Moose trying to eat them.  (We don't yet let them out of the back half of the apartment unsupervised.)

BEFORE CATS.

I'm hoping that San Geraldo will eventually get Dudo and Moose's names right. He usually goes through four or five variations before landing (sometimes) on the correct ones — Dodo, Dodie, Doo-Dah, and Mouse. It's gotten to the point that I now have to think before I say their names (Dodo and Doo-Dah are kind of catchy and, sadly, so is Mouse).

MOOSE & DUDO. EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN.

The temperature has climbed into the low 90s (around 34C) today and it should climb to 96F (36C) tomorrow. My allergies have been making me miserable with flu-like symptoms, which is always the case with each new season my first year in a new environment — as I well know from many first years in new environments. So, I haven't been doing much. I have a couple of minor events outside each day — breakfast, lunch, a trip to the post office perhaps — do about an hour's worth of work around the house, maybe a load of laundry, and then I hop into bed with a good (last week, a fair) book or my Kindle, and snuggle with the cats. I'm currently re-reading "The Scarlet Letter."

It's actually been kind of pleasant now that I think about it. And I'll be feeling better soon enough to enjoy all the glorious sunshine. Maybe I should stop whining.

Answering to a Higher Power

My blogger buddie, Dianne from Yonks thought it would be fun to include me in a game of Blogger tag. She provided 10 questions for me to answer... (honestly, I think). This is an awful lot of pressure. The questions include some best/worst/favorite considerations and my mind is so changeable that I never know for sure what is my best/worst/favorite. Anyway, here goes:

PUTTING ON MY THINKING CAP.

1. What is your favorite holiday destination?
It used to be Palm Springs, California... until we moved there, opened a hotel in 2001, and lost our shirts. Since moving in July to Sevilla, I feel like I'm at a permanent holiday destination. Then again, my fantasy escape has always been an uncrowded beach, with nothing other than the crashing waves and the birds for background music.

LA ALAMEDA DE HERCULES, SEVILLA. PERMANENT VACATION.

2. If you were on death row, what would your last meal be?
I don't eat when I'm stressed.

3. If you could invite anyone for dinner, living or dead, who would it be?
My big sister. I idolized her (and she me... we were a strange pair). She died 31 years ago just before I met San Geraldo. I would love to tell her all that's happened since then. (She would love San Geraldo.)

4. If you had a time machine, where would you go?
I would turn my back and walk away from it. I don't want to know the future. And I wouldn't want to risk changing anything in the past — having no idea what impact that would have on the present or the future.

Or... to tomorrow to find out the winning lottery numbers and then come right back to today to buy the tickets. (When we lived in San Diego and San Geraldo traveled to China on business — putting him 18 hours ahead of me — I asked him to check the paper for the winning lottery numbers so I could buy that ticket. He wouldn't do it. I'm not quite sure if he thought it would be dishonest or that it was simply idiotic... Well, I really am quite sure.)

5.  What is your earliest memory?
My memory works in strange ways.  I can hear a commercial jingle once and remember it the rest of my life. I can tell you what I was wearing the day I met San Geraldo in 1981 (Fiorucci jeans and a green ribbed T-shirt). But, I can't remember where I put the toolbox.

Earliest memories are all from before the age of 1-1/2. The very rickety, old, dark-wood porch on the back of my parents' apartment in Brooklyn and how it creaked and squeaked when anyone stepped onto it. Taking a bath with my sister (when I was under 1-1/2 and she was under 4), and my mother's hand-mirror got knocked into the tub and cracked. Holding my mother's hand while standing on a new street on Long Island seeing the foundation being poured for our new house.

BEING DANGLED OVER THE RICKETY PORCH... VERY CONCERNED.

6. Your favorite perfume or cologne?
It used to be Royal Copenhagen Musk. Now it's Versace Pour Homme.

7. Your best birthday gift?
When Jerry's mother and his two sisters flew to San Diego and surprised me at the 40th birthday party Jerry was throwing (even though Jerry didn't think to invite them from so far away). If the Dowager Duchess (my mother) had known, she would have done the same thing (so that was sad). Also, that same birthday when our friend Jim wrote a very funny and touching poem in my honor. (He wrote a very funny and racy poem, too. But, I'm keeping that one to myself.)

© JRW, 1994

8. Your worst birthday gift?
I have no idea.

9. Your favorite flowers?
Daffodils. Before my sister got married and she was still living with my parents, when the first spring daffodils were being sold at the flower stalls outside the subway stations, she would pick up a bunch for my mother on her way home. They always make me think of her.

10. Your first kiss — who/where?

I think I was about 14 when I had my first real kiss. She was my girlfriend in 8th or 9th grade and then again in part of 10th grade. She and I hadn't spoken since high school and reestablished contact about three years ago. She reads my blog. I have no idea where we were when we kissed. I know I wasn't very good at it — thinking the harder I pressed my lips against hers, the better the kiss. First kiss with a man? Boston, when I was 26. I knew a little more by then. And I'm not telling either of their names. That's all you get.

LONG BEFORE THE FIRST KISS.
ALREADY IRRESISTIBLE.

What a Difference a Day Makes

LAST NIGHT (MOOSE IN FRONT WITH HIS EYES CLOSED).

By last night, Dudo (we find his original Spanish name flows more easily off the tongue than the American 'Dude') and Moose were clearly feeling at home. They now follow us around the house, snuggle with us, give us kisses, purr, play.

I "couldn't" get out of bed this morning, because Dudo and Moose were both snuggled against me contentedly. They clearly know they're loved and safe.

I promise that this will not now become "that blog about the cats," but I just wanted to show you today how well things are going. San Geraldo finally got them settled on the bed again, so he can do some computer work (they were insistent on being petted by him and shadowed his every move for about 10 minutes when we came home from breakfast).

EARLIER TODAY. MY LEGS (AT RIGHT) ENCASED IN THE SHEET.

SO THIS IS LOVE.

DUDO. (NOW IF I CAN ONLY GET SAN GERALDO TO STOP SAYING DOO-DAH!)

Yes, what a difference a day made...

Happy is the Home with at Least One Cat

Yesterday evening, two kind people from the cat rescue center (Defensa Felina) delivered the two new members of our family. Their names are Dudo and Musy and they are brothers and not easy to tell apart. (Mussy, we were told, has the flatter face.)

Since they're only 10 months old and don't yet know their names, we had planned to change them. But we learned that their names are entered into their embedded microchips and written on their passports. (Yes, they actually come with microchips and legal passports). So, rather than going to the trouble of changing their passports and reprogramming their microchips, Dudo and Musy they will remain. We've simply added a slightly (?) American twist for their nicknames. So, I'd like to introduce you to Dude and Moose.

UNDER THE BED EARLIER TODAY (AND AS I WRITE).

They had shots yesterday morning, so I think they're not at their normal energy levels. And the entire day was clearly very traumatic — the vet in the morning and a new home in the evening. They were born on the street and have only ever seen their cages and a small room in the shelter. This is a lot to take in. They explored on their own during the night, but were safely under the bed again this morning. They pop out every now and again, but are not sure what to make of us yet and quickly return. Both times we've been out of the house today, we returned to a used litter box and emptier food dishes. So, we know they're alright. It will just be nice when they stop hiding from us.

LAST NIGHT, EXPLORING THE LIVING ROOM.
TAKEN FROM A DISTANCE WITH A WHOLE LOT OF ZOOM.

Dude is clearly the intrepid explorer and Moose usually follows more timidly behind. Last night before we went to bed, we gave them the run of the house. They were fascinated but overwhelmed and skittish because of all the "things" and all the reflections. So, we have temporarily closed off that part of the house (especially since they kept trying to eat the plants). Once we have those taken care of, we'll let them roam again. They're adorable and we're sure they'll have us both trained in no time.

Dos de Mayo: The Day

On the second of May (dos de mayo) 1808, the people of Madrid rebelled against the occupation of the city by Napoleon's troops. The French quickly repressed the rebellion and executed hundreds of prisoners. That brutality added fuel to the fire of the Spanish resistance and rebellions began in cities all over Spain. Although Dos de Mayo is a public holiday in Madrid, it is not a holiday in Sevilla. But it is remembered on our plaza, home to a statue dedicated to Luis Daoíz, a local hero of the rebellion. (Our plaza is also home to that wonderful tapas restaurant called Dos de Mayo.)

STATUE TO LUIS DAOÍZ AND THE DOS DE MAYO REBELLION.

When we left our house in the morning, we noticed the plaza being decorated. El Sanedrín was not open, so we had to walk a block to Niños del Flor for breakfast. I joked with Jerry, "Uh oh, looks like another holiday." I found out that afternoon from Teré that El Sanedrín had decided to stop serving breakfast and to open later in the day. What a tragedy for us! When we returned from breakfast, chairs were being set up in the plaza. I went upstairs thinking I'd go back down in a bit to see what was happening. A few minutes later, I heard drums. So I raced downstairs and opened our front door to be greeted by a marching band. This is not the first time Sevillanos have welcomed me with a parade. And, no matter how many times they honor me in this way, I am always moved.

WHAT I SAW WHEN I OPENED THE FRONT DOOR.

A small crowd had already gathered and many of the seats were taken. There may even have been a few guests who participated in the 1808 rebellion.

OK. I exaggerate, but one very sweet lady did tell me when I helped her to a seat that she had just turned 99.  There were a couple of speeches honoring the heroes of that long-ago war and then a medals ceremony honoring recent heroes. I didn't understand it all, but I got the gist and it was nice to not have to go a day without some kind of special event in Sevilla.

THE MUSIC MAKERS.

MEDAL RECIPIENTS (AT RIGHT, FACING THE CAMERA).
SIX WOMEN RECEIVED MEDALS, WHICH ELICITED A CHEER AND APPLAUSE FROM THE ENTIRE CROWD.

MY NEW FAVORITE HAT.

IT'S ALL IN THE ATTITUDE.

Catalina, Anchovies, and the Duchess of Alba

I never met an anchovy I didn't loathe...

That is until last week at my new favorite restaurant in Sevilla (and maybe anywhere). The chef/owner is Gonzalo, our neighbor. He moved in shortly after we did and, until two weeks ago, we had no idea he had opened a new restaurant called Catalina. So, the other day, San Geraldo and I decided to try it out for lunch.

Like so many great things in Sevilla, it's just a 10-minute walk from our house. It's on a small plaza with a big name — Plaza Padre Jerónimo de Córdoba — across the street from Plaza Ponce de León, which is the major bus plaza in the old part of town... that is right next to the Church of Santa Catalina (hence, the restaurant name). The church was built in the 14th century and, as if that weren't long enough ago, it was built on the ruins of a mosque (with portions of the mosque preserved).

BETWEEN LUNCH AND DINNER. A GREAT PLACE TO PEOPLE-WATCH.

I had walked by Catalina many times before not knowing it belonged to Gonzalo. It's got wonderful indoor and outdoor dining spaces, but what always caught my attention were the pastries and gourmet shop I could see through the windows.

EVERYTHING FOR THE SWEET TOOTH. NOTICE THE "MMM...!" ON THE WALL. REALLY.

Every dish we ordered was incredible. But the proof (which is usually in the pudding) was in the anchovies. I hate, hate, hate — with a passion — hate anchovies. I have tried them dozens of times in my not-very-short life and have never — absolutely never, ever — found them remotely palatable. While we enjoyed the incredible dishes we had ordered, Gonzalo sent out a tapa dish for each of us with his complements. Each one was beautifully presented on a slab of rusk (crispy biscuit-like, twice-baked bread). Topping the rusk were slices of plump and delectable red and greenish-brown peppers. Topping the peppers... I could not believe my eyes. A huge anchovy. The biggest anchovies I had ever seen.

'Oh, crap,' I thought. 'I have to be polite and eat it.'

With a smile on my face, I said to San Geraldo, "Is that what I think it is?"

He said, "Yep."

San Geraldo is also not a fan of anchovies. He bravely took a bite of his as I watched with eyes wide. He looked at me and, with a huge grin and a sparkle in his eyes, said. "You are going to love this."

Now San Geraldo is not the type to pretend to like something just so he can watch me gag. He's not that cruel (but, primarily, he can't keep a straight face).

I asked incredulously, "Really?"

He said, "Yes. You are going to love this."

I tried it. I loved it. I devoured my entire portion and I can't wait to go back for more. Anyone (Gonzalo) who can make me love an anchovy truly has a gift.

I NO LONGER HATE ANCHOVIES (AS LONG AS THEY'RE PREPARED BY GONZALO.)

MEALS TO GO (I CAN PICK UP A GOURMET DINNER AND PRETEND TO KNOW HOW TO COOK).

GONZALO.  DAZZLING SMILE (CHECK OUT THOSE DIMPLES). SINCERE WARMTH.
AND HE COOKS, TOO!

SANTA CATALINA, WISHING SHE COULD GET DOWN FROM THERE AND GRAB A BITE TO EAT.

Catalina (the restaurant) is several blocks away from the Sevilla home (palace) of the Duchess of Alba. I dropped by on my way home but she didn't come to the gate. So I waved "hola" to the dog and kept walking. I'll have to tell her about Gonzalo and Catalina (and the anchovies) some other time.

SEVILLA PALACE OF THE DUCHESS OF ALBA.

THE DOG WAS OUT FOR A STROLL (AT LEFT), BUT THE DUCHESS WAS UNAVAILABLE.

P.S.: I just found Catalina's website: http://www.catalinacasadecomidas.com. Apparently, the menu (carta) is going to be online soon. You can eat your heart out until you get here and then ... eat to your heart's content! — m

May Day Mayday

It's a holiday again in Sevilla. Well, this time it's a holiday in many parts of the world. Many countries observe May Day as International Workers Day. Here it's called Día del Trabajador (Workers' Day or Labor Day). In 1977, after the end of the Franco regime, it became an official national holiday traditionally used by trade unions and parties for social and labor change. There are protests all over the country (especially this year due to the economic crisis, which is causing the government to cut funding for education, healthcare, workers' compensation, and much more).

The street in front of the government building on our plaza is cordoned off and being monitored by three teams of police. So far, the protest hasn't reached us. I took a walk over to Plaza de la Encarnación (home of the Metropol Parasol) to find a large, peaceful demonstration. I took some pictures and decided to make my exit. I'm a guest in this country and I like it here. I don't want to get caught in the middle of anything that could get me booted out. So, I strolled back-streets to reach my new favorite restaurant/café where I wet my parched whistle with a small glass of sherry. I'll tell you all about that tomorrow.