Like a lot of houses in the Albayzin, ours features a rooftop terraza.  We go there to hang out the laundry, watch the sun set, and watch our neighbors hang out their laundry.  This winter, we went up to the terraza to embrace a brief, ephemeral storm of snow that descended unexpectedly on Granada one February morning.

According to WeatherUnderground, Granada is located 1,870 feet above sea level.  The Sierra Nevada mountains, just 45 minutes away by car, attain a height of 11,411 feet.  Even in May, snow covers the mountains, while 25 miles away people walk around in t-shirts and sandals. 

With so much snow so close by, we were determined to do something that few in our family had ever done before: ¡vamos a esquiar!

Early one morning we managed to rent a car, drive to the ski area, rent ski equipment, ride the gondola up to the ski lift, take the chairlift to the top of the slope, and get off the lift, all without falling. 

Three in our party took a ski lesson, while a fourth displayed her chops on the slopes.  It wasn’t long before all of us were careering down a hill, ostensibly a Green beginner’s run, at breakneck speed.  J. managed to complete every run in a straight line.  A. chose a gentle S curve.  M. ended up on the next slope over and D. offered encouragement to all.

As if that weren’t enough, A.’s fifth grade class spent an entire school week in April riding a bus up to the Sierra Nevada ski station every day for lessons and skiing.

A. rode this bus, carried her helmet and ski boots, lunch, water bottle, sun screen, and snack and never stopped smiling.

We hung on to the rental car and one Saturday drove to Héutor de Santillán to go to a birthday party located at a small farm where a classmate lived.  The children wrapped bread dough around sticks, covered it in aluminum foil and cooked the whole thing over an open hearth.  They looked at the chickens, hogs, goats and piglets.  They ran through the groves and orchards, rode on a horse, drank soda pop, and ate all manner of animal products.

No one caught fire.

No one washed hands.

The chickens minded their business.

The piglets kept growing.

The goat gave up its milk.

The horse knew the way.

We want to live!

Do not blame us…we are simply flavored potato chips.

After three hours, we Americans felt we had spent a sufficient amount of time at the birthday party.   Shocking our Spanish friends, we departed.  

View from a party at 3 p.m.

Around 10 p.m. that night, we began receiving What’s App photos of the children bouncing in the back of a 4-wheel pick up heading down the ravine towards Granada.  By the time the party officially ended, we were fast asleep.

View from a party at 9 p.m.

Winter break arrived.  We went to Italy.  We stayed for three weeks.  Like many tourists, we saw lots of sites we had previously read about in books and magazines or seen in movies and documentaries.  Usually when reading books that take place in Italy or watching movies that feature Italy, you are content and comfortable, happy to be doing what you are doing.  The people around you leave you alone, knowing that you are occupied in your enjoyment.  They don’t pester you to stop reading or ask you to leave the movie before it has ended so they can go home and play a computer game.  We bring this up only to provide context for the following account.

I.  Arriving in Venice.  We take the water taxi from the airport to Fondamenta Nuevo.

I am where I want to be.

The high speed taxi took us exactly where we wanted to go.

A. and J. are happy to be where they are.

The sun in its proper place.

Fondamenta Nuevo is where we want to go.

II.  Exploring Venice, the City of Bridges.  We make our way on foot and float.

In Venice, we spent our days walking from one islet to another searching for gelato, seeking out espresso, and listening to an endless argument in favor of returning to the apartment to do something that was actually interesting.

From islet to islet ….

On the Ponte dell’Accademia.

Searching for a fire….

A church that seemed photogenic at the time.

Riding the vaporetto.

Police at the ready.

I am doing what I want to be doing.

Riding the Stone Lion.

A stranger has taken our picture at Piazza San Marco.

Something actually interesting.

III.  Visiting the islands of Murano and Burano.  We embrace winter in Northern Italy.

One day we traveled via the local water bus to the islands of Murano and Burano, a scenic ride we’d been told. On Venice, docks line the Grand Canal and the Fondamenta Nuevo.  You simply buy your ticket, find the proper loading dock, wait for your boat and hop on board.  Murano is a glass buyer’s Eden.  Long-standing factories guard their secret glass-making processes carefully.  Along the central canal on Murano, specialty shops provide the glass-crazed tourist an array of rare keepsakes.  Once entered, each store offers opportunities to unintentionally break expensive pieces of handblown art.  On the island of Burano, conversely, the blood pressure lowers.  Here the visitor can purchase handmade lace (non-breakable), enjoy the fanciful painted houses (impossible to drop accidentally)  or watch an old man clean the guts out of a fish, pier-side. (Photo unavailable due to expired camera battery.)

We sail to the island of Murano.

Glass is blown there.

We are not allowed to tell you how the master completes his craft.

By remaining outside the store, it is impossible to break the objects inside.

The one piece of glass that you can not purchase in Murano.

Cheerful Burano houses.

Breaking and entering.

On Burano, feral cats abound.

Winter in Venice.

IV.  Soaking up local culture.  We try to keep everyone happy.

As you are likely aware, when traveling with more than two people the number of decisions to be made increases exponentially.  We used a system of barter, trade, promise and bribe to make the process work smoothly.  As a result, we were all able to ride on a gondola, visit the Jewish Ghetto, and spend time at the outdoor Rialto Market where we watched attractive young men lure squat middle aged housewives into buying miracle mops.  In addition, during the course of our stay in Venice, select members of our party consumed 14 cans of Fanta Orange Soda, 10 ice cream cones,  6 cups of hot chocolate, 2 bags of specialty candy and 3 bottles of wine.

We stopped by twice but he was never home.

In this moment, A., J., M. & D. experienced happiness.

Our gondolier had to wait 10 years to earn his spot. Now, he is happy.

From the point of view of a gondola.

Rush hour.

Winged Lion + Open Book = Peace.

At the Rialto Market, A.& J. wanted to try these.

We explore Europe’s first Ghetto! (Jewish)

Inhabitants had to build up, as they were not allowed to live outside their neighborhood.

Book still open…..

Everything moves by boat.

Our local Campo.

“You lookin’ at me?”

Award winning monument takes First Place in Premio d’Italia.

Lessons learned:  There’s a lot to say about Venice:  the origin of the word ghetto, the reason each islet has its own church, why everything costs twice as much as in Spain.  All these things we discovered.  But as is the case in much of Italy, everything that you learn in one city, you quickly forget in the other.

We remember the Grand Canal.

We remember to bring J.

We remember our train tickets.

We remember to keep our eyes open.

V.  Confronting the artistic treasures of Florence.  We consider the human form, in all its natural beauty.

As soon as you leave the central railway station, Firenze Santa Maria Novella, you find yourself in a city defined by its Renaissance architecture, its flagstone streets, its cathedrals, palazzios, wide slow river and a number of large naked men cast in bronze and chiseled in marble who stare blindly ahead, ignoring your wide-mouth stares.  

Why is everybody staring at my corpus?

They are staring at my corpus, fool, not yours!

Is it true that I have a bird on my head? And if so, is anyone looking at it?

I have a crown, but alas, no bird…

At least I’m dressed.

We arrived in Florence on Christmas Eve day.  The city was alive with visitors, all (except one) eager to sample the visual delights of what was once a Medici stronghold.  Happily we scampered across the Ponte Vecchio, through the neighborhood of Oltrarno and up the hill to Piazzale Michelangelo to marvel at vistas from south of the Arno River.  Here we could spot Palazzo Vecchio, the Duomo, Giotto’s bell tower, and the copper-domed Great Synagogue — all places that would be indelibly impressed upon the under-11 set in the ensuing days/daze.

Ponte Vecchio with red and white pennant.

Famous sites from afar and at a slight angle.

Proof that we were there.

Tempio Maggiore

Actually, I ordered the tagliatelle.

VI. Desperately recalculating.   We select child-friendly activities.

The thing is, there is a lot of fun stuff to do in Florence if you put aside the treasures of the Uffizi, the treasures of the Pitti Palace, the Leonardo da Vinci Museum — with its special treasures — the Bargello Museum [treasures galore], the Opera del Duomo, complete with its own amazing treasures, like Ghiberti’s sculptural bronze doors, etc., etc., etc.  Though a certain credit card company has informed us that the best things in life are priceless — hence leading any reasonable person to assume that it wouldn’t hurt anyone {even if he is 7} to look briefly at Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise or Botticelli’s Rite of Spring — for just a handful of euros you can have a pretty good time renting bikes or for no money at all taking pictures of inanimate objects.

Priceless.

Donations accepted.

No charge, except for Yoga class.

Reasonably priced child-friendly activity.

Down jacket was a freebie.

87,000 Euros (adjusted for inflation).

VII.  Asserting parental control.  We become one with the artistic culture that surrounds us.

Even J. thought it was special.

We waited in line to climb up Giotto’s Bell Tower…

But not as long as these folks had to wait.

Brunelleschi contemplates his masterpiece.

His masterpiece (Il Duomo).

Heaven and hell in-the-round.

The artist Jeff Koons is allowed to do this. We still do not know why.

By the fourth day in Florence we were beat looking at all that art and architecture.  We decided to take the train to Pisa to see if we could make the Tower fall down.

Everything in Pisa seemed a little off center.

They named the river walkway after this gentleman.

Same fiume as in Florence.

The outside of a famous tower in Pisa.

The inside of the very same tower.

This puppy really leans!

But which way?!!!

Ah…that’s better.

J. does his part to keep the tower upright, regardless of our initial plan to push it down.

The setting is quite lovely.

The train back to Florence rocked, but did not lean.

Pisa offered simple pleasures after all the cathedrals, palaces, galleries, churches, museums, facades, pediments, and selfie-stick sellers of Florence.  When you climb the Leaning Tower of Pisa, the gravitational force flings you from one side of the stairwell to the other. Also, if you appropriately time your visit to Italy’s largest baptistry, which is the Pisa Baptistry of St. John (0.6 degree tilt), you can hear a guard call out musical notes and experience an acoustically perfect resonating chamber.  

Lessons Learned:  There’s much to say about traveling in Italy for three entire weeks with children.  And apparently a lot of parents have already said it on blogs of their own, which we never bothered to read until it was too late.

Happy to be by the Arno River.

Improves reception in 4 out of 5 Florentine homes.

Happy to be in the Boboli Gardens.

VIII.  Seeking the ruins of a lost civilization.  We try to discern meaning from 170 acres of ruble.

First things first — the best gelato on the entire Italian peninsula can be found on modern Pompei’s main square.  Here’s a big shout-out to Emilia Cremeria, Piazza Bartolo Longo, 54!  Now, on to other business….

In 3rd grade, A. completed a research project on Pompeii, a once-thriving middle class city situated on the Bay of Naples that was destroyed, and yet preserved, in AD 79.  We now had a chance to visit this historic site and see how things stacked up in relation to A.’s own work on the subject.  

Our guide to the ruins of Pompei, Alex, spent a few hours explaining this and illustrating that, and it was a good thing he did, because with out his help we would have ended up just another set of tourists looking in vain for a long-lost trattoria or VIP brothel.

Local fast food joint from 2 millenia ago.

Alex explaining something fascinating of which we have no memory what so ever.

Walking the streets of Pompei, hoping we do not stumble upon the Lupanare Grande, the most famous brothel of Pompei (according to Wikipedia).

After we said our good-byes to Alex, we were determined to make our way on our own to the famous House of the Faun, so named due to the mythological creature, half-man, half-goat, in this case cast in bronze, situated in the middle of the House’s impluvium (no offense).

{NOTE:  When seeking the House of the Faun, be sure to turn left at the corner of REGIO III, Insulae 7, 23 and REGIO IV, Insulae 14, 21 or else you will end up at the intersection of REGIO VII, Insulae 13, 5 and REGIO VIII, Insulae 10, 6, otherwise known as the Lupanare Grande.}

Pompei certainly deserves more than the four hours we allotted it, but due to the combustibles we were carrying with us, our time was limited before they exploded full force.

When you visit, do not miss strolling around contemporary Pompeii.  Lots of adventures await the curious traveler.  For instance, M. lost a stare down with a nun at the Pontificio Santuario della Beata Vergine del Santo Rosario di Pompei (otherwise known as the Cathedral) and ended up having to pay double for the family to ride the elevator to the top of the bell tower.  Result:  we reluctantly contributed eight extra euros to the sustenance of the Church, and more importantly, vowed never to attend Mass again.

Lessons learned:  a.)  Pompeii can be spelled with either one “i” or two and we had neither the time nor the inclination to be consistent in this post. b.)  Order the house red; it is always delicious and always a good price.  c.) The kids are all right.

IX.  Preparing to tour Rome.  We avoid all cliches.

Rome was not built in a day, even though all roads lead to it.  This was the koan we pondered as we walked the black-cobbled streets of the Centro Historico.  By now, sixteen days into our journey, we had abandoned our copies of Henry James’s The Ambassadors and E. M. Forster’s A Room With a View.  Sitting quietly, reading, absorbing the essence of Italy through the eyes of foreign writers whose works had been converted into simple-to-digest movies  — this was not for us.

Romulus, Remus & the famous She-Wolf.

We visit the Pantheon with our fellow travelers.

The oculus allows light and rain to enter the Pantheon.

One of the worthwhile items we read in Italy.

Passing down café lore at Caffé Sant’Eustachio.

We arrived in Rome on New Year’s Eve day.  Signs of Christmas and Three Kings’ Day were apparent in the bakeries and candy stores in our wanderings.  We were surprised to learn that Roman families actually put coal in their children’s Christmas stockings!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Our apartment, loaded with guidebooks, but not a single copy of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code, was located right off Campo de’ Fiori in the Centro Historico neighborhood.  We spent most of our time reading these contemporary tomes, discovering in words and pictures, the bountiful offerings of Rome that we might never cajole A. and J. to visit in real life. 

As was customary, we visited Il Ghetto, what was once the Roman Jewish Quarter, a former lowland swampy place abutting the River Tiber that flooded regularly and was home to pestilence, ill-health and a thorny thistle we call the artichoke.  From this came the now-famous and delectable Carciofi Alla Giudia —  Artichokes Jewish Style — deep-fried, crispy and containing absolutely no jamon.

100% kosher.

Artichokes prepared in such fashion, a few bakeries, a fountain designed by Bernini in honor of the Jews, some wall plaques and an enormous synagogue (built 1901-1904 C.E.) mark the history of the ghetto, whose walls were torn down in 1870 when the Papal State ceased to exist.  (See:  Viva d’Italia, directed by Roberto Rossellini, 1961 C.E., starring Renzo Ricci, Paolo Stoppa, and Tina Louise.)

Bernini likened the Jews to the turtle, for their equal ability to travel at a moment’s notice with everything they needed on their backs.

Reminders of days of yore.

Makes a bold statement, after years of oppression.

Jewish kids had to go to school here.

X.  Crossing the Tiber.  We journey to St. Peter’s.

According to every guide book we consulted, no visit to Rome could be complete without crossing the River Tiber and making one’s way to Vatican City.   When confronted with a chance to admire Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, climb the Basilica of St. Peter’s, and gape at the incalculable aggregation of material wealth within its sanctuary, it was a no-brainer.

As many people know, St. Peter’s Basilica is located in Vatican City State, a sovereign entity complete with its own postal system, security personnel, telephone service and pharmacy, though no carry out pizza.

First cross this river.

Next, follow these signs.

When you get there, climb to the top of St. Peter’s Dome.

Then scurry down to hang out in the ellipse and expectantly wait for nightfall.

The Trevi Fountain, the Spanish Steps, the Forum, the Colosseum….a blog post like this could go on for days.  And even though those sites were a wonder to behold, as we snuggled up next to our other tourist friends, in truth, the little moments had as equally great impact upon us as well:   watching a man in Piazza Navona make art out of a can of spray paint and a piece of cardboard and still remain conscious; stumbling across a tiny store in Il Ghetto that sold pepper sauce in sixteen different strengths and surviving the hottest on a dare; and finally, getting the chance to stay inside and play Minecraft on a laptop while the Eternal City thrummed vibrantly right outside the door.

The Trevi Fountain: a popular destination.

The steps were being renovated. All we could see was this sign.

The Roman Forum (according to our guidebook).

A large monument in honor of the Romans’ defeat of Judea.

The spoils of war.

Built in 2,920 days.

Pretty cool, even if you haven’t seen Gladiator.

Another large monument, this time built in honor of Victor Emmanuel II, of whom you have probably never heard.

Only monument in Rome not made out of stone: the Italian Stone Pine. (No joke.)

Lessons Learned:  Rome is a fantastic city to visit, with or without children.  The people are friendly, the food is delicious, and you can walk everywhere you want to go.  Don’t forget to bring the chargers and the adapters!

Still speaking to each other on Day 20 (Colosseum, Rome).

Professional fútbol in Granada:  a grueling game for men.

Arriving at Estadio Nuevo Los Cármenes

Preparing el campo.

Enticing the crowd.

The crowd enticed.

Patada inicial.

Trading goodies.

Granada scores!

The crowd goes wild.

On with the game!

Semi-professional fútbol in Granada:  a grueling game for women.

Málaga (orange) vs. Granada (stripes).

Linesmen and Referee.

Rites and Customs.

The Kickoff.

No problem finding a good seat

The crowd goes wild.

Youth league fútbol in Granada:  a nightmare that never ends.

FIFA says “No!” to foreign players!

M. spoke to this reporter in Spanish, protesting the harsh requirements. Fortunately, she was not quoted.

We get our picture in the paper!

Even though J. and A. had signed up to play with the local fútbol club, Rayo Eneas, trouble in Barçelona had prevented them from participating in official games with their teams.

It all began when the Barçelona FC was fined for enticing young players from other countries to move to Spain and try out for the Barçelona team. According to newspaper accounts, up to 3,000 young people have been abandoned on the streets of Barçelona having failed to reach the pitch, disclaimed without family or friends to help them.

To prevent the continuation of this “child-trafficking” FIFA is cracking down on the parents of foreign children who play on European teams.  Hence, a bunch of ex-pat kids have been left on the sidelines, able to train but unable to play until their paper trail is examined, codified, stamped, stapled, rejected, resubmitted and…….

. . . Éxito!  In December, J.’s coach finally figured out a way for J. to play while his papers were being processed!  Now we get to schedule every single weekend around fútbol games — either home or away in a nearby pueblo.  As of this posting, Rayo Eneas is in 2nd place with a 12-1 record.  J. has scored a couple of goals and is glad to play midfield or defense.  Vaya Rayo Eneas!

Ultimately, FIFA took so long to authorize all the forms that our empadronamiento expired and D. had to return to the Centro Civico at the Oficina de Ayuntamiento in the Albayzin to renew our copy.  This was great because we got to practice one of our favorite phrases in Granada:  No pasa nada.

A., on the other hand, has yet to play in an official game.  Her forms have not been processed.  Her empadronamiento rests in an office, somewhere in the city, awaiting its stamp.  However, A. couldn’t care less.  She is happy enough to practice with her team twice a week, one of only three girls willing and able to play fútbol with the boys.  

Our little house is smashed next to other little houses and separated from yet others by a narrow cobbled lane.  People set their laundry on the roof top terraces to dry in the sun, or else clothes drape from buildings as if Christo and Jeanne-Claude had paid a visit to Granada at the beginning of their career. From our rooftop you can see the Alhambra and hear the birds in the cypress trees and the flamenco singers from high above in Mirador San Nicolás.  Church bells ring at odd hours and for unpredictable lengths of time. Occasionally, a gentleman walks through the streets whistling and shouting out that he is ready to sharpen your knives.

Our neighborhood from above…

A typical narrow lane.

In the fall, the grapes ripened.

They tasted great!

It stayed nice and green for a long time.

No pork is served at this vegan restaurant.

One of the places where we post our cards to you.

When you visit, we will take you for “churros y chocolate.”

But is it art?

After living in Granada for awhile, one young wag of our acquaintance insisted:  “It’s just really different in a lot of ways.  There’s so many ways it’s different it’s impossible to describe.  There are so many people and you never know if they’re local or actually a tourist. And it’s very hard to communicate because the people don’t know English and we don’t know that much Spanish, so it’s hard to communicate.  And you always walk everywhere.”

SOME PLACES WE WALKED

…to the Alhambra to go Geocaching with some friends.

…by the Torre to look for the cache.

…to the cemeterio, still looking.

….inside a special garden in the cemeterio where the cache was hidden.

…across from Sacramonte to get to Llano de la Perdiz.

….to the side of the hill to throw rocks.

…along the hill to get to the top.

…across from the caves.

…to the Cave Museum

….inside the Cave Museum.

At the end of September, the annual fiesta in honor of the Albayzin’s patron San Miguel Archangel was held over a weekend.  We did not go to mass on Sunday or attend the flamenco performances that began at 10:30 p.m. in Plaza Larga each night, but we did go to the Foam Party at Placeta de Fátima.

Making foam.

What is this stuff?

It’s supposed to put out fires.

Presumably happy.

Also happy.

Before the chill set in.

Leaves your skin silky smooth.

At the end of October, some ex-pat families celebrated Halloween.  The chidren trick-or-treated from ex-pat house to ex-pat house through the Albayzin, sort of like a progressive dinner.  The kids got candy and the adults got tapas and wine and beer.  A good deal for all.

Take home message:  Siempre hay ropa para lavar.

Madre mia!  We just came back from a long holiday puente in Sevilla, a weekend that marked Día de la Constitución, the official Monday after Constitution Day, and La Immaculada (Dec. 6-8).  In addition to the 700,000 regular inhabitants of Sevilla, we rubbed shoulders, and other body parts, with the extra tens of thousands of Spaniards who thronged to the casco antiguo through all hours of the day and night with their children, strollers, grandmothers, cousins, friends, aunts, grandfathers, uncles, ham sandwiches, and cigarettes.

It was great!  These folks really know how to dress:  seamed stockings, ankle boots and merino wool ponchos for the gals; sweaters, cool haircuts and fine leather shoes for the gents.  Little boys wore knee socks, shorts, cardigans and itty-bitty bow ties, and the girls donned leggings, skirts and fringed suede boots.  No afternoon or evening paseo would be complete without an abuela or two dozen, decked out in smart wool skirts with matching jackets.  A singular sartorial style failed to mark the abuelos, but there they were quaffing a cerveza or vino tinto in the myriad cafes that spilled out onto the narrow streets of the old city.

Throngs of Spaniards.

Throng with marching band.

More throngs.

Marching band in search of throng.

Most of the weekend was spent wondering when J.’s front tooth was going to fall out.  Would it happen on the bike ride by the Rio Guadalquivir? On the ferris wheel — La Noria — high above the city? In the 14th century Alcázar? Or on the horse and buggy ride through the city streets?

This tooth must go!

Biking in Triana….

Not yet….

Horse and buggy ride with tooth.

La Noria por la noche!

We went around 5 times.

Still there.

I wonder where and when.

Now?

No comment.

Almost….

Compared to Granada the city of Sevilla is flat, and there is no dog poop on the streets.  We repeat: No hay excrementos de los perros en la calle!

This sign does not exist in Granada, Spain.

Admittedly, there is a tiny bit of horse poop, but that is a small price to pay for the thrill of getting stuck in a horse-and-buggy traffic jam.

Selecting our make and model.

Engine size = 1 horse power.

Traffic jam with horseless carriage in last place.

If you are able to visit Sevilla, we recommend a good week or more to explore the city.  From the Rio Guadalquivir we rode our bikes to Metropol Parasol, but could only bask in its shadow as we had no time to explore the Roman ruins underneath.  Our timing to visit the world’s largest Cathedral was off, and so we missed climbing the Giralda and therefore cannot offer you the requisite “family-atop-a-high structure” photograph in this post, a standard photo featured in previous postings, for which we receive lots of comments in the Reply section of this blog.

The largest cathedral in the world.

We had no time to climb this.

The largest wooden structure in the world.

The bridge to Triana.

The largest purple pigs in the world.

It flows to the sea.

Christopher Columbus is somewhere in there.

On the other hand, we had plenty of time to explore the Alcázar, climb the Torre del Oro, and chat with a few locals.

The Mercury Pond in the Alcázar.

Mercury and his minions.

Even prettier in real life.

Neptune, naked in the Alcázar.

The Leaning Tower of Torre del Oro.

The national motto of Spain.

Played Top 40, but only in Spanish.

They don’t mind if you sit on it.

Up close.

The locals seemed friendly enough.

The city was lively, and though thousands of Spaniards had stuffed themselves into the old part of Sevilla like a fine Iberian chorizo encased in its translucent intestinal sleeve, a kilometer away one could find peace and quiet at the Plaza de Espańa, or by slipping down a flagstoned side street that led to interesting shop windows.

M. finds a quiet moment alone.

The pig never had a chance.

Eventually, the inevitable arrived.  We made our way to the part of the old city known as the judería.  It is an oft told tale from days gone by in Andalucía:  a vibrant and industrious Jewish quarter of town is obliterated in the 14th century due to fanatical outbursts from powerful and pious religious lunatics who happen not to be Jewish.  At the Centro de Interpretación Judería de Sevilla we learned that the city was once home to over 4,000 people of the Jewish persuasion and over twenty synagogues.  Now, a small population of Jews are returning: at the time of this post, currently there are around 23 Jewish families and 2 synagogues.  This turns out to be a whopping increase from approximately .00575 synagogues per person in Medieval times to an astounding .0217 per person in contemporary Sevilla. Things are starting to look up!

In the judería.

The rule was, Jewish folk had to live here.

Used to be a synagogue.

J.’s tooth finally came out on our way to a vegetarian restaurant one evening. Miraculously, the tooth fairy figured out where we were staying on Calle Zaragoza, so the trip was not a total waste.

Your turn….

Sometime in the 16th century during the reign of Carlos I, Spanish officials created the term balduque — otherwise known as “red tape”.  This word was coined in response to the mountains of reports, administrative documents, dossiers, and the like that were generated throughout Spain and its imperial realm.

Originally, balduque (*) referred to a wide red string tied around reams of paper deemed important enough to reach el rey.  All the other piles of paper were tied with rope and never got a chance to visit the king.  Though “red tape” is still used in much of the English-speaking world, the term balduque has faded in Spain, replaced by the more pedestrian papeleo burocrático.   Here is what it looks like:

Only the half of it.

You may recall a point in your life when you stood in line at the Department of Motor Vehicles.  Maybe you applied for Obamacare and had to fill out a few forms.  Way, way back you may even have completed a financial aid application for college, submitted it on time, and later waited some minutes at the bursar’s office.  Ha!

To live in Spain is first to figure out how to get a number and next where to stand in line, only to be informed that you have to go to a different office in another part of town, which will be closed between 2 and 5 p.m.  (No one knows exactly where this oficina is, by the way.)  Through experience we know that you have to get to this other office by 9 a.m. in order to get an appointment for 11:30 a.m. later that day.  At the appointed time you must hand over all the forms {^} you have previously submitted (multiple times) to get a visa[%], to receive packages from the States, to register children to play on the local fútbol team, to open a bank account, or to receive your Residency Card.

At the Oficina de Extranjeros, no one speaks English — nor, for that matter, any language other than Spanish.  Why should they?  It is simply the office that processes the many papers needed by foreigners from all over the world who want to reside in Spain.  At the Agencia de Tributaria, M. felt guilty for not knowing enough Spanish, but still managed to make an appointment, return at the proper time, go to the correct desk, hand over the proper forms and then receive this print out from the nice Spanish-speaking lady.

The nice Spanish-speaking lady gave M. this special form.

 M. still does not know what to do with it.

Regardless, the system works, because later our maletas arrived from the United States thanks to Y., back in Pasadena, and thanks to the patient civil servants at the Oficina de Aduana in Madrid.

These were almost sent back to the States because no one could tell us the proper office to submit our forms.

At the end of September, we learned that our long-term residency visas had been finalized and our residency cards had been processed.  We took a taxi to the Oficina de Extranjeros to pick them up.  The residency card includes the important Número de Identidad de Extranjeros, or NIE (pronounced “nyee”):  As in, “I went to the Oficina de Extranjeros to pick up our NIEs and found out I need to come back next Thursday with the kids.”

Yippeee!!!!

 The NIE is like a magic get-out-of-jail card.  You use it to open a bank account, to order groceries, to sign kids up for field trips, to rent a car, to receive the Empadronamiento (don’t ask), to get library cards, to pay rent, to sign up for lunch and pay for activities at school, and it works great as a toothpaste, floor cleaner and cream rinse.

Like the many Spaniards who have learned to live with papeleo burocrático, we stand in line with our well-burnished paciencia y tranquilidad.  To see what this attitude looks and feels like in real life, please check out this YouTube video:

(*) We are obliged to inform you that the term “balduque” does not actually mean red tape.  That term, of course, is the simple nomenclature cinta roja.  Instead, “balduque” derived from a city in the Spanish Netherlands from whence the red tape was manufactured.  That city was called ‘s-Hertogenbosch, which for some reason the Spanish called “balduque.”  (At this point, the post you are reading has descended to a level of minutia that is essentially devoid of interest.  Please take a number to submit your complaint.(*))

{^} List of necessary forms/documents[+]:  copy of passport, criminal background check with finger prints, U.S. bank statement, medical record, birth certificate (children), letter of current employment, visa application, vaccination record (children), residency form EX-01, lease, domestic partnership certificate, driver license, declaration of medical benefits, Modelo 790.  ((*) Your complaint must be submitted in Spanish by a Certified Spanish Translator (#).)

[+] The following documents must be taken to the office of the Secretary of State of the State of California to receive the International Stamp of the Apostille (by agreement of the “Convention de La Haye du 5 octobre 1961) before they will be accepted by the government of Spain:  birth certificate, domestic partnership certificate, criminal background check.  ( (#) Please resubmit your complaint with embossed notary seal indicating legal authentication of translator’s certified status. (&))

[%} When applying for our visas, the clerk at the office of the Secretary of State in downtown Los Angeles at first refused to accept the birth certificates that were signed by the doctors who delivered A. and J.  M. needed to return with copies of birth certificates signed by the County Clerks of the respective counties — Alameda and Los Angeles.  ((&) Have you submitted the above mentioned form in duplicate copies in Spanish as well as in English?)

Passports with visas to Spain!

From its heyday as the go-to center of learning and multicultural consonance  — while the rest of Europe trudged through the “Dark Ages” — to its current status as a magnet for tourists seeking a glimpse of its Muslim/Catholic/Jewish past, Córdoba is a city not to be missed.  Truth be told, of all that Córdoba has to offer, there is only one irritation:  You must hold down the “o” key, then strike the appropriate letter (out of a choice of eight), in order to indicate the accent mark every time you type the name of this former Islamic capital of the Iberian Peninsula.  For that reason, we will be referring to Córdoba as C. for the remainder of this post.

Sign for Córdoba Centro with annoying accent mark.

At the beginning of November, we took a quick two-night trip to C.  We had heard wonderful references to the Mezquita and were intrigued to find out what the judería was all about.  With only 48 hours to spare, we embraced our roles as tourists and stuck to the major attractions.

{Click on photo for view of major attractions that C. has to offer.}

M.’s favorite candy shop.

Agua no potable!

We actually gave him centimos.

Iberian Heron in the Rio Guadalquivir.

Do not look at the poop.

Muy interesante!

Mezquita:  No visit to the Mezquita would be complete without a prior Wikipedia search under the heading “Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba.”  A brief summary follows:  Constructed over a period of 200 years (785-987 C.E.), this grand mosque (built on the previous foundation of a Visigothic house of worship) was transformed into a church after yet 300 more years of diligent work (1236-1520? C.E.).  We finished this baby off in a mere 65 minutes.

Mezquita y Puente Romano.

Patio de los Naranjos.

Minute 17.

Wrong setting on camera.

Facing mecca.

A different direction.

Minaret turned into Tower.

Traditional photograph.

Another wrong setting.

Alcázar:  Completed in the 14th century under the auspices of Alfonso XI, this Castle of the Christian Monarchs sits atop the remnants of previous Roman and Arab civilizations.  It was here that Christopher Columbus first met King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel in 1486.  A. & M. successfully navigated the Tower of the Lion, the Tower of the Inquisition, the Keep, the Mosaics Hall, the Moorish Patio, and the Gardens in 43 minutes. (We did not visit the Royal Baths.)

Royal Stables.

From Torre de Leon.

Royal Gardens.

May I please have some money?

No you may not.

Judería:  There is nothing funny to say about the judería.  Even the accent mark isn’t funny.  Yes, a thriving Jewish intellectual and mercantile life existed before the rise of Reyes Católicos (aka, Ferdinand and Isabel), and yes, the study of Judaism flourished, and yes, the great 12th century philosopher-doctor-jurist Moses Maimonides called C. “home” (or more likely “لبيت”) [until he was forced into exile], but like many historical sites in C., all that is in the past.  Try to find a bagel and cream cheese in contemporary C.?  Forget it.

Still, we made our way to the small 14th century sinagoga and toured Casa de Sefarad, a museum devoted to the life and times of los judios during what is called the Islamic Golden Age and during the subsequent “Reconquista.”  (Occasional massacres, pogroms, and expulsions excluded from exhibit.) Time spent in the judería:  Eleven hours, 42 minutes.

The remainder of our time was spent sleeping, eating, preparing to leave the apartment for outings, and experiencing the spontaneous combustion of travel.   Transpired time:  A vigorous thirty-four hours, 30 minutes.

Street mural.

Mezquita façade w/annoying accent mark.

Fight by medieval wall.

Girl on bridge.

Getting along.

Total time spent in C.: 48 hours.  Perfecto!

1.) Where is Picos de Europa?  That is the question we sought to answer.  You will find it, as we did, in the north of Spain, straddling two beautiful provinces: Cantabria and Asturias. 

2.)  How does one get there?  We chose the following way:  We first moved to the Albayzin in Granada, Spain.  We then walked down to Plaza Nueva and took a taxi to the bus station. We rode on the bus for two hours to the southern beach city of Málaga where we could catch a direct flight to the northern beach city of Santander.  A rental car awaited us.  We drove through the quaint stone village of Santillana del Mar, where we sampled some local delights:  fresh, raw milk from grass-fed cows, the baked treats sobao, bizcocho, and quesada, and the attention of very cute dogs.  Our next stop was the idyllic town of San Vicente de la Barquera.

3.)  Why does the town of San Vicente de la Barquera remind visitors of the gorgeous northern California coast?  This is because the town spreads from the beach to the hills; the estuary of Río Escudo ebbs and flows with the tides.  True, the large stone Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de los Ángeles and the Castillo del Rey, both from the 13th century, dominate the skyline (in place of familiar San Francisco sites such as the Transamerica Pyramid and Coit Tower, both from the 20th), and granted the real estate is cheaper than any place on the California coast, and it is well acknowledged that the population density is a mere 280 people/sq. mile, as opposed to San Francisco’s 18,187 people/sq. mile, but both municipalities feature saints in their names and a decent cup of coffee can be procured as easily in one as in the other.

4.)  Did you visit the cave of El Soplao and did you order the chicken nuggets in the cafe in the hopes of Jonah finally agreeing to eat something?  Yes.

Puente de la Maza, low tide.

High tide.

No tide.

Beheaded.

Una iglesia del punto de vista de un castillo.

Picos de Europa.

To the mirador.

Hansel and Gretel.

A Spanish stile.

Wake up!

Train to cave.

A successful boarding.

Inside Cueva El Soplao

Outside Cueva El Soplao.

Parity photograph.

A kiss….

….turns her into a cow?

More Picos de Europa.

J. would not eat this.

J. would not eat this either.

J. did not eat this.

5.)  What does one do in the Picos de Europa?  Most people work, raise families, rest and relax.  We decided to complete a ropes course in Arriondas, visit a church in Covadonga, take a hike along Ruta de los Lagos, explore the Asturian town of Cangas de Onís, and stay in the tiny farming settlement of Cabielles.  

6.)  On a scale of one to ten (ten being the highest score) how would you rate this trip and why?  We would rate this trip a solid ten.  Reasons why:  Only one person out of four threw up on the windy roads of the Picos.  We had an opportunity to walk across a Roman bridge, built in the 13th century, which was chronologically impossible, but still a treat (see Gibbon, Edward.  The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.)  We were also able to get good reception at our rural lodging and watch Spain defeat Luxembourg (4-0), thereby qualifying for the 2016 Euro tournament to be held in France starting in June (2016).   

“Gracias por pedir el pescado.”

To get to school, A. & J. walk up a series of steep cobblestone lanes.  The school, Colegio Público Gómez Moreno, is situated next to the most visited mirador in all of Granada, Mirador San Nicolas.

Both kids are doing really, really well in inglés.  A few times during the week A. & J., along with some other ex-pat kids, leave the classroom to study Spanish with a warm and lovely teacher, who never raises her voice and who hands out candies during lessons.  Once a week after school, A. & J. work with a Spanish tutor who never raises her voice and who lives in a cave on Veredillas de San Cristóbal.  Because of this extra help, J.s first complete sentence in Spanish, constructed solely by himself, late at night after a long day, was “Mi familia es muy mala.”  Like parents delighting over their child’s first steps, D. & M. swooned.  Sort of.

J.’s schedule.

Perhaps no other part of the school day — neither standing in line with your group to enter the building in the morning, nor sitting in class all day listening to people around you speak in a foreign language, nor forgetting to bring your change-of-shirt and towel to P.E., nor having to hold it all day because no one told you that you have to ask for toilet paper from the teacher — causes as much disharmony as comedor.  The cafeteria.

As you recall from your own school days, going to the cafeteria to sit amongst people you know, speaking a familiar language, and digesting familiar, though somehow sad-looking, food, was never an easy task.  At Gómez Moreno, the students sign up for organic food, prepared fresh each day by qualified cooks. No student — neither Spanish nor otherwise — seems to be impressed by these facts.  They still have to eat the red gazpacho, the brown lentil soup, the squid presented in its black ink.  Of course, many students enjoy these dishes and eagerly consume a plate of pork loin or grilled hake*.  As a self-identified vegetarian, A. has only to eat the vegetables — the hunk of dry spinach, the mound of rice with the squid’s black ink inadvertently added on.

Lunch is served at 2 p.m., at the close of the school day.

*{“Hake is quite a mild fish, with a white flaky texture and a flavour that is more subtle than that of cod. The fish has a soft, iron-grey skin and silvery belly. The flesh when raw is naturally very soft, but when cooked it becomes firm and meaty.” — www.bbc.co.uk/food/hake}

Some of you might be wondering what school days are like for the kids; so are we.  A. & J. gather in the school yard of Colegio Público Gómez Moreno around 9 a.m., Monday through Friday, with a horde of other kids, pre-school through sixth grade.  They trot off into the building, and what happens between then and pick up, at around 3 or 4, is what the Spanish might term “el mysterio.”

Some days we get debriefings on walks home from school.  This information is then corroborated through other ex-pat children we know who attend Gómez Moreno.  However, we cannot fully verify the information we are about to present.

A.:  A.’s teacher speaks excellent Spanish but no English. (Verified.) This means that when she yells at the children during class, A. does not understand a word, and that is good.  She is also affectionate to the children and has a soft spot for A., also good.

Instruction is text-book dependent.  Students read out loud from the text book about science or literature or social studies.  The teacher also reads out loud from the text book.  Then the students read out loud from the text book again.  In music, the teacher reads out loud from the text book. Text books must be covered in plastico. The parents must prepare the books at home, after searching the city for the proper plastico; the plastico element is harder than it sounds.

So far, in art, the students have colored in a picture of Christopher Columbus.  This is also harder than it sounds.  There are specific colors that have to go in specific places and if they don’t go in those places, the students experience grief.  (Note:  use el color naranja for C.C.’s hair.)

There is no toilet paper in the bathrooms; students must ask the teacher for some if they need it.  Consensus strategy:  Hold it.

J.:  J. plays soccer during recess. (Verified.)