Spanish Phrase of the Day

"No Pasa Nada"

Literally meaning "Not Passing Anything," this phrase is used to mean "Don't Worry About It," or "Nothing Will Happen," generally in response to an apology, mix-up, or problem. Hakuna Matata, in other words.

"No Pasa Nada."

Valencia, Spain

Recently, in utter desperation (to see the sun and the sea) we travelled with two friends, Swedish Sara, a fellow academy teacher, and American Melissa, an exchange student and Daphne, Alabama resident, to the third largest city in Spain, Valencia.


Every time Craig and I travel it rains, so when we arrived by bus we were not surprised to see dark clouds. We decided we were forced to skip the beach for the afternoon and instead wandered through the old and beautiful city center. Surprisingly the sun burned through the clouds and we basked in the sunlight at cafes talking talking talking and people watching.

The next day we woke up to blessed sunshine and headed to the beach! This shore reminded me of the Gulf of Mexico because the water is calm and clear, but the sand is much darker than Alabama's and there is a different feeling to it. We lotioned up, more than aware that our skin had not seen the sun in over SEVEN MONTHS as Spain's winter had been exceptionally long and cold. The water was too cold for swimming, but the temperature was just right for sunbathing, and the four of us read our various books, studied, slept.

In the afternoon when the wind kicked up and we got chilly we ordered paella at a beach side restaurant, as paella was born in and around Valencia and we could not leave without having it here. We also walked around the strangely designed museums of Valencia.



In the evening we bought frozen pizzas to cook in the hostel's large kitchen, only to discover that there was no oven. And so we found ourselves cooking pizzas on stove top and playing cards in the common room with new American friends. (stovetop pizza has the potential for great success and utter failure, just fyi).

The next day we checked out, hit the beach for just a short time, and headed home by bus. The weekend seemed so short! I have never lived in a city more than 1 hour away from the beach before, and residing here in Madrid is a little bit of a challenge for this reason, especially now that it is warm.

The weekend in Valencia was great. I enjoyed the beach, the food, the company, every bit about it.

French Adventure 3: Marseilles and the Journey Back to Spain

We finally bid goodbye to Manosque (which, by the way, just so happened to be extremely close to where Craig had lived in Gap) and headed to Marseilles by bus on our own. We had planned on taking a train from Marseilles to Barcelona because the flight from Marseilles to Madrid had been too expensive. As it was a national holiday in Spain, however, it was impossible to find train tickets. So we had tickets for a 9 hour bus ride to Barcelona the next day, and we had one evening and one morning to spend in Marseilles.

Marseilles is beautiful in a haunting way. It is dirty and dangerous and, most of all, fishy, but the history of this oldest European port city is nearly tangible and makes the city feel, above all else, ALIVE. I truly enjoyed it and would love to go back when the sun is shining. Marseilles is sunny 300 days of the year, and we happened to be there during a heavy downpour.

In the evening we walked around the harbor and settled into a restaurant to enjoy the Marseille specialty dish, La Bouillabaise, which is a rock fish broth served with several kinds of fresh caught and cooked fish, cheese, croutons, and sauce.

The next morning, after another long, rain-soaked walk around the port, we caught our Barcelona bound bus, which we were assured would drop us at the Barcelona airport.

9 hours later we arrived not at the airport, but the train station. No problem! We took the last train of the night to the airport. By this time it was 11:30 PM and we had all the time in the world before our 5 am flight. We looked and looked, though, and there was no sign of our airline check-in counter! Finally we approached the info desk and with a hiss of air between her teeth the attendant informed us that our flight was actually departing from Girona, a city an hour and 45 minutes away, which operated under the "Barcelona" name. This was my luck now, as the Harrison luck had obviously faded away.

We took a bus to the Plaza de Espana then caught the metro to the bus station. We missed the last bus of the night to Girona by 5 minutes, and were informed that we would have to wait until the next bus departed at 3:15 AM, and that the trip would take 1 hour. We weighed the risk of only allowed 45 minutes to check in and get through security before our flight departed, and, since we had zero other options, settled into some chairs in the tiny, freezing bus station. We considered napping since we had to work the next morning, but it was truly impossible, between the snoring men and homeless people getting kicked out of the bathrooms.

We were so relieved to finally purchase our bus tickets and board and depart. I was anxious about the tight time squeeze but dozed off here and there, listening to the various languages fly through the bus. When we heard the thump and the bus abruptly pulled over, I was not alarmed. We knew a tire must have blown, and that it would probably only take 10 minutes, max, to change the tire. No problem, I told Craig, we can still make it.

However, the bus driver did not return. Interestingly, the French, the Americans, the Canadians, the Swedish, the English sat quietly in their seats whispering predictions, while the Spanish and the Portuguese stood, gawked, yelled, and prowled the aisle in impatience.

Perhaps 15 minutes later the bus driver stepped back onto the bus, and he backed us up 20 meters or so before leaving again, gazing under the bus. He walked the dark and busy highway, peering into bushes, walking, walking, searching. The digital clock in the front of the bus climbed to 4:30. 4:45, 4:50, 5:00, 5:15, and still we sat, finally understanding what had happened as the police arrived, stopped traffic, waved in the ambulance, let the medics get to work.

Another bus pulled in after a time and we were roughly instructed to get off this bus, board the new. No more information was provided to us. We were simply dropped at the airport, where passengers from all over Europe and the Americas hit the ground running to find their flights.

By the time we finally boarded a plane we could not keep our eyes open. We notified our director we would have to miss our morning classes and slept through the flight. We numbly walked through the airport, boarded the metro, boarded the train, and woke up just in time to catch the stop for Alcala de Henares. We arrived in the city hungry, exhausted, giggling, and relieved after a 28 hour trip.

French Adventure 2: Cassis and Aix-en-Provence

Our time in France was expected to be cloudy and rainy, but we took our chances with travelling to Cassis for a picnic and a hike. And we got lucky! It was cool and windy, but with patches of sun that made the trip more than worthwhile.


Cassis is famous for its Calonques, fingers of land that extend into the Mediterranean and drop down into cliffs into the water. This was my first glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea and with the sunshine I was not disappointed. We lunched on the edge of a Calonque, enjoying Mathilde's rice salad in the wind, and we hiked for several hours, visiting each calonque, watching the sailboats and the climbers, enjoying the sun. Mathilde tells us that Cassis is the origin of the foundation of the Statue of Liberty, and these smooth white rocks were everywhere.



Later Alex and I scuttled out onto the rocks to put our toes in the Mediterranean. It was warm and the water looked SO inviting. Oh, but it was cold!! In the first instant it was refreshing, and then painfully freezing.

After concluding our natural adventure we meandered into the tiny fishing village, where we drank Perrier and ate French churros, gazing at a castle overlooking the sea.

The next day we headed to Aix-en-Provence. It was windy once again, cloudy, but with occasional and beautiful phases of sun. We visited a museum that compared the lives and art of Picasso and Cezanne, which was really interesting. And FREE! The exhibition was interactive and fun.

We walked the city center, observing the cathedrals and tiny streets. Aix, for me, though beautiful, was most special because of the atmosphere. Its population lounged on cafe terraces, catching up with friends, enjoying good coffee, relaxing, studying. The environment was peaceful, friendly, altogether calming.

We went to a creperia for lunch and once again ate our fill.

French Adventure 1: Manosque

We travelled to the south of France for Semana Santa (Easter break). Here is my account of our journey:

As we hurried to finish packing and cleaning on Wednesday morning, the electricity went out in the apartment (this may or may not have been my fault, as I was blow drying my hair at the time). I am always EXTREMELY organized when I travel, but, as we could not access the flight information and I did have the confirmation numbers written down, I decided to THIS ONE TIME skip the paperwork. So, we boarded a train to Madrid, stepped onto the metro to the airport, and easily checked in with our airline with plenty of time to spare!

As a matter of fact we had amazing luck the entire way to Manosque. I finally got to experience Craig's famed "Harrison Luck!" The staff was terrific and the flight was good. We stepped off the plane and our luggage was the first to emerge. We stepped out of the airport and directly onto the correct bus to Aix-en-Provence. We stepped off the bus with just enough time to grab a panini and my first-ever Orangina before stepping onto the correct bus to Manosque, where my friend Alex and his lovely girlfriend Mathilde were there waiting for us. FLAWLESS.

Mathilde had invited us to stay with her family in the picturesque city that is Manosque. She and the rest of the Serre family were amazing! Their house was beautiful; the garden, with its flowers, herbs, and olive trees, overlooked the tiny medieval town. Mathilde's mother is a killer cook and her father was eager to introduce us to various French wines and cheeses. Luckily for us they spoke English!

Meals in this house were delightful. One night, for example, we had veal cutlets simmered with carrots and garden-grown thyme, served with potatoes baked in cream. This was followed by the salad, which was followed by the mmGOOD cheeses and homemade bread, which was followed by fruits and an apple tart with locally made ice cream. Delicious, and so much more because it was taken slowly, with good conversation, good wine, and good spirits! We stayed full the entire vacation.

For several days we ventured to various cities, but Manosque itself was very special. We took some time to tour the town, observing the great hand that is the symbol of the city, checking out the doors to the city, and exploring local cafes.

The last day we were there we were lucky enough to catch the open-air marketplace where every Wednesday and Saturday the local farmers and vendors gather to sell fresh fruits and vegetables, meats, cheeses, preserves, flowers, herbs, and honey. Craig and I purchased some home-grown, homemade raspberry jam, vegetable curry pate, and goat cheeses. Alex bought some sun-dried tomato paste which we included in the sprawling lunch Mathilde's mother prepared for us before our departure. It was great! Everything about Manosque was absolutely pleasant.

Valdepielagos y Sigüenza

After hiking in Tejera Negra we headed to our friend Patricia's village.

It is important to remember that it was only one generation ago that people still lived in small communities far from a big city. The parents of my friends all grew up in these villages, venturing to Madrid or Barcelona or Sevilla only a few times a year. Until, of course, the Spanish economy boomed, and these people poured into the cities seeking employment, settling down to begin a family closer to "civilization." It was during this exodus of the villages that our city, Alcala, grew important to commuters, morphed into an industrial center, and began accumulating its current population of 204,000. Homes in the villages have become vacation destinations, where people go on holiday weekends to escape the traffic and relax.

When we arrived at the empty house in Valdepielagos, it was barely cool outside. Inside the house was a different story. Built in the 1800s, made primarily of stone, tile, and concrete, and with little insulation, the house was freezing! There was a fireplace, though, and it was here we cooked our dinner. Our friends surprised Craig with a belated birthday cake, of sorts, and we explored the wine bodega, which was an unfinished basement with dirt walls, lots of spider webs, and makeshift wine racks lining the walls.

The next morning we dined on the terrace, enjoying our toast (with baobob preserves) and coffee in the sunshine. The terrace was topped by still-bare grape vines and surrounded by naked flower beds, as Spring had not yet descended on Spain. It was clear it would be a beautiful, peaceful place to relax in May or June.

We ventured over to the crumbling church and sinking graveyard in the village. At night it would surely be a sinister place, as it was quiet and overgrown, the dead beneath the ground long-forgotten as evidenced by their sunken tombs and broken grave markers. It was hard to be forlorn in the daylight though, especially with the view behind us of rolling hills with fields ready for Spring planting.

Next we travelled to a more touristic village called Sigüenza, which means Stork in English (though there were no storks to be seen!). We visited the cathedral and the ancient castle which, in recent years, has become one of the famous Parador Hotels. It is a beautiful city.

We had a lunch of patatas bravas, alitas de pollo, ensalada ruso (a mayo based salad that I despise), and chorizo, and then enjoyed a coffee in front of the city's main plaza and the cathedral. Peaceful.

By this time, Craig and I were exhausted. We had been speaking and listening only to Spanish for two days straight, which is hard on the brain. We had had little sleep and had spent a great majority of the time car-sick, as we no longer travel by automobile and are no longer accustomed to taking on curvy roads from the backseat. It was a wonderful weekend, but we were more than pleased when the cars pulled back into Alcala de Henares.

Hiking in Tejera Negra

We spent a weekend stomping around the countryside with a group of Spanish friends. It was a challenging weekend of speaking Spanish and feeling dirty, but it was also great fun. We got to see a different side of Spain, the side that lacks traffic and people and still embraces the old style of life.

Our first stop was the Parque Natural Hayedo de Tejera Negra. The park is very busy in the Autumn, when the trees light up in reds and oranges. We visited in the early Spring, when hikers must step around patches of lingering snow but can still enjoy the sunshine.

We picnicked (bocadillos and gazpacho) by the stream and then headed into the woods, hiking a 6 (?) kilometer loop through the trees.

Grr Arrgh

I have a lot to write about...hiking adventures in the mountains of Madrid, French escapades, travel blunders, the Spanish coast...

I apologize for the recent lack of updates. My lap top charger is not working and so my computer is currently out of commission. I hope to have new blogs up soon, however, so stay tuned!