Cuenca, Spain

Last week Craig and I took a day trip with our friends Sara and Jesus. Aside from remembering that I can no longer handle car rides after 9 months without spending any significant time in cars, the trip was flawless and my nausea was soon overcome. Cuenca is a really interesting and beautiful place. The historic city is positioned on a hilltop, providing some of the best views possible of the surrounding Castilla-La Mancha region. Castilla-La Mancha is best described as HOT. Beautiful, rich in agriculture, with rolling fields of wheat and windmills. And hot. Castilla-La Mancha means scar, or mark, and it was once considered a flaw in Spain's interesting landscape. But its arid climate and healthy soil makes it perfect for growing vegetables, and supplies most of Spain with homegrown products.

We walked the winding streets of Cuenca taking pictures and chatting about the surroundings. Looking down from a high point, you could see the winding green river with its sandy beach, peoples backyards with their perfect rows of tomato plants, onions, and grapevines, all irrigated by creeks.

We went for lunch in a small restaurant on a side street and we happily ate gazpacho, ensalada, an interesting seafood and rice stew with mussels, clams, shrimp, and tomato. We had brocheta de carne, or, in other words, beef on a stick and salad with artichoke hearts. Coffee.

After, we went to take a look at Cuenca's famous "Hanging Houses." These are houses built on the edge of the cliffs, with floating balconies actually extending out over the edge. At one time there were many of these houses, but only a few remain, housing a museum and a restaurant. We walked out on Saint Peter's bridge, which connected the two sides of a deep gorge, to get a better look.

While we were in Cuenca the thermometers read 40 degrees Celsius.

Tortilla de Patatas; the Spanish Omelet

Recently my flatmate, Isabel (aka Isa pronounced EEsa)from Salamanca, Spain, was nice enough to teach me how to prepare an authentic Spanish Omelet. I remember when I was first introduced to tortilla, I was skeptical, as someone who is not an omelet fan at all. I should not have worried. Tortilla de patatas in undoubtedly the greatest gastronomical treasure I have come upon in Spain and I LOVE IT!!!!! Honestly while she was teaching me, Isa did most of the work...I was a little chicken about flipping over a pan of hot oil and egg. But I can proudly say I have made it on my own since then and it got an A+ from my Spanish friends.

Try it. It is delicious.

Ingredients for a Simple Spanish Omelet with Potato and Onion

* 4 Eggs, very well beaten
* 3 Medium-sized Golden Potatoes, peeled and sliced very thinly
* 1 Small Yellow Onion, finely diced
* 3-4 Large Pinches of Salt
* An Abundance of Quality Spanish Extra Virgin Olive Oil (about 1 cup)


Essential Tools

The size of the pan used for tortilla de patatas should match the ratio of ingredients should the cook choose to double the recipe. For this particular recipe, an 8 inch pan should produce an inch thick tortilla, though some variation is acceptable as different people have different preferences for thickness and texture. A colander or slotted spoon is also necessary, as well as a clean, large plate and a butter knife.

Spanish Tortilla de Patatas Preparation


1. Heat oil on high on stove top. When hot, lower the heat setting to medium. Fry potatoes and onions until potatoes are soft and golden, stirring occasionally to keep from sticking. If the potatoes seem to be cooking too fast and browning, immediately reduce heat.
2. Using a slotted spoon, remove potatoes and onions and discard oil, leaving a small amount in pan. Mix potatoes and onions with beaten eggs, add salt, and pour the mixture into the pan and spread it evenly. Cook on medium heat.
3. Using a butter knife, separate the edges of the tortilla from the pan occasionally, and shake from time to time to keep the omelette from sticking. When the outside edges of the tortilla seem solid, cover the pan with a plate (note: the plate should exceed the diameter of the pan!). Using extreme caution to avoid very hot ingredients, flip the pan while holding the plate in place. Once it is on the plate, slide the tortilla off the plate and back into the pan, raw side down.
4. Cooking time varies depending on preference. Some people prefer the tortilla done throughout, while others prefer a soft center. To be safe, both sides should be golden brown.
5. Flip the tortilla onto the plate once more and allow to cool slightly before serving. Cut into wedges or squares, and enjoy!



Generally, it is served as tapa. It is usually served cold, occasionally with a slice of jamon or drizzle of ali-oli sauce and a piece of bread.

Spring?

In May the trees finally started to show fresh leaves, the plaza's rosebushes began to bud, and I finally FINALLY retired my winter coat, long after my friends in the states had been lounging on the beach. The idea of transitional seasons does not reach Madrid, however, and the one week of semi-Spring in Alcala de Henares launched into full force Summer the next week. The thermometer on the street hit 38 degrees the first week of June (that's 100 degrees for you Fahrenheit people), baby storks started popping up in giant nests everywhere (looking strikingly large next to their padres, but bright clean fluffy white), and my shoes started melting while I walked through the industrial center to the pharmaceutical company where I teach.

There is a Spanish saying that goes something like, "Don't pack away your coat until the 40th of June," meaning that the winter weather never completely disappears. But 90% of the time now it is HOT HOT HOT, blindingly sunny, pounding heat. Summer storms brew up quickly and hit hard with thunder and lightning like on the Gulf, then dry up in the powerful sun as if they had never been here. It's desert dry and my skin tightens immediately upon walking outside. The sun is so strong that I have new freckles despite numerous applications of sunscreen per day. This with no air conditioning in my apartment.

But really I am grateful. The winter here was 6 months long and much of it was sunless, so this is a refreshing change, especially knowing that by September it will be sliding back into cool. After 7 months of pants I was ready to wear a skirt!

Alcala is beautiful in the sunlight. The people are smiling, happy. Terraces are set up throughout the Plaza de Cervantes and on Calle Mayor, and residents lounge outside under large umbrellas with their tinto de veranos y tapas. As one of my students accidentally put it, "the scent of the flowers and plants burning in the sunshine" surrounds you (along with the occasional stab of hot sewage or dog poo baking on the sidewalk). The sun does not set until 10:30 during these warm nights and people are still eating and walking with their families, screaming children, and dogs at midnight all days of the week. Ice cream stands have appeared on every street corner, and there is nothing like seeing a 90 year old woman walk down the street with a soft serve vanilla cone.

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.