tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-160877422011-11-28T00:31:29.010+01:00Two Americans and a dog, trying to make a life in Spain.Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.comBlogger1761100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-19415351309052033972007-07-23T09:43:00.002+02:002007-07-23T09:59:13.225+02:00

Spaniards may be gradually adopting safer habits, but they're not going easily. Helmets on motorbikes: yes. Banning cellphone use while driving: yes. Giving up cigarettes: not so much. To wit: the strange behavior of cab drivers when it comes to seat belts. I have never seen a cab driver wear a seatbelt while he is driving in the city. Maybe they think it would impede their ability to

Almendranoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-38727680915205371922007-06-22T11:38:00.001+02:002007-06-22T11:40:39.216+02:00

I hope the few of you who get in to El Bulli this summer appreciate what you’re eating. I was in the kitchen at Adria’s famed restaurant on Saturday, and saw many fantastic things: cakes made without flour or eggs; mushroom broth turned into semi-solid spheres; snails escaping up the rim of the pot meant to cook them. But perhaps the most impressive sight was the first: right after the staff

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-28866073147340004842007-06-10T17:07:00.000+02:002007-06-10T17:21:22.142+02:00

Leaving aside the convenience stores unfortunately known as "chinos," (which are roundly disparaged by Spaniards because their expanded hours tend to put the old fashioned mom-and-pops out of business. Roundly disparaged, that is, until said Spaniard needs a liter or beer or a box of cereal on Sunday. Then they're great. Viva yo.), there are only three kinds of shops open in Madrid on Sunday.

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-50488335066904187902007-06-07T22:40:00.001+02:002007-06-07T22:51:31.049+02:00

After years of dispute over whether the extension of the metro to the new terminal at Barajas should be paid for by the national government or the regional government, after months of construction that indeed extended well beyond the opening of said new terminal, the new stations opened, as I learned when I recently flew back to Madrid. No longer is it necessary to take a surprisingly long

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-43276328488771381682007-05-23T18:07:00.001+02:002007-05-23T18:22:32.619+02:00

So I'm standing at the bar at Juan Peña in Córdoba, eating the best fried eggplant in the world and a delicious asparagus salmorejo, because all the tables are taken. And I'm surrounded by caballeros--those utterly recognizable Spanish men whose bellies stick out over the pants their wives pressed for them that morning and who are given to walking in the street with their hands clutched behind

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-68028778484871570102007-05-15T11:46:00.000+02:002007-05-15T11:56:12.496+02:00

I pulled up to the cemetery on my way back to the molino the other day, and ran into José María, our contractor, with one of his Romanian assistants. At first I thought he had come to collect the bill for the tiling, but then I saw the bulging plastic bags he and Vlad were carrying. This being spring, I had of course noticed that the cemetery walls were, well, crawling with snails. But I hadn't

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-4730775387706933792007-05-11T07:08:00.000+02:002007-05-11T07:17:07.148+02:00

Not that I can vote here. But if I could, the fact that crews began setting up a stage for the IU (United Left party) campaign kickoff in the plaza outside our apartment at 4am, with much pounding and hammering, would make me think twice. And the fact that they hired what can only be described as a Spanish hair band—one whose guitars were screeching well into the night—to attract the youth vote

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-90231600527005345912007-05-06T16:50:00.000+02:002007-05-06T16:59:17.531+02:00

Back when the government decided to convert ETA member Iñaki de Juana's sentence to house arrest in order to save his life after a 4-month hunger strike, the PP claimed that the decision would lead to hundreds of other nefarious prisoners going on hunger strikes in order to get the same treatment. And what do you know, they were right. On Friday, one day after his beloved was arrested, Julián

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-70751122344335160842007-05-03T10:29:00.000+02:002007-05-03T10:45:29.556+02:00

Once, she was known as the widow of Spain. Isabel Pantoja, singer, (yes, of cancion española, how could you tell?) was married to Paquirri and pregnant with his child when the famous bullfighter died in the ring at Pozoblanco. She grieved, oh how she grieved. And then, many years later, her son grown into an overweight, balding teenager with no job, La Pantoja fell in love again.So what if her

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-43954342865636677172007-04-26T11:27:00.000+02:002007-04-26T11:34:49.606+02:00

Today is the 70th anniversary of the bombing of Gernika. In remembrance, a piece that didn't make it into today's story:Josefina Odriozola was 14 when the bombs rained down on her hometown. It was market day in Guernica, and she and her mother were selling cabbages. As the German planes released their cargo, devastating the Spanish Basque town and killing hundreds, the two ran home for safety,

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-30411402139792323682007-04-25T13:41:00.000+02:002007-04-25T13:43:11.080+02:00

On a hill not far from the Almudena, Levon has learned that if he lets the ball fall after I throw it to him, it rolls back to my feet. Thereby saving him the trouble of bringing it to me, and evening up the power dynamics in this game of catch we have.

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-17304380125410589062007-04-23T19:30:00.000+02:002007-04-23T19:40:49.628+02:00

Sunday is botellón day in our neighborhood. Botellón: literally "big bottle"; figuratively: hang out in the streets with your friends and drink yourself silly. It must be a sign of my age, but I hate it--the drunken crowds who make it impossible to walk through the square, the ridiculous bongo players, the kids who set up tables to sell junk (okay, buttons and "jewelry") outside our door. So,

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-38728800969772315062007-04-20T19:18:00.000+02:002007-04-20T19:23:53.163+02:00

I learned the word for "ferret" this week. I got it by reading a handmade sign taped to a lamppost in the square where Levon likes to do his people-watching. As in: "Lost, hurona, white with black markings. Escaped over the balcony, may be injured."

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-64876738630168212832007-04-17T10:02:00.000+02:002007-04-17T10:06:53.185+02:00

The newly-renovated kitchen of the cabaña, which, lacking only a paint job and some cleaning, will soon be available to rent.

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-6744538862857793322007-04-11T10:57:00.000+02:002007-04-11T11:00:15.700+02:00

Even though I had read good things about Sudestada, I was skeptical. For one, because it is the second incarnation of a restaurant in Buenos Aires, and chains—no matter how small or international—make me nervous. For another, because the menu is all over the place, relatively speaking: Malaysian curry puffs, Singaporean dumplings. Kirin beer. But mostly because when it comes to Asian food (or

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-60240715997593065652007-04-07T17:13:00.000+02:002007-04-07T17:16:24.541+02:00

Even now, Spain is a holy country. Today is Sábado Santo, Saturday of Holy Week. Yesterday was Holy Friday. Tomorrow is Easter, the holiest of the holy days in this holy week. Last Sunday, many Spaniards walked the streets of their cities and towns carrying palms to initiate a week of welcomes for the country’s many saints, penitents, virgins, saviors.Thirty years ago today, Spain gave a

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-48669716209470877552007-04-06T11:59:00.000+02:002007-04-06T12:34:03.592+02:00

As I was saying: Last night the news was filled with pictures of grown men sobbing helplessly, their capirotes clutched to their chest. Because of the rain, their processions couldn't go out. In happier Semana Santa-related news, the town of Corleone (yes, that Corleone) has just allowed its nazarenos to once again wear their capirotes during their processions. It seems that not too long ago,

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-65160847759771205772007-04-04T09:37:00.000+02:002007-04-04T09:50:15.079+02:00

Is it my imagination, or do comings and goings happen faster in Madrid than elsewhere? I was walking around Chueca yesterday, and was moderately surprised to find that The Wok, which I'd swear I had eaten at just a couple of months ago, had metamorphasized into Original. No loss there, but still it was a bit of a surprise: white and beige instead of red and black, birch trunks growing from the

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-9248083024553937042007-04-03T09:28:00.000+02:002007-04-03T19:18:31.500+02:00

It's Semana Santa, and you know what that means: posters of agonizing Virgins and Christs plastered to every shop window. There are a lot of things I've come to appreciate about Semana Santa: the dark, soul-stirring music, the devotion that the men (and women!) who carry the pasos through the crowded night, the solemnity of it all, the 10-day vacation. But the delight and adoration that

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-30736606526867705752007-03-28T12:29:00.000+02:002007-03-28T12:43:46.165+02:00

Not as bad as "Let them eat cake," but right up there. When Zapatero went on tv last night to answer questions live from ordinary Spaniards (a first for Spanish prime ministers), he made only one gaff. It was just an especially bad one. Asked what a cup of coffee costs by an otherwise not-very-coherent man intent on proving that the government was at fault for rising euro prices (note the

Almendranoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-41801504694467995062007-03-21T19:40:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:06:12.863+01:00

The view from my room in the beautiful new, Frank Gehry-designed Marques de Riscal hotel. Obscured only occasionally by the sheets of snow that slide down the undulating titanium roof and crash to the ground below.

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-86257515499745043162007-03-19T20:27:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:06:35.621+01:00

It's Father's Day in Spain. Pretty much every other place in the world celebrates Father's Day in June (though not all. Estonia: November; Australia: September). But in Spain, the holiday falls on March 19 because, of course, March 19 is St. Joseph's day. As in Joseph, husband of Mary, adoptive father to Jesus. "It used to be a holiday," said our dry cleaner, meaning it used to be a day off. "

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-75986487841141806562007-03-18T11:20:00.000+01:002007-03-18T11:23:33.200+01:00

The view outside our window. It's Sunday, it's warm, it's the Plaza San Andrés. What else to do but join the swarm?

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-29185004380176240972007-03-09T20:24:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:06:55.203+01:00

Going in along the road to our little San Pedro beach: a sidewalk. Admittedly, the road is a little precarious for those señoras who can't dart away from moving traffic in the time it takes to round a blind curve at 80 kms an hour. But what's next, umbrella rentals?

Almendranoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-15910576096271161592007-03-01T19:43:00.000+01:002007-03-01T20:02:18.211+01:00

So I return from a month away to find that both our landlines--Madrid and Asturias--have been turned off. It seems that back when I blocked Movistar from continuing to extort from our bank account exhorbitant amounts for Blackberry connections never made, Telefonica got blocked as well. This is because, of course, they are separate companies.In any case, because our January bill hadn't been

Almendranoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-46404471790398453542007-02-07T14:54:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:07:41.184+01:00

Considering that to my mind, Koldo Miranda sits just off the road to the Hipercor, you wouldn't describe it as a beautifully located restaurant. But once inside, you feel like you're out in the country, in an old casona, far from Spanish-versions of Walmarts that sell tires not far from the canned tuna. It's a lovely place, with stone walls done up with glass insets and dark wood.After many

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-40352344494229803462007-02-02T12:09:00.000+01:002007-02-02T12:22:58.971+01:00

About three weeks ago, the mayor of the tiny mountain village of Fago was murdered. He was driving home at night when his car was apparently ambushed at a turn on the dark road from Jaca. His body was found not far from the site.The media immediately descended on Fago, and it soon became clear that the mayor was despised by roughly half he population for his refusals to empadronar (or

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-40456883598212488732007-01-25T10:42:00.000+01:002007-01-25T11:13:10.801+01:00

I think every expat in Spain has a Telefonica story to tell. The futile attempts to get phone service installed, the internet routers that mysteriously stop working, the head-bangingly frustrating efforts to get phone service, once installed, turned off. It's practically a rite of passage.I've been through that passage--many times. So I knew that my visit to Telefonica headquarters was going to

Almendranoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-72828149202850432962007-01-19T17:55:00.000+01:002007-03-18T12:05:14.272+01:00

I've written about Madrid Fusion, that 3.5-day extravaganza of culinary innovation and ego here. But there are still a few impressions that didn't make it into print, like Ferran Adrià admitting to me that, all technological doodads aside, "what's better than a fried egg?" Or the liquid nitrogenized dollops of olive oil served as hor d'oevres at dinner that, once put in their mouths, had all the

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-23563338759447415552007-01-12T10:42:00.000+01:002007-01-12T10:54:32.324+01:00

On the last day of the year, in Villaconejos (‘Villa’=‘small town’; ‘conejos’=‘rabbits’), a village thirty miles southeast of Madrid, a crowd of several hundred gathered at 4 pm in the town square to perform what they considered a long-overdue community service: they were going to teach a neighbor a lesson.Why? This particular neighbor, known as "El Calvo" ("The Baldman"), had terrorized the

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1167894309342084772007-01-04T07:57:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:08:04.513+01:00

Not everyone counts down from ten. Spaniards start the New Year count at twelve, and accompany each number with a grape, swallowed rapidly. This sounds like some Deep Spain, pre-Christian ritual, but in fact, its the 20th century invention of a bunch of grape farmers who found themselves with too much product on their hands. The solution? Convince everyone that shoving twelve pieces of fruit

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1166498409929681122006-12-19T04:01:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:08:29.834+01:00

Until recently "Spanish terms of endearment" has been the search phrase that draws the most Googling-viewers to this blog. And most of them, despite what we had imagined in certain romantic moments, are college students. No doubt looking for a quick sweet nothing with which to spice up a final exam. But in the last month or so, all that has changed. Now our referral list is filled with

Almendranoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1166170038486733252006-12-15T09:00:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:09:31.951+01:00

We’ve noted that Levon loves living in Asturias. For a dog, what’s not to like?He chases his tennis ball and rides the surf at the San Pedro beach, he walks along the cliffs to the Faro Vidio, and he wanders around the Molino and its grounds day and night, according to his whims. After his traumatic plane ride across the Atlantic almost a year ago, he probably thought he’d landed in heaven.Last

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1165345172331130632006-12-05T19:56:00.000+01:002006-12-05T19:59:32.356+01:00

We first noticed them a couple of years ago. Calf-high, low-heeled (no heeled, really), lace-up horrors masquerading as women’s footwear. Suddenly, they were everywhere, filling scores of shop windows with their hideousness, marring the lower extremities of nearly every female under 40. Somehow, wrestling boots had become hip. We shouldn’t have been so surprised. This is a country, after all,

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1164838087741790162006-11-29T23:05:00.000+01:002006-12-15T11:51:12.816+01:00

The biggest thing on Spanish television these days isn't a sitcom or reality show, and it isn't even in Spanish. It's an ad for BMW cars. Featuring a resurrected, Zen-like Bruce Lee telling an off-screen listener to "Be water," (the clip was taken from an interview that Lee gave to Canadian television in 1971), it has taken the country by storm, prompting a Marca headline after the Barca

Almendranoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1164569781766601242006-11-26T20:21:00.000+01:002006-11-26T20:36:21.776+01:00

I've said it before, but man, does Madrid change fast. I've been away for a month, and in that time, a new subway entrance has gone up at Corte Ingles, there's a new bar on our street where none had existed before, and just around the corner, the Restaurante Capitan Alatriste has opened, complete with a wall-sized version of The Surrender at Breda, and other 17th-centuryish accoutrements. What's

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1164394190993607592006-11-24T19:42:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:08:57.615+01:00

Thanksgiving has now past, and you know what that means.As we drove out this morning, fairly early, to walk along the beach, we encountered a jolly figure on our road that reminded us what’s just around the corner.We’ve written before about the caganer, the Catalan crapper who shows up in nativity scenes this time of year. The caganer is a mischievous reminder that, despite the high serenity of

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1163848607460967882006-11-18T11:58:00.000+01:002006-11-18T12:16:47.543+01:00

This week, Spain's Health Ministry asked Burger King to suspend a new advertising campaign for its "XXL" hamburgers. According to the ministry, the ads--for burgers that contain a hefty 971 calories--fail to comply with an agreement reached by Spain's food industry to avoid promoting supersized portions (they also offended a lot of Spanish vegetarians, who apparently see the ad above as a kind

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1163672121886363662006-11-16T11:11:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:10:04.413+01:00

Madrid’s Mercado de la Cebada is not a pretty place. I’ve seen photos that show it was once was one of those turn-of-the-century beauties decked out in wrought iron, but somewhere along the way, the graceful old building was torn down to make way for today’s brick and cement bunker. As Spanish markets go, it fulfills its function—good produce, good fish, good meat—but unless you count the nudie

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1163075835901213972006-11-09T13:24:00.000+01:002006-11-09T13:37:15.936+01:00

It’s not that in Spain I think only about taxi drivers. It’s just that they’re so interesting.I don’t know exactly how it works, but taxistas here reflect something essential, something organic, about Spanish society. Maybe this is true of cabbies everywhere in the world, but I have a hunch that Spain’s drivers reveal an unusual amount and kind of cultural information about the country.So: late

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1162420022852962602006-11-01T23:10:00.000+01:002007-03-23T09:10:33.084+01:00

Yesterday, while in the U.S. kids took their once-a-year chance to masquerade and solicit candy, in Spain, schools, banks, and businesses shut down so that people could lay fresh floral arrangements at the graves of their loved ones.In Oviñana, this meant the dumpster beside the town cemetery was suddenly filled-to-overflowing with the phony flowers--burial site adornments the rest of the year--

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1161114169031376372006-10-17T21:39:00.000+02:002006-10-17T22:13:00.553+02:00

Although the astonishing number of mullets--male and female--might lead the casual observer to conclude otherwise, Spain is a country in which it is practically impossible to get a bad haircut if you don't want one.I was reminded of this fact a couple of weeks ago when I was in desperate need of color and a trim, but found myself in Asturias. I had planned to drive to Luarca, where there is a

Almendranoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1159820512800209792006-10-02T22:10:00.000+02:002006-10-02T22:21:52.810+02:00

 What with all the focus on Subsaharans, pateras, and the Canary Islands, it's easy to forget that I too am an immigrant. Luckily, I have the city government of Cudillero to remind me (and in English, no less):"Associate I send information to you about a Course of Spanish for immigrants, organized by the City council of Cudillero, that I consider could be interesting for you. If you are

Almendranoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1159375913362105772006-09-27T18:32:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:11:16.829+01:00

There must be a hundred sayings in Spanish that have the word bread in them. My favorite is "Eres mas bueno que el pan," which translates literally as "You are better than bread," and is usually said while cupping the face of an adorable child in your hands and squeezing. Or alternatively, "Eres mas inocente que el pan"--"You're more innocent than bread."But the dirty secret for a country that

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1159029740800109042006-09-23T18:31:00.000+02:002006-09-23T18:42:20.813+02:00

In my travels in the past week three gestures, spied on the street, reminded me that however much Spain may change, there is still something so very Spanish about it:In Soto de Luiña (Asturias): The garbage truck pulls into the one parking spot left on the town´s one street. It happens to be in front of the church. So, as he comes around the the passenger side to pull out his broom, the

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1158662719050921692006-09-19T12:27:00.000+02:002006-09-19T12:45:19.066+02:00

 I took the bus to the airport on my way out of Barcelona last week. Although I've frequently ridden the bus into the city, I don't I've ever done the reverse, because I was utterly surprised to find us, as we neared the airport, veering off into a back parking lot loaded with taxis. Literally hundreds of them, all black and yellow. At first I thought they were just lining up, from very far

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1158361473739631952006-09-16T00:38:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:12:24.820+01:00

Travel writers rarely get to complain, at least not in print. Newspaper travel sections and glossy magazines exist to entice people to go places and spend money, not convince them to stay home and horde their cash. So you learn pretty quickly that editors want snazzy and upbeat, not depressing and whiny. But that's the beauty of a blog. I was in Barcelona this week, and since my favorite hotel (

Almendranoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1158096177668143672006-09-12T23:18:00.000+02:002006-09-14T12:55:00.096+02:00

Last week I wrote admiringly of a couple that had held firm longer than the rest, remaining in their camping vehicle at Faro Vidio until the other tourists had turned tail and headed for home.Today I salute somebody (somebodies?) who has bested them all.These never-say-die campers have dispensed with vehicle, traveling, beautiful sights — hell, they’re gutting it out right there on the front lawn

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1158011895813993352006-09-11T23:34:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:13:07.187+01:00

Temperatures in Madrid have dropped in the past few days, which means I've probably made my last gazpacho of the season. In truth, it took me a long time to learn to love gazpacho. Not only because, well into my twenties, I refused to eat tomatoes (until the fateful day when I passed a market in Caligari, Sardinia--how well I remember it!--and the red globes looked too delicious to pass up).

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1157713112836964792006-09-08T12:53:00.000+02:002006-09-08T12:58:32.846+02:00

Overheard at the pharmacy:Rosa (elderly, hard of hearing, with a stack of prescriptions she needs filled): "Don't give me that one, it doesn't work."Pharmacist (young, cheerful): "Now Rosa, you know it won't work if you don't believe in it. You have to believe in your medicine if you expect it to work."

Almendranoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1157551237249000992006-09-06T15:49:00.000+02:002006-09-06T16:16:27.680+02:00

Most of the year, you can walk through Oviñana and right out to el Faro Vidio—the lighthouse at the point—without encountering a soul. That’s one of the great pleasures of living at the Molino. We’ve got the stunning natural vistas of the California coast, but we don’t have the crowds or the traffic.But late July through early September—vacation time for Spaniards and many other Europeans—is

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1157394829960567122006-09-04T20:23:00.000+02:002006-09-04T20:33:52.310+02:00

You may have thought that Spain's smoking ban went into effect on January 1. But everyone here knows that it didn't really start until the grace period for bars to create smoke-free zones was up. Which means it didn't really start until today. At a train-station bar this morning, one young man came in for a healthy breakfast of Coke and a cigarette. As he lit up, the waitress told him he

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1157373322825281652006-09-04T14:22:00.000+02:002006-09-06T14:56:51.356+02:00

He rumbled in, backwards, the palista.Four times he filled and hauled thedumpster hitched to his tractor.He took away the mountain ofconstruction rubble—the mangledinnards of the Cabaña—that for aweek had filled our patio.He returned with loads of sand andbrick to fill up what had been torn away.He managed his vehicle skillfully,backing smoothly down the driveway,navigating precisely up the

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1157136462554697832006-09-01T20:39:00.000+02:002006-09-02T13:06:35.003+02:00

 This is what happens when you leave the city for a few weeks. You go away and when you come back, Tirso de Molina, which was-- just a few days ago, and for as long as you can remember--home to drug addicts, and honking cabs, and top mantalistas, men who sleep on benches and the women who yell at them--that Tirso de Molina has suddenly become one big, clean outdoor cafe. I hear a flower market

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1157026527196069932006-08-31T14:12:00.000+02:002006-08-31T14:15:27.203+02:00

Even though we enjoy mild weather year-round at the Molino—a pleasure shared by anyone lucky enough to live with ocean ahead and mountains behind—the earth’s cycles and seasons nonetheless seem more obvious to me here in Asturias than anywhere else I’ve lived.It may have something to do with our proximity to (nay, our embeddedness in) raw nature; as I come and go each morning and evening, my

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1156979917241656722006-08-31T01:08:00.000+02:002006-08-31T01:18:37.266+02:00

You can tell that vacation is over, of course. There's the nightly reports on the numbers killed in traffic accidents during "Operacion Retorno," for one, and the shopowners furiously scrubbing their awnings after the accumulations of a month without window washings or sidewalk bleachings. The train I took back to Madrid at the start of this week was packed with people and their suitcases--all

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1156905989935064892006-08-30T04:39:00.000+02:002006-08-30T04:46:29.946+02:00

With the San Pedro beach technically off-limits to Levon because of the vacationing horde of humanity, Levon has channeled his energies in other directions. As the self-appointed guardian of the Molino, he considers it his duty as well to oversee the renovation of the Cabaña. It’s no easy job keeping the workers devoted to their tasks, inspecting all incoming equipment, and even leading the group

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1156776204334661052006-08-28T16:41:00.000+02:002006-08-28T16:43:24.343+02:00

  The tearing down, ripping up, digging, hammering, drilling, piling, and all the rest have begun. Starting last week, our albañil or contractor, José María, along with his merry partner, Calixto, and surly Bulgarian underlings, Florian and his still-unnamed partner, began the renovation of the Cabaña (the former stable by the Molino) that we’ve been planning, saving for, and dreading for

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1156672246483348392006-08-27T11:44:00.000+02:002006-08-27T11:50:46.496+02:00

With relief I realized that I hadn’t been thrown back in time. One morning early this week, as I looked out over the Plaza del Humilledero from our Madrid piso’ bedroom window, I was mildly startled: a hastily erected barricade covered part of an apartment building across the way — patrolled by what appeared to be one of Franco’s Nationalist soldiers.  Seeking enlightenment, I hastily dressed and

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1156590401843112162006-08-26T12:55:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:14:35.894+01:00

 "It's going to be a 24-7, three-dimensional experience," said Trevor Horwell, chief hotels officer for Hard Rock International. "You're going to have moods happening within the rooms, vibes going on within the restaurant and another vibe in the bar."Vibes within vibes. Just the thing for a hotel that used to house bullfighters like Manolete and their retinues before and after corridas at Las

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1156167338400965002006-08-21T15:22:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:15:25.212+01:00

The fires that have consumed large swaths of Galicia were put out last week, but the controversy over who started them—and why—blazes on. At first it was the odd woman found in the woods, matchbook in hand, then the town drunk, then a few out-of-work firefighters who were arrested. Now, there are more than 30 people behind bars—ages 17-70—but no one seems any closer to an answer.Which hasn’t

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1155923617333994262006-08-18T19:53:00.000+02:002006-08-18T19:53:37.346+02:00

Like nearly every expat looking for change, we briefly toyed with the idea of opening an inn. Back before we bought the molino, we came very close to buying the Casona del Tilo, a big old Asturian farmhouse not far from Villaviciosa that two Spaniards had turned into a bed and breakfast. We spent one night at the Casona, as sort of a trial run. The next morning, on our way out, we visited El

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1155682730620517132006-08-16T00:51:00.000+02:002006-08-18T19:48:16.953+02:00

Saturday we drove to San Martín de Luiña for its mercado vaqueiro, where each year the townspeople evoke their agricultural past in clothing and cuisine. We encountered a sly priest, who never strayed far from the stand selling home-brewed spirits, a couple of hapless guardia civil, and some roving minstrels. All were jolly except for a solitary drummer, who--no matter where we found him--never

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1155588945122864082006-08-14T22:33:00.000+02:002006-08-14T22:55:45.333+02:00

It is no secret that Spain witnesses a mass exodus (or 'Operacion Salida', as the traffic cops call it) every August as most of the population leaves one place for another. Up in Asturias, we've watched with amazement as lines form at our tiny grocery store, and campers fill the parking lots. But of course most Spaniards head to the Mediterranean coast, the better to bake themselves on a beach

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1155483501352361332006-08-13T17:31:00.000+02:002006-08-13T17:56:23.683+02:00

Asturias being an especially fertile place, things grow well here. Nonetheless, I was somewhat taken aback by the pair of mushrooms sprouting from the stone floor of the Cabaña (formerly the stable).I suppose it's only fitting that this week we finally begin our renovation of the building, a thorough makeover that will include replacing the roof, rebuilding the rear wall, and laying down a new

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1154943766649480982006-08-07T10:41:00.000+02:002006-08-07T11:42:46.753+02:00

Saturday morning I arose quite (in-the-dark) early so I could squeeze in a run with Levon on the San Pedro beach before the hordes of August vacationers descended (the arrival of this summer swarm of humanity has occasioned the appearance at San Pedro of several new "PERROS PROHIBIDOS"--"DOGS PROHIBITED"--signs, so these days I have to get in and out before anyone's the wiser). As we drove up the

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1154718010550285712006-08-04T20:41:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:22:03.804+01:00

For years, it seemed, Madrid's street performers were confined to your run-of-the-mill accordionists and wistful travelling Germans strumming out slightly off-key Beatles songs. But now, every summer seems to bring a new addition. First it was the Thai massage people, who would congregate at the Plazas del Oriente and Mayor and corral weary tourists into sitting on a stool and getting their

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1154509380936988732006-08-02T10:55:00.000+02:002006-08-02T11:03:00.950+02:00

I went to the doctor's last week and was directed down the hall to the waiting room. When I walked in, there were about six or seven people already sitting in the small room, male and female, most of them older. As I sat down, I felt a little uncomfortable, as if they were all looking at me expectantly. I couldn't figure out why until the next patient walked in. "Buenos dias," he said, as he

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1154001213748601632006-07-27T13:28:00.000+02:002006-07-27T13:53:33.806+02:00

For years, a book called Espana Oculta has sat on our coffee table in Oberlin, there even when we aren't. A collection of photographs by Cristina Garcia Rodero, it's always been one of my favorite art books, filled with gorgeous black and white pictures of widows in black and first communion girls in their wedding dresses, horsemen pulling off the heads of dangling chickens as they (the

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1153748350799145132006-07-24T15:30:00.000+02:002006-07-24T15:39:10.823+02:00

The diversity of Spanish cab drivers may only be matched by their willingness to tutor you on whatever topic you bring with you into their vehicles.Whereas the last taxista to earn a place on this blog had waxed long in the tradition of esoteric philosophical critics, the man shown above deserves notice for being an acute observer of contemporary popular culture.At my mere mention of movies, this

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1153688205429944602006-07-23T22:14:00.000+02:002006-07-24T08:51:56.710+02:00

Photographs involving Heads of State that provoke the question 'Whatever Were They Thinking?': the Monica-Clinton Beret Clinch; the Bush Assault on a German Chancellor's Shoulders, and now, Zapatero Dons the Kefiya. Given the expression on his face, I tend to think that he was just trying to fit in with all the cool kids at the International Socialist Youth Conference. But still.Regardless of

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1153517506667525622006-07-21T22:37:00.000+02:002006-07-21T23:31:47.023+02:00

Just last week one of our editors requested anecdotes from all her correspondents for a story on international ice cream-eating habits. At the time, we couldn't come up with anything quirky or endearing that Spaniards did with their helados, (although there was a segment on the nightly news last year about its health benefits: "Ice Cream: As Good for You as Ham and Coffee"). But today, for the

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1153130241877823182006-07-17T11:28:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:16:15.522+01:00

Earlier this year I noticed that the candle shop that used to be on the corner next to our first apartment in Barcelona had changed into a bakery. It was just as well; I never saw too many customers in the candle store, or, for that matter, too many candles (that's Barcelona minimalism for you). In truth, 'bakery' doesn't seem like the right word for Bubo: there is no smell of yeast, no warm

Almendranoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1152973315656296872006-07-15T15:55:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:17:29.502+01:00

About this time a week ago, I was standing over a hot stove in a stifling kitchen, watching Carmen Barrios (above) prepare her trademark meatballs with squid. Carmen is one of the Cocineras de Sils (they used to be called The Grandmothers of Sils, but that was before a couple of 38-year-olds joined the group), a collective of about 100 women dedicated to preserving the traditional cooking of

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1152613360410517952006-07-11T11:45:00.000+02:002006-07-11T12:25:09.800+02:00

Sorry about that. We went off to Guatemala with the best intentions of posting regularly from our backlog of ideas for wry observations on Spain. Somehow we never got around to it.In the month that we've been gone, Catalans approved the Statute that will grant them more autonomy, Barcelona banned bullfighting, the Pope visited Valencia, (in the process giving Zapatero yet another chance to prove

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1149590086405715892006-06-06T12:11:00.000+02:002006-06-06T12:34:46.433+02:00

Geoff and I first got to know each other in a Red Cross hospital in Cordoba (a mutual friend had a sudden attack of appendicitis), so I've always had a soft spot for Spanish medicine. Especially the pharmacies, where the job is taken very seriously, and prescriptions are only occasionally necessary. Spanish pharmacists fulfill a role somewhat closer to doctors than they do in the US: often you

Almendranoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1149252384465129332006-06-02T14:19:00.000+02:002006-06-02T15:01:43.436+02:00

You can live in a country for years, you can start to think that you really get a culture, and then, blammo, something like this happens to remind you that, no, you are always and will always be a foreigner. Rocio Jurado, famed singer of that unpalatable sap known as cancion espanola died yesterday after a long battle with pancreatic cancer. If you happened to be in Madrid, you could have joined

Almendranoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1149080493276305652006-05-31T13:59:00.000+02:002006-05-31T15:12:39.080+02:00

On Monday I visited the plaza de toros in Alicante, where a crew is shooting part of a film about "Manolete"--perhaps Spain's most iconic torero, who died in 1947, shortly after a bull gored him in the groin on a hot summer afternoon in Linares' plaza de toros.In the film, Alicante's bullring stands in for Linares' plaza, as the latter has become surrounded by tall, modern buildings that would

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1148931080963972482006-05-29T21:30:00.000+02:002006-05-29T21:31:20.966+02:00

One of the great charms of the molino is, of course, that it was a mill. An actual, functioning mill, complete with a massive, hulking millstone. A massive, hulking millstone in which shards of petrified corn husk--the precious sustenance of some hard-working Asturian peasant, indisputable evidence of some simpler, more bucolic life--can still be found. A massive, hulking millstone right where

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1148400030785919632006-05-23T17:43:00.000+02:002006-05-23T18:00:34.390+02:00

Most days, year round, as we come and go from the Molino, we pass by this friendly fellow, whom we refer to simply as “the burro.” His age is unknown, as is his vocation. Is he retired from pulling carts, literally put out to pasture? Or is he defective or lame in some way, unable to perform normal burro tasks? The burro seldom moves, mostly stands, occasionally lies down. Surrounded by flies,

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1148322695022042192006-05-22T20:18:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:16:56.087+01:00

It's espadrille season again (or as a sign I passed today, clearing shooting—if perhaps not very effectively—for the English-speaking market says: "Time for Spadrilles from Spain." Not far from our apartment, the crowds are again gathering around what I think must be Madrid's most popular footwear store, Casa Hernanz. I wrote about the shop about a year ago, but what were in my opinion the

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1147724562675045622006-05-15T22:12:00.000+02:002006-05-16T08:14:04.356+02:00

Last week, 350,000 Spaniards learned they may have lost their life savings when it came to light that two companies that were supposed to be investing their money in valuable postal stamps were actually operating big 'ol pyramid schemes. Here's what we have to say about it.

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1147538865623375402006-05-13T18:07:00.000+02:002006-05-13T18:47:47.733+02:00

Spent one evening last week at castellers practice in Barcelona, and decided on the spot that of all the symbols of Catalan identity (the sardana, the striped flag, the Barça), those precarious towers of men are by far my favorite. The first thing I realized upon entering the gym-like (polished cement floor, bleachers, smell of sweaty socks) space, is that they're not all men. Women, it turns

Almendranoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1146575205761267992006-05-02T13:07:00.000+02:002006-05-02T15:25:59.663+02:00

Taxi drivers the world over are a curious group, and Spanish cabbies are no exception. I learned many years ago that most taxistas are more than happy to engage you on virtually any topic, and generally they are friendly, even if they disagree with you. One of the first drivers I met here, in fact, became a devoted friend despite our differing political views when, after he told me that he played

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1146411621332940802006-04-30T17:39:00.000+02:002006-04-30T17:40:21.333+02:00

for a technical note. For some time now, we've been meaning to mention that, um, there are two of us here. But it all seemed far too complicated until a helpful reader mentioned that things were getting a wee bit confusing.So from now on, we'll use different nicknames to sign our posts: Almendro (him) and Almendra (her). And since you asked, yes, we split our time between Madrid and Asturias

Almendranoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1146345407113259102006-04-29T21:49:00.000+02:002006-04-30T17:18:06.523+02:00

Spaniards have a talent for groups. They are delightfully social creatures--able to talk to anyone about anything, and never happier than when surrounded by crowds of other Spaniards all jabbering away. They learn this skill at a young age--a British acquaintance of mine describes with mild amusement watching his children's daycare teachers chastise them for spending too much time on their own.

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1146138040348363952006-04-27T13:19:00.000+02:002006-04-27T13:40:42.000+02:00

Yesterday Nacho, our good-hearted but somewhat-scattered electrician, and his brains-of-the-operation mother, Encarnación, pulled up to the Molino around 9 a.m. and announced they had with them the two heaters we’d ordered (and that Nacho had promised to install) months ago -- during the winter. A great procrastinator myself, and in generally good spirits, I welcomed them in to execute a task

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1146136601478716512006-04-27T12:20:00.000+02:002006-04-27T13:16:43.086+02:00

This week I began what I thought would be a simple and brief project: paint the closet in the Molino's master bedroom. It seemed a good way to do a test run with the new paint we bought (a color in the "Kenya" family at the store here) while spending relatively little time. Monday afternoon, with enthusiasm and false hopes, I began scraped the walls, ripped out the old wall hooks, fixtures, etc.,

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1145806796788261462006-04-23T17:18:00.000+02:002006-04-23T17:39:56.810+02:00

Actually there were six yesterday, and that's just in Madrid. The biggest was in the Plaza Mayor where thousands (5,000? 12,000? The process of counting demonstration participants is an art in Spain that, despite its clearly stated formulae, produces wildly divergent results) of Guardia Civil called on Zapatero to fulfill his campaign promise and de-militarize their organization. A lot of ink

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1145638232095760432006-04-21T18:44:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:20:52.577+01:00

...Splendor in the Grass.

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1145364147152595892006-04-18T14:26:00.000+02:002006-04-20T09:50:21.743+02:00

Though in our Madrid apartment we are five stories off the ground, living far above the active life of the streets below (I often think of the apartment as a tree-house), we are but a few meters from our fifth-floor neighbors in the buildings across the street in any direction. Our windows — one in the bedroom, two in the living room, one in the dining area, and one in the kitchen — have afforded

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1145274256537580612006-04-17T13:02:00.000+02:002007-03-23T09:18:10.479+01:00

There are a few basic rules for finding a decent paella that, if you are a foreigner, you learn only through harsh experience (I suspect that for many Spaniards, these rules are innate, like their ability to keep all the soccer leagues straight).Rule #1: No matter what its bearer may call it, nothing that anyone ever brought to a potluck in Boston, or Ann Arbor, or, say, Oberlin, Ohio, is

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1145117814824963242006-04-15T17:50:00.000+02:002006-04-15T18:33:34.816+02:00

Yesterday, Spain rather quietly marked the 75th anniversary of the declaration of the Second Republic. There’s been some controversy about whether and/or how to celebrate this day. Those favoring celebration tend to fall farther left on the political spectrum, are not admirers of Franco and his dictatorship, and are content that the right-leaning Popular Party lost the national elections in 2004.

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1144877066787171002006-04-12T22:50:00.000+02:002006-04-18T08:29:16.403+02:00

It's Wednesday of Semana Santa. In our Madrid neighborhood, people are getting ready for the four days of religious celebration that begin in earnest tomorrow and continue through the weekend. From my fifth floor window, I observe the San Andrés church, lit up by the sun, lying back against an azure sky, ready for the days of worship. I descend to the street and, upon leaving our building, notice

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1144851615618513032006-04-12T16:06:00.000+02:002006-04-12T16:20:16.746+02:00

A dear friend from college and two of her three adorable children have been visiting, and in all the excitement, I forgot to mention the most important news. I was sitting at the Cafe de las Vistillas two weeks ago, having just dropped off said friend and children for a jetlag-induced nap. I was feeling pretty happy because 1)it was such a beautiful, warm day that even the normally surly

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1144689850353577102006-04-10T18:59:00.000+02:002006-04-18T08:30:11.403+02:00

That, roughly translated, is the note attached in boldface capital letters to the Good Friday procession schedule issued by the Archdiocese of Madrid: NO HAY BESAPIES. Semana Santa has its serious side (see below), but there are also, at least to this outsider, some thoroughly comic moments. The image of anyone attempting to prevent hordes of se~noras from kissing the feet of a Jesus statue

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1144607090546462542006-04-09T20:13:00.000+02:002006-04-18T08:31:09.806+02:00

It’s Semana Santa in Spain, and this year I am struck by the way that Spaniards seem to live closer to the ground, their spirits, minds, and bodies more fluidly part of an overall scheme. Traditionally, that scheme is Catholic. Friday was “Viernes de Dolores” [“Friday of pains”), today is “Domingo de Ramos” (“Sunday of branches," of Palm Sunday). People, mostly men, are carrying large, heavy

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1144259079902232992006-04-05T19:03:00.000+02:002006-04-08T17:38:14.080+02:00

After a couple of 70-hour weeks of painting and cleaning (plus a few furniture acquisitions), we've made habitable--even welcoming--the two bedrooms on the Molino's third floor. This inspires us, since these rooms--damp, dingy, peeling, dirty, and very, very, moldy--were among the spaces we generally avoided during the last year. As may be evident, both rooms have taken on distinct personalities

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1144254784155249622006-04-05T18:28:00.000+02:002006-04-08T19:58:31.586+02:00

Asturias’ weather is mercurial--like a god who seems angry but is actually playful. Sunshine, clouds, wind, and rain all come and go on a moment's notice. The sky looks different every single night. This morning Levon and I ran along San Pedro Beach in the pouring rain. The sky was a swirling gray, the ocean dark green and violent. Just a narrow strip of sand was visible between the grasping

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16087742.post-1144176067002515882006-04-04T20:29:00.000+02:002006-04-04T20:41:07.046+02:00

Marisol Yagüe became the third Marbella mayor in a row to receive a jail sentence for corruption on Wednesday when police showed up at her home (she had taken time off from work to recover from weekend liposuction) to arrest her. And she wasn’t alone: across town, officials at city hall were told to step away from their keyboards as police evacuated the building to search for evidence.

Almendrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14675960172536988127noreply@blogger.com1