Tag: Shopping

In Thru the Out Door

vivaespanamovingtospain

We are less than a week from our 6 month anniversary of moving to Valencia. In that time, we’ve learned how to navigate public transport. Which super markets and restaurants we like. How holidays are celebrated and that fireworks will be our constant companion. We have started to understand how the bureaucracy works and when we need the help of others and when we don’t. We are expert. We know it all.

And then we spent the weekend getting schooled – again. Sure, we’ve been to the movies before. We can see movies in English at the local Yelmo cines. They have the look and feel of US movie theaters – thinking Lincoln Square in Bellevue, WA. And they even have Oscar Meyer hot dogs and movie popcorn. So it’s a complete experience, sort of, from home.

On Saturday, we walked up to the Yelmo that’s about a mile and half through the park from our apartment. We purchased the tickets to the ‘VOSE’ showing, which means the movie will be in the original language (English) with Spanish subtitles. And got our refreshments and climbed the lucite backlit stairs to the correct theater and sat down. The credits were running from the previous movie but we figured we would just wait with our two hot dogs, two drinks and a large popcorn for a whole 13 euros. But it was not to be.

The cleaner came in and started shouting at us. We were mid bite and had no idea what she was talking about. I find that when I’m shouted at, even in English, I struggle to comprehend what the hell is going on. But in Spanish? I’m completely lost. She could have been shouting my name over and over and I wouldn’t have understood a word. Jeff tried to reason with her. He gave her our tickets and she studied them like the Magna Carta. Then she hand them back, pointed out the door with more shouting and shook her broom at us.

‘I think we’re not supposed to be in here when she’s cleaning.’ I said to Jeff, after reading her angry face and threatening mimery with her broom. So we got up with our arms full of food and drink and left the theater. She followed us out. More shouting ensued and more broom waving. She practically pushed us down the stairs and kept pointing to the other side of the elevators in the lobby. We toddled over there like brainless idiots. We had no idea why.

On the other side of the lobby, unseen from the place where you purchase tickets and get your refreshments, is another set of stairs where there is a person who tells you that you can go up the stairs. There are monitors that say that a movie theater is open or if you must ‘Espera’. Or wait. So we went up to the guy with our tickets and he tore them and told us we could go up the stairs. We did, walking back to the theatre we were at one minute before. The cleaner lady looked at our torn tickets and said ‘bien.’  We went in to our assigned seats and sat down again. Our eyes were rolling in our heads.

The movie started. We were seeing ‘Alpha’. It’s a movie about a prehistoric clan who leaves a member behind after a buffalo hunt. It opened with Morgan Freeman’s deep voice – in English – telling us about life and the world, 20,000 years ago in Europe. Check! Time for a handful of popcorn. I expected Morgan Freeman and other English speaking actors because it was a North American film shot in Alberta, Canada. Sure, there might be some ‘Aboots’ and other Canadian ways of pronouncing ‘Aluminium’, but I would know what they were saying. Yeah, no.

The tribe in the film spoke only in a language that I’ve never heard. And the subtitles? They were in Spanish. Only Morgan Freeman’s melodious voice in the first and last 60 seconds of the film were in my native tongue. The rest was in a language that resembled languages of the people of the many tribes of North American, but was actually a made up language by a linguist from the University of British Columbia. This was not in the course description (I mean movie description) online. While interesting, I’m struggling with Spanish most days. We had come to the movies for mindless entertainment, and we got a job.

As we left the theatre, Jeff expressed surprise at language deal.

‘Well, I guess the good news is, I’m fluent in movie Spanish now, after reading it for 2 hours straight. But I did struggle a bit with the exact translation from made-up cave man.’

We walked home in the dark discussing the film . Mostly envious of the cold Canadian weather we saw and the fact that the main character was lucky he got to wear a coat.

On Sunday, we got up bright and early and walked down to the beach. The weather was perfect and the sun was out but the breeze was cool. The traffic on the main promenade was way down from peak season crowds. We chose a cafe and sat down.

I ordered a coffee and was promptly told that I was sitting at the wrong table. ‘ Coffee only there.’ The table he was pointing at was literally 2 feet away. So I lifted myself out of my chair and took one step and plopped myself into the chair next to me. The waiter walked the two feet, wiped down the table and asked me what he could get me.

‘Remember me? Una cafe con leche.’ I said.

‘Vale’ he said, as though we hadn’t just spoken 7 seconds before, and went away to get it. Ridiculous.

We finished the coffee. Jeff suggested we stick to what we know.

‘Let’s go out to Shopping City and knock a few things off our list before we fly to the US.’

I agreed and we got a taxi. We were half way to where IKEA is located in Alfafar, and I remembered it’s Sunday. I mentioned it to the driver and he said ‘No stores are open out there on Sunday.’ He had been wondering why ‘tourists wanted to go there’. Ugh.

So we had him drop us off at the Centro Commercial at El Saler. They have a Hyper Carrefour there and I thought perhaps we might have some luck in finding what we were looking for. We walked through their doors and there, like a beacon to school kids everywhere, were all the school supplies Emile and I had been searching for in the first part of August. The rows and rows of them looked just like the displays in every Fred Meyer or Target in the US.

We browsed a bit, but my heart wasn’t in it. I felt like something has been off for weeks now but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

‘I think we need to go home and pull the covers over our heads.’ I told him. ‘Something must be in retrograde because we seem to be missing something at every turn. It’s like I’m either too early or too late. Or just plaim clueless.’

So we did that. We sat and watched some Ray Donovan on Netflix and ate ice cream. Which everyone knows is the cure for almost everything. And since Mercury IS in retrograde, I’m not responsible for any of this.

 

 

Got’em – With a Little Help from my Friends

vivaespanamovingtospain

Before posting on my blog about my allergies, I hadn’t really told anyone here. My friends in the US knew about it because they knew me when I was sick. But after I found out, I would try to not make a huge deal out of it. In restaurants I would order around them. I didn’t want to be ‘One of Those People’ who make a production out of placing an order with a waiter. I was sure people would think I was just pretentious, not actually afraid of what I might be eating. It meant I popped a lot of Benedryl in the ladies room and skipped the wine.

Fast forward – I did the same here when eating out. You kind of start to learn the places that are safe and the food – even though the menu is in Spanish – that works for you. It can be limiting and I know being a culinary pioneer isn’t in my future. But I’m resigned to it and just happy when I find wonderful food I can eat.

But then I posted about it and my new friends here came out of the wood work and mounted a full scale Duck Egg hunt.  Sort of like Easter Bunny angels. The results are impressive. Maria – you found me my first dozen at El Corte Ingles.  I brought them the link you sent me and while we heard the one phrase we hear a lot on a daily basis ‘No, Impossible’, we asked other people in the store and Voila! there they were, on a bottom shelve next to the empty spot for Ostrich eggs.

img_7287

And then my English friend, Trish found a store that sells only eggs in Russafa. They have duck eggs! Other people started messaging me too. Sightings around town and Google maps directions to shops where they had seen them.

And finally, the farm got back to me last night. They said they would sell me some duck eggs for a Euro an egg – what I expected to pay. But just this morning, they emailed me back. They had discussed it and decided since it was an allergy and not a preference, they would sell them to me for .50 cents. Now I even have a Duck Guy in Spain. Who could ask for more?

img_7288

So I am flush with duck eggs now. Thank you everyone who messaged, commented and WhatsApp’d me. I’m forever grateful. A little onions, garlic, olive oil and avocado, and I thought of you all and smiled when I enjoyed my first duck egg omelet in Spain. It wasn’t the prettiest one I’ve ever made but it tasted like the best one I’ve ever eaten. My life just got a lot better – with a little help from my friends. Namaste’.

The Search for the Duck Guy

vivaespanamovingtospain

More than 10 years ago I found out I couldn’t eat chicken eggs, amongst a few other things. Apparently I have developed some sort of allergy. I was born on a chicken ranch in southern California. My parents had 10,000 chickens in a big egg operation, before they packed it in and moved to Oregon. So it seems I was rejecting my roots somehow. My Dr. at the time, told me that he had found some of his patients could eat duck eggs instead, but that I would need to be very careful in testing out that potential. I love eggs, so I did, and I was fine.

Finding duck eggs on a regular basis, however, was a challenge. I went on an exhaustive search and finally found a farm in the mountains east of Seattle that was run by two ex-Microsofties who had decided to cash in their stock options, before the 2008 crash, and use their millions to purchase and mountainside, run a water fowl egg operation, and sell those rarest of shelled jewels to the poshest restaurants in Seattle. I didn’t get how software development translated into the dream of farming, but you see, apparently – as I have learned – the best sous chefs and pastry chefs in the finest culinary establishments in the world use duck eggs to make their creations creamy and fluffy, and their sauces rich. And they’ll pay a premium for the pleasure.

So I reached out to them, drove up their mountain on a scary road, and we had a chat. After hearing my story, they committed that they would keep back two dozen duck eggs for me each month, provided I told no one where I was getting them from. And I would drive out there and pick them up and pay through the nose for them. So yes, I had a secret duck egg dealer of my very own.

But, you see, ducks like warm weather and that means that while in the Summer and early fall, eggs will be plentiful – if you can locate a source. In the Winter and early Spring, not so much. So having a chicken egg allergy in WA State meant that sometimes, because my Microsoftie duck dealers were purists without heated pens or barns, that their feathered friends sometimes wouldn’t lay for weeks at a time. So no duck eggs for the girl at the short end of the stick during coat weather.

In Arizona, I found an Asian food market 30 miles away from our house and I would drive the 60 mile round trip to get a couple dozen, packing them in a cooler so keep them safe and cold for the drive home. I made that trip every month and I was thrilled because they always had eggs, so I never left there empty handed.

Now that we live in Valencia, it’s been over three months since I had a duck egg. I used to make an omelet with one egg each morning, adding a little water to stretch the egg and to fluff it up. I savored that omelet. It was part of my morning routine – for years. But I haven’t found duck eggs here. And I have tried.

Today I went back to the Mercat Central with Jeff. I have been there before searching for my eggs, but I always got there later in the day and the stalls for eggs were picked over. Today, we got there when they were opening up at 7 am. The Mercat Central is one of the largest ‘Open Air’ markets in Europe. Even though it’s covered in a stunning glass and tiled structure that is something to behold. It’s a listed building and is art unto itself. They carry everything a foodie might want. It’s actually an assault to the senses, with the fruit, fish, meats of every type, flowers and spices. I LOVE IT!

We walked the aisles and I inquired at many of the stalls about ‘huevos de pato’ and where we might find them in the market. I was instructed on who to talk to and they sent me deeper into the maze, but without success. We finally bought some saffron and some fresh cardamon I had been needing and went in search of coffee. No duck eggs for me today.

When we got home, Jeff did an exhaustive search online and we may have found a farm south of the city, situated in the rice fields, that has exotic birds, including peacocks, and via Chrome’s translation feature, appears to have duck eggs. Don’t worry, I’m not eating peacock eggs. So I reached out to them and asked if I might purchase duck eggs from them – and commit to doing so – on a regular basis. I’m just awaiting their reply.

Just the very idea of finding another duck egg source has brightened my day. And the 40 km round trip will be worth it every time. I want one so badly I’ll pay a euro a piece for the privilege. I just gotta find a Duck Guy.

Random Crap

vivaespanamovingtospain

Everyday I learn new things. Most of them are small but this one was sort of large so I thought I would pass this and some of the other stuff we’ve gleaned lately. Because when things are different, it helps to know about them in advance so as to avoid confusion and delay.

I went for my follow up with the surgeon last night, after having the tests in the morning. In the US, the test results are automatically sent to the Dr. who is authorizing and requesting the tests. In Spain, that is not the case. You are sent the results – just like in the US – but you are expected to print the results out and take them to the Dr. He doesn’t have access to your test results for privacy reasons, unless you give him the hard copy.

So Emilie and I went to the appointment and waited – they squeezed us in – and found that I had no way to access the information and that the Dr. was expecting me to bring a hard copy. I was his last appointment of the day so going home to get my ID and password wasn’t an option. So I’ll have to go back for another appointment.

Of course, they apologized to me for my own mistake. The nurse and Dr. felt terrible about it all and I learned something new that I’ll never forget. So there was goodness all around. I told them not to worry.

Today, Jeff and I tried a new grocery store. I have never lived in city with so many different grocery stores so close to our house. In NYC, Chicago, or SF you’d have one choice of grocery store, and it would be very small and very expensive. In Seattle, living in the city was a desert of grocery stores. Although I know that’s changed a bit now with City Target moving in, and some others.

But here is the SuperCor, Carrefour, Super Carrefour, Mercadona, Super Mercat, and now we discovered the Consum. We started noticing Consum’s around the area and they looked like small stores. But while the entrance may look small, there is a HUGE store lurking behind. So we did a big shop there today.

We walked the aisles and it’s now become our favorite store. Why, when there is so much choice in grocery shopping would we choose Consum upon which to bestow our custom? Well, there are a couple of considerations here. Consum wins the award for best layout most resembling a Safeway or QFC (Kroger store) in the US. Things are just where you would expect them to be. That’s a novelty in every other store we’ve shopped in. You might remember my near ‘bleach v. laundry detergent debacle’ of mid-March.

Jeff likes that they have shelves and shelve of different kinds of tostadas. Those little toast things that you use as a tapas delivery system, or in his case, to dip into olive oil grown from ancient trees, for a mid-day snack. He’s become an olive oil and tostada snob, apparently, and shaking up his tostada selection is a top priority. He was in heaven.

They also win the award for most brands I recognize (Kikomon low salt soy sauce) and an ethnic food section that contains stuff I really, really like. Mexican foods, Indian foods, Japanese foods. They’re all there and some new things I’ve never tried. They had us at ‘Ethnic Food’ section. And they have paper towels that resemble the ones I could get back home. Yes, it’s the very, very small little stupid things that matter.

Finally, they win the award for nicest checkers, and since they have an in-store Coffee bar – with really nice staff, too – it’s doubly wonderful.

We came home and Emilie is thrilled that I found Golden Grahams cereal that is one she recognizes too. So we’re all happy. I’ll be adding this to my ‘Lessons Learned’ section under ‘Looking for a little bit of comfort’. Cause right now, familiarity is a high priority on my comfort scale.

In the Neighborhood

vivaespanamovingtospain

This morning, after a coffee, we decided to head out and run some errands. But first we stopped off and visited a local tower that used to be the gate tower for the old city of Valencia. If people wanted to enter the town, they had to pass through one of the 12 gates that were built into the walls surrounding the city, first. But this was the main entrance to the city as the road to Barcelona and the road to the surrounding mountains terminated at the gate.

Torres de Serranos

The tower is called Torres de Serranos and it dates back to 1392, when they started construction, and completed it in 1398. The rest of the city walls and towers were torn down in the 19th century but because Torres de Serranos, and a couple of others were used as prisons at the time, they were saved from the demolition.

The opening ceremony for Fallas is conducted on a platform in front of the tower every February. So it is kind of an iconic and beloved landmark now.  And with the 100’s of school children converging on it as we were finishing our 2 Euro self-guided tour, it is clear that it continues to have importance in the educational history of the area.

The views from the many levels are stunning. And I continued to be amazed at how these structures were built with no real technology – as we have today. No machinery. It’s clear why tradesmen were so highly prized back then. Stone masons and their knowledge passed from one generation to another. The precision for setting stone that last for more than 600 years is awe-inspiring.

The stairs throughout the tower have been largely left as they were. Hand rails are optional – even today. One thing we’ve noticed in some of our castle crawling is that the Spanish don’t have the same need to bubble wrap everything that Americans do. The stairs are treacherous – but, Oh well. The ratio of school children to adults is about 25 to 1. The attitude being ‘Don’t jump or you’ll die’. Basically, just have some common sense. We don’t take that tack back home. There would be wavers and a lot of modifications for ensuring safety would be virtually guaranteed.

Another thing we noticed about gathering clubs, whether its school children, groups of adults in the park or just friends, people here gather in circles a lot and hold hands before undertaking something. We don’t have any insight into why but it’s clearly a cultural thing. You don’t see this in the US. Especially with adults. We never hold hands with anyone we’re not dating, especially if they’re the same sex. Maybe it’s our puritanical grounding, but here they communicate by connecting everyone physically and encouraging people to look each other in the face, and talking. Imagine – looking at other people in your group. And they aren’t praying, so it’s not religious. I would be very interested to understand how this started and what this seemingly pervasive ritual is all about.

But it must work, because none of the children we saw, after their circle ritual in the square below, were out of control or jumping on the ramparts waiting to be scolded by an adult chaperone. Unheard of.

So far, we’re loving how we can step out our door into a bit of history while just walking to the Decathalon to return a couple of shirts. It seems strange but we’ve never incorporated a walk through a historical site into a quick shopping trip before. But considering where we live now, I think it’s inevitable going forward. And it’s exactly where we want to be.

The Color of Happy

vivaespanamovingtospain

Don’t hate me, but I believe I now own the most beautiful grocery trolley every made. Yes, as you can see in the picture, my new yellow, 4 wheeled, grocery trolley is safely ensconced in the foyer of El Compartimiento.  And I couldn’t be more proud.

Grocery Trolley

We woke up today, and headed out early. We used our new Valenbisi bike service to cycle our way to the central city to enjoy a coffee and then do a little shopping at El Corte Ingles. The other day, I had seen a credenza there that might just go in our living room and Jeff and I went back and bought it. It’s being delivered on Thursday.

Next, we went to the kitchen section. We are in desperate need of a silicone spatula (Jeff is pretty sure the perfect one exists) and we needed to check them out. We went up a few floors and came around a corner looking for kitchenware, and there, under a spotlight,  sat my bright yellow trolley from my dreams. I think I heard angels singing. I approached it with the reverence it deserved and found it was 20% off. It’s like it was begging to come home with me, right then.

‘Ditch that horrible Ikea trolley (we can barely call it that, can we?) you bought the first day you got here. Take me home and I’ll never let you down.’ I heard it whisper.

Very sure Barry White was playing in the background. Yes, I could dig it. But we had come to Corte Ingles for other priorities, so Jeff peeled me away from that lemon colored beauty, and we perused the kitchen utensil section. He found the perfect spatula for his grilled cheese sandwiches (Emile would be proud), but he saw me eyeing that bright yellow, 4 wheeled – not 2 wheeled – grocery trolley.

‘We’ll come back after we have lunch at the beach.’ he promised me.  Ugh. I reluctantly agreed and we set off with our spatula and Chromecast Ultra, to round out our media viewing, safely in his backpack.  We cycled to the beach and enjoyed some tapas and refreshments. The marina was, as yet, undiscovered by us and we took full advantage – enjoying an after lunch drink overlooking where they keep those big yachts they race in the Americas cup.  A gorgeous day.

Valencia Marina

Heading home, we nearly missed going back for our bright yellow trolley. It had been a long day. We were a little tired and got plenty of sun. But then we got on the wrong train and ended up having to go back to Colon to get the right train. So since we were already steps away from Corte Ingles outside the Colon Metro station? Well, that trolley was going home with me!

We bought it and went down to the basement Supermercado and bought a bunch of food to put in my new trolley. It’s not Harrods food hall, but it would do to christen her for the inaugural run.  No pulling this trolley. NO WAY!! I’m pushing it on it’s 4 wheels – all the way home.

Getting off the subway and walking on the sidewalk, Jeff chided me a bit for pushing it like a stroller.

‘You know, it would be easier on the uneven pavement if you pulled it. It’s not a stroller.’

I shook my head in disbelief. How could he suggest this?!?

‘I don’t think you get it. It’s got 4 wheels. I can now push it and keep up with everyone pushing their food trolleys in our neighborhood.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m just saying it’s not a kid.’

‘Well, think of it like a food baby.’

He had no comeback for that! We walked in the door and there sat our sad Ikea trolley. It couldn’t hope to compete with my new Yellow, super trolley and it knew it. It just sat there sagging. You could feel it hoping that it hadn’t seen it’s last run to the Mercadona or El Chino. I didn’t promise it anything, but Jeff told me not to get rid of it because we’ll need to do some big grocery runs when we have guests, and we’ll be happy we have it.

But for now, the star of our house is our new Canary Yellow trolley. As I write this I ask myself – What the Hell has become of me!?!

 

A Taste of Home

vivaespanamovingtospain

I haven’t missed that much from home by moving to Valencia. Everything here is new and it’s harder to do even small things. But over time, that will fade. I even asked the guy at the grocery store yesterday where the tea was, all in Spanish. So I’m getting there. What won’t fade is the difference in food.  We like spicier, more varied food, and finding that in a restaurant here, with a range of deep fried to deeper fried bland food can be hard. We are done with Bocadillos, pizza and the other pub fare. We aren’t big desert or pastry people either. And Indian or Thai food isn’t near by in our neighborhood.

We are baffled by the actual times restaurants serve food (not tapas or just drinks) and it has proved challenging. We were hungry today at 11:30 am. We tried to go to several places to get lunch but they don’t open until 12:30.  One after another – no go. Finally, we just went home. And don’t get me started on the exceptions with bank holidays that pop up when you can’t imagine why it’s going on. I know it’s a cultural thing but I swear it takes a matrix in excel, and some sort of complex algorithm to determine when there will be an intersection between our hunger, biological clocks, Spanish restaurants opening times/food serving times, and bank holidays. There’s gotta be an app for that!

So, I’m finding I’m cooking more at home. I’ve made fajitas, which I thought weren’t half bad. Jeff wasn’t as impressed but I certainly tried my best. I’ve made Chicken Tikka Masala – but again, it needed more spices and finding those here requires a trip to a specialty store in the Central Market. So no last minute culinary whip-ups out of what they have at the Mercadona.

Last week, I made Beef with Broccoli and Basmati rice. That was pretty good, too. But there are foods from home that just, well, feel like home. And today we made the trek to find them. Comfort foods – foods that ground you in times of stress. It’s the fall back stuff, when you put on your jammies, get a blanket on the couch, snack and watch a favorite movie or binge watch a tv show. Wrapping yourself in the familiar.

Taste of America

Just off of Gran Via is a place called ‘Taste of America.’ Walking in, the first thing that strikes you is that the shelves are filled with things you would NEVER want to buy in a grocery store in the US, if you cared about your children living past high school. Sure they’re American as apple pie but, seriously, Kellogg’s Fruit Loops, or Capt’n Crunch cereal? They have American beer and lots of US candy. And real ranch dressing (honestly, whatever that is) and Jack Daniels bar-b-que sauce. Name brand peanut butter is there too, and the same artisinal jam from Maine that I bought my Mom the last time we were there. It’s kind of a weird thing. I always bring back jam, from where ever we travel, for my Mom. I don’t really know why I do this, but when I go to their house I get to eat it and remember where I bought it. I never bring back jam for myself.

But today at ToA, I mostly just looked at all. It was nice to see familiar brands and logos. But I wasn’t going to buy alot of that crap, whether I was missing US food or not. It was a reminder how terribly we eat as Americans. I didn’t drink Dr. Pepper in the US, and I’m not starting now. But then I went to the baking section. Different story. They had vanilla, semi-sweet chocolate chips. Baking soda and brown sugar. All the things to make real chocolate chip cookies from home. I snapped it all up, not for me, but because I need to start thinking about Emilie’s arrival. She’ll be here in 6 weeks for the summer break, and the first thing she’ll want to do it make chocolate chip cookies.

Then I saw that they had pancake mix and real maple syrup. Homemade pancakes and waffles are in our future. And boxes of Mac and Cheese that will get Em through her first meal. And they had Campbell’s tomato soup. Emilie hates tomatoes but she likes Campbell’s tomato soup. I don’t try to riddle it out, I just buy it. At the end, the guy threw in a free bag of Sea Salt and Vinegar potato chips, so our streak of gift with purchase continues.

And 56 euros later, we made the 8 km round trip back on foot. Jeff carried our bounty  in his back pack and we stopped on the way home and signed up for Spanish classes. So we ‘killed two birds with one stone’, as they say back home. Kind of gruesome, when I think about it.

I’m now looking at the things I bought stacked in our pantry cupboard and I was thinking. When I was a kid, my Mom would let me play ‘Store’ with some of the boxes and cans from the kitchen. And an ancient adding machine with a hand crank that made it seem like a cash register. It’s a bit ironic, because my parents owned an actual grocery store but it seemed I couldn’t get enough of it and played it at home with my friends. Maybe as we use this stuff from ToA, I’ll keep the boxes and just put them back in the cupboard, like when I was a kid. Sure, I won’t have the actual contents anymore, but when I open the door, it will feel like home.

Making Friends – the Hard Way

vivaespanamovingtospain

Today, I decided to take a tour. This is not my usual deal. I’m more of a ‘go-it-alone’, ‘lets-see-where-the-road-takes-us’ kind of person. But I signed up when I heard about it and I crawled out of bed at 6am.

Nooo! I don’t get up at 6am anymore. That was the old me. The Mom-me. The working me. But the bus was gonna leave Xativa with or without me. And I wanted to be on it. Jeff saw me off, like the first day of Kindergarten. He was going to enjoy a blissful day ALONE. I think he was looking forward to it as much as I was looking forward to seeing more of the area.

Sunrise Xativa

The big red bus traveled south with me and all my expat friends – Brits, Canadians, Americans and the like. It was for English speakers and I learned a lot about how others in my position do things here, the topography of the region, and the history. The rich history. Ahhh. I was in my element. It was like being back in history class in school, where they told you stories that brought it alive. I loved history.

So our first stop, after a very, very winding (get you super car sick, don’t look down) road – was Guadalest. It’s a hilltop town with a castle at the top – duh. With a lot to see. I walked through the old part and through the manse that the family who controlled the region for 300 years built, had an earth quake and rebuilt, and then lost it in some sort of conflict. I was a bit sketchy on those details.

Guadalest

But it was so fun to walk around the old ramparts, and what did I discover that surprised me? Oh yes, the making of an Indian music video. I wanted to be irritated that they were harshing my bliss, but I kind of liked the music and the choreography.  And the lead singer was easy on the eyes.

Indian Video

Then we were off to Altea. This is closer tot he water and simply lovely. We had a bit of lunch (wine) and a brief walk around the town. Gorgeous views and great shopping. But not as good as the shopping in Gata de Gorgos. It’s a little town with a series of shops where they sell hand woven wicker goods, bags and rugs that are wonderful! So I had to buy a bag, and then a throw for the couch. And then a rug for under our dining room table.

When I walked out of the last shop with the large rug slung over my shoulder my fellow travelers laughed. The wife of our tour guide especially.

Altea

‘I knew it. In that first shop, I saw the look in your eye and I knew. She’s on a mission.’

‘Well.’ I told her. ‘I generally spot what I want right away. And these little shops seems to have many of the items on my list.’

Altea to the South

I put my finds in the hold, below the bus and we made it back to Valencia. The bus dropped us off near the Xativa Metro stop so I hoisted my rug on my shoulder, consolidated a few bags and set off for the metro, leaving my new friends to watch me shaking their heads. Now, you might think they were the last people on my trek home to stare at me and consider my schlepping of a large rug on a subway to be totally inappropriate. But there you’d be wrong.

I was nearly stopped by the man in the booth as I barely squeaked through the electronic ticket stall, and not because he didn’t try, in his sound proof glass box. But I found pretending not to notice him waving his arms at me worked well, and seeing as how he couldn’t seem to find his key in time to open his booth, I just whizzed past and down the two escalators to the platform. The train was pulling in at that very moment, and I want to say I hopped on it but I was lugging a large rug, so I ambled, while balancing it on my shoulder.

The other passengers weren’t as enamored of my home home decor choices as you would think, but like most people here, they said nothing, and I had counted on that. Just stared. I smiled and made sure it didn’t fall on anyone. Getting out of the subway and then walking the half mile home through sidewalk cafes and crowds was quite a challenge, but eventually I made it.

I want to say Jeff was surprised to see me and my rug and the rest of my purchases, but he didn’t bat and eye when he opened the door. He just took it from me and asked me where I wanted it. People in my tour group had asked me ‘what is your husband going to say?’ and I stopped for a moment before answering.

‘He expects nothing else from me.’ I told them honestly. ‘In fact, if I don’t come home with a rug or some other large thing, like an armadillo or a pony; something that requires geometry to get home, he’ll be disappointed.’

I’m a challenge shopper. It’s in my blood. I had so much fun on this tour, I’m signing us up for the next one. The Olive Oil tour. Jeff is not getting out of this one. A whole day pressing olives. And you can buy olive products and the like. Hmmm. I wonder what we’ll be lugging home on the subway that day!