Hi everybody! I’m writing this from partway across the Atlantic ocean! First of all, Spain was absolutely wonderful. What a beautiful place. I loved it, and not just because of the chocolate and churros, as you will see. Here are two expressions that I learned in Spain: “we arrived just in time to kiss the saint,” meaning arriving in the nick of time, and “I could hit myself in the teeth with a rock,” meaning that everything has worked out so well that you are enormously relieved. Twenty years of studying Spanish could not have prepared me to understand either one, but I do now.

My brother Guy and his long-term partner Antonio were absolutely peerless hosts [for my friends who don’t know, my brother has been living in Madrid since the early 80s and he and Antonio are planning a wedding for next year! We are thrilled!]. They found us a place to stay, picked us up and dropped us off, translated for us at every moment, paid for things like the metro and meals and other things, and were unfailingly gracious and delightful. We were humbled and honored by the attention to detail, and thrilled to finally meet Antonio’s family after all these years. First of all, we arrived in Santurtzi, about ten miles outside of Bilbao and looking very dry, brown, and North Africa-like. We eagerly watched out the window of our cabin for Guy and Antonio to show up, even though they weren’t due to arrive until 11 am. It was so exciting to see them driving up! I flew off the ship! Cary and Morgan came flying off seconds later with our bags. Antonio’s sister Dori and her husband Manolo had graciously lent their Audi to Antonio to drive us around for a couple of days, because it has air conditioning, so we traveled in wonderful luxury to San Sebastián, about an hour from Bilbao. And, of course, as soon as we left the dry port at Santurtzi, everything was green and luxuriant.

San Sebastián is in the heart of Basque country, with signs reading “Tourist Remember: You are not in Spain or in France. You are in the Basque country.” It was exciting, and kept me wondering whether or not we would be experiencing any aspect of the Basque independence movement during our visit. Guy and Antonio were teasing us about how we were going to camp out in San Sebastián, even up to the time that we pulled into the driveway of the Hotel Maria Cristina, the top luxury hotel in town (and run by Westin). We were agog at the luxury of everything!! It had an enormous bed, many towels, and LOTS and LOTS of room. The bathroom was bigger than our cabin on the ship. Much bigger, in fact. Morgan was flailing around on the bed and waving her arms and legs wildly in celebration of staying in such a nice place. We went out for tapas (locally called pintxos in Basque), and you should have seen the selection! In the place we went, there were plates and plates of meat pastries and mushroom pastries and fish pastries and cheese pastries. We tried pieces of French bread covered thickly with local blue cheese (according to Guy, the actual precursor to Roquefort), then some with salmon, and wild mushrooms, and cheese, and all kinds of ingredients. The five of us had fifteen different pintxos, and everyone except Morgan also had some txacoli, the fresh young white wine that is a specialty of the Basque country (poured from at least three feet above the glass to aerate it). It was so much fun! A little while later we put on swimsuits and walked all the way around the beautiful old peninsula, in the old part of town, looking at the many sailboats out on the water and enjoying each other’s company.

Guy and Antonio bought tickets for us to take a half-hour boat ride around the bay, which was delightful; it was the first time this summer that we’ve actually been right next to the water. And such beautiful water! It was deep blue and lightly rolling. As we passed by the harbor we saw local boys joyously leaping off the cement wall and into the water with great splashes. When we made it to the beach (with thousands of others who had come there for the sun and water), Morgan and I went in and Cary sat with Guy and Antonio in the sand. We were out there for about 45 minutes, bobbing in the (mild) waves, and laughing when the periodically big waves rolled in, because dozens of people all around us would scream and try to run for shore. This occurred almost exactly every five minutes, so we were ready for the screams and the sight of people struggling for shore only to get thoroughly splashed by the waves, then running back for more. It was really funny. Of course we got covered with sand.

We headed back to the hotel to clean up, and Antonio brought out the cider that he and Guy had purchased. He showed us how to pour it by holding it several feet above the glass (in the bathtub, actually, so we wouldn’t have cider on the floor). They did this at the pintxo place with the wine as well; to aerate it, I believe. Our dinner was at a very nice restaurant (a jatatxea or “food house”); everyone had Basque-style duck and I had salmon (perfectly done!). We had local desserts: a kind of marzipan-type wedge of pie, and a kind of near-yogurt-type dish that you mix with sugar or honey. After dinner (about 11 pm) we were walking in the plaza mayor – which was just livening up – and we saw many children rushing after long squealing balloons. In Spain you find them only in the Basque country; they’re regular long balloons with noise makers inside, and you release them to great fanfare as they fly everywhere, hovering and chasing and hitting people and zipping around the sky. It’s hilarious! Antonio got a bag of them for Morgan and another bag for his nephews, Alvaro and Alberto.

After a profound sleep in the enormous and unbelievably comfortable bed at the Maria Cristina Hotel, we went straight to the Santa Lucia chocolateria. Imagine this: a small, slightly smoky diner with fluorescent lights, utterly uninviting from the outside. But you walk in, sit down, and have a couple of slabs of “Spanish omelette,” which is potatoes cooked in an egg frittata. Absolutely delicious and nourishing! Then comes the main event: a six-ounce mug of hot, thick, liquid chocolate and a plate of churros. It is an incredible thing to have hot, thick, liquid chocolate for breakfast. And we had toast with jam and at least one other pastry besides churros. Just as I was thinking the day couldn’t get any better, I heard a lovely, stately, processional sound coming down the street. It was an 8-piece flute and percussion Basque band! I followed them out to the plaza mayor and watched them as they circumambulated and paused in the center. It was vaguely militant with a tinge of melancholy. It was so exciting! They wore traditional wide-brimmed Basque berets (Guy tells me that the beret is really Basque, not French) and black and white suits. The sound of their beautifully played instruments echoed down the alleys, and it was a sublime ethnomusicological moment for me, rather like the one I experienced in St. Petersburg at the Georgian restaurant.

We checked out of our beautiful rooms at the Maria Cristina and drove to Hondarribia, a fishing village just across a river from France. We parked the car and were thoroughly enjoying a stroll through the town when we found ourselves witnesses to a political demonstration to bring all the (dispersed) Basque prisoners back to Basque country. People who looked like they might be family members were marching through the main street, carrying posters of the prisoners and demanding their return. It was peaceful and interesting and a strong reminder that there are as yet major issues to be dealt with in Basque Country. We had lunch at La Hermandad de Pescadores, a place run by a Basque fisherman’s guild, where we had monkfish and hake beautifully prepared in ways that I can’t describe effectively, more txacoli (poured from high above the table), and various local desserts (I had rice pudding that was just perfect!). Morgan had lemon ice cream and loved it. I had noticed, in our strolls around the towns, that there is a unique Basque font, with strong points and special characteristics (and, of course, many k’s and x’s for all the Basque words). I like it, and so I was delighted later to see that Guy and Antonio had a “G” and an “A” carved into their lovely Basque “hope chest” in their dining room. We walked up the hill in Hondarribia to a beautiful parador in a restored castle and had some café con leche to see us through the long drive ahead. It was lovely to look down on the waterfront from the top of the fortified hill on such a stunningly gorgeous day! On the way to Madrid we stopped at Burgos, partly to give Morgan a chance for a snack of fresh mussels, and partly to see the incredibly ornate cathedral itself. We arrived just when they were ushering everyone out the door, but we did get to spend a few minutes inside, savoring the brilliant colors and three-dimensional carvings on the walls.

After a long drive, enlivened by comparing Spanish and American proverbs (and many thanks to Antonio for driving so carefully and for so many hours!!), we were dropped off at the Hotel Opera, right downtown and right next to the newly-refurbished opera house. Our room was large, quiet, and cool, and our bathroom (with marble tiles) was bigger than our cabin on the ship. We went out for Andalusian breakfast the next morning (fresh crushed tomatoes and olive oil on slabs of hearty French bread, with café con leche). Then off we went to see Guy and Antonio’s wonderful apartment. They live in a place that’s halfway down the block of a triangular old building (about a hundred years old?), so the angles of the individual rooms fit the angles of the building. They have outfitted their place with gorgeous handmade Basque furniture (heavy and elegant and done just for them), and they have many special and whimsical things in their place. I kept wanting to search out every little corner for some new and fun surprise! Antonio made lemonade for us, and while Cary answered a couple of urgent e-mail messages, Antonio’s sister Dori and her husband Manolo and their children, Alvaro and Alberto, arrived. It was such fun to see them! They are very nice people; in fact, they’re the kind of people that I would love to have as family members, and it was humbling to have very few Spanish language skills. As I told Cary on the way back to Bilbao, if I’m going to have Spanish relatives then it’s long past the time I learned some Spanish!

We went for a lovely long walk through Madrid, stopping at a lovely Catalonian restaurant for gazpacho and sandwiches with local cheese; yum! Dori and Manolo graciously hosted us, and with the help of Guy and Antonio we managed a three-way conversation over lunch. We also visited several historic sites in the afternoon and stopped in the park to play Uno (a pictorial/numerical card game – no language skills necessary!). We then enjoyed a cross-town walk, narrated by Antonio, past the national congress chambers and other buildings. That “night” (night by American standards; “afternoon” by Spanish standards) we met Antonio’s mother at the park and took the Metro to a restaurant specializing in food of Valencia: paella! Yum!! We had three different kinds: chicken paella (primarily for the kids, but we found it to be absolutely delicious), seafood paella (with crayfish, whole shrimp, mussels, clams…) and black paella made with squid and its own ink. Everything tasted better than everything else, if that makes sense (“this one is my favorite! No, wait! That one!). Guy took the kids out to the square and they all played with the shrieking balloons (to an audience of neighborhood kids, looking at the balloons with longing). The best part of the evening was being with Antonio’s family, of course. They were so very welcoming to us, sweet to Morgan, funny, and full of love, graciousness, spirit, and laughter. We loved them all. We had many funny moments (all the kids objecting strenuously to the traditional kiss on both cheeks, watching Morgan like a hawk to make sure that both her hands rested on the table as we ate – as polite European manners dictate, etc.), and plenty of moments when I longed for the language skills to say the right words at the right time. It was all delightful. After kisses of farewell, we went back to our comfy hotel and slept like we’d been struck.

The next day we had breakfast in a different place (more Spanish omelette made with egg and potato, café con leche and traditional pastries) and headed off to the local sheet music shop so I could look for several classical guitar pieces that I haven’t found in the States. I was in luck! We then went to the Prado, Spain’s biggest museum, to see the extraordinary works of Goya, Velasquez, and El Greco. They were much better this time, probably because I knew what I was looking for and I had some sense of who they were (the last time I was in Madrid was in 1982, and I have dim recollections of enjoying the Prado, but the only unforgettable thing for me at the time was Picasso’s Guernica – now at a different museum). Now I have many unforgettable images, reminding me of how grateful I am to be doing this trip as an adult, not as a twenty-year-old. Of course we had brought gifts for the boys, and of course we left them on the ship! I felt remiss, especially as gift upon thoughtful gift piled up for Morgan (including a wonderful collection of villancicos – Spanish carols – that Antonio created and recorded himself, Guy, and the nephews singing with great hilarity).

It was hot in Spain – 95 degrees – but it was dry so it didn’t feel as hot as all that. St. Petersburg felt hotter, and of course grubbier. We were thirstier than usual, but that was the main difference. On our way out to the airport (via the metro – an easy and fun trip) we were thinking about the fact that we had only photocopies of our passports instead of the real thing. Generally, the ship has held everyone’s passports for them, and all we’ve had is the copies. Of course we were going to need our passports to get on the plane! What to do? We decided to play dumb, show the passport copies, smile innocently, and get on the plane. It worked! Antonio didn’t need to translate for us. He did, however, write out our specific instructions for the Bilbao taxi driver to take us home to the ship from the Bilbao airport (which also went very easily). The flight for some reason was an absolute white-knuckle ride for me. I never used to mind flying! Am I becoming a wimp in my old age??? It was nice to get off the plane and head back to the ship. And our thanks go to Guy and Antonio and Antonio’s wonderful mother, sister Dori, brother-in-law Manolo, and nephews Alvaro and Alberto for all their gracious hospitality and kindness.

On our last day in Spain we were back in Bilbao (well, for the first time in Bilbao, actually), and we decided to spend the day at the fabulous Guggenheim museum. You should see this place. In fact, you could easily see it by doing an image search on Google. It is more interesting, creative and just as strange as the Experience Music Project in Seattle, although I’d have to argue that it is more successful in terms of its ability to incorporate its contents with its design. Like all Frank Gehry buildings, it appears to be made out of clay and then copied by computers. It blends elements of fishing and sailing ships (two major aspects of Basque culture), with titanium “scales” covering the building. The current major exhibition was all about Aztec culture, so we saw as much as we could, along with the Abstract Expressionist exhibit (our favorite part), and that was it. I was certainly hoping for a lot of modern works, but we had to be content with several rooms of it, then the entire rest of the museum was Aztec (Toltec, Mixtec, etc.). I am a flexible person, but even I have limits when it comes to seeing sacrificial bowls for victims’ hearts. Don’t get me started.

The best part of the museum’s exhibits was the Richard Serra “Snake,” a set of giant iron plates weaving their way through the main hall of the museum. They were about twenty feet high, and dozens of yards long, and about several inches thick. They were set up as waves, spirals, canyons, arroyos…it was magnificent. We walked through and around every one of them, making little sounds to see how the acoustics differed from one to another, and thoroughly loving the way the iron panels curved in and around and threw off our senses of what is upright and what is tilted. I lost my balance several times, walking on flat ground, simply because the iron was slanting to the left or right as I walked past it. I LOVED it. I loved every aspect of it. And now I know what it was that we saw on the last island as we were leaving Reykjavík many weeks ago: pillars by Richard Serra, our on the final point before the ship pulled out of the harbor. And I recognized the photographs of his other works. It was a thrill.

My favorite part of the day – sorry to say this, but it’s true – was the lunch at the museum restaurant. You have the choice of the restaurant (prix fixe) or the café (à la carte), and we sprang for the restaurant because, after all, my birthday is this month!! I’m just going to recite the menu for you, because words would fail me if I tried to describe it myself. First, we started with a melon and cucumber puree with about a half inch of foam on top in these elegant little three-ounce glasses. Then we had “lightly baked egg on a bed of ‘ratte’ potato, dressed with kalamata olive oil and a red pepper nectar; crunchy vegetable emulsion flavored with black truffle covered with a legume and fennel smooth gel and crystallized grapefruit skin; fresh borage stalks served over an aloe vera stock, seasoned with hazelnut oil and lime skin; roast red mullet with a tender almond puree, tomato juice emulsion and chervil roots; roast suckling lamb shoulder with a base of sherry, guernica pepper seeds and yellow lemon sauce; fresh casein sauce with strawberry ice cream and violet croquant; a cold juice of dark cacao with frozen milk and anis infusion and almond ‘crunchy leaves;’ and curd of pistachio covered with a coffee extract.” Oh. My. How can I describe this? Each new dish was served on a plate that perfectly matched its mood and shape and texture.

Oh, and we started with a young white wine and finished with a liter and a half of some fabulous Rioja red that I don’t know the name of. At the end we had café con leche. For her main course Morgan had a “curd of Parmigiano-Reggiano in milk covered with truffle oil and shiso leaves,” and for her dessert we ordered a special “cold juice of dark cacao with frozen milk” (etc.) for her, which was really a tiny scoop of frozen cream with dark dark dark chocolate and anise/almond “leaves.” Unbelievable. We went with a colleague in art history, Laura Gelfand, and laughed almost continuously through the entire meal. Part of the laughter came from the “title” of the prix fixe menu: “Creation, Freedom, and Tendencies.” Tendencies? What could they possibly mean by “tendencies”?? Cary saw “tendencias” in Spanish and we wondered what it could be. We couldn’t stop making jokes about it and about everything else. It was blissful, funny, delicious, and absolutely unforgettable. And out of all of it, my favorite was the “curd of pistachio with coffee extract.” Who knew that such a combination would be so sublime?

After we left the museum and we were heading towards the shuttle bus, we stopped in at a wonderful Basque shop called “Basandere.” We picked up a gorgeous cream-colored Basque pitcher, a Basque CD that I had wanted to order in the States but cost far less here, and a couple of pendants. Hooray! We came back to the ship in plenty of time, and we watched the parade of students rushing to get to the ship before “on-ship time.” I noticed one student with a bulge underneath her giant t-shirt, and at first I wasn’t going to say anything until I realized that she would probably be able to sneak on board the ship with it (students are absolutely forbidden from bringing alcohol on the ship). I started to fret because on a previous voyage a student was so drunk that he fell overboard, and I realized that someone’s life might be in danger. So I made my way out to the gangway and let the powers that be know whom to inspect. Sure enough, she had a huge bottle of what looked like vodka; she didn’t see that it was me who busted her.

Just as the ship was pulling away from the dock Cary noticed that our lunch for four people had been charged as 755 euros, not 155! YIKES! In a panic we gathered a couple of friends – one of whom is fluent in Spanish (Milagros) and the other of whom is a Belgian professor with a European cell phone (Michel), and between us we managed to get the head of the restaurant on the phone and explain the problem. After finding out that no, we could NOT come in the next morning to sort things out, he promised to credit our Visa with six hundred euros. Luckily he had the bill right there and agreed that it was an obvious mistake, and apologized profusely. And we are so very grateful to Milagros and Michel for having the linguistic skills and the available cell phone; if it had been a half hour later, Michel’s cell phone would not have worked because we were rapidly pulling away from shore. As it was, we had to stand outside on the deck with everyone who was watching the departure (it’s a favorite activity and it’s the last time we’re doing it) so that the phone could get a signal. Whew. But the truth is, it’s an honest mistake and it could be simply because a European 1 looks rather like an American 7.

Now we’re back on the ship and steaming away toward America. It’s exciting and sobering at the same time; next week I’ll have well over a hundred student papers to read in just two days, and 51 final exams! But to tell you the truth, it’s been good to get back into the rhythm of the teaching days on ship instead of constantly preparing for ports. The students, too, have the look of some seriousness (at least now you can see them all over the ship, bent over their laptops – some might even be working on papers). It’s a pretty grueling schedule but at least I know what to expect. Besides, this weekend my class had student presentations and a 20-minute professor evaluation session (required by Semester at Sea) in each class, so that was a time of no teaching.

We saw dolphins leaping out of the water last week, and I’ve kept my eyes open for whales, but have had no luck. The weather has been beautiful, again, and on Thursday evening we took Morgan out to watch the Perseid meteor shower. Imagine almost no light pollution (except for the lights on the ship)! Oh, and we have been closely monitoring the progress of “Tropical Storm Irene” and hoping for no hurricanes. The Hard to Fathom Boys may need to do something funny with “Goodnight Irene.” Evidently the word from NOAA is that they grossly underestimated the number of hurricanes expected for this year, by 100%. We’re hoping that the trajectory of the storm, should it turn into a hurricane, will be well out of our range by the time we’re near Florida. More rolling waves! Sometimes I wake up at night and feel like singing out “wheeee!” and “whooaa!” as the ship rocks from side to side or front to back. So far, we’ve spent the entire trip without needing any seasickness medication. That could change at any time, of course!

Okay, now we’re in for the home stretch: the “Ambassadors’ Ball,” the final exams, the papers, dinner with the captain, my birthday, the grades, the hurricanes… Whoo hoo! I could hit myself in the teeth with a rock.