Tuesday, June 13
The first day of traveling is never particularly fun, from getting up at 4:45 to battling traffic at 6:30 to finding airport parking to climbing onto a plane at 8 am. Nonetheless, we managed it just fine and were winging our way across the country without any mishaps. I am happy to say that it was a nearly uneventful flight. In spite of my years of traveling all over the place, planes still defy logic to me and I held the plane in the air for most of the flight. The lady across from me allowed her toddler to play unsupervised in the aisle, which meant he almost got run over by the flight attendants pushing a cart up the aisle, and he also decided to whack me on the arm for ignoring him as he stared up at me, indignantly. We landed in New York (JFK) with plenty of time for me to mail some letters and for us to have an actual meal in one of the terminals. Cary and Morgan went to the airport bookstore to get a pair of sudoku books. Shortly after 9 pm we got on our Iberia flight and off we went into the darkness. Basically, when Morgan falls asleep on a plane it’s almost impossible to prevent her from stretching out her feet into the aisle, kicking the side of the plane (okay, but at least it’s from the inside), flailing, smacking me in the face, etc. Cary sat next to a bright, friendly and curious three-year-old girl who regaled him with questions for what appeared to be hours. This first picture, by the way, is of the balcony in Madrid’s Plaza Mayor; Antonio was showing Morgan where the wedding was going to take place.

Wednesday, June 14 – Madrid
Darkness ended way too soon in some ways, and not soon enough in others! We landed at about 10:30 and seemed to walk several miles through Madrid’s brand new airport before we came out to where Guy and Antonio were waiting for us. What a wonderful welcome it was! Considering how very, very busy they both were in preparations for the wedding, it was great that they were able to meet us. They brought us to the hotel (the Suite Prado, right on the Calle del Prado in downtown Madrid), where we unpacked, and then Antonio took us off to lunch at La Finca de Susana, where there was a surprisingly reasonable fixed price lunch. The appetizer was a lovely gazpacho that was cooling and incredibly refreshing, like all good gazpacho. We had hake (merluza), which – according to Guy – is absolutely the favorite fish in Spain. He says that anyone who catches hake anywhere in the world sends it directly to Spain. And sure enough, we saw it on many menus for the rest of the trip. It was a delicious fish, and I was mystified why only the Spanish seem to enjoy it! And for dessert there was an interesting large profiterole soaked in some kind of sweet syrup, covered with chocolate.

After lunch we ventured over to Guy and Antonio’s and admired their new Basque-made cabinet in the dining room (matches their gorgeous table, chairs, and large trunk). Then Cary and I passed out in Guy and Antonio’s bedroom, and somehow I misplaced my glasses. My parents arrived at some point with Bill and Nan Dutcher, their friends of over 50 years who came all the way to Spain for the wedding! It was great to see them all. On our way to dinner that evening we found a guitar shop with the luthier inside, and Guy started talking to him about the possibility of my renting a guitar. After much back-and-forth that I couldn’t quite catch, we discovered that there was a possibility of indeed renting one for the wedding. This came, by the way, after Antonio called virtually every guitar shop in Madrid and was turned down by all of them! I felt terrible for Antonio’s wasted efforts! Guy and Antonio had borrowed a guitar from a friend of theirs, but it wasn’t appropriate for the kind of music I play and it was in rough shape. I was thrilled to be in the shop with fine guitars, and even more thrilled at the possibility of playing one!

We had dinner that night with Bill and Nan and everyone at one table and us at another, which was just as well because we were absolutely falling over with jet lag. We had a type of dense gazpacho called salmorejo, which tastes very hearty and is quite filling, then Cary and I each had duck (him: magret; me: confit), and Morgan ordered a macaroni and cheese dish that came in a pot pie type dish, filled with meat and tomato sauce! It was an interesting interpretation of mac ‘n’ cheese! For dessert, Morgan ordered a marvelous raspberry tartlet that was like a layered mousse with powerful raspberry flavor. Nan ordered it too. We fell into bed at 11 in our quiet, clean, peaceful hotel room on the second floor. It had been a long, long day, and I still didn’t know quite where my glasses were. Can you see them in this picture?

Thursday, June 15 – Madrid
We woke to the sound of pouring rain. Rain! In Madrid!! I thought it fell mainly on, well, you know. It wasn’t cold, just drenching. And us without our umbrellas! We walked about five blocks (quickly!) through the rain to Vip’s, a sort of upscale Denny’s-type place (in that it serves several types of “full” breakfasts). There are a number of them in Madrid now, attached or close to various Starbuck’s franchises. I had a breakfast I remembered well from last summer when we visited Guy and Antonio in Madrid: the “Andalusian” breakfast, which is a half-baguette sliced in half, served with a small bottle of olive oil and a dish of fresh crushed tomatoes. YUM! What a treat! Morgan had a huge glass of yogurt with raspberry and mango puree. Cary had a “Norwegian” breakfast, which was lox on a bagel. We had some variant of this each of the three mornings we were in Madrid, always at Vip’s. Oh, and Guy found my glasses.

We went to get art supplies for Morgan at a department store. Mom was looking for white pants, but they were either way ultra-low hip-huggers or they were $400 or the wrong shade of white. You’d never think that with all those white pants none would be suitable, but they genuinely weren’t. I’m glad Mom didn’t get any; I don’t think she would’ve been happy with them. Antonio kindly went with me to the guitar place to negotiate renting a guitar, and it was a joyous time for me. First of all, Antonio is so friendly and easy to talk to, and I’m sure (though I could follow only some of what he was saying) that he was putting the storeowner at ease. I tried out a guitar and liked it right away. We gave the luthier 500 euros in cash as the deposit, and I took it back to the place (only two blocks away!) with a footstool too. Cary, meanwhile, found me a folding music stand to use. I spent the next 36 hours seriously considering buying the one I ended up renting. It was easy to play, had a good “voice” and was loud enough, fit well with my body, and was very responsive. I would have paid the 500 euros if it had drawn me enough. I had to seriously ask myself whether I liked it so much because it was new to me, a new guitar altogether, a guitar I was playing in Spain, a guitar from a luthier I respected, or just because it was different from the one I have at home (which I’m currently annoyed with). Plus, after much practice, I recognized that if I were going to buy one from him, I would want one of his top-end guitars, not one of his student guitars (even though I am looking for a slightly lesser guitar than the one I have, so I can take it to school, to guitar camp, etc.). Anyway, our mission was accomplished with both Guy’s and Antonio’s help on two different days! I was walking on air, and not just because of the jet lag. But also, the rain had stopped. Guy and Antonio had been fretting for days because the weather forecast for the wedding night was an 85% chance of rain!! The morning’s downpour did not bode well.

We met (by arrangement) my cousin Lori Butler and her two warm and friendly children, Ellen (11) and Alex (14). All of us had lunch at Fresco, a very, very good cafeteria with all kinds of fresh foods with plenty to please everybody. We had lunch there last summer too and loved it. I was so happy to remember how interesting, smart, and funny Lori is. We just haven’t had the chance to talk since we were teenagers, and I was so interested in everything she had to say! She works as a counselor for high school students in Portland (they live in Lake Oswego) and I found myself wanting to just spend the afternoon talking with her and her kids. Ellen and Morgan hit it off right away. They also happen to share the same opinion about art museums and parents who drag them to art museums. After lunch we parted from my parents and Guy and Antonio and walked downtown so we could visit museums. We walked along the parkway that runs past the museums; Lori and the kids went to the Prado, and we went to the Thyssen. It has a number of contemporary paintings we had heard of before (Franz Marc, Kandinsky, Picasso, Bracque, Dalí, Gris, etc.) and some classics of the 19th century (Manet, Cezanne, etc.). I was very impressed with it. Morgan really brightened up when we hit the gift shop and she found a gift for her friend Kallee (a long, rubbery pencil that doubles as a [centimeters, of course] ruler). I would be happy to go back next time! Sorry, Morgan.

For dinner that night (the “rehearsal dinner,” though there was no rehearsal) we met with Antonio’s family: his sister Dori and her husband Manolo and their two preteen boys, Alberto and Alvaro. His mother Dorita also came with big smiles and kisses for everybody, and it made us all feel so very welcome! It was great to see everybody! We went to a paella restaurant and ate in a special room that had been decorated so it looked exactly as if it was outdoors under the stars! There was enormous laughter and gaiety in two languages, with everyone whooping it up and telling stories. The food was excellent; there were several kinds of paella and we tried them all. People at the next table were drinking wine from a special bottle with a long spout (a porron), so of course we all had to try it as well. We couldn’t stop laughing, and we took lots of pictures of everyone trying it (including Morgan! she used water, though…). We walked back to our place in great companionship and fell into bed at about 12:30.

Friday, June 16 – The Wedding Day!
As clouds swirled over Madrid we all kept glancing anxiously at the sky. After another good breakfast at Vip’s we went straight to the Prado to see the Picasso exhibit with my parents. It was fascinating, especially, to see his work based on Velasquez’ “Las Meninas.” You’d know the painting anywhere, with the little princess in her rigid dress, the sleepy-looking dog (which Guy says has actually just been kicked by the dwarf and is suppressing his urge to bite), the proud parents, the dwarf and other attendants and the painter in the background. Picasso’s takes on the painting are brilliant! And weird! They were arranged so that you could look across a velvet rope into the next gallery at the original, and then turn back to the Picasso. Marvelous. Each of us (except Morgan) got lost at least once, just trying to find the bathroom and to come back to the same place. While Morgan and I were in line for the ladies’ room, we saw a whole array of preteen girls leave the stalls and walk out of the bathroom without a single one washing her hands. We must have seen 25 girls do this. Wow. Mom and Dad went off to the Thyssen, I think, while we went further along down the parkway to the Centro de Arte Reina Sofía.

There was a special Guernica exhibit at the Reina Sofía with lots of his sketches as well as the Guernica itself. What a powerful piece! The only other time I saw it (25 years ago?) I didn’t have much of an understanding or a sense of what I was seeing. Now I do. And this time I really “got” the mother and child in the context of the painting, of centuries of Madonna-and-Child art, and of real-life heartbroken mothers and their children in times of war. What will I think about it 25 years from now? I had to sort of frog-march Morgan through the sketches because some of them are terribly graphic and bloody (just as we zipped through the many, many museum rooms featuring Christ covered with blood [on and off the cross], the head of St. John, slaughter of the innocents, and various death and dismemberment scenes that make up the stock-in-trade of so many art museums in Europe). Intellectually, I can easily handle all the gory scenes when I think of allegories, context, allusion, etc. Emotionally, I have great trouble detaching myself from the simple shock of seeing so much blood.

However, there were a couple of paintings that struck me so deeply that I was surprised at my own visceral reaction. One was an annunciation painting by El Greco, with the dove exploding through the clouds and through the picture itself straight into the gallery, it seemed. There was Mary, actually looking Jewish with black hair instead of brown or blond hair, dressed simply instead of in gold and riches, looking every bit as if she did not want this to happen. The dove is surrounded by all kinds of angels playing musical instruments, and I love that part. I could have stood for two hours and just looked at the one painting; it was awe-inspiring. There was another painting by someone I’d never heard of; it was called “Easter Morning” and it was at the Thyssen, I think. All it showed was the three women (you know: the three women) walking toward the place where Jesus had been entombed. Their steps are so heavy even when you just look at their backs as they walk away from you; they’re in mourning. They’re leaving the trees. It’s a beautiful day with the sun already fairly high in the sky (and absolutely radiant) in the top center of the painting. What thrilled and touched me about that painting was that they don’t yet know what has happened at the tomb. As a non-Catholic woman with great respect for stories well told, I loved both of these paintings and they remain powerful in my mind.

Cary and Morgan and I were starving by the time we left the Reina Sofía, so we walked uphill from there to get back to our hotel, scouting for a place for lunch. We found a small hole-in-the-wall place called La Tragantúa (motto on the card: “traditional and evolved food”). Oh, my, oh, my. I had chicken with wine and almonds in the most luscious sauce. Cary had hake that he loved, and Morgan had pesto pasta. We had our choice of three desserts, so we each ordered one. They were good, but what was REALLY good was the chicken with wine and almonds. I need to try to make that sometime. The waiter was kind, attentive, and funny, and spoke fairly good English (though he was embarrassed to try), and we were thoroughly charmed by everything about the place, especially the food. The waiter seemed to know everyone who came in. I gave the card to Guy and I hope they give this place a try sometime when they’re in that part of town. We got back to the hotel in time for me to practice for about an hour, and then I suddenly realized that the wedding was going to be soon and I had to get ready. I quickly washed my hair and got myself and Morgan dressed up, and we all walked to the Plaza Mayor.

It was a lively scene when we arrived! There were many people dressed up in suits, an array of fancy cars parked right in the plaza, lots of friends and relatives, and a large cortège of military people all in dress uniform for the wedding that was taking place before Guy and Antonio’s. As we watched and waited, Guy and Antonio’s friend Carmen introduced herself and quickly grabbed Morgan to braid her bangs and tie them back and decorate them with tiny white flowers so her hair would look identical to the hairstyle of Blanca, her own daughter (13). Morgan and Blanca were going to be ring-bearers! Incredibly, they were dressed far more alike than even we had anticipated in the flurry of e-mails back and forth between myself and Guy to plan it all. Their hair was the exact same length. Carmen had gone to some considerable trouble to sew identical silk sashes for Morgan and Blanca that perfectly match the silk vests of Guy and Antonio (pink and fuchsia – we’re treasuring Morgan’s and brought it home with us), and the girls looked practically like twins. And Blanca is warm and funny and full of smiles, so it was obviously going to be a delightful evening for them! I was introduced to a large array of friends and family members, many of whose names I recognized from over the years (Antonio the [now ex-] pharmacist, Manuel the cousin from Mexico, José Maria, Arnaldo, Maribel, Carmen, and many more). People were speaking in good English, bad English, good Spanish, bad Spanish, and everything in between. We were GIDDY!! Meanwhile, the rain still hadn’t fallen. We were stealing glances at the clouds and wondering which way was west and whether rain comes to Madrid from the northwest, the way it does at home.

As we waited for the military wedding to finish, we watched as the soldiers (the ones in full dress uniform) stood at attention, crossing sabers to create a walkway. It was very exciting! And down the steps from the City Hall came the happy couple, also in full military dress uniform: two women! And this was the one and only moment when I thought “Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.” To see uniformed soldiers CHEERING with joy, love, and support at two lesbians getting legally married just about made my brain explode. It took my breath away. It brought tears to my eyes. And I knew that I was just about to witness my own brother get married to the man he has loved for twenty years, with the full power and support of the law and the state and the family, in front of witnesses and even more importantly, with all of our family there to cheer them on. I was suddenly rushed upstairs to the wedding location with the guitar, and I set it up while Arnaldo (who speaks good English) translated instructions to me from Pedro, the man who was going to marry Guy and Antonio. I had planned about an hour’s worth of material, almost all of which was Spanish, to play while people strolled in leisurely before the ceremony, the way they do at American weddings, chatting, admiring the flowers, gossiping about the happy couple, and greeting their friends. So I was all prepared to start playing.

To my amazement, about sixty people abruptly poured upstairs at the same time. I didn’t even play! It was like a tsunami of smiling, talking people, all finding their places immediately. And then seconds later it was time for the processional. Okay! So I started to play “’Tis the Gift to Be Simple,” the American Shaker hymn which Guy had selected over my first option, a piece from the Spanish Renaissance (Guy had asked for all Spanish pieces, but he didn’t like the one I’d selected and he did like this one). It uses a lowered D string for added emphasis, something I really like but which is rather rare; not many pieces use this tuning. I played it just fine – not too fast, not too slow; a little shaky, perhaps. But where were Guy and Antonio?? Nowhere! Everyone was craning their necks and talking; I came to the end of the piece and stopped. Pedro looked at me and shrugged. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. Then he signaled me to play another one. ANOTHER ONE? IN DROP D TUNING? Hah! Right! Panicking, I launched into one I know pretty well (an Irish one) in the same tuning, but which I hadn’t practiced as a processional. Plus, it’s in 3⁄4 time and not particularly right, but hey, it was in the right tuning and that was all that mattered. Until I made my first mistake. Then I made another and another, stopped with a laugh, started over, and did okay. Meanwhile, Guy and Antonio came bounding up the stairs, people were standing and applauding and cheering, and it was all I could do to keep playing and not leap to my feet cheering to see them looking so great in their long dark suits with brilliant silk vests! But the best part of all for me was seeing how dazzling their smiles were. Everyone was smiling, of course, but Guy and Antonio were simply radiating joy.

Pedro Zerolo (above) was/is Madrid’s first openly gay city councilman, and he gave a wonderful speech that I understood part of. He spoke quickly and with great animation, and everyone there was very appreciative (laughing at his jokes and murmuring agreement). It was great. I played a short Cuban piece after his speech (it went just fine), and then Guy and Antonio came up in front, faced everyone, and offered their gracious thanks in English and Spanish (Guy in English, Antonio in Spanish). I was supposed to play another guitar piece (an Andalusian-style piece – part of Rumores de la Caleta) but the person who was in charge of the schedule went ahead with the legal speech, so I was off the hook. (I may still make a little recording for them of all the pieces I’d planned to play! With no errors!) Morgan and Blanca came forward with the rings, crossed past each other and handed the rings over; it was simple choreography but it worked well. The vows included both of them saying “I Do” in both languages (Guy first in Spanish, then in English; Antonio first in English, then in Spanish). It was beautiful! The moms were seated on each side of them, and signed the document after Guy and Antonio. Then Dad, Alvaro, Alberto, Morgan and Blanca signed as well. It was great, I was happy (mortified for my mistake, but my happiness helped me recover quickly), and everyone was talking and hugging each other and laughing. Then Nico Knapp, one of their friends, walked the guitar and me back to the guitar shop and we took a taxi to where the reception was going to be. He is a very nice man who speaks quite good English and even knows the ethnomusicologist Robert Garfias (whom I also know)! He played keyboard in an early music group I’d heard of (we even have one of their recordings at home), so we hit it off well.

The reception dinner was at the outdoor patio of a lovely Galician restaurant that none of the guests seemed to know about in advance (meaning, they didn’t quite know where to find it). My mom and dad had brought luminarias from the States and Antonio had spent hours cutting out the little stars and various patterns. The most incredible thing is that it didn’t rain at all. An 85% chance of rain? And we lucked out on the 15%?? HOORAY! Anyway, we arrived and there were waiters passing around lovely trays of juice and champagne and that same dense gazpacho we'd had before (with a piece of bacon in it as well!). There were also various trays and dishes of olive oil and tomato, bread and boiled egg and bacon, olives and almonds… I had the chance to have a genuine and meaningful conversation with Antonio the [ex-] pharmacist, whom I’ve heard about for years and years, and another conversation with Manuel the cousin from Mexico, and more. It was a really fun and festive atmosphere.

We were seated with a group of people who were teachers of English!! What brilliant planning on Guy and Antonio’s part! On our side of the table were Cary, me, my parents’ great friends Bill and Nan, my cousin Lori and her son Alex. On the other side (seated here right to left, more or less) were Alvaro Cerezo and his wife Mila (she teaches Spanish to non-Spanish speakers), Arnaldo (who had kindly translated Pedro’s instructions for me at the wedding), two nice women whose names I didn’t catch, and Arnaldo’s husband Vicent (who, like everyone else we met at the party, had a delightfully wry sense of humor and was incredibly easy to talk to). From the moment we sat down with all these nice people, none of us could stop laughing and telling stories and sharing our embarrassing moments trying to communicate in other languages. It was probably the first time that I have ever had a long conversation with Nan in my whole life of knowing her and Bill as being such close friends with my parents. It made me wish we could have started having conversations like that thirty years ago. The sun went down and then you should have seen it: food started coming. And coming, and coming…

Where to start? Well!! There were squares of cod, there were octopus and ham, wild mushroom crepes with asparagus and shrimp spears, merluza (hake, remember?), a sorbet made from Cava sparkling wine and lemon (I think!), veal with vegetables – broccoli and baby carrots and potato – txagurro, which is a type of Basque crab in vegetable sauce, more Cava… And then there was dessert. Well!! There was an array of cheeses and a type of cake that translates as “thousand leaves” (I think it’s milles feuilles when it’s a French pastry)…with VIOLET ice cream!!! It was pale purple, very delicate, and downright flowery without being at all perfumey. Guy and Antonio made us guess, and all of us at the table pondered every purple flower we could think of, with Alvaro and Arnaldo doing their best to figure out the Spanish equivalents of lilac, lavender, wisteria… and then I hit on violet and ran over to the “wedding party” table – correcto!

Morgan and the other kids sat at a separate table; at one point I looked over to witness a massive and lively food fight. I would say that one of the great highlights of the evening, for me, was the dancing. At one point I saw Morgan dancing with the handful of other girls her age; they had a little German, a little Spanish, and a little English in common, but they were clearly already the dearest of friends. In fact, one of Morgan’s favorite memories of the entire trip was “dancing with all her friends.” I know she’d love to see Blanca and Ellen again, as well as the other girls. Evidently there was quite a lot of wild behavior, including the children running around bapping people on the head with balloons, scattering luminaria, playing “chase,” and absolutely having the time of their lives! I also heard dark comments about one of the boys at the kids’ table putting calamari tentacles into each nostril and each ear… But wait, I was talking about the dancing. Guy and Antonio had hired a disco band on the recommendation of someone they met at a wedding planner’s office, and they played for several hours straight – without a break! It was very impressive. Even more impressive is that they were singing in English the entire time AND that their English was very good (accents fairly correct and everything). They sang every gay anthem from the last thirty years. (Think “Y.M.C.A.,” “It’s Raining Men,” “We Are Family,” and all the others.) And they were good! My parents were on the dance floor, I was on the dance floor, half the people at the reception were on the dance floor, and of course the VHC (Very Happy Couple) were there, too. Honestly, I hadn’t had so much fun dancing in years. My cousin Lori and I practically closed the place down. She leaned over to me during one of the last few songs and said, “You know, Sean, the reason we aren’t stopping is because we never get to go out!” And it is TRUE! Neither she nor I could remember the last time we went out dancing. It was yet another reason for me to enjoy spending time with Lori! My mom and dad, as always, looked like a million bucks on the dance floor.

Of course you know that in Spain everyone lives at a somewhat later time zone than people in the United States. For the most part we ate at between 10 and 11:30 at night, but at the wedding reception I think we started actually having dinner at about 11 and danced until at least 2:30. I am pretty sure that by the time we got a lift back to our quiet and comfy hotel room it was about 3:30 in the morning. What a dazzling experience, great conversations, fun dancing, delicious food, and a powerful, meaningful ceremony that was the real thing. And yet! As if nothing had happened the night before, we zipped off the next morning to Vip’s for another delicious “Andalusian-style” breakfast (love that Spanish olive oil….), ran back, packed ourselves up, and began the utterly comical and ultimately hopeless task of fitting all seven of us AND OUR BAGS into a medium sized van. It would have been fine without the bags. I’m sure of it! But there really wasn’t any trunk space to speak of. And even though all of us had packed “light” (yes, even the three of us are capable of packing light) there was almost no way that we could fit into the van without feeling like sardines. But hey, it got us all over Galicia.

Saturday, June 17 – Santo Estevo
It was a rather long drive between Madrid and the parador at Santo Estevo. We stopped for lunch in Benavente, a lovely little town that had nice stone streets and places to eat. We ate large long sandwiches made with eggs and cheese, and observed people in wedding clothes and formal gowns walking down the street. It was a surprise glimpse into other people’s lives. When we got back into the car, we were quite surprised to discover that the car’s window on the passenger side was refusing to close, popping open just when it reached the top. And it started to rain. We had multiple exciting moments trying to fix it! I believe Guy ended up putting Cary’s raincoat/windbreaker against the window to keep the rain from blowing into the backseat. By this time we’d discovered several other things broken about the car (including a loose steering wheel), but I seem to remember the company not wanting to replace the car for us – we probably would have had to take it back to Madrid. It was a Citroën van. After a short while, though, with multiple hilarious adventures in getting directions, we succeeded in locating a parador at which to have coffee. It was really nice, on a promontory overlooking the northwestern (green!) plains.

The entire northwest corner of Spain is called La España Verde – green Spain – and indeed it was beautiful at all times and even lush here and there. Cary suggested that it looked a little like Eastern Washington in some places, and I agree. Guy pointed out that people in Galicia are more conservative and religious in an intimate way than the more overtly religious and even ecstatically religious South of Spain (Andalusia, for example). We sat in the fine wine bar of this lovely old monastery that had been turned into a parador, and we discussed flan and my dad’s hopes of having good flan in Spain. No such luck! At least, not at this parador. The coffee, however, was delicious and just right for fighting off our jet lag. By Saturday Cary and I were still trying to pretend that jet lag was something that other travelers experienced, not us. Wrong! Okay, we weren’t pretending. We weren’t fully over it until Sunday, if indeed we ever actually got over it. My parents had been there for many days by that time and were completely acclimated, as far as I could tell; Guy and Antonio obviously live there, so they weren’t experiencing anything except the enormous relief and settled feeling (and probably deep exhaustion) of discovering themselves to be legally and happily married, with all logistical details fully taken care of and no problems at all. They both regaled us with fascinating stories of Franco’s time, and the overall suppression of Galician regional culture.

The language (Gallego in Spanish, Galego in, uh, Gallego) (!) was forbidden for years, but is now being promoted and you can see it on the place names and the signs. I was thrilled to see familiar-looking words from studying Portuguese. Considering the location of Galicia just to the north of Portugal and west of Basque country, it makes sense that it’s pretty far away from the kind of language you’d see in the south. I noticed all the uses of the letter x, and a few Celtic words here and there (for example, the city Lugo was named after the Celtic sky god, Lúgh, which is something I know from Irish studies. And there was a river Deva! Guy stunned me by saying that in Spain some people actually refer to speaking Spanish as “speaking Christian”!! Can you imagine asking your English teacher “What does that word mean in Christian?” I’m still trying to wrap my brain around that entire concept. As opposed to “Jewish” and “Muslim”??

After continuing our long drive through some very, very pretty countryside we finally came close to Santo Estevo and the renovated monastery that was to be our home for the night. We passed by one of the more fanciful bridges I have ever seen. That curvy bit is the pedestrian walkway! And just behind it, where you can’t see, is a Roman bridge with its raised center, and people are still using it. I saw someone sitting up on top of this bridge, reading a book with traffic whizzing by below.

We arrived at the beautiful Santo Estevo parador in the late afternoon/early evening. We had a gorgeous view from our room (looking out from very, very thick stone walls onto soft light). There were glass elevators and the whole place was done up in a very modern way. Our bathroom was built almost entirely with fine grey marble. The bed had thick, luxurious sheets and there were hardwood floors; it was all so wonderfully elegant! We gathered for wine in our room (we had a triple room each night, so it was generally the largest room). I had brought a couple of Gourmet magazine articles about Galician food (one about peppers – more about that later) and one about local wines, which we ended up exploring. Actually, we explored both, to our great collective satisfaction! By sitting next to the window we could hear birds in the trees and look outside at wonderful views. You could also hear people speaking quietly as they went for strolls through the woods, and we vowed to take a walk the next morning before going on our way, as it was going to be – thankfully – a short drive to our next parador.
Anyway, while we were chatting about the wedding, expressing relief over the completion of the long drive, and thinking about what an incredibly beautiful place it was (and how generally lucky we all were), Antonio and Morgan started playing around. He showed her a game called “dwarf.” Although I tried to think of a better word to describe this, I think a picture is probably most appropriate here. The awful truth is, we couldn’t stop laughing! I could barely keep my hands straight to take a picture!

At one point (before Morgan and Antonio started their antics) Cary went out because he had seen some musicians in costume, and he brought his camera and minidisc recorder. I was looking out the window for a minute and heard bagpiping, really good bagpiping, and flew down the hall as fast as I could only to meet Cary coming to look for me. There was a wedding reception taking place (we knew there had been a wedding because the chapel bells had rung), and there were about a hundred people scattered around the cloisters. There was a full traditional ensemble: three bagpipes (gaita) and several drums! The drums looked like a caixa and a pandeiro. The most impressive part about it was how very, very good they were. I have never, in my life, heard bagpipers playing in harmony and certainly not the way these guys were playing. Cary noticed an extraordinary use of a tuning system he’d never heard before. We hovered nearby and I saw a small group of much older people doing traditional dances. I was absolutely in ethnomusicology heaven. We must have listened to them for half an hour and I didn’t hear them repeat anything. Three bagpipes playing simultaneously in the cloisters… it was fabulous. And the dancers were gently lit through the arches in the cloisters. We saw an enormous copper pot with a woman lifting huge steaming octopi out of it onto plates. Octopus (pulpo) is the local delicacy.

Anyway, we went downstairs in the glass elevator and stepped into a stunning hall that looked like it had once been the wine cellar for all the monks that had lived there. It was an incredibly luxurious dinner, starting at about 9:30 (early for Spain). We had the most delicious grilled vegetables, some of the best I’ve ever tasted. Really. I could eat grilled vegetables for the rest of my life! It was my main dish. Morgan had “black rice,” rice with squid in its own ink. She definitely enjoyed it, even after we told her what it actually was. There was a delightful “special dessert” of the evening, which was chocolate mousse cake with fresh strawberry and lemon ice cream and a kind of hot, peppery cinnamon. It kind of redefined cinnamon in my mind. And of course we had to have wine, which was a delicious local Galician wine. We were quite full, of course, so when we went up to fall into bed Cary decided to take a short walk to digest his dinner. Morgan and I almost immediately passed out, with promises that I would wake her up with a wonderfully hot bubble bath in the marble bathroom the next morning.

Sunday, June 18 – Cambados
The next morning Cary and Morgan practiced leaping from step to step on the wooden boardwalk across the beautiful courtyard. The breakfast place is in the background. Our breakfast was freshly squeezed orange juice, the blackest coffee I’ve ever seen (café con leche), yogurt, cheeses, quince puréed and formed into blocks, and the incomparable tarte Santiago, a type of delicate and sweet ground almond pastry covered with powdered sugar and decorated with a stylized image of the cross of St. James (you’ll see a photo in a few pages). We were having a discussion of grey hair, and Morgan said she noticed that Antonio’s mother does not have grey hair. Antonio looked very solemn and responded, “She dyed.” It took about three seconds for all the rest of us to start shrieking with laughter, tears running down our faces. Of course we all knew what Antonio meant!! And of course he knew right away that he had neglected the crucial word “it.” After breakfast he came into our room in great (mock) indignation, telling Morgan that she, as his niece, was forgiven, but that neither Cary nor I would ever be forgiven! There was a light fog outside, and the chestnuts were in bloom everywhere, causing me massive allergies. We went for a short walk, completely unable to find the trails that beckoned so invitingly from the back of the parador. Instead we found ourselves on a meandering trail that led through what might have been an old arbor on a steep hillside. We found several beautiful cherry trees absolutely laden with little sweet cherries (they look a bit like Queen Anne cherries – gold and pink). Guy and Antonio kindly brought branches close to where Morgan could pick them, and she ended up with at least two handfuls! We also found some wild strawberries that – like all wild strawberries – were tart, intense, and the very essence of strawberry in ways that large store-bought strawberries can never be. We also came to an abandoned still. On the way back Morgan made friends with a little cat that had been asleep on a car near the front of the trail.

One of the things that we noticed right away is that the monasteries seem to be located at the ends of long, hairpin turn roads and at the peaks of hills. We had serious twists and turns to get there. The way back down was easier, and I noticed many, many granite hedges absolutely THICK with roses in bloom – everywhere! The whole region was awash in beautiful roses, especially, but other flowers as well. Now that we were fully in Galicia we also noticed a major architectural characteristic of the area: stone horreos, structures built like a single long room on stilts to protect the grains and vegetables from rodents. Many of them had a cross on top. I also saw a number of dolmens (prehistoric stone structures made with flat stones) that looked as if they’d been at least partly knocked down. Some of them were, I’m certain, simply jumbled flat stones. Others were much more convincing. We also had the chance to observe Galician traditional writing. It bears some resemblance to the blocky sort of Basque script, but this is much more curvy and localized, if that makes sense. We saw plenty of graffiti on the trip that included variations on the word independencia; Galicia is one of seventeen autonomous communities in Spain whose people – like the Basques and the Catalans – have a regional language and a (relatively) independent culture. Evidently Gallegos were the majority of the emigrants to Central America and the States (although the initial migration came from Andalusia), so that people from Spain are called Gallegos there. Guy and Antonio regaled us further on influences from the Romans (Zaragoza, for example, was named after “Cesar Augustus”) and the Arabs. I kept bugging Guy to tell me what all the Arabic place names meant, and writing this reminds me that I still want to find a book that explains Arabic word origins for Spanish places.

We passed by many rolling fields of corn and wheat en route to Cambados and our next parador. The Spanish government has spent millions of euros remodeling and updating old monasteries, convents, hospitals, castles, and other fancy structures. They rent out rooms to people, and if you sign up to stay in five different paradores on five different nights, the prices are very reasonable. So you can plan a route in a particular district of Spain and stay in a lovely place each night. It’s a great deal! We stopped on Sunday in Pontevedra to see their parador, because it is rumored to be quite nice. Once we had parked, wandered through the town, seen a parade in celebration of the Corpus Christi festival, walked into the church, and eaten lunch, we forgot all about the parador of Pontevedra and we were ready to go! The parade, by the way, featured men playing gaita (bagpipes) and bombo (drums) as well as other men carrying floats depicting (my best guess) St. James/Santiago.

Before I describe our wonderful lunch, I need to mention the local peppers. Pimientos de Padrón are famous! In fact, one of the two Gourmet articles I mentioned earlier featured them. They are green peppers that are both sweet and mildly hot; you roast them until the outside is partially blackened. The startling thing about them is that eating a plate of them is like going for the lottery: every once in awhile, one of them is searingly hot, causing tears to stream down your face. But only every once in awhile. So you happily eat one after another, after another, always with the thought that your next pepper might be The One that puts you out of commission. Guy remarked that pepper producers in the States could never get away with that kind of unpredictability! And that’s exactly what makes these so intriguing and fun to eat, besides their exceptional flavor. Our lunch in Pontevedra was delicious: pulpo, squid in a broth with potatoes and onions, tortilla patate (a type of potato omelet that is particularly good as a snack or for breakfast) and those marvelous peppers. Antonio took the first bite and got the only hot one in the entire dish! Seeing him coughing and choking made me nervous about trying it, but the one I tried was so very, very good that I was ready to order them anytime I saw them on the menu for the rest of the trip. I don’t know if the magic comes from the fact that they coated in very good olive oil and crunchy salt crystals, or that the quality is very high, or simply that we were in Galicia.

The pulpo was also very good. Octopus, by itself, is somewhat rubbery and doesn’t have a particularly compelling flavor, so the Galicians dress it up in all kinds of creative and interesting ways. Sometimes it was just done up in olive oil and paprika (I think I liked it best this way). The weather for this lunch was perfect. There was sunshine, a light breeze, a quiet plaza with the occasional car tearing through, and the glasses of local white wine (made with albariño grape) were delicious and no doubt contributing to our enjoyment of the scene. At the table next to us was a table of English people and I hoped that no English people heard someone’s comment (who shall remain nameless) about “all English people seeming to have bad teeth.” (!) We wandered through the old town looking at flowers and architecture, and I was very much enjoying the use of Gallego on the street signs and shop windows and delivery trucks. What a pretty place! And then we got into the car and went off to Cambados on a lovely drive through the countryside, noticing more conifers everywhere.

When we checked into our parador in Cambados, Cary realized that we had done absolutely nothing that was just for Morgan’s benefit, and that she had just gone along and done everything we adults wanted to do without complaining for the whole trip so far, so we decided to take a short trip to a beach. Guy was very nice about it (although it cut into his chance to stroll through the old town of Cambados) and drove us out to a small island connected by a bridge to the mainland. We sat on the rocks, explored the shallow water, threw rocks, and enjoyed ourselves for about an hour.

I mentioned earlier that it was the festival of Corpus Christi, which celebrates the transubstantiation of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. They were celebrating it rather dramatically in Cambados! There were entire streets strewn with flowers (hydrangeas and other brightly colored ones), colored salt, sand, colored wood shavings, various leaves and palm fronds, and cattails. [Note: Guy said “don’t worry, they give the cats a local anesthetic.”] It was exciting! All the children who had undergone their first communion in the last year were parading down the street in their first communion clothing, and there was a full brass marching band. The streets were very crowded and it was all quite exciting to see. Cambados celebrated the event with very loud explosive fireworks, mostly of the loud booming kind with no visuals to show for it, as far as we could tell. We did wonder if it would be going on all night or whether they would stop at bedtime. They did, in fact, stop well before we went to bed. Still, it was quite fun to see everyone parading and taking pictures of their children. I was also very surprised to see that scallop shells are so common here that people have even used them as housing tiles on the sides of their homes. Very impressive! We all enjoyed walking through the town on the way back to our parador to have yet another lovely dinner. At this point we were pretty tired but we still sat out in the beautiful courtyard to have a glass of nice local wine, listen to the explosions of fireworks, and contemplate our day.

At dinner we just couldn’t resist having a little fun. Morgan started folding her napkin into origami shapes, and made napkin hats for herself and Antonio. The waiter came by in all seriousness, trying very hard to look us all in the eye without laughing. For dinner we had a very nice empanada with little scallops, with layers of sweet onion. Delicious! There was also gazpacho (unusual for so far north, but they said they were out of their usual soup) and a good fried egg dish – I don’t know what it was called, but it was just right. And of course we really needed to have the typical tarte Santiago since we were in the area! I fell completely in love with that particular dessert and longed to learn how to make it. In fact, I think I pretty much decided that I needed to pick up a cookbook of Galician-style recipes at dinner that night. They had one in the parador gift shop, but it was very brief, in English, and (surprisingly) did not have tarte Santiago. What were they thinking? From then on I was a woman with a mission.

I haven’t said enough about how great it was to spend time with Guy and Antonio. For the last fifteen years we have had the chance to see them for several days at a time, under dire circumstances and tight schedules. It is an incredible luxury to be able to ask a question and hear out the entire answer (dating “all the way back to Rome,” if you’ve asked the question of Antonio; he gives very complete explanations!). But it was more than that. We all change, one way or another, every year of our lives, and so I felt that we actually had the chance to catch up…perhaps for the first time since Guy and Antonio visited me in Indonesia. It made me eager to have more chances to see and talk with them both. And of course we were all humbled by their talents as translators and their relentless graciousness in translating menu after menu after menu. I just hope I performed half as well as they did when I was translating for them in Indonesia! But I also was very inspired to learn more Spanish. After all, I now have actual Spanish relatives!

Monday, June 19 – Santiago de Compostela
Breakfasts at each of the paradores have been a lovely set of cheeses and bars of quince purée with café con leche for us (hot chocolate, every day, for Morgan). It’s just a great way to start a day! Guy and Antonio stopped having breakfast after several days of nonstop luxurious eating with us, and I don’t blame them. It did not, however, stop me from continuing to explore the regional cheeses. It really was exceptional! Cary saw a crane flying as we began to make the next step of our “pilgrimage” to Santiago de Compostela. The first place we visited was the Martín Codax winery. We’ve seen their wines before (they are exported to the States) and enjoyed them, so we were thrilled to visit the winery itself. Our guide spoke Spanish (a little English – probably more than she let on) and Guy translated (the expertise from his wine class showing through).

This photo is of their gorgeous cellar where some of their wines are aged. They produce fine albariño wines, but also use grapes from elsewhere to make the reds. We learned that the Galician vines are raised far higher than elsewhere because it keeps the moisture level down with all the air circulating underneath. I’m guessing that they are at least a foot higher than they would be in the Northern California wine country. The guide pointed out that the Codax winery sponsors musical groups, including the likes of Carlos Nuñez and others. I really enjoyed the wines we tasted; I thought they were very different from one another and looked forward to trying some more of them back at home later. When we left the winery we stopped by a place way up in some hills outside of town to see some petroglyphs. They were surrounded by a simple fence in the suburbs, and looked like several deer inscribed on a large flat rock. It was very exciting to see them! I wondered if someone hadn’t outlined them more thoroughly in white, or whether they were actually discovered that way, however many years ago, and have remained outlined in white for centuries.

We stopped at a second winery en route to Santiago. It was called Granbazán (“big [noble family name]”). We enjoyed their wines less than we had enjoyed the ones at Martín Codax, but it was still nice to walk around and see their vineyards. They said that they hire lots of students to come for the harvest, because it is so very brief (two weeks total, I think) that people can work very hard and earn some genuine money. One interesting point that came up is that global warming may actually benefit the grape production in Galicia! I was surprised to hear that. Also, their red wine production is located in Valencia; it used to be in Chile, but people didn’t want to drink Chilean wine in Spain. That was interesting; we have had loads of Chilean wine in the States. And by the way, I definitely admired the beautiful horreo (grain storage unit) at the Granbazán winery (below).

As we left the coastal area we drove through areas filled with pepper fields. Little did I realize that we would be passing through Padrón, the home of those extraordinary peppers!! We had our lunch there, in fact, at the Rial Pulpería. The wine (albariño, of course) was served in the traditional small white bowls, and we had pulpo, pimientos de Padrón, bread, soft white cheese, pork loin bits that had been tossed in olive oil and black pepper, and a nice salad. We strolled along by the river and watched unusual looking black geese with dark red heads. It was quite a sight! Guy and Antonio took turns driving on each of the days, and they got us to Santiago with plenty of time to explore. The rain was actually threatening to come down at some point, but it never did.

The parador at Santiago de Compostela is one of the most luxurious places of Spain! It has been a continuously operating hotel for centuries (and indeed, bills itself as the oldest hotel in the world, although the Kinnitty Castle in Ireland has a sign that reads “welcoming guests since 1201”). It is right there on the main plaza of the city (the main city of Galicia and obviously the pilgrimage site, because the bones of St. James are rumored to be buried there. It was a site used to welcome pilgrims, and you can see many, many pilgrims even now who have made the more than 500-mile trek from the east. There were people with walking sticks, bikes, backpacks and other accoutrements that looked as if they’d walked fifty miles that day alone. It was very impressive. Outside there was a single gaita (bagpipe) player; I gave him some money before I took his picture, and I had the feeling that thousands of people have taken this very same picture before! Still, I enjoyed his playing very much. We went inside the mighty cathedral where we saw all the gold, silver, and jewels decorating the image of the saint. I was particularly pleased to see the array of musical instruments being played by the heavenly band at the entrance to the cathedral.

We watched a group of pilgrims praying, and I placed my hand into the hollows of a marble pillar, where so many thousands (millions?) of hands have been placed over the centuries. It was quite an experience; marble feels so hard and so soft at the same time. It was easy to imagine how people have worn it down. Outside the cathedral there were all kinds of whimsical gargoyles and various creatures. It was fun to see them. There were also many street performers throughout the old town. As we walked around we had the chance to eat some delicious chocolate-covered figs, and we tried samples of chocolate and tarte Santiago. Now that we’ve had it so much we have come to appreciate the distinctions between the different ones; drier, moister, better flavor, tenderer, etc. And now you can finally see what it actually looks like! The cake itself is, I think, made of crushed almonds and sugar, but on the top is powdered sugar and the pattern of St. James’ cross. There were many places in town that were selling it (along with all kinds of other delicious-looking confections). I found a Galician cookbook, with Guy’s help, for only eleven euros. And by the way, the whole time I was there I kept hearing the voice of Doc Watson in my mind, singing “St. James Infirmary.” There we were!

Our dinner that night was held in what looked like a great wine hall, but I believe it was actually a place where pilgrims went to heal. It was softly lit, there was a surprising number of Japanese visitors, and the food was beyond wonderful. Dad had a soup that arrived in an almost empty bowl; actually, the soup didn’t arrive – the bowl did! Everyone else was served his or her appetizers, and Dad sat there with the bowl (it actually had a few fresh herbs and cheese in it). Finally the waiter came with a beautiful, thick jug of soup, which he poured over the herbs with a flourish. But there was a moment when Dad looked bereft of soup! Morgan had penne with mushroom oil and seaweed. Cary had hake. I had lamb bits with those wonderful peppers (and, by way, I did finally get a hot one!). We had a local red wine. For dessert Morgan ordered “flute pastries” with clotted cream; Cary and I had tarte Santiago with cinnamon ice cream. We slept extremely well. Antonio had talked to the maids about bringing a spare bed for Morgan (the front desk had said “absolutely not”), and they cheerfully brought one. It all worked out so well!

Tuesday, June 20 – Monforte de Lemos
In the morning we went to the folk museum and were overwhelmed with the wealth of things they had to offer, from interactive displays (in English, even!) to a beautiful array of musical instruments, to baskets and brands and ceramics and costumes – even a drawing showing all the traditional hairstyles of the local people. A highlight for all of us, I think, was the magnificent triple staircase. We all climbed all of it, all the way up to the top for its views of Santiago, and all around it. There was also a fine exhibit of contemporary portraits. I just wish that the gift shop had been open! As we left the place, Mom stopped to buy an umbrella for Dad from a small shop across the street. We knew that if she bought the umbrella, that it definitely would not rain. It was that kind of day, with the clouds hovering a bit, not quite so warm as it had been, and we weren’t sure what the weather was going to do. As it turned out, the weather held off yet again, and we were dry. We saw all kinds of things for sale in Santiago; I bought a couple of wooden pulpo plates (just one euro apiece!), and Morgan bought a pair of large scallop shells (which made it all the way back here intact, I’m happy to say). But we found ourselves really enjoying the place. There were whimsically decorated shop signs and all kinds of evidence of local craftspeople at work. Jet is the local stone of choice, and Mom picked up a nice jet piece for my aunt Barbara. I asked Guy (upon seeing the local symbol for the evil eye) if there was a Spanish equivalent of “two thumbs up” or “okay” or “thanks” the way there is in North America. The answer was an unqualified “no,” which surprised me. And I learned that “vale” means “okay” in Spain, that was a new word for me (and Morgan, and Cary). With Antonio’s help, I went shopping for some CDs of traditional Galician music, and found two shops with a good selection. It was great to find stuff I enjoyed! And after I came home I listened to all of them several times over – what a pleasure. We left Santiago at about 2 pm for Monforte de Lemos. I was overcome, yet again, by my allergies. What a pain! But the beauty of the countryside overwhelmed me.

We stopped by the Via Romana (“Roman Road”) winery earlier in the afternoon. We had been driving around on a good road through steep valleys, and suddenly Guy pulled over when he saw the Via Romana sign, saying it was the “weird” wine he had mentioned earlier in the week. We turned around a couple of times to get on the road to the winery, then crawled along a hillside as the one-lane road (except when two cars were on it) crept down and down and down into a breathtaking valley. In fact, there was a Roman road in the valley (and Roman pillars under the bridge that crossed the river there). I was reminded, yet again, of how dramatic the Roman influence continues to be. When we got to the winery (Antonio had called to see if they could accommodate visitors) the first thing Morgan did was leap out of the car and start picking cherries. They were tiny and soft and very fruity, although one had to balance precariously on a stone fence to pick them. A relatively young man came out to help us; he was enthusiastic and friendly, and when I scolded Morgan for picking too many cherries, he kindly took her around the side of the house and allowed her to pick large Bing-type cherries from a tree with three grafted sections. He was awfully nice to her, and even made an effort to find the family cat. He explained that the wine they used was mencia grapes, and that some included grenache for color. Standing on the deck we noticed a large number of little stone huts, which the man said were used to store grapes in during picking season. The views were fantastic! He also explained, as he showed us the upstairs portion with many tables and chairs, that because the appellation is new, they are having to market the region by hosting restaurateurs and critics just as much as their own specific wine. They make only 15,000 cases of wine each year. I enjoyed tasting the wines, and I especially enjoyed the setting. We jumped back into the car and careened along the one-lane road back out to the highway.

Later today we went to the place that makes Regina Viarum (regina = "queen," via+rum = ”Roman road”) wine. It is a large operation that accommodates tour buses (in fact, one was leaving just as we arrived), and I noticed especially that they felt more impersonal. We enjoyed the wines, though! And of course, the views were still breathtaking and the weather was clear and lovely again. We bought a bottle of wine there, which unfortunately broke when we arrived at our parador, but I had enjoyed the combination of dark cherry/smokiness that characterized the one we tasted (Regina Viarum).

The parador we stayed in had been a Benedictine monastery from the 14th century. Cary took a photograph of the cistern. It was on a tiny mesa above the town of Monforte de Lemos, and we had to take a very circuitous route through town simply to start the windy road up to the monastery. Our room had a view out to there! I mean, waaaaay out there! The weather continued to be perfect, so we could see the town well and the surrounding hills. Gorgeous. We had wine in Mom and Dad’s room and a delicious dinner (about 10:00 pm) of duck with mesclun salad. Morgan had a sopa frio de tomate and cheese on a large piece of slate! It was a rather dramatic presentation for cheese. I had sopa frio and lamb chops and lovely peppers. And I got another hot one! For dessert Morgan had mandarin sherbet and Cary and I had ground up almond cookies in ice cream in a pool of warm dark chocolate. And we had another wonderful sleep in a comfortable bed; what a luxurious place it was.

Wednesday, June 21 – Segovia
Wednesday included a long drive for all of us, and included some of the most beautiful countryside we have seen so far. Breakfast that morning included cheeses and quince, yogurt, café con leche, and the best tarte Santiago that I have ever eaten: moist, gently sweet, and rich with ground almonds. I really must learn to make it! Luckily I have a fine Galician cookbook now that I can decipher from the Spanish when I return home. We drove to Segovia through narrow, steep valleys with high bridges and tunnels, and passed by Las Medulas, hills that the Romans quarried. Much of the way was on a fine road right next to a river in a slate-quarrying district. The homes had black slate roofs on them (it was at a fairly high elevation, so the warmth that the slate absorbed during the day would certainly be welcome at night). One thing I noticed was that the sheds and barns had very large slabs of slate in uneven patterns; their unpredicability made them more beautiful than the houses. We also passed by several slate factories and quarries.

We arrived in Segovia in mid-afternoon, which was great. It not only gave us the chance to check into our fine parador, but once we were settled we had the chance to take a lovely walk through the town. Antonio parked the car near the stunning Roman aqueduct (in use all the way up until 1974!!!) and we walked through the old part of town, ending up at the alcázar – the castle at the west end of town. It is absolutely perfect in its combination of fantasy and reality. For example, the huge moat and drawbridge look like someone’s fun and fanciful idea of how to make it really hard to get into the place. And then you lean over the edge and look way down to the bottom of the moat and think “Whoa. It would be REALLY hard to get into the place!” The whole city is up on a butte, and the alcázar is at the western edge, so everything drops off precipitously from there. I loved it. People say that the city looks like a ship, with the aqueduct on one side, the cathedral in the center and the alcázar at the far end in front. I agree! We bought Morgan a basket with two lids to serve as her lunch basket at school.

We had sparkling wine back at the parador out on a deck overlooking the city. It was our first on the trip! I can’t remember what kind it was: Cava? Dinner was served at a large round table downstairs in front of a huge window that afforded spectacular views of the city. The parador itself is quite modern and set apart from the city on a hill opposite; its best feature is its view of the city, but it is also quiet and clean and luxurious.

Thursday, June 22 – heading home
We got up an hour earlier today because we had a plane to catch back home. Standing on our deck and looking out toward the city of Segovia, I could see the early morning sunlight breaking up the columns of the Roman aqueduct and lighting up the cathedral and the alcázar. It was such an extraordinary view! And the picture below doesn’t begin to do justice to it. Breakfast was at our same gorgeous round table right next to the window (with its dramatic view) in the restaurant of the parador. We had more soft local cheeses with quince, yogurt, and the usual tortilla España (potato omelet). Café con leche is one of the world’s great breakfast drinks – I think I always put in 1/3rd café and 2/3rds leche. It feels like it’s as rich as hot chocolate.

We loaded our bags into the jigsaw puzzle behind the back seat and headed off toward Madrid, passing lovely small towns with red tile roofs and skimming along the freeway. Guy and Antonio were concerned that we would run into traffic, but as it turned out we did just fine. We got to the airport in plenty of time, and everybody else loaded their bags into a new (smaller) rental car, and then came to see us off. The flight was long, yet it felt shorter than on the way to Spain because it was during daytime. Morgan and I sat together and I read Myla Goldberg’s Bee Season, with just plain heartbreaking descriptions of two children (11 and 16) trying, desperately, to win their parents’ approval. It included spelling bees, the Kabbalah, kleptomania, and Hare Krishnas all in the same book, but it all fit together beautifully. I’m still trying to get my brain around it.

One of my thoughts about this trip – not just about how great it was to see Guy and Antonio in a relaxed setting, but on a larger scale – was how impressed I was that we were all able to travel as a family without any quarrels. Imagine seven people (six very different adults and one 11-year-old) all crammed into a minivan for a week. I think we should congratulate ourselves! I took the picture of Morgan and my dad’s hands clasped on the very last day, so I know we were all still getting along.

I’m happy to say that both flights were uneventful: just the way I like ‘em. We transferred in New York’s JFK airport, walking and walking and walking all over the place trying to find the Delta gate we needed. It was ridiculous, a waste of time, and turned me against Delta for the rest of my days, I’m sure. We slept, a little, on the flight back to Seattle. Naturally, when we got to the baggage claim area I wandered off without Cary’s day pack to pick up our bags, and when we arrived home that night there was a message from Delta saying that we could pick up the day pack anytime. The fact that everything in it (iPod, camera, minidisc player, Cary’s calendar, etc.) was completely intact when I went to get it the next day is nothing short of miraculous. I am grateful and relieved that it was picked up right away and turned in; losing everything would have been awful.

So now we’re home, happy to be back, and delighted with our visit to Spain. I promised myself several things while I was there: to learn to cook at least one Galician meal, to learn to speak Spanish better for the next time I come, and not to wait twenty years between visits. I think I can do all of that.