Almería pictorally

José and I went to Almería for a day. Almería is the only part of Europe that is desert and I was excited to return to a dry climate; albeit one that has a beautiful beach. The city itself seemed rather industrial, but we didn't spend much time there. Of the interesting things that happened:

•  I will never go anywhere long distance in a car without a GPS. Ever. I like having a bitchy woman tell me that she is "recalculating" my itinerary when we whip by the correct exit in a roundabout. That's right, you best be recalculating my itinerary fool.
• We went to a beach that was recently featured in the Frugal Traveler blog on the NYTimes, Cala Rajá. It was indeed a "hard-to-find-beach down an unmarked road." We had a nice hike down a hillside to get to the there. There were several natural beachgoers (read: nekked) which, as a born and raised American, still makes me do a double take (but not stare, that's creepy.) Then, promptly, as it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, a family and all 84930 kids came down and set up shop approximately 3 feet from my head. We soon left in search of lunch.
• After four years in the scorching desert of Arizona, I finally had a bit of heat stroke. Coming up from the Playa de los Genoveses, in San José, I got that familiar lightheaded feeling. We got some cold water, an Acuarius, and an ice cream (yay!) and a short nap I got better. I now have lost all my "I lived in the desert" streetcred. Which was all I really had goin' for me. 
• We went to the desert town of Tavira, which was like if someone had copy-pasted the American southwest into Southern Spain. It was hot, sweaty, and full of tourist desert theme park things. We took a photo and then peaced out. 
• After saying that I would take care of bringing sunscreen, beach chairs, and umbrellas, I totally dropped the ball. José was recently emerged from exams period and his library-pale skin got sunburned. Fail on my part.
• I love air conditioning. So much.

Here are some pics:

Arrecife de las Sirenas.

Arrecife de las Sirenas.

Cala Rajá.

José looking like a New Yorker in New Mexico.

Te echo de menos, desierto!

Biznaga

A tribute to a symbol of Málaga: the biznaga.

This is much better than a single rose, or a cluster of baby's breath or a pair of blinking LED sunglasses; it's a biznaga.

Biznaga malagueña

A biznaga is a dried stalk of a plant that in the afternoon they put buds of jasmine flowers. Jasmine blooms at night, so in a few hours you have a stalk of beautiful white flowers that perfume the air wherever you go. They are sold by biznagueros in the city during the summer months and the flowers leave trails of scent down the alleys and streets like snails.

Biznaga malagueña

In addition to keeping mosquitos away and serving as a symbol of culture for the city, these flowers serve to remind you that there are malagueños who love you and will jump up during dinner and run to buy you flowers.

Meet the parents; Part deux

The family's visit: awesome.

A little bit of this:

Zuheros, Córdoba.

A lot of this:

 Conil de la Frontera, Jerez

 A touch of this:

Baena rush hour.

 A few ganders at this:

Málaga panorama.

And an evening of this:

 

That whole nervous about meeting José's parents thing? Went off without a hitch. Now I'll have to work on getting them over to the US and A...

You had what?

There are certain medical problems that one likes to keep to oneself. Most of them involve the nether-regions. That business down there you keep to yourself, your medical professional, and perhaps your mom. Don't ask, don't tell. Euphemisms. Anything to avoid telling anyone that you have diarrhea.

In Spain, however, diarrhea seems to not be an issue at all. Many a coworker I have heard come in with a doctor's note for having missed work for diarrhea. When one gathers around the coffee machine during recess, the sick one will come up and all will ask what was wrong, to which they reply, "Nada, es que tenia diarea." They will then scrunch up there face and rub their stomach in a circular motion, the circle of indigestion. All in the area will then also scrunch up their faces and say "Ah, that sucks. My kid had diarrhea last week," or something to that effect.

This conversation will not include me. Ever. I know, everybody gets sick or whatever, but no need to say it in front of collegues, or the lady at the fruit store, or someone on the bus, or to the immediate listening area of my cell phone conversations.

This loose talk about the subject perhaps has to deal with Spaniards being more comfortable with their bodies and they way they work. Very European, it seems. The human body can be gross, I get it. But diarrhea to me is too far. So is having a person taking care of business in your nativity scene.

Caganer, or the shitter in Catalan, a modern twist included
in nativity scenes. Lighten the baby Jesus mood.

Keep your business under wraps. It's too much information, Spain. Too much.

Meet the parents

It's been a big week, lots of things going down here in Málaga. I will use this busy-ness as an excuse for not having updated my blog. Then I will use updating my blog as an excuse to put off packing a suitcase. Then I will use packing my suitcase as an excuse to put off cleaning the bathroom..... And so on.

This week I finished up at my school, saying lots of goodbyes, getting lots of sloppy cheek kisses, and lots of cute homemade cards. I also finished up private classes with my students, leaving them English-less until mid-September. This week, more specifically TOMORROW, my parents come!!!!!

My father, enjoying the rich bounty of
dirt-covered, uncured olives in Jaen.

I'm super excited. We have 2 weeks of road trippin' through Andalucía, a flamenco show, lots of eating, drinking, and relaxing. However, there is one event on this vacation that is leaving me a little bit nervous.The parents will be meeting José. And José's parents. For lunch.

José avoiding the papparazzi in Santander.

José and I have been dating for a while now and I know his family fairly well. With my parents coming, both sets of parents were eager to meet. His parents are wonderful people. My parents are also wonderful people. We are all wonderful people. But we happen to speak 2 languages. In our group of 6, we have:

• 2 people who are essentially bilingual.
• 2 people who can communicate decently in their non-native tongue about key ideas, and aren't ashamed to dive right in.
• 1 person who can sort of understand, but gets a little embarrassed talking.
• 1 mother whose sole phrase in the opposite language is "dónde aquí," said together, with a thick accent, and much embellishment, because it "sounds really Spanish."

I have this fear that we will be sitting there over a delicious 3-hour Spanish lunch in
complete.
and.
utter.
silence.

Crickets chirping, throat clearing, I´m going to go check on the thing in the oven silence.

I'm sure it will turn out fine and it will be a great and unique afternoon. José and I have been scheming of ways to break the ice, so to speak, and keep things moving. So far we have:

• His 2 dogs, who, as animals, will be around the lunch table being cute and funny.
• Beer.
• A long playlist of parent-friendly tunes.
• Beer.
• Possibly bringing in his sister and brother-in-law to add into the mix.
• Wine.
• .......maybe keep that wine coming. 

Wish us luck!