Hello, and welcome back. I hope you've all been fed and watered. I certainly was when I was in Denia.
Rosa, my host mamá, is a delightful person; funny, easy to talk to, and she corrects me non-judgmentally on my Spanish errors. She's also the finest cook in continental Europe. French, Italian, African, Spanish... there is no cuisine which she has not mastered. Seriously, the last time I was in Spain, I walked home from school everyday anticipating the mid-day comida the way the GOP anticipated the latest midterms: I knew it was going to be good. The question was how good. Unfortunately, here our comparison ends, because not once in the years since have I looked back and wished I'd eaten a different comida.
The first day I got there, she made a giant, sumptuous lasagna dish, complete with the traditional Spanish side of bread and more bread. Additionally, Lorenzo (my papá) is a wine salesman, so it's safe to say that we dine well at la casa Hernández Colomér. For desert, there was a large bowl of mandarinas, which are tangerines and not mandarin oranges, as the name would indicate. Either way, though, the province of Valencia is one of the best places in the world to find good citrus, and this was, according to Rosa and Lorenzo, a particularly good batch. They were not wrong. I had perhaps three after comida, as well as several later that night. In all, in the two days that I was there, I bet I probably ate 15 or more tangerines. They kept asking me if I wanted any and I kept wanting some--what was gonna do? Not eat them?
After comida the rest of the family--Rosa, Lorenzo, and my two host siblings, Joan (pronounced Jew-an and a guy's name), who is 26 and Angelina, who is 31--bedded down for a traditional siesta while I galavanted about online, enjoying a stable internet connection. Rosa and Lorenzo differ a little from the traditional family in that they have 3 children (the oldest lives by himself in Palma): the average Spanish family has somewhere between 1 and 2. And don't be fooled by the kids' ages and think that they're lazy freeloaders; Joan just got his degree in computer science and Angels has a full degree as well, although I don't remember exactly what in--something related to tourism. No, both Joan and Angels are fully qualified for work; it's just that, I don't know if you've heard, but there's been a recent economic downturn, and Spain has been one of the nations hardest hit. They don't have jobs because there aren't jobs to be had. In the meantime, both are living at home, which, given their mother's cooking, seems like a wise move.
After her siesta, Rosa and I went and had coffee with Ana, the mamá of my friend Matt. I really enjoyed talking with her; learning about what she'd been up to since we left, if she'd had any contact with Matt, how the year after us had gone, and above all, about Calvin moving it's Spain program. Ana and Rosa discussed the decision--a difficult one considering Calvin's almost 30 years of connection to Denia and the familial relationships that have been built, both with families and with the pueblo--with Rosa firmly of the opinion that it was better for the students to move it and Ana wavering somewhere in between knowing that and talking about how hard it would be for many families. Time will tell; there are positives and negatives to the decision, but I think ultimately things will work out fine in Oviedo, Asturias, the site of the new program. But my heart will always be in Denia.
I wandered around with my friend for a while after that, becoming reacquainted with Denia after our absence. It was a gorgeous night--clear, warm, and very little wind, a rarity--and I was extremely content to be back. I felt... tranquil. It isn't a feeling I've experienced very much since coming to Spain the second time around.
We spent a few hours exploring Denia and the seaside, but eventually, both of us exhausted from getting up early and not getting much sleep, went back to our pisos, had dinner, and went to bed.
The next day was a typical lazy Saturday in Spain; wake up, have a light breakfast (apple pastry, a few mandarinas, coffee) and go for a long walk. Rosa and Lorenzo are currently taking care of their oldest son's dog and have since I was there in 2009, so we took him (Maximiliano) on a long walk out to the end of the pier, getting back just in time for Rosa to start cooking the paella, our comida for the day. For those of you who think you've had good paella, don't waste your breath. As paella is a Valencian speciality and Rosa is the best cook in la Comunidad Valenciana (it being a part of continental Europe) and Lorenzo had prepared a special wine for the occasion, we dined like kings. We followed it with more mandarinas. I believe by that time some mandarina farmers must have been alerted that I was in the province, because the bowl was full again. Gluttony? Maybe. But I had to eat them, cuz it's rude to say no, right?
It was the same drill for the family after comida, sleep off the food, but I had an appointment to keep. I went to meet my friend at Café Gormand, one of my favorite haunts in Spring 2009. I had a delightful Summer Night tea and desert while we planned our upcoming trip to Switzerland (about which surely much more anon). I won't ruin the details for you, but our trip centers around Interlaken, the extreme sports capital of Switzerland. It'll be a good time.
That evening, after dinner, we met up again and went to watch the Barcelona soccer game. Upon the end of the match, after Barce had won 3-1, we walked out by the beach and just enjoyed being there for a while. The posse of drunk teenagers nearby only slightly marred the beautiful sky and the beautiful sea. We were leaving the next day. We had to soak in enough to hold us over until our next visit.
I woke up early-ish the next morning, 7:30, because my train left at 8:20. Rosa got up with me and Lorenzo also rose to say goodbye. I promised them I'd visit again, which I will, and, one last mandarina in hand, I headed out the door.
(Actually it was two.)
The train to Alicante, where my flight departed from, is two things: slow and beautiful. It takes a winding, scenic route through the hills of the region and follows the coast line for much of the ride as well. I love the ride; it's like an extended preview of the region of Alicante and a little glimpse into all the towns along the way. I count among my favorite stops Calpe and Paradís. But it is assuredly slow; it takes nearly three hours to go 100 km, from Denia to Alicante. The bus is moderately faster (or considerably faster, if you are fortunate enough to get the express bus), but I have this thing where I hate buses, so if I have time I will avoid them. Plus the train is cheaper and more comfortable.
My RyanAir flight left on time from Alicante and landed in Sevilla at about 2:55 local time. I stepped out of the plane into a steady rainfall. The sunny days of Denia were gone for now. Back to the real world.
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