Growing Pains - The Arrival

OK OK OK! Everyone wants to hear about Jesse arriving in Spain so let's go!

He landed on Oct 23 and was delivered to our apartment door by our landlord who has become indispensable. He helped my daughter, Denali, and I move into the new apartment, gets things fixed, drove us to the next town over for registering with the police and has been a personal airport shuttle. The airport shuttle service was of particular help with Jess, who would have happily taken the bus or train, but was saddled with 4 giant suitcases (mostly for us ladies) and his backpack, not exactly easy for public transportation. When he arrived, he stepped out of the van with arms wide open and his signature giant smile.

We couldn't wait to hear all of Jesse's stories and share all of ours. A welcome glass of Cava followed by a sieta and he was feeling right at home. "Driving in you got to see some of the town, what did you think of it?!?" I eagerly asked as the golden sun was starting to set. The sea view from our balcony twinkled in the light and the warm air caused condensation to bead on our cold wine glasses. 'It's kinda ghetto. I was surprised.' Denali and I stared at him gobsmacked. She and I had been so delighted when we arrived here. We have also had some serious trials and tribulations to get through here and that has made it feel even more special. Then again we had already spent 2 months in Spain when we arrived in Sitges so perhaps we had a different view. Nevertheless, we sat there and stared wide eyed at him.

Ghetto?!? I didn't know if I should be sad, mad, betrayed or defensive, but I was 100% shocked. This was definitely NOT the introduction to Sitges we had imagined for him. I mean we know Jess doesn't do jubalent or extatic, but this was harsh. I started to second guess everything. 

A little jetlagged the next morning, he allowed me to drag him out on the walking tour of the main circle through town. As I pointed out various landmarks, I noticed that the tarnish on the buildings was a little bit blacker and the sun baked colorful umbrellas a little bit duller to me. Had I been wearing rose colored glasses this entire time??? I tried to think of things that he would appreciate... the town dates back to the 4th century B.C., the Malvasia grape is native to Sitges, the temperature is perfect year round, and there are bike trails into the hills just behind us. I took him to the most stunning views in town, we sat on the beach and drank Rose, and we even took him to one of the most famous gay bar in Spain, The Boys Bar, for a standup comedy show (who doesn't love a gay bar?), but this nut was hard to crack. He said it was beautiful. He said it was great. He looked like he'd dropped his ice cream cone.

After a few more days of stressful work conversations, concern over our home being newly listed on Airbnb, and a general state of depression in the air as I slumped, I suddenly remembered that Spain me isn't like this. Spain me is so happy! I love this town, I think it is gorgeous! I love the beautiful promenade with its incredible restaurants and cafes. I love the charming twists and turns of the old town packed with shops, great shops too not the usual touristy crap. I love that the town is passionate about its foodie scene and more importantly its wine heritage. I am routinely struck by the stunning views and the incredible kindness of the locals. It was time for a talk, was Jess going to fall in love with Sitges or were we needing to shop for a new home?

I was in a good space now that I remembered that Spain me is awesome and not the worrywart-stressed-out-scared-of-what-is-happening-in-the-USA me, so I was able to come to this discussion with gentleness. To my surprise it was actually Jesse that asked that we gather in the living room to talk. He had a vulnerability on his face and he said "I'm sorry you guys. I arrived and disrupted everything you had going on here and I want to know how to assimilate into your scene." Our daughter, always so articulate and direct, told him how much it hurt our feelings that he didn't like Sitges. He quickly informed us that he actually LOVES it here! His eyes shimmering with passion, I could tell this was not just him placating us. I reminded him of how he had called it ghetto and that he had not conveyed to us that he loved it or appreciated it at all. True to form he used humor to illustrate his point 'what exactly were you hoping my enjoyment would look like? I don't skip or say yippie'. Just the idea of seeing Jesse doing these things immediately put the expectations we had had in check. Ya, what had we wanted from him? Probably skipping and singing yippie! He also shared where he was coming from, mentally, emotionally, and physically. It really helped to hear just how stressful getting ready to leave New Mexico had been for him and the disappointment he felt that some of the people he considers most important to him didn't make the effort to say goodbye. He was physically exhausted from working crush for the winery and from travel. He shared how he had imagined this place to be Spain's version of Saint Tropez which in his mind translated to a Beverly Hills wealthy thing that would cause us to go broke instantaneously. Plain and simple, Sitges was not as polished as he expected. It was more like worn leather and gold bangles than furs and rhinestones. OK he didn't say it exactly like that, I used a little poetic license. His initial description of Sitges also reflects that he has vomit mouth where he says whatever jumps into his head first. I am familiar with this aspect of his personality and it has resulted in several arguments. All I'm saying is don't ask if your butt looks big in those pants, not only will you hate the pants, but you may never want anyone to see your butt ever again. It meant a lot to us that he recognized his poor word choice in this circumstance and retracted 'ghetto'. Landing in charming little Sitges with its down to earth vibe and comfortable laid back atmosphere took him by surprise, but he can't get over its beauty and swagger. OK I added 'swagger' because that is how it seems to me, like the town equivalent of Matthew Mcconaughey saying 'alright, alright, alright'. Jess stated that we would not be looking for somewhere else to call home, this was the place and he couldn't be happier. The 3 of us smiled and laughed and hugged just like in a corny made for TV movie. 

It has been a week since Jess arrived in his new home town. The amazing, intoxicating reality of living in Spain is recognizing how different you feel here. Not an external feeling that your body perceives like the weather or even social differences. It is the slow pace and focus on daily happy living that is palpable and forces you to be a more authentic version of yourself. I am loving being able to watch Jesse experience this transition and relax into a new version of himself, one with less frustration and conflict. 

Most days we do wake up excited to embrace the day. Most days we gaze at the incredible history marked buildings leaning over cobblestone streets and arching over the sea and marvel that we live here. On occasion there are days that hurt with the loss of our lives back in NM, or we ache with the difficulties of living abroad, but it passes and we return to being so deeply grateful to be here. I do think we are smiling more here. The stress lines on our faces are softer already, and I think I even heard Jesse say "yippie!" under his breath yesterday.

The Horrors of Moving

Moving to Spain is so glamorous and cool! How amazing to start over. Must be nice to have the money to move to Europe. Are they really just going to up and move??? This seems a little hysterical.

At this point we have heard it all. From the envious to the angry, our move has moved others to emotionally vomit all over it. Here is the truth, we did move, weather you like it or not, understand why or not, wish it were you or not... it happened. Honestly I had no idea it would elicit such intense responses from those near and dear to total strangers, but boy oh boy has it! It has been shocking, those that support us and those that don't and it isn't always whom you'd expect. In the end, it doesn't matter. We have moved. It is wild and weird and hard. I think people don't like to hear that either, that it is hard. People want a fantasy retelling of what this is like, and some days it is fantasy like. Other days I cry really hard and don't want to leave my bed. I miss my old life, I miss people, food, and the familiar. 

As I take a moment to look back over this whirlwind few weeks and absorb the reality of having been in our "home town" now for an entire month, it feels a little like the Twighlight Zone. So much has happened, it's been a constant torrent of activities keeping me distracted from registering with the government to filing for residency with the police all while not speaking Spanish. Throw in there a few festivals, some train closures, and a trip to Poland and you can see how this feels more like a sitcom than life.  

I previously shared about my trip to Poland so we will skip to when I returned from Warsaw and went straight into Sitges Film Festival week. This Film Festival is the largest Horror Film Fest in the world! And it is the reason we are in Sitges. Possibly the most random way to find your home in another country, we got to Sitges by way of being horror movie fans. Months ago (holy shit, I can't believe it was only a few months ago) we were in our beautiful, cozy little home in Dixon, New Mexico, hurriedly trying to figure out a giant move to Spain, when we were looking for any reason to be excited, not just scared about this move. Believe it or not (and many of you don't seem to), it was not our ambition to upend our entire lives, give away all of our possessions and move away from our perfect happy lives. Let's not dwell on the depressing aspect though. It is a fact that Denali and I had never been to Spain and Jess had only been when he was on a backpacking trip through Europe after college... not exactly the trip to plan a family move based on. To say the least, we were a little apprehensive about the move. Anyway, taking our Horror Film Major daughter to the biggest Horror Film Festival in the world seemed like a really good perk. Long story short, we were in Rioja, Spain, where we thought we would for sure call home, and tickets went on sale for the film fest. In a covid fever (yes I got covid AGAIN) I bought the Super Fan Pack ticket packages for Denali and I. Fast forward to ticket selection day and we managed to get seats to some of the most epic premieres EVER! Yorgos Lanthimos' Bugonia, Guillermo del Toro's Frankenstein, Black Phone 2, Alpha by brilliant director Julia Ducournau, the director of American Psycho Q & A, awards given to people like the creator of Friday the 13th... I mean it was a dream come true! Errr or a nightmare come true? Depends on who you ask I guess. We were ecstatic! The entire town celebrates this festival with stores hanging corpses from doorways, smattering windows with bloody handprints and every baker or candy maker made their treats into wildly creative horror fauter. There is even a huge Zombie Walk that includes free professional makeup for anyone wanting to participate and hosts hundreds of people from all over the world to walk or watch the zombies. It is an amazing community of fun horror fans. I digress, the point is this was a really really big deal and the reason why we went south of Barcelona to a little tiny place on the coast called Sitges. 

We were in Spain ahead of Jess in order to find "the spot" and we were getting desperate to pick a place. Like Goldie Locks, nothing seemed perfect so we closed our eyes and picked Sitges. I can't really explain why other than to say it has an amazing film school, and is in Cava wine country. It also has the benefit of being not that cold in winter and not insanely hot in the summer. If nothing else, Sitges would be a good place to start off, we hoped. We had quickly booked an apartment in the old city center in what sounded like the perfect location, literally in the middle of everything. We had still not been to Sitges when we did this. Are we insane? Maybe. But when you are under a great amount of stress and pressure, a lovely little seaside town with the worlds biggest horror film festival... you roll the dice. Luckily it is a place we can see ourselves staying in for some time, maybe even forever. Madrid continues to call my name and I still think of that city with longing, but Sitges has grown under my skin. Ooohhhh was that a zombie pun???

Probably not surprising to many of you, our first apartment was a bit of a disaster. OK, it was a dump. Everything was broken, it had rooms with zero windows, oh sorry, they had windows that faced the elevator shaft, so technically there were windows, they just were not functional. The kitchen was so small that as a single person standing there, you could hardly fit. I mean the "oven" was on the floor under a cabinet requiring it to be hoisted up onto the tiny stovetop and plugged in if you wanted to use it. And the makeshift bedroom at the front of the apartment had windows to the street which was a nightmare of its own. The "living room" had an old crappy loveseat that barely sat 2 people and also served as the hallway to the bedroom and the balcony. I did love the balcony that looked over the magical rainbow road. This spot was the epicenter of Sitges with so much fun and glitter that no one slept... including me. 2 am drunk goodbyes that never end,  3am singing show tunes, 4am glass recycling truck pickup, 5am street washing, 6am cafe setup with dragging heavy tables into place... it was brutal.

It sounds like torture, but it was our place. When we got our residency, which took 3 trips to the Padron and a scary trip to the nearby town to meet with the police, we celebrated there. We saw 22 movies, battling sleep deprivation and exhaustion to walk 4-6 miles per day to see them, all from this apartment. It is where I cried because I missed my husband so much it physically pained me. It is where my mom and dad left us with worried faces and tear filled hugs. It is where we hung our feather boas from our Burlesque class during Bear Week. It is where our Spain life truly started. Even though it was an incredible heap of junk, it was a place that will always be so special to us. 

Today, I write to you from our NEW apartment. A place in San Sebastian (it is a beach in Sitges) that is on a quite street just a stone's throw from the beach. We have gone way over our budget to rent this place and it isn't perfect. It is the definition of the Super Sounds of the 70's with wall to wall built in cabinets, but it is so spectacular in comparison to what Denali and I were in that we are in awe. 2 People fit in the kitchen at a time and all appliances are installed and ready to use at a moment's notice. When Jesse arrives, all 3 of us can sit on the sofa, and it even has 2 bathrooms. The problem is my husband hasn't experienced any of this. He will walk into what has to be a time warp of an apartment to see something small and funky. We hope he can see the allure of this small town, but what if he can't? What if he doesn't like it here? What if his lack of zombie interaction means he can't see the gory glory? I have to admit I have been holding my breath a bit. 

It has all felt a little surreal, like we were on an exotic vacation, but Jess joining us means it is real. This chance to start over also means we have to start over... everything is new, you know nothing and that is daunting. All of our savings has been eaten up quicker than we had estimated and the anxiety it is creating is fierce. The intensity of a move like this washes over me and I have to remind myself to breathe. I dig my toes into the silky sand, tilt my face up to the warm golden sun and think about the crisp, citrusy glass of cold Malvasia white wine I will have later today. It is not the end of our lives there in the USA, just a new story we will be writing together in Spain. Lets just cross our fingers that it isn't a script for our daughter's next horror film.

*** Since writing this, Jesse has arrived. Stay tuned for what happened next!

To Be or Not To Be, That is France's Question

OK so I am now going to try to catch you guys up on France... while sitting in Warsaw, Poland, on a wine media trip. I know I know it is a crazy life right now. But before the misty fog of France explorations disappear, I better get it in writing.

France, it is a land of dreams for many people. I don't know about you, but I grew up thinking France was the birth place of love. If you were in love you went to France. If you were not currently in love, then you would fall in love when you went to France. If you love food, you go to France. If you love wine, you go to France. If you love history, architecture, great art... you go to France. So when I finally got to go to Paris (the mecca of love right?) in college, with a couple of sorority sisters, I expected A LOT from the country. Being on a student's budget, staying in a hostel, during the cold rainy spring, and fighting with your friends did not make for the romance I had built up in my imagination. I still managed to have a couple epic experiences though. The first was having a warm crepe avec nutella from a street vendor after spending a frigid night in the stone jail cell we were staying in. The second was finding the most gorgeous dress I'd ever seen in a little shop on a cobblestone street, having it fit like a glove, and be massively on sale. I wore that dress to every special occasion in my life for 10 years. And the third amazing thing that Paris gave me was a bird shitting on my friend's head at the climax of her hideousness as she screamed at me in a public park. Years later my future husband and I, on one of our first dates, would bond over our stories of hardship in Paris. I guess it really is the city of love! 

In 2004 I was again in France when we followed up our incredible, tiny, Tuscan wedding with a honeymoon in Avignon. We were dirt poor, stayed in a weird run down hotel and spent all of our money on wine. Our only photos were of the rocks in the vineyards of Chateuneuf-du-Pape. By the end of the trip, we had acquired too many bottles despite spending an entire day in bed drinking. Ahhh to be young and on your honeymoon right? Our solution was to have Jesse throw away almost all of his clothes and pack his suitcase full of bottles. He still managed to clink his way through airports with over a case in his backpack alone. When stopped at immigration, he was asked if he had brought back any agricultural goods. Jess paused and said "a little wine" to which the officer replied "ahh health products!"

The rest of France held more fascination for me than Paris ever did. I had fallen down the deep, dark, hole of wine knowledge and certain wine spots carried an allure. France was actually my first country to select as one of my Master Somm Certifications. The more I learned, the more I wanted to learn. My next Master Somm Certificate was in Advanced Wine and Food Pairing which only intensified my love for France. The culinary flavors of France combined in subtle ways allows mixing the same few ingredients in different amounts to magically pair with vastly different wines. It was also at that time that I had my heart stollen by Cab Franc. 

A slight aside here: Cab Franc is a grape that I feel like had been hidden in the shadows of blends and obscurity for a long, long time. Sure now everyone knows and appreciates it, but a couple decades ago that was not the case, at least in the USA for sure. And when you explore the Loire Valley's fairy dust of Cab Francs, well, it is like being in a Shakespearean play - intense, dramatic, emotional, and passionate. Skip forward to 2025 and I am going to be in the Loire Valley to judge at the Mondial du Fromage. Clearly I needed to extend my travel dates and drink in the valley. 

I have been to France many times since that first Paris jaunt. My love for Strasbourg, located in Alsace, awarded me a permanent place in the tourism office as a tourist pamphlet with my published Edible Magazine article "Three Places to Drink in the Strasbourg View". I have had the honor to teach at the Universite Haute-Alsace and to host incredible VIP events at the American Consul-General's home there. I heavily considered moving to Strasbourg before we settled on Spain. Every time I return to judge there with my "wine family" at the phenomenal Mondial des Vins Blancs, I fly through Paris. Paris is lovely, by-the-way and I do enjoy adding days to play there, but it still hasn't crept into my heart. So what was the expectation of heading to the Loire? Was I expecting love like in Strasbourg or disappointment like in Paris? My anticipation was surprisingly mild, even flat. I wasn't brimming with excitement to finally be going to the famed Loire Valley or even the wine mecca city of Bordeaux. I was still warm from the new relationship I was having with Spain and didn't really want to leave. 

Flying to France after falling in love with Spain, my new home, felt like having an affair. How could I?!? Believe me, it was not my first choice to leave Spain so soon in our relationship, but come on people, I was asked to judge CHEESE! For those of you that might have missed it, I made cheese for a handful of years under my own company called "Kissable Cheeses", I really like cheese. Double down with the fact that the competition is taking place in the Loire and, well, like two star crossed lovers, I set the scene. 

Wait, wait, back up! We started in Bordeaux and it would be a travesty as a wine professional to not talk about that city. Its old city center has beautifully preserved old buildings and is filled with charming cafes, wonderful shops, and picture perfect streets. The rest of Bordeaux is a little bit less thrilling to explore. It is far larger than I had anticipated and that rich history means many many years of people treading those streets... and it shows. It is kind of like taking London's Bond Street and sticking it in the middle of the East End. I could say I probably would have enjoyed it more had I stayed in a nicer place, but budget dictated the spot. Unfortunately it meant paying way too much for a dormitory style hotel with beds harder than rocks and hidden in the back allies where dirt, dog shit, and grime all meet. I highly recommend doing a deep dive into where you will stay because having to walk through yuck really spoils the wow factor. And if you know my tweaker side, you know I seriously looked into where to stay, but once there, reading reviews with covert words, I got what they had been hinting at. Also, be rich. Yes you can eat and drink like a King in Bordeaux, but you better be as wealthy as one too. At the close of an afternoon filled with magical food and wine, shopping and falling under the spell of Place du Parlement, we retired to our strange little corner of Bordeaux and counted receipts. Perhaps it was the strain on my still not fully healed back from the recent travel day, or sleeping in the I wanna kill myself beds, but I think it was the shock of adding up my perfect day in Bordeaux that gave me a limp and a hint of depression. 

Geez Negative Nelly or what?!? Sorry, I really did enjoy Bordeaux and it really is a beautiful city. We went to the Cite du Vin Museum which I had been hearing about for ages and it was just as epic as I had hoped it would be. Still it was a strange vortex of space I was inhabiting that made it all very very surreal. I actually got homesick. I felt a deep sense of longing to be home... in Spain. 

I KNOW!!! I was doing the same thing, scratching my head wondering how I could possibly be homesick for Spain already. At one point, sitting silently at a bistro table, sipping blow your mind beautiful wine, my daughter looked at me and said "I miss Spain". A quiet, simple, truth. The revelation was poignant and allowed the haze to clear from my brain. I realized the strain of the visas was weighing heavy still, my husband and mine came through already, but my daughter's was caught up with details of proving that even though she is over 18, she is still very much a dependent. It wasn't fair to France to be visiting with this kind of pressure on my shoulders. I realized what a tragedy it was to be distracted while in these incredible places and I put my big girl panties on and got to work.

From Bordeaux we went up to Saumur. Saumur is an amazing little town filled with amazing wine, say hello to Cab Franc! Cab Franc Blanc de Noir, Cab Franc Rose (bubbly and still), Cab Francs that were delicate as a flower petal, and some aged into deep brooding strength. The town was gorgeous and catching wind of my credentials, I was offered free tours and tastings for my entire party of 4. The old city center is positively charm personified. The only bummer was to not have a car which made it impossible to get to the wineries outside of walking distance and made getting to Saumur and back out a real pain with luggage. Just get a cab you think to yourself as you read this, oh believe me we would have, but they have no cabs in town! You have to call one in advance from the town 1 1/2 hrs away. I'm telling you, rent a car in Bordeaux and drive up.

A quick train ride into Tours (where the Mondial du Fromage was taking place) was a shock. I had heard rather drab things about the small city, but it was rather beautiful and had glorious sections that made you feel like you were in a postcard that said "hi, I'm in France". Our apartment was in a quirky little spot that had so much character it could be in a book. I really liked Tours with its surprising elegance and gritty character (see I like gritty sometimes too!), but it was the morning I was going to judge that locked Tours into my forever vault of memories. 

It was early morning on a Sunday, it was misting rain making the streets wet and the air cool on your skin. I walked over the bridge in the fog, completely alone, in silence. There was only the click of my patent leather heals on the cement sidewalk making a sound. A little clearing in the fog as the sun tried to break through the grey shown on the castle in the distance and the river started to gleam in reflection. The scene looked as though it was a pastel drawing that had been gently smudged. It was exquisite. 

Perfection was brought to a screeching halt when I showed up at the wrong judging location, had to grab a taxi (taxi app in Tours), get to the venue out in the middle of nowhere, judge and then stand in the rain for 2 hours waiting for a taxi to find you. Yay!

I'll do a separate post about the cheese competition, but it was great, and I really appreciated being invited. Most of the cheeses were totally fantastic and I loved being able to take a foray into a new field of judging.

France was rather brilliant. It allowed for space and clarity after 6 weeks of confusion and stress. My mom, who is also brilliant, would time to time stop me and say "just take a moment and let it sink in, I am in Bordeaux". She did this mini meditation everywhere we went, mostly on bridges. I think it was for the view, but maybe she was tired of my complaining and was contemplating pitching me over into the rivers below. The wines were all stunning, so much more amazing than the pathetic range we get in the USA. People were lovely and helpful, and I simply can not wait to take Jesse there... in a car.

On September 15th we trained from Tours to Bordeaux and then flew to Barcelona. My new landlord picked us up and to Sitges we moved! It feels like I have been over here for 30 years. The days bleed together and I feel like I tumble through reality. Trying to grasp that I now LIVE in Spain is overwhelming and emotional while also being joyous and exciting. Sitges welcomed us warmly, it is the delight I had hoped it would be. Denali finally got her visa and the 3 of us are officially cleared to live here. We just need a billion more pages of paperwork and hoops to jump through to get the residency cards, but it is coming together, step by patent leather clackety clack step.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

It is 80 degrees at 6:15pm in Sitges (see chess), Spain. It doesn't get much hotter or much colder than that at any time of day or night. I am sitting on my balcony overlooking the busy city center and I am sipping on a glass of Rose from a nearby winery in the Penedes. This is home and it is perfection.

I left you all with my departure to France to judge cheeses and have failed at updating you on that adventure. I promise it is in the works, but for now, I need you to join me in Sitges. 

I can see the ocean from my balcony and smell the tapas from the restaurant below. The chatting of happy people mingles with the sound of glasses clinking. It just feels happy here. The air is slightly humid, but clean and welcoming. The sky is bright blue and the buildings, white with cobalt blue shutters, bounce light back and forth in a golden hue. It is always golden in Sitges. You can wander up cobblestone streets to fabulous shops filled with bobbles and riches galore, or you can meander down to the water, sit on the beach, and dig your toes into the silky silky sand. Sitges is chic and posh while being unpretentious and friendly, a combination I wouldn't have believed was possible until coming here. The promenade is lined with palm trees and darling little restaurants and rainbow flags are everywhere. It is a stunningly beautiful place and feels like a dream I never want to wake up from. 

I have woken up though, from my siesta, a welcomed tradition especially after talking to my husband (currently still in the USA) until 6:00am. It reminded me of how we used to do that in college, somehow finding our way to each other late at night and talking until the sun started to peak through the curtains. I pretty much failed French because I simply could not make my 8:00am class after staying up all night. I blame Jesse. The exhaustion is still well worth it, I absolutely love that we can still talk for hours. I miss him so much it makes my chest physically hurt. I worry I could give myself a heart attack if I let myself give way to melancholy thoughts of how long we have been apart. 

It is Queer Week in Sitges and we have lots of activities to participate in. Burlesque class started the day and we are currently getting ready to go to a show. Being a woman living in a gay centric town is truly fabulous. Not only do you feel safe, you are safe! My spanish is still terrible, but the people in Spain are so wonderfully welcoming and everyone has been surprisingly supportive as I spaz my way through sentences. Oddly it is another way to feel free of restraints.

This reality is surreal, but I love who I get to be here. Someone brave, self-assured and maybe a Burlesque dancer.

Ay Dios Mio!

I am now the proud parent of 3 traveling Europe solo. Ay Dios mio! Being a parent of 3 is challenging, especially as a single parent. Some of the kids wake up early and need an activity, some are super cranky if they are up before their biorhythm time. Some need snacks all day long while others rely on one big meal. Some need long naps while others need longer naps. And getting all 3 headed the same direction at the same time is like herding cats. 

My daughter, age 19, is the youngest of the 3, but very well traveled. My older 2, ages 76 and 78, are my parents and while they have definitely explored the world in lots of ways, especially as wild hippy kids from Los Angeles, CA, they are newer to the way my mini family travels. Like any combined family, it takes adjustment to find the ways you can groove together. Little things make for great stories, lots of laughter, and an occasional time out. 

I have to start with a description of my 2 older kids for those of you that don't know them. They are adorable! They just celebrated 57 years of marriage and they are still affectionate and silly with each other. Born and raised in LA means they have epic stories. They saw the coolest musicians live in little venues and even better, they have stories from  hanging out and partying with some of them. Surfing every morning before school, experiencing the beginning of the hippy era (the part we all idolize) and the rad decision to move to the rural mountains of New Mexico with a couple babies are just the tip of the iceberg of examples to explain how cool they are. They are also some of the most appreciative people I know. They act like letting them tag along on this trip is somehow a gift I have given them. I am telling you, they are adorable! And that reminds me, they are also straight up adorable, like really attractive people. They seem to age backwards and they are always a hit at events I take them to. 

Now being  kids of the '60s, the tech age is a little confusing. Enter sibling rivalry, the age gap between kids can be tough when talking about my 3. My 19 year old IS the tech generation and she has already sworn off helping me and her dad because it is just to annoying to try to explain the obvious to us. Well, now we have another generation further back and that is when you can cue the hilarity. Watching the older 2 ask the younger 1 questions even I know the answer to and seeing the eyes roll back in the young one's head is constant entertainment. At one point, with yet another conversation about cell phone airplane mode, travel plans and wifi, I thought my daughter was going to go into convulsions as her frustration hit NASA level launch pad intensity.

Over the years, as Jess and I have taken our little pod traveling, we have done some pretty wild things and have embraced the scary adventures of it all. Now this is not easy to simply jump into and I have been impressed with the blind faith my parents have in what I tell them to do. I also have to admit that some people are better at arranging the plans and details of the trip itself which oddly enough can be some of the scariest of things to do. I happen to be really good at this part. Maybe it's because I am a type A, compulsive, controlling person with high functioning anxiety. Any which way, it completely overwhelms and scares my parents to try to take on these tasks: booking 4 trains, 2 flights, 4 hotels/ bookings/ airbnbs over 3 weeks for 4 people, with complicated time scheduling and arrangements all in 2 foreign languages. Watching me take care of it and allowing them to simply get in the taxi when I tell them to (OK sometimes I am yelling it "I said get in the taxi!"), in charge of all tickets and itineraries, also has made me mom. Which they really enjoy. I appreciate that they are so appreciative.

We've managed through all kinds of ups and downs now. We had calamities like when Siri took us the very "scenic" route to a winery that was literally next door, or when we all came down with covid and had nothing to eat in the house, but were all too sick to go out. There have been times of laughter, usually due to my daughter's sharp wit and shrewd eye making for on the spot standup routines. And there have been group tears, like when my husband had to say goodbye and head back to the USA, or we had outstanding tacos in Madrid. 

After dancing them around New Jersey, then zig zagging back and forth across Spain, and now training through wine country in France, I think the entire crew is starting to ease into the hectic life of 3 kids with a single mom. My daughter even bravely handed off her laptop to the older 2 just now! 

The truth is, as "mom" as I get, my parents have come on this trip to hold my hand on what is for sure the scariest thing I have ever done; upend my entire life and move to country I have never been to before. There is no way to thank them for their love and support. 

Bonjour!

Having read my most recent post I know you are all sitting there thinking I am moving to Madrid. While that is exactly what one would be led to believe, it is actually not true. I am not moving to Madrid, I am moving to Sitges.

Sitges is a small cosmopolitan town south of Barcelona. It is referred to as Spain's Saint-Tropez and is known for its stunning beaches, palm tree lined promenade, and lively terraced bar scene. It is a wonderful town that is incredibly beautiful... I have heard.

Nope, I have not been to Sitges. No, not at all, not even for the day. So WTH am I doing moving to a place I have never been to after having spent many weeks exploring Spain and finding that many of the spots I thought I would love, I did not? Scratching your head or sitting there with your mouth agape thinking I have completely lost my mind? Yep, me too.

I have no idea what I am doing moving to a place I don't know, BUT I do want to clarify that while I have had extremely strong opinions (what little 'ol me with a strong opinion?!?) about every town and city I have been to, I could live in any of them and make it work. I am operating from a space of luxury to find a dream home, thus picky as shit. 

So why Sitges? Well, one of the things we focused on when moving over to Spain was the incredible opportunities for our daughter. The film industry has a long history here and the Horror genre in particular is booming right now. That is our daughters career focus exactly. Even the biggest Horror Film Festival in the world is located in Sitges and yes we already have tickets. In addition to the festival, Sitges has not 1, but 4 different amazing film school options. Who knew???

Sitges is also considered one of the LGBTQ+ capitals of Spain with a strong pride history and universally welcoming ethos. I have decided that I only want to live where the communities are so pro LGBTQ+ that the streets are painted with rainbows. Seriously, I am so sick of the hate. Not to mention, and forgive the stereotyping, but if you want to be in a charming, fun, clean place... follow the gays. (I know "the gays" is a problematic and possibly offensive term, I use it lovingly and was given the OK to use it by my lesbian daughter.)

And the final element making Sitges perfect for our first home is that it is the start of the Penedes Wine Route! Jesse would love to do a deep dive on sparkling winemaking, and I have already landed a writing gig (more on that later). Quieres una copa de cava?

After our lease is up in Sitges next summer, we will decide if we are madly in love with the seaside town or if it is indeed time to move to Madrid. Regardless, we have already made plans to return to Madrid for several occasions including Christmas. We hear the magical city really turns on the charm at the holidays when they blanket literally everything that stands still, be it a building, tree, or fountain in lights.

So... where are you now, you ask? I'm in Bordeaux, France. Having been invited to judge cheese at Mondial du Fromage in Tours, France and with our lease in Sitges starting mid September, it seemed the perfect opportunity to go on holiday in the famous wine regions of Bordeaux and the Loire Valley. When texting with my husband, currently working 24/7 back in New Mexico, crush in full swing, he jokingly said "I hate you so much right now" LOL! I think most people will agree with him.

Up next will be a review of Bordeaux and how to not stay in a total dump. I should probably also share some stories of what it has been like traveling with my parents, who I affectionately refer to as my other children. They have been really good sports and incredibly generous through this entire, exhaustive process. Cheers to Mom and Dad!

Cities and Changes and Fears OH MY!

Believe it or not, extended travel is hard. Talk about a privileged complaint! What I mean is there is a home sick, change is hard thing that happens. Just getting to Barcelona was a challenge, train delays, no sleep, confusion, heavy luggage and a bad back... it adds up to testy moods and crying in grocery stores. It does lighten up, but it makes for a few frustrating days. A long phone call from my husband, now back in the USA, made a world of difference for me and allowed me to look forward to exploring the city... at night when the temperature drops below 1000 degrees. 

Having heard epic stories of how everyone loves Barcelona, I was ready to swoon, but I didn't. The funk, graffiti and stink has been hard for me to get my mind around. I love the architecture, the food, and the artistic flare. How do I reconcile the differences? The Catelonian port city has an amazing history and its own unique cultural richness which I think is what draws people to it. I don't know why it wasn't a magical moment for me. We spent a full 8 days exploring, first in Poble Sec, our neighborhood, then to major sites and sought after glam areas. Our apartment was in a restored 1880s building making it equally beautiful, artistic and historical, a perfect combination for me. However, stepping outside the building into the darkness of giant trees and heaps of garbage burst my bubble. The city just wasn't romantic like I wanted it to be. A few steps to the right was the bustle of Avenida del Paral-lel. The opposite direction was a pedestrian street full of locals taps bars. Opting for the locals scene, being that we were trying to feel what local life in Barcelona would feel like, we curiously explored several bars. Excellent food, cheap glasses of Cava and ice cave level AC were welcome discoveries. Beautiful evenings (more like night since it is 9pm before you can even consider sitting outside comfortably) called for lounging under the umbrellas on the street, but the stench of the sewers was too much for fussy face over here. Turns out the ancient sewer pipes need to be replaced so for the next few years the city will just reek. Cheers!

Barcelona felt like a relationship I had with a guy in college. He was so perfect to look at, checked all the boxes, but we did not mesh. I kept dating him thinking I was going to figure out what was missing and it would click. Surly I was missing something, he was perfect... wasn't he? Ironically, it was this fella that I was dating while I spent endless nights talking until dawn with Jesse, my now husband. Jesse and I, we clicked! Now, here I was trying to make Barcelona fill that "home" hole I wanted so desperately to fill, but it fell short again and again. I began to feel deeply sad. The haunting thought that maybe I wouldn't like Spain started to creep in. What have I done? What...have...I....done? 

OK so Barcelona is a no, now what? We had landed in Madrid several weeks ago and loved it. Was that simply the relief of liking Spain at all? Did we have rose colored glasses on when we landed having expected to not like the overly "business" city of Madrid? Well, since it was the top contender for us so far, it seemed like a good idea for us to go back to the city and see what we thought with our eyes wide open. You know as traveled Spaniards now. 

We arrived in Madrid by train in the early afternoon. We had messaged the Airbnb guy that morning with an ETA for the day, yet had not heard back. We got to the address early so we popped into the closest restaurant to grab a snack and kill some time until official check in time. I was sure he would message by then. 3:00, ooh sorry 15:00, came and went. I messaged, I called, I WhatsApp'd... nothing. We sat on the stoop waiting, taking in the colorful doorways around us; the block was oozing with charm. Every other door was a drool worthy cafe or a squeal its so cute shop. 16:00 came and went. Annoyance was building as was the heat. FINALLY he messages "Are you there already?!?" Oy! We proceeded to have the slowest back and forth texting ever just to give me directions to find keys (why couldn't these instructions be sent to me earlier???) which included a photo of a completely different building. Confused I thought we are on the wrong street and started asking people for help. Side note, every single person was so so nice even with my absolute shite Spanish. Finally I found the lock box. It was across the street from the apartment building, attached to a window grate at knee level and swiveled in toward the window so it was almost impossible to see. The owner was indignant in response to my frustration. It felt like being in a very weird escape room.

Finally inside, the apartment looked adorable, but was a sauna! I'm talking about unable to breathe kind of heat. We struggled to figure out and turn on the AC, its pathetic whisper of air shyly moving into each rooms. We closed blinds and stripped down to underwear then laid on beds in our respective rooms. It was not the best welcome back to Madrid. Within 24 hours, the temperature was significantly better... and... my dad had hit his head hard, twice, on the slopping roof. My daughter had smashed her head once on the roof and also split open her shin on the bed frame...trying to avoid hitting her head again on the ceiling. It was a rough way to start off and I assumed all of this would sour us on Madrid. That night, in the cool air and golden glow of sunset, we meandered the quaint streets of our new neighborhood, Chueca. 

Quietly, like a low hum, Madrid's siren song started to call to us once again.

Chueca is gleeful perfection. It is just so adorable and artistic and full of flare. Rainbow flags drape over everything that stands still. The metro stop, rainbow. The entrance to the barrio, an enormous permanent rainbow flag hoisted up high. Doorways are delightfully decorated in extravagant colorful decor and people walk around happy, relaxed, and in love. In love with themselves, in love with each other, in love with life. It is incredible. I LOVE it so much I want to cry. I check myself and try to see the problem areas... what is wrong with Madrid? Surely there is a chink in its armor. Heading off to see a Chiropractor for my back (yes it continued to be seriously messed up. I was starting to wonder if they would just take me directly to the hospital for surgery), my mom and I bravely ventured into the unknown. The "unknown" hahaha an area around Parque de El Retiro that is absolutely gorgeous and while I would move there in a heartbeat, I definitely can't afford the real estate. Imagine the Upper East Side in NYC. My back was doing much better after some attention and we returned to our little Land of Oz for some shopping. The taxi dropped us off and we walked the half block into our high definition color bubble. This bubble is a surreal place where you feel so utterly safe, so welcomed as you are, so utterly happy. All I kept thinking was, 'whoa, I think I have officially fallen in love with Madrid'. 

After having bought the most to die for patent leather short heels, a shimmery lip gloss and a silk nightie, I was ready to escape the heat at the Mercado's roof top oasis. All this was seconds from our apartment door. Misters and fans kept us cool as we sipped Cava under flower like shade sails, snug in a secret garden seating area, and like Dorothy, dazzled by the sight of her fabulous new shoes, I took a deep breath and let myself head down the Yellow Brick Road.  

For the first time, I felt at home.