I'm Not Crying, You're Crying!

Oy! People strap in, this is one hell of a sappy, dorky episode of the blog.

I am crying, again, in public. This is embarrassing. The lights are glowing off the ancient stone walls as we dine alfresco at 8:30pm. We are early birds, but it was necessary that my parents drag me out of the apartment today. Today, Jesse left to return to New Mexico. We will be apart for 2 months and the reality of it hit me hard. 

He left Laguardia this morning in a sea of my tears and me actually begging him not to go. Ya, way to make this easier for him right? I couldn't help it, I felt like a kindergartener being dropped off on the first day of school. I knew it was hard for him to say goodbye too, he tried for both of us to give me the strong face, but I was unconsolable and he was struggling. 

Tonight, I sit outside with my mom and dad, white tablecloth and Gadsby lights aglow, a delicious glass of Cava in my hand and the hum of a party on the horizon. My parents were right, I did need to leave the apartment. We are at the same restaurant we dined at our very first night in Laguardia and it makes this all the more sentimental. The air has cooled to a lovely warm temperature. One of the wonders of Spain is that I am somehow always the right temperature. People have started to arrive from nearby villages as the band does sound check. Snippets of classic 1980's movie songs are perfectly impersonated and tiny tots line up close to the stage to shake it. Old women with canes line the walls, teenagers swarm in, people on dates, people happily just discovering the fun, and people rejoicing to see each other again all fill the streets. Everyone is jubilant. And I am crying. 

It was just as I started to feel the incredible gratefulness of being in this town, what an amazing time I have had, all the beautiful memories my family has had in this picturesque, idyllic, perfect place, that the singer started belting out the movie Dirty Dancing's hit song "The Time of My Life". And it destroyed me.

"Now, I've had the time of my life

No, I never felt like this before

Yes, I swear, its the truth

And I owe it all to you"

What the AF is happening?!? Yep, I am crying like a baby over how special it is to have been in this charming town and somehow it represents my move to Spain and our sacrifice and how much I miss my husband already, and I am dying crying! I manage to pull myself together before too many people see, but my mom has caught sight of it and she has joined in with silent tears too. I wipe tears, sit up straight and try to get into the party atmosphere. But something has happened, a switch was flipped on and I am suddenly deeply aware of my intense gratitude for being here, in Spain, as I start to watch people in the crowd with utter awe and revery.

The meal we have is incredible and I begin to absorb the way people here relax into life. The clothes they wear seem to be chosen to feel good on while also looking amazing. The fabrics, the cut of the dress, it is as if people have made choices based on how they feel good in their bodies, in their skin, in their place in life and it is intoxicating. Instead of sad I am ecstatic! This is MY new country! I see gay couples holding hands and kissing and I realize how long it has been since I have seen LGBTQ people out on the street expressing themselves freely and it makes me so unbelievably giddy to see it again. It is universal, all couples of every, race, age, orientation are showing love and affection to each other and it is beautiful. 

Just as I am really feeling amazing, we are dancing in our seats, and I think to myself "holy shit, I AM doing this and it IS going to be ok!", that this little cover band in the middle of nowhere Spain, starts in with Flashdance's "What a Feeling" and I am crying AGAIN!!! OK I know I am an '80s music dork, but this is a crazy happening even for me. 

"What a feelin', being's believin'

I can have it all, now I'm dancing for my life

Take your passion and make it happen

Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life"

I had started singing the lyrics and then sucked in my breath hard. Big juicy tears streamed down my face before I could do anything about it and I looked across the table at my dad who made eye contact just then, tears brimming in his eyes and wow, that was it, we were both a big sappy mess as people danced and sang  around us like there was no tomorrow, just this perfect moment and it was awesome. 

Now this might be the dorkiest of emotional outbursts you have ever heard of, I can't believe I am writing it down to share with you, but it was also one of those moments I know I will remember for the rest of my life. The intensity of this radical move, my parents by my side literally sharing in my tears, and the weight of being in the moment when you have a life changing realization... I have put it all on the line, this is amazing, this is terrifying and embracing this insane ride will be worth it. 

Ya, I just barfed a little at that corny ass last line too. But it is those moments that I think many spend their entire lives looking for. And lucky me, I got to have mine set to an '80s soundtrack!

What Day is it???

They say the world catches up with you. I guess that is what happened, the world caught up to me. We have had so much anticipation and stress around this move, the planning, the visas, the what ifs, it was bound to add up. The goal the first few weeks here felt like it was all about getting ourselves to Laguardia in Rioja Alavesa. That journey included throwing giant, heavy suitcases on and off trains, fighting with them down cobblestone streets, and stress with a side of stress. It all mounted and threatened my worn out body. After a sublime meal the night we arrived in Laguardia, I climbed into bed, back badly aching and a sense that I had pushed it too far, I sighed a deep breath of relief, we made it, and fell asleep. 

The next morning I woke to screaming, searing pain in my back and right hip. I couldn't roll over, I couldn't sit up, and I also now had a new level of that "cold" I had been fighting. That "cold" was covid. Over the next 5 days, I would slowly be able to stretch, do PT, and ice my back, all while battling covid dreams and popping the oh so tasty Paxlovid. It seemed I'd been put in a serious time out. 

Once released from my prison of pain, I could explore. Laguardia is a fairytale village that is so perfect it is difficult to describe. Yes the medieval city oozes charm with its centuries old walls, its stone archways, and ornate wood door entries, but there is something in the details that level this place up. Trash is kept outside the main walls, streets are pristine, tables in the allies have white table cloths, there is a wine shop every few feet and the elders of the community walk the narrow streets in what appears to be their Sunday best. Food seems to taste better here too! Rich yet delicate, complex yet only a couple of ingredients; the tapas and the wine sing through you. Time has slowed down here and I struggle to remember what it is like to be anywhere else.

Jesse arrived on a Tuesday afternoon. He flew to Bilbao and then drove to Laguardia, a brave move for someone with jet lag and new to the country. He was met with frenzied excitement from our group (my parents and our daughter) who clearly reveled in the idea of someone new to tell all our collective stories to. After a quick meet and greet with our little hamlet, Jess managed to load me and my bad back into the car and off we went to 'Find Home', just a small mission to undertake. 

Haro, a beautiful town that is called the Wine Capital of Rioja, was our first stop and definitely has charm and beauty. We strolled the streets, or rather I limped along the streets, my back spasming with each inconsistency of the cobblestones. We visited the glorious Catholic Church on the hill top, we sipped wine in the shade of the main square, and we tried to imagine ourselves making a home there. Without uttering a word, Jesse and I slowly looked at each other, raised our eyebrows and headed to the car. Nope, this was not the spot. There is no way to convey what a place feels like and how that feeling makes a clear dicision for you.

Feeling a little like Goldie Locks, I readied myself for Vitoria Gasteiz, a small city a short 40min drive from Haro. It was described as a gem, park like in beauty and drenched in greenery. It was also touted as one of the most culturally proud Basque places in Spain. I was excited to investigate what all the intrigue around the Basque people was all about! Driving in, there was more graffiti than walls which lead to the streets and even trees being the target of angry paint. Liter baked into the hot streets and people low on their luck found respite on benches or patches of grass. As our luck would have it, it was the annual Fiesta de Virgen Blanca, a multi-day celebration of Basque tradition with music and festivities for all ages. Everyone was dressed in traditional clothes, peasant dresses and bonnets for ladies, simple pants and shirts for men with a neck scarf added, and everyone, even babies, had the staple to the uniform on... thick, tall, woven socks and slipper like shoes that laced up the leg over the socks. It is definitely a curious look and begs you to wonder how it came about. If it was cold, thus needing the thick socks, why not wear boots? Or conversely, it is currently a very hot summer, why wear the socks? Anyway, we managed to find an outside table at a packed bar in the city center and soak in the spectacle. There was a rave at the church back behind us, some entertainers downhill from us doing tricks to 1980's hit songs and then we had a Mariachi band and a traditional flute and hand drum band dueling it out for attention on the sidewalk next to us. In case you wondered, the Mariachis won. 

A luke warm fish pintxo and a headache later, we decided to head back to the hotel before all hell broke loose. The young kids playing in the daylight had been replaced by rowdy, drunk people carousing in the evening glow. We knew The Bull was due to arrive soon, something we did not want to experience up close after reading a warning on how to stay safe while watching. The night would reve up without us, into a fevered pitch of frenzied mayhem as the final parade of the day, lead by a man wearing a bull head and flanked by a make-shift animal body filled with fireworks would run into the crowds and chase people, fire explosions igniting into crowds, people screaming, and the deafening bomb of explosions reverberating off the stone walls rocking through us even blocks away. It was obvious fun for the clan of Vitoria, but not the vibe I was hoping for.

Maybe during a giant festival isn't the time to decide about a city, but also, boy do you get to see its true colors. Needless to say, it seemed obvious to us that Vitoria was not the spot.

Quietly we drove out of the city toward our last stop on the Jesse and Michele find a home tour, Pamplona. Our disappointment was palpable, if we didn't like these spots, and we had not fallen in love with Bilbao, and Laguardia was too small, what were we going to do? Would we find a forever spot? And what does it mean if we don't?

Pamplona is a tidy little municipality that greets you with big trees and walking paths. The city center has colorful old buildings and winding streets that tangle together to offer a rustic charm. There is a flavor to this place, a vivaciousness that we had not found yet. We saddled up to the bar at El Rincon, affectionately known as the Hemingway Cafe, and ordered our Rosados. Finding ourselves now in Navarre the drink is pink. Dark in color yet bright and well crafted, these Granache blends are tasty and refreshing. While definitely having a strong tourist pull, we never struggled to find a table and the options to escape the heat and crowds were plentiful. After siesta, we headed to the park just outside the brick steps of old town. The enormous trees offered welcomed shade as they hovered over lush flower gardens and beautifully manicured hedges. In the middle was a garden set with lovely bistro tables and benches. A bar built to look like a gazebo, was glowing warm light and drew us to it. Now I am not saying I am a sucker for a cute place to sit that is also a bar, but I will say that 3 hours sitting there flew by in seconds! And while I am thinking about it, props to all the places we have visited in Spain that always have the local wine flowing and incredibly inexpensively. 

We walked back to our hotel via the Segundo Ensanche area which is the newer part of Pamplona and charming in its own right. We wandered into a lovely little restaurant and had dinner like the locals at 11:30pm. We swooned over the harmony of the local wine with the delicious, yet simple dishes. Arriving back to our room after 1am, we fell asleep feeling the deep satisfaction of falling in love with somewhere in Spain. 

Will Pampolona be our forever? That remains to be seen, but it is high in the running along with Madrid. Up next is Barcelona, Gionna, and Sitges to visit. It continues to be a bit of a game, the balance of finding a place that can support our daughter's film focus and also Jesse and I's wine industry needs. We seem to be figuring out how the world works over here, astonishingly it still feels beyond comfortable. Maybe that is why the Basque people wear those socks, maybe they are beyond comfortable and add an indescribable emotional support that you simply can't explain.

We Did it Our Way

Let's take a little pause in my Spain adventure to return to the states and talk about New Jersey Wine! Hey wait, don't go! Don't go! I know, you already think you know that NJ wines suck, they are all sweet hybrid grapes and poor winemaking skills to boot. But what if I told you that New Jersey is making some of the most stunning wines, from vinifera and excellent winemaking talent, I have ever tasted? 

Just like New Mexico, struggling against the old ideas of a long ago past where, yes the wines did suck. They too find that no one wants to update their perception of what the wines of the region are like today. That's where I come in... literally. My friend and International Wine Competition comrade, Sharyn Kervyn, decided to take matters into her own hands on behalf off these struggling producers and invite serious, extremely respected wine experts to come in from Canada, the UK, Italy, Ireland and across the USA to assess the wines of NJ. I guess she could now list me as Spain, wow, that's weird. Now this wasn't a competition, this was a showcase. It was supported by a group of wineries that are using 100% New Jersey fruit to be able to showcase their wines to a powerhouse of 12 judges in order to get real, not sugarcoated, feedback. They asked for detailed reports on not what they are doing right, but more importantly, what they are doing wrong. That is one hell of a bold move NJ wineries! It was immediately clear that this group was dedicated to the idea of bettering their wines until are respected by the wine world.

I absolutely LOVED this ballsy move and was 100% on board the minute Sharyn called me. Anyone willing to ask this level of wine judge to come critique your wines and honestly welcome feedback, is pretty rare. Scott Donnini from Auburn Road Vineyard & Winery summed it up beautifully "good feedback and positive reviews are great, but it is actually more valuable to us to tell us what is wrong with some of them or what we could be doing better. That is where we really learn." 

With a Master Certificate in Wine Faults, judging experience at prestigious competitions in 7 countries and a gift for pinpointing what is in the glass, I did not take this invitation to be honest lightly. Now keep in mind, we don't want to make anyone cry or give up winemaking. Our goal is constructive criticism. On the other hand, you are asking expert level judges, most of us also educators and journalists, to give you the low down and dirty on your wines. Yikes!

Upon arrival to New Jersey, the City of Camden and the Terroir New Jersey Wine Showcase sponsors really rolled out the red carpet for us. We were treated to wonderful dinners, winery tours, tasty lunches and great rooms at the Spring Hill Suites. Some nay sayers in the NJ community read this as "paying for ratings", believe me, we were not paid. In a show of respect, having travelled from all across the world, it is customary to put judges up and feed them. We all usually fetch a good wage when paid for our expertise, along with airfare, lodging and meals to be included. No one could afford to pay the 12 of us to show up to an event and pay each of our bills. This was done as our favor to the wineries brave enough and determined enough to ask us there. 

I do have to rave a bit about the food before getting to the wine. The brick oven fired pizza and lamb chops at Sharrott Winery for our welcome dinner were to die for, the lovely pass around apps and epic view of The Boathouse was incredible, the delicious flatbread lunch and apps at Auburn Road Winery were sensational, and a jaw dropping 6 course wine dinner at Wanda's was over the top excellence. 

A quick aside (is she ever going to talk about the wine??? geez!). Wanda's Restaurant is a beautiful, cozy restaurant located in Haddonfield, NJ. If you know that name, then you are my people! Haddenfield is the name of the town from the horror movie franchise Halloween. I get that I sound like a total dork sharing that I excitedly took pictures of the welcome sign as we drove by it on the way to dinner, but that is because my daughter is a horror film buff and I had to text her the photo. She is also a film student in college who just happens to have made a horror short film (recently an official selection at an all women's international film fest) and finished her first feature length horror film. I also happened to be in the car at the time with my daughter's mentor, Emmanuel Kervyn, a famous European horror director (married to Sharyn) and he was very encouraging of this behavior. 

OK, finally let's talk New Jersey wines! Honestly I was shocked, we all were. Very few wines we tasted were flawed and those that were, were mostly facing volatile acidity issues, a manageable problem. The informal judges "rating" system we used was the glass/ bottle/ won't share concept. Many of the wines we tasted were good, meaning they could use a little work, but you'd finish the glass. Most of the wines were very good showing varietal character, complexity and if it was a hybrid, restraint. These wines fall into the level that you would buy a bottle after tasting it. And a surprising amount of wines we tasted fell into the exceptional category which is to say that the wine is wonderful and not only would we buy a bottle, we probably wouldn't share it with just anyone that came to dinner. The 12 of us eagerly shared notes at the end of the day, assessing the over all imprint of the tasting experience and all of us were thoroughly impressed and excited!

We were also lucky enough to get to visit a few wineries which gave us a good idea of the flare of the industry. Many, many, many years ago I visited Walla Walla Washington and the tasting room scene was not exactly on point yet. There were the occasional beautiful estate properties with lux tasting rooms, but most were simple and straight forward with a few being in the winery itself. One in particular had the winemakers in overalls serving on a plank of board over 2 sawhorses. None of that matters if the wine is excellent. But there is a certain look that screams, this is good enough, and good enough isn't that great. It reflects poorly on the effort put into the wines. All burgeoning areas have these types of wineries, it is to be expected, but it is also really exciting to find those gems that are looking at the entire picture and going for it. Attention to detail does make a difference and does reflect on your winemaking. Those guys in overalls serving on a plank of board didn't need a fancy tasting room to make their message clear. They were out in the field tending vines and stopped, got off the tractor to come in, and proudly serve us wines. This is a detail that is appreciated, it shows they care even if it isn't fancy. The tasting room that looks like it fell out of a Temu ad, makes you curious about what corners they are cutting in the winemaking too. I can happily report most of the wineries were putting a lot of thought behind their tasting rooms.

I was also impressed that there were stand out wines at all of the wineries we had the pleasure to visit and experience at the lavish judges' dinner. Of those I have to highlight Sharrott Winery's Cab Franc and their Bellview Brut Pet Nat NV (those of you that know how I feel about Pet Nat will understand just what a compliment it is for me to recommend this wine), Cedar Rose Vineyard's Silica white blend and their Blaufrankisch, William Heritage Winery's Pinot Blanc and their Limited Release Proprietary Red, and Bellview Winery's Gruner Veltliner and their Viognier were all very good. I can confidently suggest you explore each winery's list to see what fits your palate, but if you want to order blindly, you may take my suggestions, I think you'll be very happy with them. 

As a professional wine judge it is important that you know I recommend the following 2 wineries not out of personal taste, but because they are showing excellence in their craft. Those wineries are Auburn Road Vineyards & Winery and White Horse Winery. I also really love a well made wine that shows place while expressing the grape and the skilled hand of the winemaker so in that way I guess they are ALSO to my personal taste.

Auburn Road is located on a piece of idyllic wooded property. You arrive at their charming and beautiful tasting room, welcomed by the tidy vineyard and tempting outside patio. We had our tasting under a vine covered pergola. Seated at the large wood table, a thin piece of white linen pulled down the length of it, cheese plates with warm from the oven flat bread perfectly plated were strategically placed making this experience a very shabby chic, Instagram moment vibe I absolutely loved. Husband and wife team, Scott and Jules Donnini are warm and welcoming and clearly passionate about what they do. Scott is a natural frontman with an easy nature and friendly smile. His wife, the winemaker, exudes confidence and knowledge despite the obvious worry on her face as she pours her wines for an intimidating group of know-it-alls. She doesn't need to worry, they are fantastic wines. We start off with a methode champenoise sparkling Gruner Veltliner that made 12 judges heads pop up from their glasses all at once, wide eyed, and gawk at each other. Words didn't need to be said, we were all in agreement, WTH was this?!? Jules quickly started to explain her choices and what she thought she needed to work on for the future vintages. Almost simultaneously we all started to interject, don't do anything different (well maybe enhance the bubbles as she mentioned she wanted to do), this wine is incredible! Beautiful minerality and balance while giving the most perfect varietal expression and lightly yeasty bouquet making this bubbly my new obsession. Their traditional blend sparkling was also brilliant. It could easily be mistaken for a true Champagne. The tasting continued with wine after wine showing to be really impressive and crafted with skill and intention. 

My other super stand out, White Horse Winery, is an oasis of park like beauty. The path that leads you to the tasting room winds through lush gardens onto a big wooden deck. It is truly difficult to leave this incredible garden delight to venture inside. The grand open inside focuses you toward a giant square bar in the center.  I had the pleasure of sitting with winery Owner BJ Vinton and Bordeaux born and raised winemaker Edward Sparks at the judges' dinner the night before so I had a leg up on the other judges having had the opportunity to grill them privately for 3 hours. The synopsis is that BJ had a vision, he was able to bring in an old friend who is an incredibly talented winemaker, and bam! You have magic in the bottle. The Albariño is fresh with herbal notes and light citrus. It is so clean yet expressive, like all of their wines, but also bright and straightforward. They make excellent whites wines, but the reds, oh mama, there is where I fell in love. In particular I loved the Syrah, which was elegant and nuanced, as well as the Painted Red Bordeaux like blend that had well yielded power and grace.

My take away on New Jersey wines is that these are winemakers that came to play and are not messing around. Across the board I was truly impressed by their Cab Francs and surprisingly floored by everyone's Chardonnays! While they want to hang their hat on the ability to make delicious wines from the Chambourcin grape (they are spot on with their marketing genius of the Couer d' Est blends uniquely made by each winery, but always showcasing Chabourcin), it is the Chardonnays I think that will bring the lime light their way. As the weekend drew to a close, the slogan "New Jersey Wines; We Did it Our Way" took root. A reference to New Jersey native Frank Sinatra's song My Way, this tagline seemed to sum up the energy and determination of this clever wine region.  All that is left to say is watch out world, New Jersey Wine is comin to getcha!

Bilbao Blues

5:00am is too early to wake up and be expected to function, especially in another language. After finally getting a taxi to the train station, we were rattled, but relieved we'd made it in time. We queued up and went through security. My daughter's bag was flagged and security says there is a knife inside. We looked at each other in shock. I asked her if she packed a knife, she says no and looks confused. We tell security "no, no knife", scan again. They scan again and this time get other officers involved. Quickly a male officer escorts Denali to a side interrogation area. He is speaking Spanish fast and in an annoyed manner. I try to tell him we are confused, but he is starting to get agitated as Denali repeats "I don't have a knife!" fear brimming in her eyes. We open the suitcase and I get the idea that he wants me to search. He keeps hitting the board next to him with his pointer finger. The board has images of things you can't take on the train. This is seriously not going well. Then my hand hits metal and I pull a small folded pocket knife from her bag. I must have been white as a ghost because as he starts to yell at her mimicking the "no knife, no knife!", because when he turns to look at me, he calms down. He takes the knife, opens it and puts it up to the images on the board. It matches an image of the size ok to travel with. He waves us to close the suitcase and get out of his disgusted sight. I have a micro heart attack and leave the room.

I don't need to ask my daughter any questions or be angry with her, she is doing a great job beating herself up about it. She had flung the knife on a pile that was intended to go to Spain at some point, not the need right now pile, but that pile had gotten tangled with the filling of the suitcase and evidently fell inside without either of us realizing it. Bummer right? This is a really, really hard morning.

The train to Bilbao is a 4 1/2 hr scenic ride. Arriving in the city center on the edge of the Casco Viejo (old town), is stunning! The history of this place is everywhere you look and it is bustling with people. A short walk to our hotel, Petit Palace Arana, is a total pain in the ass dragging our overly stuffed, knife hiding, heavy bags on the cobblestones. We heave them into the lobby and weave our way up the side street to a restaurant to pout in. This group was in need of food and a glass of wine badly.

OK so it was not the best way to discover Bilbao, but there was also something else, something that felt really different here. The incredible architecture is picture worthy with every step. The weather is cool and refreshing. The food is amazing! So why are we not connecting with this charming city? We get back to the hotel and enjoy the wonderful custom of siesta. When we wake, we decide to try re-meeting the city with a fresh face. Denali isn't up to it, she has crumbled under the weight of the day and needs alone time. My parents and I hit the "new square" hidden inside Casco Viejo. Pxinchos (the word for tapas up in Basque country) restaurants line the large square. Each small open eatery has its own style, vibe, and take on the popular pxinchos. We opt for the 1st adorable one we see and manage to find a seat. I hit the bar and order 3 of the pxinchos with jamon, queso and something drizzled over it. I order 3 glasses of Cava to go with it and we cheers to the new adventure of a new city to discover. 

There is a cool breeze in the air the next morning making it jacket weather, but the sun is shinning and we have discovered there is a Blues Festival happening on the square out in front of our hotel. We assume that is why there are so many people packed into the streets, later I will learn that it is pretty much always like that other than in the depth of winter when it rains constantly. Ding! Ding! Ding! Folks, I think we have found the reason we are having a hard time in this part Amsterdam, part Budapest, part Vienna like town... so.many.people. Big tour groups filled with tourists not looking where they are going, Spaniards escaping the heat of the south pushing past you, local homeless people begging for change, and the odd little group of shellshocked Americans unaware of customs looking completely lost. It is a little bit of a shit-show.

Traveling under the do-you-want-to-live-here pressure sure does change things. Once we decided, Bilbao, at least Bilbao proper, isn't for us, we could relax into the fun of this gorgeous and amazing city. If you are thinking to yourself 'man these people are tweakers', you are correct LOL! Sending 2 people with anxiety to scope out where to live was either the dumbest idea or the the best idea since we will over think every single thing. Every, single, thing.

Has Bilbao been all pain and suffering? Absolutely not! It is fantastic here! I actually mastered the pxincho ordering, which is scary as hell people. They are NOT patient when it comes to serving all these people at once. Sometimes 3 people deep at the bar, the pxinchos are laid out in cases, beautifully lined up like little works of art, you make eye contact raise your hand just above your head with 2 fingers extended and BOOM that is your one moment to yell all the things you want. Not sure what kind of wine or beer you want? Oops, too late, try again in 30 mins. Pro tip: It is mandatory to discuss with the group what everyone wants and send 1 representative to the bar. You then have to yell the order (misprounounced I'm sure, but close enough to get the point across) confidently. Drinks fly out 1st, then the pxinchos. You order 1 type at a time, then eat standing up unless you luck out with a barstool. My daughter, who is 19 and a redhead with fabulous freckles and dramatic features gets a lot of attention so naturally she scores a barstool. Next you make a choice, either you order another pxincho at the place you are at, or you finish your drink and move next door to the next place. Eating and drinking is slow and easy, hard for us to adapt to, especially standing up, but ordering is fast. I absolutely love eating like this! Not the standing up part, but the small dishes. I have done tapas before in the states, but these really are unique. simple and yet packed with complex flavors. They are small yet pack a punch. The wine is fantastic including the cheap stuff. This I already knew because, well, I study wine for a living so that was actually the only thing I did know about Spain. Yes, this really is my 1st time in Spain, EVER. No really, 1st time.

After enjoying our dinner at 9:00pm, yep we ate early, we headed to the Bilbao Blues Fest. Denali and I love the blues so this is outstanding timing for us to be in the city. Paid seating is surrounded with opaque fencing and they get to see the band on stage, but the rest of the incredible tree lined parque is able to enjoy the concert for free watching on giant screens with an epic sound system. It was Jimmie Vaughan playing when we showed up. My dad knew before we even got to the square, he is a music guy, both my parents are, having grown up seeing ALL the greats live in L.A. it seems to be in their blood. We are having a fantastic time and that is when it hits me, a poignant moment where I think whoa, this is my life now. I have a pang of sadness as I become homesick for all the familiar things and the people I love. I think of my father-in-law, Dick, who would absolutely love being here at this concert. I think about how far away I am and how much I miss our evenings on our beautiful porch overlooking the new vineyard, tea lights glowing warmly, and Denali playing some obscure old blues she's managed to discover. A glass of Vivac in hand and the intense appreciation of a perfect life. I snap back out of it before I cause a scene wailing in public and try to replace that heartbreak with the incredible magic moment we are experiencing right now. 

We walk home to the hotel so happy. It is 10:30pm and the same temp it was at mid-day. I climb into bed and watch a murder show with my amazing daughter. I soak in the joy on her face, the disappearance of stress that had been permanently plastered to her eyes, and I know, this is right, this is going to be great. My entire body relaxes in a way I haven't felt in years. 

And then I get a cold.

Ole!

Our final night in Madrid was with a show at the Teatro Falmenco. This little theater is located in a super cool little neighborhood a mere block or two from the bustling Gran Via, yet a world away. The worn brick, winding roads are flanked with old charming buildings. Cafes tumble out onto the sidewalks with bistro tables and big umbrellas. This area exudes casual hip vibes. It made me want to smoke cigarettes and discuss philosophy over an espresso.

Having been told this is THE place to see Flamenco in Madrid, I hoped I could use it in a story I will later shop to my editor. Having used my press pass, they welcomed us through a private side entrance and ushered us up to a private balcony with a bird's eye view of the stage. Glass of wine in hand, the show started. 

After some lively group numbers, the lights dramatically snap off. The spotlight comes on and is illuminating the Bailaroa La Seniora, now solo in the center of the stage. She is dressed all in black lace and has tapped into some soulful loss. Her face tilted up as if looking directly into my eyes, she conjured the most achingly beautiful pain to sweep over her. Her hands beautifully twisted into picture perfect poses and she started to dance. The fast footwork is incredible, the pounding of her steps so intense you can feel them in your chest, but it is her face, her duende, that clutches the breath in your throat. Hot tears streamed heavy down my face as I commiserated with her sorrow and loneliness. When the stage goes black, I try to quickly pull myself together. The lights came up blazing with the Bailaor commanding the stage. He began to stomp the stage in such a powerful fashion that you could see the wood beneath his feet bending under the force. His dancing was a phenomenal feat of the impossible moving so quickly your eyes couldn't distinguish individual moves. The other dancers, singers and guitarist swirled layers of song and rhythm around him, all of them lost in an intimate exchange that we voyeuristically witnessed. Then came La Senorita in a polkadot dress with a train stretching far out behind her, its contrasting red tulle making it slide around the stage as if it were floating. She was the closer of the night and she hunted your admiration like a stealthy jungle cat. Her dance started slow and conservative, castanets clicking, then whipped into a masterpiece of origami work with her skirt while spinning voraciously, the pounding of her feet, the roll of her hips, the cunning look she'd cut over her shoulder at you, it was intoxicating. The show was only an hour, but you felt as if you'd left the planet. My daughter was gobsmacked, vibrating with emotion. I was still trying to grasp a breath and find my heart, the one La Seniora seemed to have ripped out and taken with her, when a theater security person appeared and asked if we would like to meet the artists and have a photo taken. Dumbfounded we followed him backstage where we were suddenly face to face with the sweat soaked magicians. They were just people, extremely talented, hard working people, but just people so why could I not speak? I definitely did not play it cool. We posed for photos together and they thanked us for coming to the show. My daughter gawked, I hoarsely grabbed at Spanish words I was struggling to remember, and then in a flash, we left the theater and were out on the street in the bright light of 9:00pm Madrid. 

We were giddy as we walked the beautiful streets of this hidden neighborhood. We stopped at a cafe for a bite and a drink, but really just to make the night stretch on a little longer. Madrid had been a loving friend the last 4 days while we searched for emotional stability. It was hard to think of leaving, of moving on to a new town to explore. It sounded like a lot of work. So we ordered another drink and let time slow down as the city enfolded us one more time.

The next morning we woke at 5am and hit the dark streets to hail a taxi to the train station. Other families with luggage dotted the large street and nafarious looking people that had clearly been up all night seemed to eye us. The kid working the front desk at the hotel told me he couldn't call a cab. He couldn't or wouldn't I asked myself. Taxi after taxi I waived down said no to either the amount of bags we had (it is a group of 4 with 4 suitcases and a small personal item each, this is not extreme) or to going to the train! Frustrated, I turned to my Uber app which now wouldn't work. For no reason at all it was putting my location a mile away and while I usually can adjust this easily, it was not cooperating. I went back to the hotel person and begged him to call someone. He instead spoke to a taxi driver that was there to take people to the airport, the favored destination for taxis at 5am it seems. Everyone was speaking in fast Spanish and while I couldn't tell what was wrong or why I was missing the idea here, I did understand the "no, no, no". 45mins had ticked away, the only train for Bilbao waiting for us, and I lost it. Trying Uber once again with zero luck, I had a moment where I considered throwing my phone into the street or maybe myself. Just when it seemed all was lost, a taxi pulled up and saved the day. We made it to the station with plenty of time to pass through security ...and have my daughter hauled off to a side cubicle because they claimed she had a knife in her bag.

(to be continued)

Drinking in The View

 

Look! Spain me DOES wear hats!

After the jet lag faded, we were able to confirm that, yes, Madrid IS fabulous! Immediately there was a sense of acceptance and ease that I can't quite explain. It isn't just a laid back feeling, it is so much more.

We took the mandatory siesta and ventured out as the sun went down. The heat of the day was starting to dissipate, but it was still worthy of a few moments standing under the misters in the Parque de Espana. We wandered around the stalls in the Festival de Cinema at the outdoor theater. Later a movie would be on the huge screen, people wearing headphones enjoying a show while drinking Tinto de Verano and smoking cigarettes. The smell conjures happy memories of my grandparents, my grandfather enveloped in a cloud of smoke happily humming a tune. The air has some humidity, but is still that thin, fresh crispness I love. There is an aroma of flower scents and someone's perfume that wafts by me. It is all intoxicating. We wander up a street and find a bar with seats outside. Delicious tiny tacos and an unhurried pace let us lean into the night. We return to the hotel and sleep like the dead.

The next morning we keep it simple. We do a little shopping, after all Spain me needs a few things. My daughter is light and laughter incarnate. The weight of living under stress, strain and oppression has lifted and when she cries happy tears and says "mom, I am so happy here" I cry with her. My tears are those of relief. I was so scared to take the leap, head into the unknown. Now standing here, I can't believe how fabulous it feels. We enjoy another siesta and manage to go out as it gets dark aka the proper time, and find a little side street restaurant. The meal is incredible, pork loin on a toasted piece of rustic bread slathered in béchamel cheese sauce and ribs grilled with a Pedro Ximénez sherry. The heat of the day is behind us and the warmth left over wraps us in a gentle hug.

Our second morning we woke late. My daughter's creative juices are flowing so we stayed up all night discussing a new storyline for her next screenplay. Her film career has just recently gotten a little boost with her short being an official selection to the Women's International Film Festival in South Dakota and her mentor, Emmanuel Kervyn, having screened her feature length film and raved about it. Now, with the freedom of being in Spain, out from under the stress of censorship and hostile politics, she is a fountain of excitement! The late start to the day doesn't matter, we have only one plan for today, to follow my friend Norman's suggestion and go to Azotea del Circulo. 

We arrived at the grand building that houses Azotea del Circulo and checked in for our reservation. It seemed this place was a bit of a secret with hidden signs and a quite gesture to the elevator tucked around the side of a large wall. This oasis is a rooftop bar with a view of Madrid you simply cannot believe. Luxury lounge spots and tables poised at the railing to take in the view give you delightful options to while away the afternoon. Aperol Spritz in the glass, a smattering of delicious snacks, and the picture is complete. No one hurries you here. The world has stopped and you get to soak in a new reality. 

The hours unfurl and I am left with one thought: Spain, where have you been hiding?

The Local Time Is...

We have arrived! After a whirlwind few days in New Jersey tasting NJ wines, we flew overnight to Madrid, Spain. The side trip allowed me to be a table Captian for a first of its kind showcase evaluation of 100% New Jersey made wines. It was a stellar experience that deserves its own blog. More on that soon. 

As I exited the plane at the Madrid airport, I was greeted with the fresh, clean aroma of white florals in the air. It was a subtle tint to the environment, but a welcomed introduction to a city I was nervous to meet. It feels a lot like a blind date, I am self-conscious and shy, hoping it is a match. The airport is huge, yet artistic. The giant ceilings constructed of warm wood beams swoops and swirls overhead, like water ebbing and flowing. Giant murals show Picaso's influence and beckon you into the city for new exhibitions, shows and culture. Immigration went smoothly and we got the all to important entrance stamp for our visa submission. The officer looked like Ben Afflict and winked at me, flirting in the most warm and gentle way. Hey now, Spain IS friendly LOL!

Our taxi into the city center where hotel Espahotel Gran Via is, was made incredible with a car that had a glass roof allowing us to gaze up at the incredible architecture around us. A couple things immediately surprised me. One was the massive amount of trees incorporated into the city. Somehow with all the talk of how hot the city is, I expected it to be barren and exposed. The other thing was that it is a very European city. OK wait wait, before you start thinking I am a total moron, I did know it was a European city and that Spain is in Europe, but the feeling of the city I had somehow transferred over in my mind to feel like Mexico. Having never been here, but having travelled to Mexico many times, my mind tried to form some kind of imagination of what to expect. I envisioned the warm, vibrant, soulful well worn comfort of Mexico, but what I have found is a city reflecting back old world charm and vigor full of regal authority. With how much time I spend in Europe for work already, this was instantly familiar and I realized how silly it was that I had not imagined it more properly from home. 

Home. 

That word is carrying a lot of weight for me right now. I am currently without a home. Flying in the pilot did the "Welcome to Madrid, thanks for flying with us" bit. Us frequent flyers often stop hearing all these announcements as they sound the same everywhere you go, but this one gave me pause. Two of his sentences were haunting, "If Madrid is your home, welcome home..." and "We look forward to having you fly with us again soon". They hit me in my emotional solar plexus. Whoa, welcome HOME. Whoa, I don't have a return flight. Whoa I am not going to be flying with you any time soon. Reality swept over my forehead in a cold sweat, my breath sucked in sharply and I had a moment of dizziness.

Holy shit, I just moved to Spain. 

***I will be updating the blog regularly so all of you can track this wild adventure. Please subscribe so you get automatic updates!