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. 

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.