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!

And Away We Go!

View from my front porch

It is my last day in my house and I am hiding in bed. It feels like if I actually get up and start the final to do list, it will become real. For those that missed my post on Facebook from a week ago, here it is:

I’m not sure why it has taken me so long to announce this, but we are moving to Spain in 10 days. All 3 of us. NOTHING WILL CHANGE WITH THE WINERY! That has been the first concern, understandably, when I have shared this news with the few people I have so far. I work remotely already, so I will just rely on zoom a little more; that worked during the pandemic so well it changed the way we do a lot of business. Jesse will have to travel back and forth to continue to make wine with his brother, work crush (harvest), bottle, plant vines… you get the idea. He also does things like the taxes and grape order planning that he can do remotely from Spain. Denali is lucky enough to have a flexible University Professor that is putting her film classes online so that she can study from afar. And of course, we are relying on our fabulous family and business partners, Chris and Lili, to manage day to day here at the tasting room and winery. I am looking forward to being able to take advantage of more of the opportunities I previously had to decline, to teach, write, and judge in Europe. The film industry in Spain is robust including a real enthusiasm for horror; as you can imagine Denali is excited about that. And Jess will be able to work with winemakers in so many amazing regions to polish his craft.

I know many of you will have tons of questions. How did this come about? Why Spain? Where will you be? Are you selling your house? And some of the answers are too complicated for this post, but the short answer is we are planning on northern Spain, Baque area and will share more when we get settled somewhere. We will airbnb the house (so please do share info when we post about The Vineyard House once it is ready). If you want to message me for more details, please use WhatsApp or download Signal. Both are easier and more reliable when I am in Europe.

It’s big, it’s scary, and we really value your support!

It doesn't seem real. I look around at the new furniture we had to buy to spruce up our living room for Airbnb and feel out of place. Our family photos have come off the walls and our favorite keepsakes have been lovingly wrapped and tucked away. My closet is empty and my beautiful car has been sold, it is as if I'm being erased. Numbness has now replaced the heavy tears and deep pain of saying goodbye. This has been my dream life, it is very hard to let go of it.

I am hoping to embrace the adventure of this move. My immediate emotions are those of being overwhelmed, sad and scared. I have never been to Spain so the unknown is daunting. We have joked about "Spain me" in reference to what to pack. Does Spain me wear hats? Yes, I think so! Does Spain me wear that dress that has been untouched for years? Absolutely. Now the big questions are worming their way in. Does Spain me know how to navigate renting a place, finding a home, in another language in a country I know little about? Does Spain me know how to live months at a time without my husband? That is a big one. Jesse is staying back to work crush for the winery and my heart hurts thinking of being without him for so long. This move will be an incredible test of my strength and resilience. I hope Spain me is up for the task.

I have promised that I will be on top of sharing our story so stay tuned! Spain me knows it will be a wild ride, wish me luck!