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.