My first year here in Spain I entertained 30 visitors – friends and family. It was fun all the time… overwhelming and tiring at times… but always welcome!

The next couple of years due to COVID, I had many fewer visitors (almost none). While I love being here alone in my little paradise, I also love seeing my friends and family and showing them the wonders of the Costa Brava. So, after a couple of years “off duty,” the visitors are coming back! I’m putting on my tour guide hat again. The parade has begun!

In the past, I’ve not commented a lot on my travels. I guess I’ve had more to say about the culture and customs, but it seems time.

One of the first stops for all of my visitors to Begur is to Salvador Dalí’s house in Port Lligat near Cadaqués, Spain. It’s about an hour and a half from here and the drive, though slightly “white knuckly” toward the end, is also stunning. It’s a charming town just a hop skip and a jump from France.

Dalí chose to make his primary residence just up the road in Port Lligat. He took several old fishing huts and converted them into a somewhat bizarre one bedroom home (so that no guests could spend the night), studio, and garden for himself and his wife/muse, Gala. I could write about Dalí all day, but suffice it to say he was an eccentric artist whose house/museum is worth the price of admission. I’ve taken almost all of my guests there and been on the tour probably a dozen times or more. The guides recognize me now. I think I know the spiel by heart. Cadaqués offers several great restaurants!

Another recent visit was a return one to Canfranc station. This enormous railroad station is basically in the middle of nowhere, midway in the Pyrenees between the Bay of Biscay to the north and the Mediterranean to the south. It was chosen because of its position on a direct route from Paris to Madrid and because of its strategic location in a narrow pass between the mountains that would make invasion from France very difficult. Originally conceived in the 1850’s, the station was not completed until 1928. It was an important link between France and Spain and Portugal during WWII (“Casablanca of the Pyrenees”) – a safe passage for Jews, allied troops, and other refugees from occupied France. It was a place full of intrigue and after being taken over by the Nazis, it was also a vital link for trafficking tungsten from Portugal and Spain to Germany for the manufacture of bullets and tanks, in exchange for Nazi gold from Germany.

After the war, the station slowly fell into disrepair until it eventually was closed down completely in 1970 after a derailment. Recently, it’s been restored into a 5-star hotel, so a return visit was in order.

Pamplona is an all-time favorite of mine. Tapas are everywhere and are the best! Maybe San Sebastián has them beat, but Pamplona is a lot of fun. It’s the scene of course of the annual running of the bulls, and much of the small city is focused on bulls and the bullring. Catalunya where I live has outlawed bullfighting, proving how humane and progressive they are!

Valencia has impressed me. Catalans diss it, but it’s a beautiful city, the third largest in Spain. Besides the old town with its charming plazas, there is a City of Arts and Sciences – an area of town at the end of a long and vibrant central park built on a dry riverbed – with six very modern, dynamic buildings housing a planetarium, aquarium, science museum, and performing arts center.

My final stop during this trip was Tarragona, but my neck went out of whack and I missed the Roman amphitheater. Damn it. I’ll have to go back one day…

Often the last spot on my “tour!” of the Costa Brava is Sitges, a beach town with the reputation of being gay-friendly. That probably began during a time when the rest of Spain was not-so-much gay-friendly. But now, the city continues to have lots of rainbow flags and gay bars, but there are also families and tourists of all stripes. It’s just 25 minutes from the BCN airport, so it makes for a nice relaxing evening at a restaurant overlooking the sea prior to a stressful early morning flight!

Come try it with me!

And then there was a mural near the airbnb in Valencia (home of paella)! Wha? A lady with large tassled breasts in a frying pan where the paella should be!

That’s me on the top on the right!

Just kidding. It’s a child. Yes, they have the children climb up to the top of the human towers (“castells” in Catalán). They’re built at festivals in Catalunya, typically in front of the town hall balcony (as in my photos taken in the small town of Fontanilles). The activity was declared a “masterpiece of intangible heritage” by UNESCO and recognized as an integral part of Catalan culture. Castells were featured in the opening ceremonies of the Olympics in Barcelona in 1992. The first castell was documented in 1712, and in the 1980´s, women were permitted to join in, which allowed the towers to be built higher, sometimes up to nine and ten stories. The highest castell I witnessed being built was seven stories.

The castellers typically wear white trousers, a black sash, a bandana, and a shirt in the color of their team. The sash supports the lower back, and it’s used as a foothold or handhold when climbing up the tower. The castellers usually go barefoot in order to minimise injuries as they climb and also for increased sensitivity when balancing.

The castell is built in two phases. First, the base is carefully formed to sustain the weight of the tower. As subsequent levels are completed, the castellers in the base decide if it is solid enough for construction to continue. Members at the base act as a safety net if the tower collapses, cushioning the fall of people from the upper levels. When the signal to proceed is given, bands play the traditional music and silence is requested of the spectators. The upper layers are built as quickly as possible to put minimal strain on the lower castellers. The assembly is complete once all the castellers have climbed into their places, and the “enxaneta” climbs to the top. The enxaneta (a child) has to stand up and raise one arm, then climb down the other side, after which the remaining levels of castellers descend from the top down. A castell is considered a success when the tower is assembled and disassembled fluidly.

The disassembly of the castell can be the most treacherous part of the event. One of the towers fell while I was watching the spectacle in Fontanilles. I turned my back so I wouldn’t see, but it ended well with the members of the base protecting the climbers who fell.

The motto of the castellers is “strength, balance, courage, and common sense.” Accidents are rare during the construction of a castell; however, ambulances are stationed nearby. In 2006, a young casteller  fell off the formation and died, which led to the requirement of specially designed helmets for all participating children. There have only ever been four recorded mortalities.

It was a fun experience and although there are towers built in areas where tourists can be spectators, this event was solely for the benefit of the performers and the local audience. It was thrilling, and to my knowledge, there was not a tourist in sight. There was an olive oil festival at the same time. I bought some olive oil and some incredible black olives marinated in caramelized onions and some green ones in garlic and parsley. I love being a part of things like this.

This past week, I took a quick trip to Rogny-les Sept-Ecluses in France for my friend’s birthday. We had a fabulous meal at a Michelin starred restaurant, L’Auberge des Templiers in Boismorand. YUM!! My favourite is in the first photo: a mousse of raw shrimp inside a soft-boiled egg with some creamy foam on top and herbs. The second photo is of some delicious scallops, followed by shrimp with wasabi and a spider crab creation. Not really sure what anything was as the wait staff spoke little English, but it all tasted good!

The day I arrived to Gare de Lyon it was PACKED! It was like Mardi Gras in the Quarter back in the day! I was a little frightened about being crushed. It was a Friday and I think all of Paris was trying to get the Hell out of Paris! I was worried about getting back to Begur on the train. There were threats of cancellations due to the strikes and there was an added worry because there had been a breakdown on the high speed line in Barcelona the day before and 95 people had to be evacuated THROUGH A TUNNEL! Not something I’d like to experience! On the return trip, things had gone back to normal in the Paris station and my train wasn’t cancelled and all went according to plan. Whew! It’s always something!

The snow melted on the mountains, I’m wearing shorts (albeit with a sweater on top), and the tourists are coming. Everything changes with the weather: clothes come off, flowers bloom, things get busy…

I’ve noticed, and locals have confirmed, that the tourists and second-home owners are coming to the coast earlier in the year since the Pandemic ended. It used to be that things didn’t start ramping up until Easter, but COVID put a new spin on everything, especially escaping the cities.

I have a love/hate relationship with the tourists and second-homeowners here. The love part – I’d say that’s stretching it, more like the tolerant part – is that without them, the shops and restaurants are closed. And when they arrive, whoo hoo! We can eat out again, even during the week! And the cute boutiques where I overspend open their doors. But the hate part is that I don’t want to share. This is my part of the world. I live here through rain and WIND and dreary days. They sweep in during the sunshiny days and act like they own the place! But they haven’t suffered! It’s not just the suffering. They don’t have the appreciation of the calmness, the emptiness, the wildness, the beauty.

I don’t have much to report. During these past two weeks, amazingly, I’ve had no calamities! I did have one lovely experience. I visited a bird and animal preserve in a marshy area just about an hour north of me, called Aiguamolls. I saw storks, flamingoes, tons of ducks, wild Camargue horses, beaver, deer, cormorants, ibis, and other birds I couldn’t identify. The storks were amazing. They make a sound by clapping their beaks together. It’s very loud. The Preserve says that every visit is different, depending on the migratory birds that are taking a break at that location at that moment on their way north or south. And at one end of the preserve, it opens up onto a beautiful beach with a fantastic view of the town of Roses, Spain.

Oh, and I did stay up till 5:00 a.m. to watch the Oscars live last Sunday after walking 10 km earlier in the day. I don’t think I’ve stayed up all night since the disco days! It kind of whipped my ass. It’s always been something I enjoy watching, although the next day I had to skip yoga and I spent a large part of the day on the sofa.

The photos below of Aiguamolls wildlife are not ones I took myself. It was a very gray day and my photos aren’t very good, but these are representative of the exact sights I saw while there.

Bonus grocery store update. I bought this chicken thinking it was regular chicken breasts, right? Well, it’s chicken breast “extra fi” – extra thin. The breasts were sliced paper thin. I’m not sure the purpose of this cutting of the chicken, but it didn’t work out as planned for my chicken caesar salad.

Also, I mentioned previously about the big aisles in grocery stores dedicated solely to chocolate. This store, which I go to because the wine I like is on a lower shelf that I can reach, has a whole alcove dedicated to chocolate, the Xocolateria. Sorry, I cut the X off in the photo.

After Catalunya’s Christmas traditions of the shitting shepherd in the manger and the blanketed log that shits presents for children on Christmas Day [See “Poopers” post of March 5, 2019]…then we get the also weird, but less anally-related celebration of Lent.

Brazil and New Orleans come to mind when you think of Mardi Gras. Of course Mardi Gras means Fat Tuesday in French…but what about Fat Thursday (Dijous Gras)? Yes, the Catalans start early. They have a week of celebration before Lent officially begins on Ash Wednesday. Fat Thursday kicks off the beginning of Carnival or Carnestotles in Catalan. On this day, families traditionally get together to eat a potato omelette (truita espanyola), boiled eggs, bacon, and egg sausage (butifarra d’ou). The day also signals the arrival of the king and queen of Carnival. The following days are filled with parades of floats, dancers, and marching bands.

Ash Wednesday marks the end of Carnival and the beginning of Lent, and on that day a funeral procession featuring a brass band and headed by a huge effigy of a sardine winds its way through the streets of the towns. Once the procession has reached its destination, usually the main square of town, a character of upstanding reputation addresses the sardine with a satirical testament de la sardina. After the ceremony, the burial of the sardine takes place and its effigy is set on fire.

The King of Carnival, el Rei Carnestotles, is usually dressed in an outlandish fashion throughout Carnival and adopts an irreverent attitude at all times. He also dies on Ash Wednesday and is buried in a grave following a funeral procession, where he is accompanied by his widow and friends. The colorful costumes are exchanged for black mourning clothes. Traditionally, on this day fish is eaten. Of course.

The tradition was memorialized in Goya’s 1814 painting, El Entierro de la Sardina.

The primary symbol of Lent throughout Catalunya is an old woman with seven legs representing the seven weeks of Lent. La Vella Quaresma (“The Old Lent”) is a visual personification of the passage of the 40-day fasting period beginning on Ash Wednesday. The cod and basket of vegetables in the old lady’s hands are a reminder to stick to the diet of permitted foods. The tradition of the Vella Quaresma is to break off one of her legs at the end of each week until, on the final week, she is left without any legs. The tradition is directed at children who are happy to perform the leg-breaking task. To commemorate the end of Lent on Maundy Thursday, the Thursday before Easter Sunday — she is burned like the sardine.

There are various origin stories for these traditions, but they’re too weird to repeat.

I finally got my car inspected! And I got my official residency card! I’m sooo legal! Except I haven’t gotten a Spanish driver’s license…gotta keep it interesting, living on the edge…

My darling son and daughter-in-law gave me tickets to a concert in Perpignan for Christmas. Perpignan is about an hour and a half from me across the border in France. The concert was by an English singer named Charlie Winston who lives in southern France. I’d never heard of him, and it probably wasn’t anything I would have chosen myself. But, I gotta say, it was really fun. I talked my new American friend into accompanying me. She and I arrived at the AirBnb, which was a part of the gift. The owner did not speak English, so it was a great test of my French to arrange meeting at the location.

The concert was in a small venue. It was standing only, no seats. At the risk of sounding like I’m 100 years old, is that what the young folks do now? Anyway, once we got into the swing of things, the music carried us away, and a seat would’ve seemed superfluous. Charlie spoke in French throughout the concert. He was adorable and I was excited to understand some of his discourses in between songs. At one point, I became completely emotionally overwhelmed. It happens from time to time when I am struck by how lucky I am and what joy it brings me to be here living in another culture and communicating in other languages. I had one of those moments during the concert.

If you’re interested, this is a song of his I really like:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOgQBdSWB84

One of the British ex-pats I’ve met invited me to an event in her town called an Arrossada, which involves cooking a humongous paella pan of rice and other things over an open fire. There were two such huge pans to serve about 100 people. The price tag was 12 euros for a plate (and a second helping for those not full after a heaping plate of meat and rice), a roll, a giant sausage, a piece of cake, and a bottle each of wine, water, and champagne per table. What fun!

I made an American cheeseburger for my neighbor recently and I wanted to put pickle slices on it, but, there were no dills at any of the stores. I looked in the gourmet section at Corte Inglés, but they didn’t have any either. I bought some that were labelled “sour,” but they didn’t taste quite right. I decided to look at the Taste of America’s online store. Look at this weird stuff. It’s kernels (??) of pickles to put on pop corn? Does that seem right to any one?

The wind picked up here. It was blowing at around 30 mph, which isn’t that bad, except when it’s coming off of the sea and cold and CONSTANT. It does not stop for days on end. I guess that’s just the price we pay to live in this gorgeous place. I haven’t been able to take my recycling out all week because the bin would have blown away. But the wind brings crisp, clear skies and views of the mountains. This one is at sunrise so the snow caps look pink! It’s a little blurry because I zoomed in a bit, but you get the idea.

That was a slogan for Spanish tourism in the 80’s, together with the Miró sun. The slogan from the 1960’s was Spain is different. It surely is.

I bought a car last year and I realized when I returned that it needed to be inspected. Just about that time, a warning light came on in French. Because the car is French, a helpful repairman put the car’s language to French. The light said “defaut de la system electrique” which isn’t hard to understand – defect in the electrical system. It took me a while to find the right repair shop to address the problem, get an appointment, have it fixed. In the meantime, I couldn’t get it inspected. You know that feeling when you see a cop and you’re praying under your breath that they don’t stop you?

Once the problem was corrected, I went to have the car inspected. You have to go to an official outlet of the ITV –  Inspecciòn Técnica de Vehículos. I was a little nervous because I’d never done it before and I didn’t know the process. I found out that they take the inspections VERY seriously. It was a big establishment (not a Jiffy Lube kind of place) with several lanes of cars and trucks being inspected. I was required to stay in my vehicle while they took photos of my car and me in my car. Then a man who spoke like he had rocks in his mouth started barking orders at me of things to do. In the States, I would basically hand my car over to someone, and five minutes later they would say I was ready to go. In the Spanish scenario, they wanted me to turn on the windshield wipers, use each of the turn indicators, apply the parking brake, etc. The problem was I didn’t know those words in Spanish. There had never been a reason to learn car vocabulary. It was embarrassing and humbling, and in the end, my car did not pass the inspection!! Apparently, the car had previously been outfitted for a handicapped driver. The car was later retrofitted back to its original state, but the car’s paperwork that I had been given when I bought the car did not show that the work had taken place. Buff! as they say in Spanish. Needless to say, I’m still trying to obtain the proper documentation so I can get the car inspected and drive fearlessly again!

I don’t receive mail at my apartment because I’m outside the city in an area where there are very few full-time residents. I rent a post office box at the Post Office in town, but I had not done so yet, and there were some envelopes waiting for me in the general delivery. There were two from the State of Catalunya. I drove home with them unopened because I was terrified and certain that they were fines for driving too fast because there are radar and cameras on the highways. I finally opened them and one was a letter and the other a follow-up asking me to go online and take a survey. It said I had been chosen randomly. I can’t imagine such a survey in the US! It asked about my politics and religion and other personal questions. There were a number of scenarios where I was supposed to choose between two sets of adults who were seeking to adopt a child. Based on brief descriptions of the couples, I was asked to choose to whom I would give the child. Most of the couples were same sex, with varying degrees of education and commitment. Many were in “open relationships.” Wow. There were lots of questions about my feelings about gays and transgenders. It was very interesting.

A café opened in my grocery store and it advertised bagels. There was one that looked like an everything bagel, which is my favorite. I went to buy one to take home where I planned to toast it and put cream cheese and chives on top. I was told that I could not buy just a bagel. I could only buy one of the filled bagels, like sandwiches. I chose the one that I thought had the least amount of stuff on it in case I wanted to strip it off and start over at home. I ordered the nordic one – it had cream cheese, salmon slices, and PICKLES! It took the guy about 15 minutes to make. I think the bagel must have been frozen. He sliced it open and put it on the grill with OLIVE OIL! Then he slathered a shitload of cream cheese and salmon on it. The pickles were quite a surprise. Not Zabar’s in NYC!

I doubt any of you have cards, letters, or packages you want to mail to me, but if you should…I now have a PO Box.

Susan White
Carrer Sa Nau Perduda 28, #7
Apartado de Correos #19
Begur, Girona
17255
España

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks.

Pedestrians here have the right-of-way in crosswalks, so when I approached a crosswalk in my car and two young women were standing at the edge of the street, I slowed down to see if they were crossing. Instead, one of the women waved me down. It happens fairly often that tourists in the area ask for directions, so I pulled over and rolled down my window. One of the women asked me if I was going in the direction of Pals. Because I am so bad at directions, I told her I didn’t know. I was going in the direction of L’Escala to play Scrabble with some of the Expat ladies. She informed me that I would pass right by where they needed to go (about 15 minutes away). They were trying to meet up with friends because their car had broken down. I felt like I was being taken advantage of, because I’m nice, and possibly marked as a robbery victim or worse. The women looked VERY MUCH like the pair of hookers on Season 2 of White Lotus (photo below). The whole time we were driving, one of the women was chatting me up, I was certain this was so that I would let my guard down and would not expect it when she strangled me from the back seat. We arrived at their destination, they exited, I lived.

Last May when I saw an ad about Joan Manuel Serrat’s farewell tour and final concerts in Barcelona in December, I quickly went online to buy tickets. I bought the last two out of three available. They were seats with obstructed view and were not next to each other. A friend agreed to accompany me at the last minute. The only catch (in my mind) was that he would pick me up on his moto. I haven’t been on a motorcycle since 1976!

The concert was great. The stadium was full of fans eager to re-live their memories with Serrat’s music. He was touched. We were thrilled. I only cried once when he sang “Cantares,” one of his classics. The verses are lines of poetry by the well known Spanish poet Antonio Machado. I would try to translate it, but it would sound awkward in English compared to the beauty of it in Spanish.

The ad for Serrat’s last tour, El Vicio de Cantar (The Vice of Singing)…

This was the third of my three times ever riding a motorcycle. I closed my eyes and tried not to scream while I hung on tight for dear life!

A friend who saw this photo said I looked like the mushroom emoji! It’s true!

I spent Christmas and New Year’s with my friend in Rogny-Les-Sept-Ecluses, France, as I did last year. It was a low-key week full of holiday cheer, cooking, and watching movies, after some question as to whether the trip would be possible at all. The French rail workers went on strike, and my train scheduled for Christmas Eve was cancelled. Fearful that the return trip would also fall prey to the strike, I cancelled it and made a roundtrip plane reservation. The first leg of the trip was automatically refunded, but because the return trip was never cancelled by the French rail line, SNCF, my non-refundable ticket was not considered refundable. After various phone calls to SNCF with no resolution, I decided that my best chance of getting my 100€ back would be to visit an SNCF office and talk directly to an agent. With several hours to spare at the airport before my return flight to Barcelona, I went on a wild goose chase to two different SNCF offices at the airport. I even successfully explained the situation in French once, but to no avail. Yet! The comic moment came when I asked the information gentleman at the airport if there was a SNCF office nearby, and he said “you’re at the airport!, Madame!” No shit, Sherlock.

On New Year’s Eve, we opened the front and back doors at midnight to let the old year out and the new one in! Hope it worked! Maybe not…I have COVID AGAIN! I feel fine, it’s just a hassle at this point, so I’m lucky.

Here’s wishing everyone a happy and healthy new year!

My last post got me to thinking…what is better here and what do I miss from the States?

My off-hand comment has always been that I only miss certain friends and family and Mexican food. But what are the pro’s for each side?

• I do like the mild winters of the Texas Gulf Coast (except I know you all are currently frozen solid!)
• And I think the Gulf Coast has the best crab and shrimp in the world!
• I miss Tex-Mex enchiladas, chile con queso, good guacamole!
• And a Texas chopped beef BBQ sandwich is pretty damned good too
• Knowing how to do things! This can’t be overestimated – where to go to buy things, who to call to fix things, the list goes ON!
• Certain products are difficult or impossible to find: pickle relish, celery salt, sour cream, peppermints
• I’d like to have a coffee maker that I understand. I finally learned to operate it without destroying the pods, but now even after I put in TWO pods and push the button for the big cup, I still only get a half a cup of coffee. See below.
• Lack of fear – I am constantly worried when I pass the police, or I have to explain some complicated issue in Spanish to a clerk, especially one in a position of authority. I’ll write another post about my experience getting the car inspected! That was humbling.
• Clothes dryer, clothes dryer, clothes dryer!!!

So what’s so great about Spain? I always say I love everything about it — the people, the food, the music, the scenery, but it’s really about their love of life. They slow down, enjoy, take it in…

• They have so many holidays, which can be annoying when you’re trying to get something done, but here it’s an excuse to eat, drink, and be merry with friends and family
• The food is so fresh and you don’t have to go to a farmer’s market on a Saturday morning or spend a ton of money on things at Whole Foods — it’s everywhere
• Tapas, wine, anchovies, seafood, paella…this list goes ON…
• Although there are beautiful places in the US, the greater Houston area, including Galveston, is not one of them; here I have picturesque villages, snow-covered mountains, and the blue, blue sea
• I also can’t underestimate the importance to me of living in another language every day. it is a challenge and yet even in failure there is a sense of satisfaction
• I love the music! Although you can find Spanish radio stations in the States, I think it would be hard to find a station that plays Spanish, French, Italian, and music in other languages all in one car ride!
• Being part of a culture with a world view, not just an egocentric one
• The history and the culture, the art and the architecture – roman artifacts, castles, Dali, Picasso, Gaudí!
• Being among a group of people, the Catalan independistas, who self-identify as rebels of a sort; it’s catching! And speaking Catalan, or trying to, feels like I’m part of a secret society that has its own secret language – it’s so unknown in the world outside of Catalunya.
• The quality of life is very, very good!

I’m sure I’ve forgotten some things on both sides. I’ll append if warranted.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas! Feliz Navidad! Bon Nadal, Joyeux Noël!!!

I’m once again at my other home. I feel at home in both places – Houston/Galveston, USA and Begur, Spain. I even feel pretty much at home in Rogny-les-Sept-Écluses, France. The dogs seem to adapt pretty well too. There are definitely good points to living in the US and good points to living in Europe (maybe a future blog post). I’m very lucky to have the best of both worlds!!

It’s hard leaving the new kiddos, my one year-old grandson and my no year-old grandson. I certainly won’t be nominated for grandmother of the year. It’s too bad I can’t be in two places at once!

Going to Spain has never been about escaping from the US, although that was a bonus feature over these past few years. It’s more about trying to be the other me or more me. I may have said before that I think I was born in the wrong place or maybe I lived here in another lifetime (if there is such a thing), but there is definitely a feeling of home when I arrive. I cried coming through the Pyrenees. I love first spotting the giant snow-covered peaks.

The trip this time was pretty smooth, save for one semi-terrifying moment when my bad dog, Cassie, ate a couple of handfuls of melatonin gummies out of my suitcase the day before my flight! She vomited 5 times and started trembling, then later becoming somewhat lethargic. Besides worrying about her health, I was worried I might have to change my flight. But she rallied. Apparently she has a strong stomach like her mother!

During the fall in Galveston I learned that two of the four photos I submitted for the expat group’s calendar photo competition were chosen for the 2023 calendar. There were dozens, if not more, submissions, so I was pretty proud to have been recognized twice by the impartial judges. I’m no great photographer, so I guess I just got lucky. Now I’m super motivated to enter next year!!

Here are my photos which were chosen for February and November 2023.

Plus, here are my boys, Gordie and Goose.

Bonus photo. Note how they spell ketchup in Catalan.

And here’s to more (good) adventures!

Goodbye again!

I hate this. But going to France for a month is a nice way to transition from one home to the other. I don’t feel quite as sad to leave Spain because I get to visit my friends in the village of Rogny-les-Sept-Ecluses, France, on the way to the States.

This time I was in Rogny for the fireworks extravaganza, its 54th annual celebration. It doesn’t seem to be rooted in any religious or historical event, but just because. On the day of the fireworks, the town of 700 people swells by thousands of visitors. The city is closed off at noon, and no cars are allowed to enter. Those visitors who arrive after noon have to park on the outskirts of town and walk into the village, where there are chairs and temporary bleachers constructed for seating, as well as grassy areas for blankets.

Even though I’m not keen on fireworks (too loud), I’ve seen many fireworks presentations, and I must say, this small town puts on a spectacular show. Below, you can see (on the left) the locks in the canal (for which the city is named, but which have not been in use since 1887, when the new locks were constructed), where the fireworks are assembled for discharge. I’ve included some photos of the fireworks (disclaimer: photos of this year’s program are from the internet; my photos didn’t come out well), but they accurately depict the show.

Randomly, as there have been supply chain disruptions and product shortages world-wide, in France this summer, Dijon mustard (or, as they call it in France, “mustard”) is in short supply. A series of overlapping issues led to the mustard crisis, including bad weather.  Burgundy, where Dijon is located, experienced a wet winter, and some mustard producers harvested less than half of what they had expected to harvest. Then Canada, the second-largest mustard-seed producer in the world, had its exports cut in half, partially due to the the North American heatwave that occurred last year. This is serious!

OMG. News and rumors travel so fast in this small town!! Do you remember the game “Telephone”? We played it as kids. You sit in a circle and one person whispers “a secret” to the next person; that person whispers it to the person next to them; and so on, until the message has made its way around the circle. The last person says the message out loud and laughter ensues, because the message has changed so much since the first person uttered it. Well, that’s sort of what it’s like to live in Rogny. One villager remarked that you can’t fart in the town without everyone knowing! He called it a “blah, blah, blah town.”

A new development occurred when my friend arrived from the US to help me fly back with the dogs. We had planned to spend a relaxing week in Rogny, enjoying cookouts and time with friends and neighbors. But, my friend, who recently had COVID, and had two negative COVID tests prior to arrival, had a rebound case of COVID like President Biden recently experienced. Everyone in town knew my friend’s positive status within MINUTES!! Long story short, we left Rogny, and are unexpectedly spending a week in Paris prior to departure. I was sorry to have had to leave so abruptly, but this Paris visit has been a real lagniappe — no rush to see sights, just enjoying the food and culture for a bit. Walking the dogs by the Seine every day has been particularly pleasant.

I’m leaving in a few days for the US, and I will probably take a hiatus on the blog posts. But, fyi, apparently, I have 119 followers from 25 countries! Isn’t that insane? Of course, I’m very suspicious of the followers from China. Really? No bad motives? Hopefully, the others from non-communist countries are fellow travellers who are just interested in Spain…and not getting into my bank account.

See ya…