My neighbor’s ex-wife (before she was the ex) told me that he had promised her when she moved here that it would never get below 9°C (that’s 48°F). Well, that was a lie. It was 2°C degrees last week and it probably won’t be the last time this year. I know it’s often bitterly cold where some of you live, so I’m sorry if this sounds like whining. I always used to say I hated winter, and these same things do still bother me, though not as much:

1. The most important – it’s too cold
2. Too many clothes – hard to move, hard to drive
3. Always having to put on clothes, take off clothes, which coat is the right weight?
4. Getting sleeves (long, possibly with a sweater) wet washing the dishes
5. Dry skin – exacerbates the excema on my legs
6. Electricity in my hair – this may be the absolute worst!
7. Cold, gray days – just makes everything dismal

And it is correct that if you dress properly you won’t be cold. I’ll give you that, but it doesn’t relieve the other six problems.

I read an article in the expat newspaper recently that said the last thing that crosses most people’s minds when they think of Spain is the idea of being freezing cold. Per the article:

“…daytime winter temperatures in Spain can vary between minus degrees in the central and northern regions near the Pyrenees (I’m pretty near the Pryenees) to around 10°C to 15°C in the south. While this might not sound bad, the problem is often that houses in Spain are not well-equipped for winter and it can sometimes feel far colder inside the house than it does outside…. (no kidding!) One of the main reasons why Spanish homes are so cold is the lack of insulation, as many houses were designed to be kept cool during the hot months with little thought for the colder months. Combine that with the glacial winters some parts of Spain have, and you’re more than likely to keep your scarf and thick wooly socks on indoors. [I DO!!]”

One reader commented: “I was surprised that Spain had a winter at all. I’d never really been cold before moving to Madrid”. Another added: “My Canadian mother has said that the coldest winter she had spent was in Extremadura, Spain…and she lived above the continent on islands in the Artic for several years”.

“Particularly if you’re renting a place, you’ll often find that your house or apartment won’t be equipped with central heating.” TRUE! I have a couple of electric radiators and now an electric blanket that the dogs and I share/fight over.

The author added: “Hahaha I once met an English girl who was actually going back home to England for winter – she said that during winters she effectively freezes less in the UK than in Barcelona.”

Here’s hoping for an early spring!!!! Stay warm out there…

I’ve been told that returns in France are frowned upon, unless there is a defect in the item. Like in the old days in the US. It wasn’t that easy to return a purchase. You had to tell the lady at the counter “why” you didn’t want it and they didn’t always take it. Nowadays, as one friend put it, in the US you could throw your package up in the air and somehow it would get returned – it’s just that easy.

Because there’s a pandemic going on and I haven’t been shopping much, and also because there is a dearth of stores near me, I place a lot of online orders. And, sadly, shopping fills some inner void, but that’s a deeper discussion. Let’s just say the Amazon delivery guy and I are friends. But this also means, there will be returns.

I ordered a few things from a store that specializes in sportswear and sleepwear. I ordered a pajama top to match a pajama bottom I already had, and they sent me a pajama bottom in a diffferent color. I called Customer Service and they told me I had to take it to a physical store. Really? So, I drove an hour to Girona and went to the store where I was told they could not take back the item. I waited around while the clerk phoned headquarters and then told me that someone would call me to work it out. They called once while I was in London around Christmas and I missed the call. I just gave up — it was only about 7 euros.

I ordered a pair of shoes which I didn’t like when they arrived, so again I called because you have to get “permission” to return the item, and it was an ordeal. She said it was “too late”, but I said the internet site says 60 days, so after conferring with her superior she told me I was right. She said someone from a delivery service would contact me within the next day or two to pick up the item. I waited, and waited…no one came. So after about 10 days I went online to figure out how to call them back and I saw that the price had been refunded to me. I guess I have a free pair of shoes to give to a charity.

Oh, and there was the pair of shoes I ordered from Amazon France. When I took the package bearing the pre-printed label to the Post Office, I was told it was impossible. Apparently the shoes were from Slovakia and if you’re in Spain, you can’t mail anything to Slovakia. Period. I called Amazon and they allowed me to return the shoes to the Amazon Paris location, thank goodness.

Also, getting things delivered is tricky. Sometimes they will leave the package at my door, sometimes they won’t. And when they don’t, I have to go pick it up from a dropoff location. They’re all different — a tobacco store, a computer store (actually two or three different ones), a coffee shop, and a children’s clothing store. It’s interesting…

This just came. This’ll teach me to do the measurement conversion before ordering!! I decided I wanted a cast iron skillet. There were none in the grocery store or the hardware store and obviously, I don’t have Walmart, so I ordered one. It said 16 cm and it looked like just the right size. It looked bigger in the photo on the Amazon site. Doesn’t it? One picture shows a pie in it! I didn’t realize it was a personal-sized pie. Notice the actual pan next to my coffee cup. Damn.

“You have arrived at your destination” – GPS gets tourist trapped on staircase in Alicante old town

I saw this in a Spanish newspaper for expats this week! I’ve come so close to being in a similar predicament! Wow. The year of living dangerously when I had so many visitors and drove all over Spain and to France four times, I drove on some pseudo roads, and the lady in the GPS did not always have my full confidence. I’m proud that so far I’ve avoided a citation-worthy event such as this!

Also, this past week, another scary incident occurred when I was potentially exposed to COVID. This is my closest call yet, other than just being in a crowded station or on a crowded train or plane…maybe we’re all going to get the damn disease eventually, but I stayed home for five days, eating whatever was left in my fridge and trying not to potentially infect others.

I made it this time, but it seems that we’re all in a one-degree of separation situation, meaning everyone has had a close call. I know I’m preaching to the choir, especially to those working in healthcare, but I’m READY for this to be over!

I think we’re on the sixth wave, at least that’s what they’re calling it here in Spain, but to me, it definitely feels like my second isolation – COVID 2.0. The first time, in 2020, Spain imposed a strict confinement. But, it seemed everyone in the world at that time was in isolation, and was feeling the same pain. This time feels different to me. We’re all damned tired of being scared and being careful.

I don’t want to take it anymore. Lots of people have lost someone, including me, though a friend I hadn’t seen in some time. I certainly don’t mean to minimize the seriousness, but I feel like we’re all suffering, and we need some relief! Just sayin. I hope it ends.

They don’t let camper vans park in the cul-de-sac by my apartments anymore, but there are still a lot of people who hike around the area, following the paths or “camins” first created by fishermen. Some of the camins are more difficult than others, through dense brush or on rocky paths or steep inclines. Others have been improved by the local government and are easy to navigate. There is a promontory just next to my apartment that seems to draw a lot of hikers to climb to the top for the view…my view! So, it’s not unusual for me to look out my window and see some strangers poking around on the point not far from me.

The other morning, I woke up and was laying in bed contemplating the sky and the day’s weather, when I saw (without my glasses) a very weird bird flying past my window. When I sat up, I saw it was a drone!! I was wearing my nightgown, but it was very disconcerting. I don’t have curtains and I like it that way. I wake up with the sun.

I didn’t capture a photo of the drone, but I snapped one of these guys right out my window. I guess it’s no different than having people walk past your house on the sidewalk, but it feels more invasive and weird.

Ever since I came here, I’ve observed in the distance the three mountains just across the water, before the Serra del Cadí, the range of mountains that leads to the Pyrennees. The middle mountain bears what I refer to as a square nipple, because that is what it resembles from a distance, but it is actually a 13th century castle. A long time ago, I climbed flights of stairs during lunch with a friend (up to 50), and ever since, I’ve wanted to climb things – the Eiffel Tower (never have) and other castles and lighthouses, which I have, and now the Massif de Montgri where the Montgri Castle stands. I had yet to find anyone willing to take the challenge with me and I was a little nervous to try it alone (at my age, you know). A younger and very fit woman in my Yoga class who has climbed it many times said she would go with me when the weather improves. The 360-degree view of the mountains and ocean from the castle are supposed to be spectacular. I’ll let you know if I make it. Until then, below are photos of (1) the view of the Massif from my balcony, (2) a closer-up view of the Massif and its castle, (3) and the castle itself. I climb a fair amount in my daily walks, but they are for the most part paved. This is steep and rocky. Wish me luck.

Happy New Year (in Catalán)! Or happy another year. I really have no words for what we’re all going through, but it doesn’t seem “new.”

Eating 12 grapes at midnight on New Year’s Eve is a tradition and a superstition in Spain, one grape for each stroke of midnight. Each one symbolizes one of the 12 lucky months ahead. The biggest challenge is to not gag as you cram them in your mouth or swallow while laughing.

I read that the tradition “can also be particularly dangerous to elderly people and children under the age of five, where the risk of choking is significantly higher. For this reason, the Spanish Society of Otolaryngology has issued a warning where they advise the most vulnerable groups to avoid partaking in the popular custom.” Ha! I beat the odds! It was a bit of a challenge, but I got them all down and I’m looking forward to a very lucky year!!

On to the next holiday…Three Kings Day. The 5th of January is the day when children in Spain receive their Christmas presents from the “Three Kings”. Remember that on Christmas, they receive treats shitted out of a log! (see prior blog post). On January 6, Epiphany concludes the Twelve Days of Christmas. It’s the tradition on this day to eat a cake called “Tortell de Reis” (cake of kings). It’s a round cake filled with marzipan or whipped cream similar in appearance and texture to a New Orleans’ King Cake. Inside the cake instead of a baby are two surprises : a dried field bean and a figurine of one of the three kings. The lucky one who gets the figurine is allowed to wear a paper crown. The person who finds the bean has to pay for the cake!

The last photo above is of my Christmas “haul” from the city of Begur. Every resident aged 65 or over receives a basket of champagne, sweets, paté, olives, and a calendar! I love this place!

Here’s hoping for a brighter 2022! I had a great sunset tonight. I can’t resist these posts…

A week-long trip planned for London through Paris took some crazy turns because of Omicron. I took four COVID tests in five days: (1) to leave Spain to enter France (even though I don’t believe this one was required because travelers may enter one EU country from another, but I was afraid my American passport and American vaccinations might throw a wrench into the process and I didn’t want to take any chances); (2) a test in France in order to enter the UK; (3) once in the UK, a PCR test required by the UK government; and (4) a test in the UK to re-enter France. All were negative, but a hassle to find, to arrange, to stand in line for even with an appointment, and, of course, slightly uncomfortable.

But the biggest COVID disruption came two days into the week-long stay in London, when France decided that 36 hour later, it would not let anyone from the UK enter France without an essential reason. Despite the disappointment in not being able to spend the full week in London as planned, I did understand France’s decision. In Paris, everyone was required to wear a mask indoors and to show proof of vaccination upon entering a restaurant or bar, etc. But London, which has been one of the biggest COVID hot spots outside of Africa, did not require masks nor proof of vaccination. And of course, France just hates England on principle.

At least we had two days in London for fish and chips, a couple of Guinnesses, Harrods, and the Tower of London.

I felt a little like a refugee forced to flee, but after much consternation, confusion, and a lot of credit card transactions, a trip back to France was arranged. Luckily, my friend in France was happy to take us in. THANK YOU!!

While in the Paris train station awaiting the train to Nogent sur Vernisson, a man tried to steal my suitcase. I had placed the bag behind my chair and I didn’t notice anthing amiss until a French train station policeman (from the SNCF) asked me if the bag was mine. The policeman had a man firmly in his grip who was rolling the bag away and claimed it was his. It was mine, I said. The Police asked me to complete a report against the man who appeared to be scared and begged me not to press charges. I told the Police that I didn’t have time. My friend was meeting me at the station in Nogent and I had already missed one train and I did not intend to miss this one. After boarding the train, an announcement was made over the intercom asking that the woman who had been robbed in the station to please report to the platform. ME?? Oh Jeez. So, I de-trained and was immediately surrounded by four or five very nice, very tough, and very attractive French policemen who asked me questions and took down my information. At first they said they wanted me to wait for the Chief of Police to arrive. CHIEF OF POLICE OF PARIS??? I think it must have been the Chief of Police of the train station, or maybe the Chief of Police for all the train stations, but it was pretty impressive! The incident had already delayed the train for 30 minutes and people on the train and in the station were getting irritated.

Ultimately, the Police gave me the assailant’s name and told me to go to the nearest police station at my earliest convenience to make a report. I felt a civic responsibity to do so, but my friends convinced me that it would be my Christmas good deed to let the fellow go. He may have a family…maybe he needed food… He was pretty sketchy looking, but I let it go in the end.

What a friggin’ day! What if I’d lost all my blue jeans??

Christmas with friends and neighbors in Rogny was lovely (see below)…

And Post Script, my daughter is COVID positive as are two good friends. So, please, as they said on NYPD Blue, “Be careful out there”!!

I thought Tio Nadal meant Uncle Christmas because “tío” means “uncle” in Spanish. But, it turns out that “tió” means “log” in Catalán, which makes a lot more sense, since it is a log! A shitting log, if you remember from my prior blog post about this.

The children beat the log (which has a face and wears a traditional catalán red cap as well as a blanket to keep him warm) until he shits their presents. The log typically shits candy and treats. Of course.

I bought a stuffed log, instead of the typical wooden log. It seems more loveable. And I’m not going to beat him.

I went to the town’s tree-lighting ceremony last week. For a euro, I got a glass of champagne and a baggie with a chunk of angel food cake. There was a disc jockey playing mainly pop music, with a few Christmas songs thrown in, and a lot of the small children were dancing and having a grand time. There were lots of dogs there too (though not my ill-behaved ones).

I enjoyed feeling like a member of the community, and not a tourist.

Ham is more than a national obsession here. There are ham museums and countless shows, blogs, you name it, devoted to ham. I’m sure you all know about the Ibérico ham from free-range pigs who are pampered and fed acorns to give the meat a delicious fat composition and taste. The ham is graded to reflect the breed of pig, the percent of pure Ibérico genetics in the pig, and the quantity of acorns they eat…. The diet of the pig completely changes the flavour and characteristics of the meat.

The black label or Pata Negra is reserved for the finest of Iberico hams. It signifies that the Iberico ham has been produced from free-range, 100% pure-bred, acorn-fed Iberian pigs. The ham shoulders are hung and dry-cured for at least 24 months before they are ready to be eaten. This gives the ham an intense, rich taste. 

A red color label identifies Ibérico ham that has been produced from Iberian black pigs that are not pure-bred, but at least 50% black Iberian. These pigs are only acorn fed and free to roam . Often these pigs are cross-bred with other more common pig breeds.

A green label signifies that the ham is made from pigs that are pastured and fed both acorns and grain. Like the red label, the pig breed must be at least 50% black Iberian and free-range.

White labelled ham is considered the lowest tier of Ibérico ham. While the breed of pig is exactly the same as the red and green labels, the animal’s diet only consists of grain. Unlike, the other labelled Spanish ham types, the white label is not free range.

Ham is especially important at Christmas time. In the market at Corte Inglés in Barcelona, you can see hams for sale from anywhere from 99 euros to 599 euros !!! There are probably some even more expensive hams available in specialty butcher shops!

I also learned about a cut of pork I’d never heard of – the “secreto.” I had it in a restaurant in Barcelona and I thought “what is this??” It was sooo good.

Iberico pork secreto is a wide, flat piece of meat hidden behind the shoulder and under the back fat of the Spanish Pata Negra pigs. Fantastically tender and highly prized, secreto has a long grain with what appears to be stripes from the fat marbling. It has the tender consistency of a ribeye with the look of a skirt steak. When cooked over high heat, it gets a crispy crust while the juiciness in the pig is intact.

It’s all delicious! Buen provecho!! (Bon apetit!)

The other night the wind was 56 mph. Yikes. It’s all fun and games until the furniture starts moving on the balcony! Sometimes, sitting on my couch, I feel like I’m in a dinghy on the North Sea! The windows and the front door rattle and everything shakes – the flue in the fireplace bangs, the vent over the stove whistles. I have to lock the front door to keep it from rattling loudy and I have to put the doggy doorstop in front of the kitchen door to keep it from repeatedly closing.

One day I was in the parking lot at an area grocery store, and I heard some loud noises. It sounded like bombs going off. I almost took cover. I looked around and there were a lot of small objects on the ground. Without my glasses on, they looked like avocadoes. I thought maybe an avocado delivery truck had driven through the parking lot and lost part of its load! At closer inspection, it was pine cones. Every one that landed sounded like a firecracker or a bomb. They were flying out of the trees.

My neighbor said he read this was the worst November we’ve had in years. I think 2018 was just as bad. At least this year (so far), I haven’t had to load the dogs into the car to drive them to a protected areato wal k them!

I’ve always been a good speller. I can’t think of a time when I misspelled something (until recently). And as some of you know, I’m a pretty good Scrabble player. So, I’m worried.

First it was marshmallow, which I spelled marshmellow – an easy mistake because that’s how it sounds, and also it’s not a word I use often. But BOER? There’s no excuse.

I have to confess that I ask Siri fairly often how to spell a word while I’m working on my daily NYT Spelling Bee – but that’s a secret.

I’ve always been forgetful.I can remember my mother telling me many times over the years that I had a terrible memory and it should be better because I was young. That actually makes me feel better now because I feel like I’m no more forgetful than I always have been! I remember returning to the US after a year at the University of Madrid in 1973 and blaming my inability to remember words on my confusion between English and Spanish. Hardly…it’s still happening. So, in other words, so far so good for cognitive abilities…except for this spelling problem.

It’s depressing. None of us wants to lose our functionality. So I’m adding French lessons with a tutor to my mind-expanding activities. I’m trying!!