Yep, we missed that train.

On Sunday night as my friend and I were driving down the highway, I saw an utmost unusual sight.  It was big, had four wheels, four doors and what looked to be a plow on the front end.  Could it honestly be a snowplow?  But, to have a snowplow there must be snow, right?  Well, then I went to practice last night and was greeted by my coach who was wearing a big, almost proud grin on his face as he asked me “did you see the snow this morning?!” I gazed back at my coach in an almost mystified trance and then managed to ask him, “Did I need a microscope in order to see it?”  I think I may have hit a sore spot with that comment, but seriously, are they meaning to tell me that the massive beast of a snowplow that I saw hibernating on the highway the night before was there to clear the roads on Monday morning?  

A light dusting in Madrid.

Here in Madrid, the tale of snow would lay more comfortably between Goldilocks and Pussin Boots than it would on the streets of Alcobendas.  I am told, however, that it did snow at least once during last year’s winter months.  The temperature has dropped a bit in the last couple days, forcing me to dawn my winter hat and scarf, but I’ll believe the snow when I can see it melting on my own two eyelashes.  

Last week there was a holiday in Spain called the Inmaculada Concepcion or the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin Mary.  On this particular day nobody had to work, which is why we were able to have a basketball game.  Our competition did not come from an island, but instead came from the basque country, up near Bilbao.  They are near the bottom of our conference, but they came into our gym and shot an unbelievably high percentage from the field and in the end snatched the win right out from under us, 73-70.  There were some very long faces after this game and a coach who found it very difficult to enter the locker room to talk to his players.  The week before, a couple of my teammates and I had purchased tickets to see a comedy for after the game on Tuesday.  I was no longer in the cheeriest of moods for going out, but nonetheless I put on my party pants and drove into Madrid. 
 

Joy from the outside, pretty basic.

The comedy show was held at a place called, Joy, which also serves as a nightclub.  The outside of the building looked quite nice and turned out to be a completely different scene than what I had expected.  I was under the impression that we would be sitting in a place similar to that of Comedy Sports in Uptown, but that was not the case at all.  Joy turned out to be quite magical.  There were spot lights shining on the talent, impressive furnishings on the chairs and walls, the ting ting of glasses, guffaws of laughter and the heart warming sites of happy faces and rapidly clapping hands.  There were three levels to the club, each with a balcony that looked down onto the main floor and the stage. I am horrible with estimations but I would guess that there were 500 or more people who were enjoying the show.

Quite glamorous from the inside!

There were 3 comedians in total and each one did a splendid job.  Surprisingly enough, the first two were received with a bit more enthusiasm than the closer, but I found each one rather delightful.  Topics ranged from food to cultural differences and to the relationships between men and women.   I enjoyed the experience immensely even though I couldn’t sit back and relax like everyone else, but instead had to put a great amount of effort into understanding each monologue.

The rest of the week was full of classes and practices and then Saturday came along with a hustle-n-bustle all of its own accord.  Saturday’s game was played in Zaragoza, the 5th largest city in Spain with a population of 682,000 in 2008.  Our game was at 6:15pm and we were taking the 1:30pm AVE train which would bring us into the city around 3pm.  Well, Marta, Sarah and myself headed out the door around 12:40 in order to meet our teammates around 1:00pm at the train station.  Little did we know, however, that there was a riot taking place in the city.  The streets were absolutely packed with people, cars and busses.  We found ourselves stuck in traffic and going nowhere, real fast.  We decided to park the car and take the metro, but our coach called and told us to jump in a taxi, so that’s what we did.  Our taxi driver (don’t recall his name) was young and didn’t speak much english, but what he did do was drive and drive real fast.  We were maneuvering in and out of cars like nobodies business.  I think this young fella actually enjoyed making his 3 passengers gasp and clutch the sides of the taxi as he sped, braked, shifted and screeched through downtown Madrid.  How we managed to arrive at the train station without being in one fender bender is beyond me. 

Upon arriving at the station and before the car had the chance to come to a complete stop, we thrust open the doors and took off at a dead sprint.  Huffing and puffing we arrived at the gate, only to be told that “we’re sorry, even though the train has not left yet, the doors have been closed and we can’t let you board.”   After much persuasion and pleading we finally accepted the fact that this woman’s heart was made of stone, and so we skulked away to the ticket office in attempt at changing our tickets.  Luckily, there was another train leaving for Zaragoza at 3:30.  So, the three of us and our assistant coach, Jose, found a restaurant and ate our pre-game meal together while everyone else was eating on the train.  

quick look as to where we were going. North East of Madrid.

 After a quick jaunt on the train, we rolled into Zaragoza at 5:00pm, took a taxi to the gym and walked in right as our teammates were taking the floor for warmups.  As we were stretching, I glanced up into the stands and saw a familiar face, but not too familiar.  His name is Pac Plou Espinosa and he was a foreign exchange student at Hopkins High School for his junior and senior years.  When I was in 5th and 6th grade, I remember going with my family to watch the games and hearing this rather different name roll off the announcers tongue.  I remember watching this tall, lanky, dark haired spanish guy run up and down the floor, scoring in a fashion that was deliciously different and exciting to all of the spectators watching.  Now, 13 years later, it was brought to my attention that Pac and I share a mutual friend.  During one of his two years at Hopkins, Pac lived with a man named, Brian Cosgriff.  Have you made the connection yet? Brian Cosgriff was my high school basketball coach for 5 years and when he found out that I had a game in Zaragoza, Spain (Pacs home town), he sent a message out to Pac letting him know that I would be coming. 

So, I had never had an actual conversation with this Pac character until this past Saturday, but I definitely had memories of him and when I saw his face in the stands he looked the same as he did in my 6th grade memory.  We had a very brief, but fun conversation, talking about our connection, people we both knew and life at the present moment.  Pac was not able to stay for the whole game, so our 5 minute conversation during warmups was all I got, but it sure was nice to have someone in the stands. 

Besides seeing a familiar face in the stands, there was a familiar face on the opposing team as well.  Her name is Kristin Weiner and she played for Holy Angels; it seems that Spain has been infiltrated with Minnesotans;)  The game was one of those games that would have made my mom close her eyes or leave the gym, just like she does during a scary movie.  The first half was great.  We were clicking on the offensive and defensive ends of the floor which allowed us a nice 12 point cushion going into the half.  During the 3rd quarter we built our lead to as much as 15 and then the down-hill slide began.  Basketball is a tale of two halves and sure enough the home team tied it up as the last seconds ticked off the clock.  5 extra minutes were put up on the clock and I was left to sit and watch from the bench, as I had fouled out halfway through the 4th quarter. 

The final score was 75-71, Alcobendas.  Thank goodness we won or else our little mishap on the train might not have been overlooked as quickly as it was.  We are 7-4 as we approach our last game this Saturday before the holiday break. 

Sadly enough, there is no Julie and Julia excerpt for this week.  Sarah and her friend/former teammate, Kata from Hungary, spent all day on Sunday in Madrid, while I spent the day with Pablo and his family.  Maria and Juan both competed in cross country races, which gave me the opportunity to watch them in action for a change.  After the race we went out for tapas and then home for lunch where we had a wonderful meal that was topped off with pumpkin pie.  I was really nervous for Pablo and Blanca to try it, but was put at ease when they quickly gobbled down their first piece and helped themselves to a second.  The kids on the other hand were not as open minded to the new dessert.  4 year old, Luis, was fed a forkful and promptly spit it right back out onto the kitchen table.  Ha, luckily I have tough skin. 

Leslie’s Loose Ends:

 Did I ever mention that there is a Domino’s Pizza down the street from my apartment?

 As Sarah and I walk to class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings we pass by an elementary school.  Every morning there is a loud speaker that plays music, signaling to the children that it is time to start the day.  The other day as we were walking the music started to play and soon enough we figured out which song it was, “Chim Chiminey, Chim Chiminey, Chim chim cher-ee...!” Gotta love a little Mary Poppins in the morning.
  

The next time that you are wanting to stay home and watch a movie, please rent “The Blind Side” with Sandra Bullock.

Take care, everyone!  Have a great week,

Leslie

Islanders.

 Drip, drop, drip drop.  It is a dreary day here in Madrid with overcast skies and just enough rain to make me wish I had an umbrella as I walked to class this morning.  Further enhancing the dreariness of this day is the fact that apartment 4A is now without internet access.  There is, however, that famous saying that goes something like this, “every cloud has a silver lining.”  Well, ladies and gentlemen, this cloud does in-fact have a silver lining and no matter how much drearier this day becomes, nothing can take away from the fact that Club Alcobendas reigned victorious over Tenerife this past weekend.

There is a group of islands off the west coast of Africa called the Canaries from which our competitors arrived.  How delightful to live and play basketball on a small slice of spanish paradise.  At the same time, however, this group of women must travel by plane, every other weekend in order to face their competition.  Perhaps this is no different than my college experience, but these women must perform just a few short hours after stepping on solid ground.  They do not have the luxury of resting their heads on pre-fluffed pillows and setting their sleep numbers before going to play the next day.  Nevertheless, this travel procedure has probably become quite normal for these ladies and anything else would undoubtedly feel a bit strange.  

Canary Islands

Wish we could've spent some time here!

Now, time for a little trivia for all you gopher basketball fans out there.  Who was the small, fast and incredibly talented point guard for the Indiana Hoosiers from 2002-06?  If it’s on the tip of your tongue, don’t worry, I’ll let that question simmer for a sentence or two more.  I ask this question because during Friday’s scouting session I saw her name on the scouting report, but her first name just didn’t sound right, so I dismissed the possibility from my mind, even though her last name is quite uncommon.  Well, sure enough during warmups the very next day, my eyes wandered down to size up the competition and I instantly realized that my gut instinct had been right all along.  There she was, Cynthia Valentin.  She might not look like a gifted athlete, but then again I can think of two former gophers who are excelling at the highest level of their professions who also didn’t always look the part, and the conclusion that I have come to is that you can never, by any means, let the outward appearance of a person fool you.  

Yes, anyone can see that Valentin is short in stature, perhaps only 168cm.  And you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t notice her womanly curves, which seem to be a trait that is not typically found in point guards.  I say this only because one might assume that a curvaceous woman with a few extra lb’s would not excel to the same degree as a point guard with abs like Rocky Bilboa and a percentage of body fat that is lower than the voice of Barry White.  My hope is that whoever is fortunate enough to watch her play, realizes that they too are full of potential and can surpass the predisposed expectations that have been set upon them.  In the beginning, Valentin single handedly sliced through our defense, scoring at will.  Guarding her was a serious assignment, so we changed defenses and fell into a box and one.  This slowed her down for the time being, but she was quickly figuring out how to get herself back into the action of the game, so we mixed up our defense once again and stood firm in a 3-2 zone.  We managed to keep Valentin at bay during the 2nd half and finished off the game with a 10pt win over the islanders.  

Our team captain, Ana Aritzmendi-Millan, had invited all of us over to her house for dinner after the game.  The game ended around 7:30pm, but of course dinner didn’t get underway until after 10.  When I walked into the apartment, my senses quickly lead me into the kitchen where upon entering I was greeted with an utmost wonderful surprise.  There on the kitchen counter sat the hind leg of what must have been a rather large pig.  The leg was set in a contraption that reminded me of those painful looking devices that car accident victims must wear on their heads, complete with screws and the whole nine yards.  There was an abnormally long knife sitting next to the spectacle which I assumed was used for cutting thin slices of this scarlet colored meat.  Spaniards love their ham, and a tasty ham bone can cost a pretty penny of 400 euros or more.  

Don't you have one of these on your countertop?

The next day was Sunday and it was a day very much like today, dreary, wet and best spent inside drinking hot cocoa and watching movies.  I, however, had this great premonition to go do some shopping in el Rastro (the huge market in Madrid where I randomly bumped into Alana), figuring that the throngs of people would be less cumbersome due to the less than satisfactory weather.  Well, everybody and their uncle must have had the same idea as me because I have never, ever, seen that many people at the market before.  Slowly shuffling shoulder to shoulder through the tunnels of the metro I couldn’t help but think that I was in the dead middle of an incredibly unsafe fire hazard. The escalators were packed and being sick and tired of being bumped, pushed and kicked I opted to take the stairs.  Mamma mia, the metro is a lot further underground than one might suspect, and there are enough stairs to give a person a heart attack.  

 Surprisingly there were a few handfuls of us that were putting ourselves through this unpleasant climb.  By the time I reached the top, my breathing had increased and my legs were heavy with lactic acid.  The mystery that lingers in my mind is how all the other people were able to scale these steps at the same rate as I? And I call myself an athlete?! Not to mention that more than half of them were probably frequent cigarette smokers.  In a small attempt to defend myself, around the next corner was another immaculate staircase and upon seeing it, many of the climbers gave a sigh of disbelief and defeat as they succumbed to taking the escalator, but not I!

The Road Les Traveled, huffing and puffing!

Before going into such a situation as the Rastro, one must take on the right mindset.  If you are a person who does not have the patience for being nudged, bumped or pushed aside while looking at jewelry, perhaps you should consider a different venue than el Rastro.  I have been told that in Spain you must speak up for what you want, or else drown in a pool of your own self-pity.  So, I was standing bellied up to this man’s jewelry counter admiring his work when the woman who was standing to my left and who was half my size, started leaning over into my line of sight.  At one point I could not even see the counter that was right in-front of me, but instead had a most wonderful view of the back of this ladies head.  Surprising even myself, I put Minnesota nice aside and summoning up my inner Spanish subconscious, said quite frankly, “PERDON!”  The lady immediately came back to earth after being completely out to lunch and actually walked AROUND me to view whatever it was that she was looking at before.  Ha, 1 point Leslie, 0 points inconsiderate, spanish space cadet.  

A blurry picture of the throngs at the Rastro.

Julie and Julia:  Well, this week there was a third party, perhaps we should call her, Julianne.  Julianne is from Zamora, Spain, and she wanted to make a dessert called Tarijas, which in the end turned out to be exactly like French Toast except we just ate it with sugar on top instead of syrup.

Torrijas, hmm, hmm good.

Leslie’s Loose Ends:

As a team we picked names out of a bag for something like Secret Santas, but they call it amigos invisibles (invisible friends).  Throughout elementary school and high school, this game has always been a highlight for me during the holiday season. I can’t wait to start planting secret notes and treats around the locker-room;)

 My student Roberto, brought to my attention that in Spain when you order a Coke, the waiter always brings it in a bottle, never in a glass.  He then told me of his experience in New York when he saw the man behind the bar making his drink.  Roberto had ordered a Rum and Coke.  After the bartender had poured the Rum into the glass, he then picked up two “guns” (as Roberto likes to call them) and out of one gun came a dark colored liquid and out of the other came a clear liquid.  Roberto was mystified by this experience and thinks it to be the most odd thing.  Once again, a cultural nuance that is brought to my attention that I would never have thought about before.  

OH, and how could I forget?!? This next bit of news is not a loose end by any means but something of great significance.  This past Thursday at 3:35pm, I became the aunt of a darling baby girl, Olivia Jeanne Knight.  I was able to see her on skype yesterday and let me tell you, her older brother, Benjamin, is already quite protective of his baby sister;)  I am looking forward to seeing her in just a a couple short weeks!

Congratulations Sarah and Trevor!

Big bro, Ben with his little sis, Olivia.

Tis the season to be jolly, tra la la la laaa, la laa laa laaaaaa!

besos,

Leslie

Happy Thanksgiving!

This week, a big thank you goes out to several people and they are, Uncle Jesse, Uncle Joey, Michelle Tanner, Stephanie Tanner, D.J Tanner, Kimmy Gibler, Rebecca and Danny Tanner.  No, these are not members of my immediate family but rather members of my childhood, your childhood or your children’s childhood.  Whatever age you are, I would practically bet my life on the fact that you’ve watched at least one episode from the television program, Full House (Padres Forzosos or compulsory parents in Spanish).  Now, what in the world does this American television show have to do with Spain?  Well, I’ll tell you.

Full House!

FAs all of you know, last Thursday was Thanksgiving.  Just over one month ago was Canada’s Thanksgiving and Sarah had invited the team over for dinner and the girls had the pleasure of trying the dessert, apple-crisp, for the first time in their lives.  As the United States Thanksgiving approached I started thinking that it would be nice to cook for the team as well and that it would be fun to introduce them to a few more of our North American traditions.  So, by some crazy coincidence, Charly randomly decided to cancel practice last Thursday, which then gave me an ample amount of time to prepare the feast.  The menu of the evening was as follows: Empanadas, croquettes, gnocchi, a green bean dish, stuffing, baked chicken and homemade pumpkin pie.  I have never, in my life, cooked so much food.  Thank you mom for taking on this huge task every year.  

Thanksgiving dinner is served!

Sara, Sheila, Ana, Cobi, Crooks and I;)

The night unfolded quite smoothly and I was so thankful to have had the help of my Canadian roommate.  Now, how does all of this food tie in with the above theme of Full House?  Well, as we were eating the stuffing, Sara Castrillo pointed to a piece of celery and asked me what it was.  I had absolutely no idea what the word for celery was in Spanish so I started describing the scrumptious little snack of “ants on a log.”  Ana Aritz-mendez was sitting to my right and as she heard my description she chirped in and explained how she had seen “ants on a log” in an American television show, Padres Forzosos.  She then went on to say that through watching this show she knew all about Thanksgiving and that on this particular day Americans always eat turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie.  Following her comments, several other teammates started singing the tune of the Full House theme song.  Ha, I was flabbergasted.  When I was 10 years old and sitting at home after school watching Full House, my current spanish teammates were doing the same thing, but perhaps 7 hours earlier.  We then went on to have a quite hilarious conversation about both uncles and of course the wonderful and ever so annoying, Kimmy Gibler.  So, thank you Warner Bros, your family t.v show made my Spanish thanksgiving ever so enjoyable.   

On a side note, everybody loved the pumpkin pie.  We served it fresh out of the oven with a slice of vanilla ice cream.  I now have several recipe requests.  If you have never used a real pumpkin to make pumpkin pie, I highly recommend that you give it a try.  2nd, we weren’t able to cook a turkey because I wasn’t able to find one, but our 2.7kg chicken did just fine.  3rd, for those of you who have seen the movie “Julie and Julia” do you remember the Valentines dinner where everybody had a big red or pink paper heart pinned to their shirt?  Well, I really liked that idea so I traced my hand 12 times on brown construction paper and decorated Turkey name tags for everyone. Ha, it was fun;)

Ok, moving on... We had a game on Saturday and I really wish I had some better news to share with you, but we lost.  We played a team from the Basque Country called Universidad del Pais Vasco.  The bus ride north was about 5 hours.  The mountains and rocky cliffs were intriguing, but not nearly as breathtaking as the views from last year’s bus rides of the Swiss Alps.  I am told, however, that San Sebastian is in-fact a lovely city filled with charmingly narrow streets and prized countryside views of the Bay of Biscay.  Anyway, we started out the game like 9 women on a mission and there was absolutely nothing that could stop us, except a zone defense.  We were a driving force during the 1st quarter and well into the 2nd, but then they fell into a zone and we started to crumble while they gained momentum.  We ended up losing the game by 10pts.  Once again I found myself on the bench after being called for 2, first half fouls.  Sometimes I honestly think that the referees take one glance at me and automatically start thinking to themselves “she looks rather strong, better keep her under control.” Ugh, these small spanish referees are really starting to get under my skin with their trigger happy whistles. 

Crooks and I after a home game, yes our court is yellow and blue!

Rocky cliffs on the way to the Pais Vasco.

On a more pleasant note, let’s see what Julie and Julia were up to this weekend.  On Sunday, Sarah and I decided to make Flan, a creamy dessert with a caramel topping.  I have found Flan on every dessert menu that I have seen since being in Spain and in my Junior High Spanish class, with Senor Winslow, we constantly spoke of this sweet treat, so what better time to make it?  We made our own caramel by boiling water and sugar, and then mixed up some milk, eggs, vanilla and a few dashes of cinnamon.  The key to making flan is to bake it in the oven in it’s own dish.  You then take that dish and place it in a larger pan that has the capability of holding water.  I don’t know the exact science of the surrounding water and how it effects the flan, but that’s just what you do.  Once the dessert had cooled for a bit, the 4 of us sat down for coffee and flan.  It’s so great having 2 spanish roommates around who can give us their professional spanish opinions, not to mention that in Spain people say what they think and feel, there isn’t any of this Minnesota Nice stuff going on.  So, when they told us that the flan was “muy rica (very good, very rich)” we knew that they weren’t just trying to make us feel good, but that they actually enjoyed it.  Recipe number 3=success.  

Leslie’s Loose Ends:

Barcelona and Real Madrid competed in a futbol (soccer) game last night.  In Spain, this is like the Super Bowl of futbol games.  I watched the game with a group of Spaniards and enjoyed watching them as they all hooted, hollered, jumped, and yelled profanities at the television screen.  Barcelona won 1-0 and surprisingly there weren’t any career ending injuries considering how many players rolled around grasping their knees and ankles in the type of dramatic agony that Titanic’s Kate Winslet would be proud of.

A New Year tradition in Spain is to eat one grape for every chime of the clock, so by the end you have 12 grapes in your mouth.  A person who is able to eat all 12 grapes by the end of the 12th chime is supposed to have great luck in the coming year, and those that aren’t able, well, better luck next time.

 Sara Castrillo bought her guiris (foreigners) flamenco style cooking aprons! Ha, now all Sarah and I need to do is wear high heels in the kitchen and we’ll be set.  

OLE!

 Every elementary school age student that I see is the proud owner of a rolling backpack.

On Friday we had a teacher meeting at the English school.  I introduced myself and then gave the floor to the girl sitting next to me.  Well what do you know, she’s also from Minnesota!  Blaine to be exact and we have mutual friends.  Out of all the english schools in Madrid, we both wind up at this one?!? 

 I hope that you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving and that you’re not wasting anytime getting that Christmas tree up!  The Christmas lights in Madrid have been turned on and the Christmas tunes are bouncing around cheerfully in every store, shop and boutique.

December, here we come!

love,

Leslie

Born in 1725 and still tickin!

Founded in 1725, Restaurant Botin has been graciously welcoming hungry stomachs and curious minds into it’s richly decorated rooms and cozy caves for quite some time.  Serving delectable dishes for almost 3 centuries, Botin has been marked down in the Guinness Book of World Records as the oldest restaurant in the world.  With that being said, I was actually unaware of this hidden gem until just last Wednesday when my high school friend, Alana, proposed the idea in an e-mail.  Since Wednesdays are usually our night off from practice it didn’t take me but a second to click reply and send my confirmation speeding along into the labariynth that is cyber space.  Of course I didn’t actually take the time to investigate the restaurant that Alana had suggested.  

My long strides carried me quickly and efficiently down the sidewalks of Madrid, but I felt as if I was walking in circles and I still hadn’t found the street sign that I was looking for.  So, I initiated plan B which was to swallow my pride and start asking for directions.  Every person I spoke with knew where this restaurant was located.  Now, Madrid is an awfully big city with a plethora of side streets that criss-cross back and forth like the world’s most intricate pie crust.  The fact that everyone knew of Botin’s existence should’ve told me that this restaurant was an outlier, deviating in extreme amounts from all the other restaurants in Madrid, yet I thought nothing of it. 

Alana and I met outside Botin and walked in.  We confirmed our reservation and were lead by our absolutely lovely waiter down some very old looking wooden stairs.  We were then transplanted into a series of smaller rooms that looked more like lighted caves than dining rooms.  A woman dressed in traditional black and white maid’s clothes appeared and took our coats.  Smiling down at the two youngest faces in the whole restaurant, our waiter advised us on a bottle of wine.  A warm basket of crusty bread was placed silently on our table and I finally gave myself the chance to sit back and admire my surroundings.  My eyes took their time soaking everything in and the ends of my lips curled upwards in involuntary delight.  Boutin was positively precious and I was just about to tell Alana as much when she unloaded her own stream of words first.  “Leslie, this is the oldest restaurant in the world, it’s in the Guinness Book of World Records.  Several of my co-workers have been telling me that I need to come here.  The baby pig is supposed to be a specialty.”  In that moment my mind went blank and my mouth fell open.  The incredible accommodations, the lovely help, the smoothness to which Boutin was running, the people on the streets who had given me directions, it was all falling into place and making sense.  I was about to enjoy a meal in the oldest restaurant recorded in history.  I couldn’t even believe it.  What a unique experience!  

As you can imagine, we ordered the roast suckling pig along with baby squids in their own ink with rice.  And for dessert we happily savored every last crumb of our chocolate tort.  When the plates held no more food and the bill was paid, we set off to explore a bit more of the restaurant.  Climbing up the stairs to the 3rd level we stepped into a room that was thick with the rich sounds of a mans singing voive.  He stood at one end of the room in a blue, velvet jacket with matching trousers and yellow trim while two other men stood at his side, both playing string instruments.  The first man continued singing in a strong, booming voice while the other two men plucked along at his side.  Every employee that we encountered on our expedition greeted us with the utmost friendliness and we found that many of them had been working at Boutin for at least 15 years.  Upon requesting a few pictures, one man guided us into the kitchen where the famous log fire was burning.  We held large knives and ancient looking black, ceramic pots as we posed for the picture.  The gracious people, the darling rooms and the succulent food moved Boutin into first place as my favorite restaurant. I highly recommend this place if you find yourself hungry and in Madrid, www.botin.es. 

Alana and I in the kitchen!

World Basketball Museum (Museo del Baloncesto Mundial) is another place I would recommend and is only 6 km outside of Madrid’s city center and is a mere 15 minute walk from my apartment.  From the outside, this particular museum looks nothing like the flashy Weisman museum on the U of M campus or even the superb Science Museum in St. Paul.  Instead, this museum is all white and in my opinion doesn’t really do a great job of screaming “Hey! Come on in and see how cool I am!”  Nevertheless, we paid our dues to Mr. Naismith and saluted his larger than life photo as we walked in, free of charge.  The museum turned out to be a wild surprise.  Every painting, sculpture, game, jersey, book, poster, trophy, torch was a tribute to this wonderful game.  The art work was new, bright, modern, creative and nothing short of AWESOME.  Wire sculptures of players soaring through the air, bright paintings of 2 hands representing a time-out, and life sized cows painted with the next olympic year 2016, filled the room. 

World Basketball Museum in Alcobendas

 A large room downstairs was filled with every basketball board game you can think of, several of which my brothers and I used to play together when we were just little tykes.  In one corner was the video game NBA Jam.  My teammates picked their players and as I watched Larry Bird and David Robinson run up and down the floor I couldn’t help but laugh when I heard the announcer exclaim “BOOM SHOCKA LOCKA!”  Upstairs we found a room dedicated to the Spanish National team.  The whole room was adorned in red and yellow.  Pictures of Pau Gasol hung from the walls, one of which showed him without his shaggy mop or his grizzly beard!  Then there was the room dedicated to each olympic games.  Every olympic torch, except one, was displayed in a sparkling glass case.  My favorite torch was that of the Australia games, painted with stripes of electric blue and silver.  The last room we entered was the library, holding every basketball book you could imagine.  There were several other rooms that we didn’t get a chance to see since we were running short on time, but there is not doubt in my mind that I will be visiting this museum a few more times before the end of May.  

One of the many unique, basketball works of art.

A room dedicated to the Spanish basketball team.

Sarah enjoyed the old school basketball board games!

Staying on the basketball side of things, we had a game this past Saturday.  I played a lot of minutes, but can’t say that I am satisfied with my performance, however, we won and at the end of the day that is all that really matters.  Saturday was also the day of my grandma’s funeral.  As I was warming up for the game my coach called me over to the sideline where he proceeded to take a black ribbon out of his pocket.  Then, he looped it underneath my jersey and tied it off at the top of my shoulder.  He patted my arm and told me that our whole team would be wearing these ribbons in remembrance of my grandma.  My eyes started to gloss over and I managed to squeak out a thank you before he pushed me gently back out onto the court to join my teammates.  I am so fortunate to be playing for a team that truly cares about my well being.  

Julie and Julia.  Lastly, Sarah and I fulfilled our second Spanish recipe last night.  Sarah had 2 friends in town for the day/night so we decided to cook them dinner.  We made our famous American/Spanish empanada, Marta Cobian (one of our spanish roommates) made tortilla, and then Sarah and I tackled the task of making croquettes.  The traditional ingredients in Spanish croquettes consist of ham or chicken, but we decided to add a bit more and do ham, cheese and spinach.  The closest american food I can relate them to would be a mozzarella stick, but I think ours were a bit more healthy.  We made a paste on the stove that consisted of a spoonful of oil, some flour, milk, ham, cheese and spinach.  We let it sit in the fridge for a bit and then proceeded to roll it into balls, dunk them in egg yokes, roll them in bread crumbs and fry them in olive oil.  Once again the two of us out did ourselves;)  These crunchy outside, warm and gooey inside, balls of joy that sat on our plates proved to be yuuuuuuumyyy!

2 Spaniards, 2 Canadians and 1 American.

Leslie’s Loose Ends

Spanish people love english words that sound like the actual sound.  For example, the words, knock and bark (like a dog).

I started teaching another english class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings.  So far there are 5 people in my class.  They are beginning english speakers and are just a delight. 

I had class with Roberto this morning and I was telling him about the upcoming holiday in the U.S, Thanksgiving.  He looked at me and said “this holiday is very curious to me.” Ha, the way non-native english speakers phrase things sometimes just cracks me up.  He went on to tell me how he had seen it in the movies several times and that I would have better luck buying parts of a bull in the super market than I would finding an actual turkey!

First and foremost, congrats to the girls for 2 fabulous performances in the Thanksgiving tourney this past weekend!!! And secondly, I wish you all a warm and aroma filled Thanksgiving full of stuffing, cranberries and pumpkin pie!! BUEN PROVECHO! Enjoy your meal!!

Besos,

Leslie