Castles and Cathedrals with the Knights.

I sat back in my seat and let my heavy eyelids succumb to gravities forces.  The day before I was in Toledo and now I was heading with my parents to Segovia.  I had been to Segovia once already, remember?  My team went for dinner to my teammate’s house where we ate baby pig and watched her as she used a plate to slice the pig into portions.  Well, that was several months ago and at the time the weather was not as nice as it is now, so the experience was bound to be different.  Not to mention that this time I would be given the chance to see the Alcazar (castle, palace, fortress) up close and personal, opposed to from a distance on a dreary day. 

After a quick 30 minute Ave. ride, the three of us wandered into a small, empty train station.  Looking through the windows one could easily tell that we were not anywhere near downtown Segovia.  We walked outside and found two buses.  I strode up to the second bus and asked the man, “A donde vas (To where are you going)?” He looked back at me with a childish smirk and replied “Donde querria ir (where would you like to go)?”  After a few more playful jabs I learned that he was in-fact headed straight for the Aqueduct, perfect. 

The sky was a spotless blue, the sun’s rays penetrated through my coat, giving me a much appreciated warm and toasty feeling and the breeze ruffled my hair.  Once my body was able to feel the effects of a strong coffee, I would be good to go. 

The aqueduct was just one hundred yards from the bus stop and so our day began.  My dad, who is a lover of all things man made and mechanical, thoroughly enjoyed examining the greatness of this man made feat.  Staring up at the perfectly aligned arches he asked me, “Leslie, can you imagine asking an engineer to create something as grand as this but without the help of a computer?”  The fact that these huge structures were built without the help of modern day technology is really something incomprehensible.  How many times did they make mistakes and have to start over?

The Aqueduct of Segovia

Beautiful Segovia

From the aqueduct we continued along the narrow streets until we arrived at the lip of Plaza Mayor.  There was a cafe across the way with outdoor seating that seemed to be calling our names.  We graciously obliged and took comfort under the morning sunshine.  Coffee and croissants.  The combination sounds awfully simple and plain, but to be honest, this is one of my favorite parts about traveling in Europe.  Yes, there are numerous things to see and do, but taking time out to sit, relax, and enjoy each other’s company while nibbling on flaky, buttery bread, is worth every morsel.  Segovia’s splendid cathedral sat to our right, basking in the daylight and looking like no other cathedral that I have seen in Europe.  My mom noticed the differences as well and said that this was her favorite one so far. 

The Cathedral.

After admiring the cathedral we followed the signs that would lead us to the Alcazar.  I absolutely positively love the closeness of european towns.  Being able to walk from the aqueduct to the cathedral and finally to the Alcazar without once having to take another means of transportation is downright delightful.  Walking towards this fascinating piece of architecture I could not help but think of Walt Disney’s castle in Disney Land.  One could only assume that pieces of Walt’s inspiration came all the way from Segovia, Spain. 

The Alcazar

Walking around inside the castle walls was a real treat, even though we were far from being alone.  As a child in elementary school, where did your class go for field trips? The MN Zoo, Minnehaha Falls, Fort Snelling.  Well, in Europe it is quite normal to find large groups of children walking around inside places like the Alcazar, the Spanish Palace and the Louvre in Paris.  A bit different than the scenery that we were all used to, huh?  Each room was lavishly decorated with paintings, tapestries, stained glass windows and pieces of furniture.  One room that caught my eye was the Pine room which had a ceiling that was covered in fake pine cones.  The highlight of the day, however, was not a particular room, but a particular occurrence. 

Wandering through the rooms, my mom decided to go over and look down on the city of Segovia from one of the large windows.  I watched her as she was walking over to the window and to my surprise she kept going, going, and going until POMM!  Her forehead collided with full force against the immaculately clean window.  Hoping that she was not in too much pain, but unable to control ourselves, my dad and I hooted and hollered over her misfortune.  What a sympathetic father, daughter pair we are, huh?  My dad then launched into one of his many ideas saying that the window should be rigged with some sort of monitor that is able to detect forces of impact.  When something with enough force strikes the window an invisible light should blink on and let the poor sap know that they are the 3,483rd person to have smacked their head against the glass.  To say the least, my mom was not as amused as we were. 

As our early afternoon was coming to an end, we settled down for some lunch before heading back into Madrid.  For some reason unknown to me, my dad asked me to ask our waiter if he was a Bruce Springsteen fan.  As I popped the question the man standing in-front of me with long dark curls and muscular forearms gave me a quizical glance.  My dad then pointed to his belt buckle which then triggered a hearty laugh of surprise and appreciation.  His belt buckle had the emblem of, “The Boss,” which for those of you who might not know, is the nickname of Mr. Springsteen. 

Lunch:)

That night after practice my parents were asked to sit back and relax as Marta Cobian and Sarah Crooks prepared dinner.  Sarah had made her wonderful American/Spanish empanada and Cobi prepared her famous Galician tortilla.  I threw together a salad, we uncorked a bottle of wine and proceeded to have ourselves a lovely last dinner with my parents.  I am really blessed with a couple of great roommates.  Knowing that they wanted to do this for my parents and spend another night getting to know them was a testament to the exceptional young women that they are. 

I accompanied my parents in the metro the next morning and walked them to the ticket counter.  Had two weeks flown by already?  Several big hugs and kisses were shared and then I left the two adults in hopes that this time they would make it to their right gate;)  I know I must sound like a broken record, but I am truly in a state of wonder when I think about the time that I was able to spend with David and Wendy in Spain.  I am filled with copious amounts of joy knowing that my parents are seeing and doing things that they probably never pictured themselves doing.  I cannot hardly wait to look back on these times and reminisce with them about all the fun memories we made in March of 2010. 

Thursday and Friday of last week I spent recuperating from the busy two weeks with my parents and then Saturday morning came and I was off on another adventure.  Saturday’s game took place in Tenerife, the largest of 7 Canary Islands in the Atlantic ocean, also known as the “Island of Eternal Spring.”  The early morning flight took about 3 hours.  I could hardly believe that the flight would take that long, but considering that the islands are right down next to Africa, it made sense.  Unfortunately, the weather was not as sunny as it had been in Madrid, but  the breeze was still warm as it rolled in off the ocean’s waves.  When we arrived at the hotel, we dropped our bags in our rooms and then went out exploring the boardwalk before our pre-game meal.  Grass, shrubs, flowers, palm trees, everything was a vibrant color of green.  Not the type of green that I loved so much in Switzerland, but an electric green that was all it’s own accord.  The streets and buildings were fairly clean and well kept, nicer than my memories of Hawaii, the Virgin Islands and Ibiza.  The beach was one thing that I was not prepared for.  My jaw hung on its hinges as I looked down the black coastline.  The sand covering the beach was black, BLACK! Due to past volcanic activity, the sand was more of a pebble base and very dark in color. Cool. 

We watched a couple surfers as they flirted with the waves and then followed our empty stomachs as they lead us back to the hotel. 

The game took place in a gym that was a bit hotter than what we were used to and I was sweating bullets by the time we had finished with warm-ups.  I wanted so badly for our team to dominate and play as if we were playing in our home gym, but it did not happen.  Once again, the little guard from Indiana did a fine job of lighting up our defense.  On a positive note, we did a pretty darn good job of keeping all of the other players at bay, but it was not enough.  Our downfall was not necessarily our defense but our offense.  We could not put the ball in the ocean if we wanted to.  With 2 minutes left, the game was 56-54, bad guys.  In a matter of just two minutes, we allowed them to score 5 more points, finishing the game at 61-54.  Frustrated, we loaded back onto the bus. 

As we rode the bus back to our hotel, our spirits were given an unsuspecting lift.  Every other team that we needed to lose that day had lost, which meant that we were still in the running for making the playoffs.  Now, however, we really needed to start winning because our 2nd chances were finally on their very last threads. 

Dinner was delicious and in no time my Spanish teammates along with the coaching staff were back to feeling like themselves and planning the evening’s events.  I tagged along for a couple hours as we hopped from bar to bar and then had to call it quits.  We had to be down stairs in the lobby of our hotel at 5:30am and I was already tired enough from the days travel and the game.  I woke up several hours later to the sound of a knock a the door.  Marta Cobian was just coming in from the night.  I looked at my cellphone and the illuminated numbers read, 5:00am.  The girls had just partied all night long and had come back just in time to gather up their suitcases and head downstairs.  I really am convinced that there is something in the blood of my spanish friends that allows them to party hardy, no matter what the conditions.

We arrived in Madrid on Sunday morning around 11:30am.  My week of events had finally come to an end. 

Leslie’s Loose Ends:

“Leslie, estas cortando mis alas.”  These were the words that Charly said to me as I left the party group on Saturday night.  In english, this term says “Lesile, you’re cutting my wings,” or in other words, “you’re holding me back.”  Ha, my bad, Charly.

I went to a Wax museum on Sunday.  There were wax figures of everyone.  Kings, queens, writers, painters, singers (Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Elvis), Mary Poppins, Michael Jordan, The Simpsons, Obama, Lincoln and JFK.  I had never seen such a spectacle, they all looked so real.

Vermouth is a very typical pre-lunch drink amongst the elders in Spain.  If you’ve never tried it, I would recommend it if you like sweet wines.

Vermouth!

Spring has arrived, I hope you are all having great weeks!
hasta luego,
Leslie

Walking on Sunshine...

The last time we left off I had said goodbye to my parents in Barcelona and headed back to Madrid, that was last Monday, the 8th.

International Women’s Day was celebrated in Madrid on Sunday, the 7th, so instead of doing our usual hour and a half of running/lifting before practice we got a chance to participate in a 3 on 3 tournament.  Each team consisted of one player from my team and then three or four girls from any of the younger Alcobendas teams.  I was paired up with an energetic group of young girls who welcomed me with open arms and wasted no time in telling me to rebound and score.  The girls on my team were not bashful at all with their foreign teammate, but made a great effort to talk with me and ask me questions.  I really had a pleasant time getting to know these young girls and now when I see them at the gym they greet me with warm smiles and boisterous, HOLAS!  A few of the girls I spoke with were students at a private school in Madrid called, Brains, funny huh? Anyway, they have been listening to and learning English since the tender age of three and were able to converse with me in English almost as well as all of you back home.  I was really impressed with their language skills.  Being bilingual will open so many doors for these young girls, I still cannot get over how fortunate they are to have this type of education.  I know bilingual schools are popping up in Minnesota as well, but not without cost.  Brains runs around 900 euros per month, oofta. 

As well as playing games we also took a group photo.  The picture was then put in the weekly sports newspaper in celebration of International Women’s Day. 

My tired travelers returned to Alcobendas late on Wednesday night and spent the following day recuperating and preparing a Minnesota hot dish for dinner.  What a wonderful feeling it is to know that dinner will be prepared and waiting on the table when we arrive home from practice.  Parents are one of life’s great blessings and I am reminded every day of the great fortune I inherited with them.  Charly came to dinner as well which was a great opportunity for my parents to get to know him a bit better.  At about 1am I finally had to send Charly home since the morning was going to come quickly and we had another day to spend in Madrid. 

Breakfast of Tortillas.

During the day on Friday we ambled along the paths in Retiro park, explored the interior walls of the Temple de Debod and dined over strong cheeses, crusty bread, tender ham, steamed potatoes and of course, beer.  That night we had a great practice and once again had the pleasure of coming home to a home cooked, Minnesotan meal.  Saturday was game day, remember I had said that we were facing the 2nd ranked team in our conference?  Visions of making the playoffs have started to slip farther and farther away and even though nobody said it, we knew that the game was going to be a tough one to win, even with having the home court advantage. 

Retiro park in-front of the Glass Palace.

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza with Mom and Pops in the Plaza de Espana.

Never know what you'll find in Madrid...

Atocha train station, in the Botanical Garden.

I was matched against a tall, slender, willowy looking player from Senegal, Africa.  The first time we played them she put on a clinic in rebounding and slicing to the basket, in other words, this laterally challenged girl from the Midwest who also does not have much of a vertical was going to be put to the test. As the cards would have it, she got herself into foul trouble during the first half and spent a good chunk of time watching from the sidelines.  During the second half it was made evident that she refused to drive right, so I sat on her left side and forced her into a couple of traveling calls.  I think due to a bit of frustration she slowly started to take herself out of the game, shying away from attacking the basket and avoiding contact with “the fighter” in the paint.   I could barely believe the score when the horn signaled the end of regulation time, we had won by about 15 and the incredibly athletic girl from Senegal had finished up with the worst game of her season, scoring just 2 pts.  Happy faces filled the gym and the playoffs no longer seemed that far out of reach.  I think the destiny of our team depends completely on ourselves.  If we can consistently play like we did on Saturday I think we have a great chance, but if we decide to play like we did the weekend prior in Barcelona, we might as well start packing our suitcases now. 

After our Game. Jose, Josemi, Me, Sarah, Mom, Dad, Javier and Charly

After the game my parents and I piled into Pablo’s car, along with his three children, Juan, Maria and Luis.  We drove to Pablo’s house and then walked on over to the house of Lucia where Pablo’s wife, Blanca, was helping her prepare dinner.  I had been practicing with the kids during the week leading up to the arrival of my parents and so when they greeted them for the first time I was oh-so-proud when they all said “Hello, David, hello Wendy, how are you?”  Too cute. 

The dinner table was lovingly decorated and looked absolutely perfect.  Plates of tapas were arranged amongst sparkling wine glasses and crisp napkins.  Pablo, Blanca and Lucia went out of their way to make sure that my parents would have a variety of spanish food to try, my eyes stung with an onset of tears that I quickly cast away.  Everybody had a plate that was full of colorful, mouth watering food.  We raised up our glasses said a few “ching chings (cheers)” and toasted to a wonderful evening.  I noticed that I was not the only person watching in anticipation as my parents took their first bites of tortilla, boquerones (anchovies), red peppers topped with tuna and sardines, chorizo, jamon serrano, white asparagus, tiny little calamaries mixed with rice and plenty of bread.  After indulging ourselves in spanish tapas I was already starting to feel the waist band of my jeans stretching tighter across my abdomen, but we were not finished yet.

Pablo, Blanca, Lucia, Dad and Mom;)

Dorado and deliciousness.

The second plate came out of the kitchen and with it an aroma of fresh fish and sea salt.   A large serving plate sat on the table.  I looked down at it and it looked back at me. Several sets of beady eyes questioned my next move.  Our dinner guests went by the name of, Dorada or in English terms, Gilt Head Fish. These whole bodied fish were about to meet the inside of my stomach, but I had no idea how to get them there.  Pablo offered to clean my fish and I watched as he systematically sliced the fish from head to tail, separating the head from the rest of the body and then slowly pulling out a perfect fish skeleton.  Buen provecho.  Without noticing any sort of fishy taste, I effortlessly enjoyed the fresh, white, fish meat, along with the large pieces of salt that clung to its sides. 

After everyone had polished off their fish, the dishes were whisked away and replaced with dessert bowls, brimming with the juices from the typical spanish dessert, Macedonia.  Chunks of banana, apple, pineapple, grapes and strawberries swirled around in their own sweet nectars.  A little bit later, coffee was served and later yet, an after dinner liquor, to help with the digestion, of course.  The children were still awake, even though they seemed to be making less and less noise and at about 1:15 in the morning we decided we better head for home since Toledo was waiting for our arrival in just a handful of hours.  Kisses and English/Spanish salutations were exchanged between my parents and my spanish family.  Just like last year in Switzerland, I experienced a great sense of contentment having had my family meet these wonderful people who have taken up residence in my life.  My parents do not speak much spanish and likewise, Pablo, Blanca and Lucia do not speak much english, but with the help of my translations I felt like the two sets of people were able to find common ground and appreciate each others company.  We will cherish these memories for a life time. 

Sunday morning was bright and sunny, one of the first beautiful days since my parent’s arrival the week before.  The metro ride from my apartment to the train station lasted longer than our time spent on Ave. from Madrid to Toledo.  The last time that I was in Toledo, I loved it, however, I did not do much of the touristy thing so I was excited to be enclosed in the walls of this fascinating city once again.  As we crossed a bridge from the new part of the city into the old part of Toledo, I stopped and looked around.  The river ran below us, wider and a bit more wild than I had expected.  The banks were covered in rocks and looked to be quite a challenge for any intruder that had attempted to scale the walls back in the days of Arab and Christian rulers. 

Bridge leading to the city.

Out in-front of the Ave train.

Toledo!

The cathedral.

 We made our way across the bridge slowly, soaking up the sun and the beautiful landscape that surrounded us.  Once we arrived to the other side we had a choice of going left or right, we went right.  195 stairs later and as luck would have it, we practically stumbled face first into our hotel.  The rest of the day was spent leisurely strolling through the tiny,twisty, turny streets of Toledo, but have no fear, David Knight came prepared.  Compass in hand, we constantly knew which direction was North. The fact that my dad brought his compass should not have surprised me in the least, but I could not help but laugh till I cried and my stomach ached at the first site of the small companion that he kept tucked safely away in his shirt pocket.  David Knight, Boy Scout for life. 

Bird's eye view from the top of the Alcazar.

Plates and Knives, made in Toledo.

Enjoying the sunshine:)

Monday morning came quickly and once again I had to wave goodbye and head back into Madrid for practice.  The weekend, however, had been wonderful and I smiled all the way home, counting my lucky stars.

Leslie’s Loose Ends

 Drivers in Spain will stop on a dime when they see you standing at a cross-walk.

“Salida” means exit.  Bless her heart, my mom was constantly thinking that, salida, was the name of a town.  Every time we got off a train or the metro the running joke was that we were in Salida again!

 I bought some sweets from some sweet little nuns in Toledo.  Little did I know that they would be the most disgusting things I have ever tasted in all 23 years of my life.  Imagine biting into something that looks and tastes like an egg yoke covered in sugar. Gross. 

I recommend seeing the movie Invictus.

I love the casualness of terms of endearment in Spain.  People are constantly referring to each other as guapo (handsome), guapa (beautiful), rey (king), reina (queen), amor (love), carino (sweetheart), and a dozen other names.  Perhaps if I had grown up here they would not sound as endearing, but I love them anyway.
 
Today is Father’s Day in Spain, so a BIG Happy Father’s Day to all you dads out there!!

I hope that everyone who is on spring break is enjoying themselves and that you are all going nuts over March Madness!  GO GOPHERS!

hasta luego,
Leslie

Pops and Mama K, arrive!

Sitting at the airport outside of baggage claim number 1, I watched and observed as the faces of friends and family lit up like the lights on a Christmas tree upon seeing their loved ones emerge through the sliding doors.  Every time the doors opened I sat up a little straighter and craned my neck to see if David and Wendy Knight had finally found their luggage and were ready to take on Madrid, but alas I was left waiting and waiting.  After an hour and a half of waiting my optimism was slowly being replaced with doubt.  Thoughts of last year’s trip to Switzerland flashed through my mind, what if they missed one of their flights?  Just as I was rising from my seat and en route to finding an information desk, I saw it.  A tan, Minnesota Golden Gophers baseball hat had appeared and was floating above the crowds.  Man, ha cannot go anywhere without that thing, can he?

I maneuvered my way through the crowds and eventually made eye contact with my visitors.  My dad’s face immediately took on one of his goofball grins, telling me exactly what he was thinking, “you like my hat, Leslie buffet?”  After a couple big hugs I was informed as to why it had taken them so long.  Turns out that after exiting the plane they had made a couple of wrong turns and had landed themselves in a line for departing flights.  So, they had waited to go through security again and when the airport employee took my moms ticket and asked what her destination was, you can imagine the confusion that crossed both woman’s faces when my mom replied hesitantly, “Alcobendas.”  I am sure that my parents would rather that this story did not make it into this week’s e-mail, but I just could not pass up an opportunity to give them (my dad) a bit of a hard time. 

The rest of Thursday was spent introducing them to the metro system, locating their hotel, eating some lunch and letting them rest up for the following day. 

Friday morning was drizzly and cold, but with all of the indoor activities to do in Madrid, we happily boarded the metro and headed down town.  The highlight on Friday was our trip to the Palacio Real de Madrid (Royal Palace of Madrid).  I had yet to wander inside the palace walls and had absolutely no idea what was waiting for us.  Our experience can be summed up in two words, madre mia. 

Each room was grand and unique, designed and decorated in completely different fashions than the room prior or the room to follow.  Many rooms had color schemes, such as blue, red, green and yellow.  Angels, cotton ball clouds, light blue skies and horses stood guard from the high ceilings while fantastic chandeliers illuminated the rooms, bathing the plush carpets and exquisite furniture in golden hues.  The detail and lavishness of each room was rather breathtaking, but I was partial to a couple rooms in particular.  The first of two rooms that I thoroughly enjoyed was the, Porcelain room.  Naturally, many of the objects in this room were made from porcelain, but that is not why I liked it so much.  The room was covered in green designs and as I stood there and let my eyes slowly wander from wall to wall I felt as if I were planted in the middle of a secret garden.  The room felt alive, magical, almost like being in the movie, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, where surprises hide behind every tree and things are not as they appear. 

Inside the palace courtyard.

The second room that caught my eye was the Royal Armory.  This impressive room was filled with valiant horses covered in shiny armor, upon their backs were men covered in the same garb, holding long lancing poles, poised for battle.  Each piece of armor was distinct, varying from all other pieces in the room.  One observation that stayed with me was the size of each man.  These characters looked far too small to be full grown men and I assumed that some of them were in-fact, young boys, but then it occurred to me that in 2010 there are not too many tall people in Spain, let alone hundreds of years ago.  One more aspect of the palace that I marveled over was the dining room table.  I tried to count the number of chairs on one side but there were so many that I cannot be certain.  My guess is that there were somewhere between 30-35 chairs on each side of the table. I tried to just sit back and imagine what this magnificent piece of wood would look like when it is decked out to the nines for a feast.  All of the silverware, goblets, plates, napkins, serving dishes, center pieces, candle sticks and tablecloths would be a site to see. 

Here's the hat, of course!

 As we exited the Palace it was time for me to head back to Alcobendas, so I left my parents to explore the Cathedral and whatever else their hearts desired. 

Saturday morning meant that it was time for another game.  I drove with my teammates to the train station while my parents braved the tunnels of the metro.  Ave dropped us all off in Barcelona around 3:30pm and from there we took a bus to the gym.  I really wish that I had better news to share with all of you, but the truth of the matter is that I do not and there is no way to sugar coat it.  We lost to Sant Adria, 69-59.  We beat them the first time around at home and we should have beaten them the second time around as well, but our play was positively repulsive.  There was no rhythm, no flow, no togetherness, we sure as heck did not look like a team that had been practicing together since September.  Hopes of making the playoffs are becoming farther and farther out of reach.  Especially considering the fact that we play the number 2 team this weekend. 

After the game I said farewell to my teammates and joined my parents in our quest to find our hotel.  We dropped off our bags, asked the man at the front desk for a restaurant recommendation and headed out into an unusually cold Barcelona evening.  We found the Pulpero de Lugo and had our choice of tables since it was only about 8:30pm and the dinner rush would not be coming in for another hour or so.  The evening’s meal was full of fresh fish, grilled sourdough bread, strong cheeses and beer, I could not have asked for much more than that.  Along with great food, there was gracious service and an ambiance that was dripping with gusto. 

My mom spoke up across the table and said, “It’s loud in here,” “welcome to Spain,” I replied just as a large, lively older woman walked past chanting, “AL-MER-I-A!”  A soccer game was being shown on the lone flat screen TV, Barcelona vs. Almeria.  As each team scored goals the restaurant erupted in boisterous cheers and long drawn out vowels in the word, “GOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLLL!”  Cigarettes burned red, red wine sloshed around in glasses and all was buoyant in Barcelona.  At the end of the night before we had asked for our bill, a waiter came by and set three shot glasses on our table.  My mom looked up in surprise as he proceeded to fill them with a thick, yellow substance.  We gladly took the offering, raised our glasses, said cheers and endured the strong burning sensations that coated the insides of our throats. 

Best seafood and bread that I've ever had.

The next morning we set off early in direction of the train station.  On the way, we stopped at a small pop-up stand and ordered a serving of freshly made churros.  Thirty minutes later we were riding the rails, heading towards la Costa Brava (the wild/rugged Coast) in the north of Spain, where beaches are well known and fishing villages have managed to hold on to their antiquity.  After several hours, a train transfer and a bus ride we had arrived in the touristy town of Las Rosas.  We strolled the sidewalks that ran along side the Mediterranean, watched as a group of boys played soccer on the beach and took notes as to where we wanted to stop for lunch.  After unloading our backpacks onto our hotel beds and filling our stomachs with croquettas, crisp greens with olive oil and sliced meat (chorizo, jamon serrano and lomo) that my mom still has difficulty eating since it is not cooked, but cured, we boarded a bus that would take us to Cadaques. 

Home of Salvador Dali.

Cadaques is a quaint little fishing village located 2.5 hours North of Barcelona on the mediterranean, just below France.  Tucked away in a secluded little bay, Cadaques has marvelously slipped through the hands of time; moving at a pace that is quite the contrary from its southern neighbors in Barcelona.  All of the houses are made of white stucco, while the rooftops play a tasteful contrasting role of red clay.  Cadaques is one of the most rugged spots on the Costa Brava due to all the rocks that were forced together when the Pyrenees were formed.  Furthermore, almost every narrow street has an uneven, rocky flooring that has been assembled with individual pieces of slate stone.   Handfuls of famous artists, photographers and sculptors have made Cadaques their home over the years, but the most famous perhaps is the man who is known for his melting clocks, Salvador Dali. 

Cadaques, Spain

Cadaques

Mama K and Papa K, enjoying the small fishing village.

Walking the "streets" in Cadaques.

The bus ride that brought us to this hidden gem was a bit much for some passengers who sat in their seats with white knuckles as they clutched the seat ahead of them, but I found the hairpin turns and steep mountainside drop-offs to be somewhat thrilling.  Perhaps I put too much faith in our driver, but he drives this road dozens of times a week all the while chatting continuously and telling jokes to anyone who will listen. The rolling hills that stretched out all around us were nothing short of impressive.  Many years ago, the people were very smart and decided to construct little walls all over the mountains so that erosion would not ruin their homes and that would help to preserve the mountain.  The amount of work, sweat and patience that was needed in order to build these rock walls is really beyond my realm of comprehension. 

That night for dinner we enjoyed more fresh fish and a chocolate and amaretto layered dessert that was melt-in-your-mouth goooood.  Our short but sweet time in this sleepy fishing town was about up and the next morning we had to make the bus/train trek all over again, but I am awfully glad that we decided to take this memorable trip up the Costa Brava.

Leslie’s Loose Ends

 “I wish that these bathrooms would just make up their minds.  Sometimes you push and sometimes you have to pull!”  I am accustomed to toilettes in Spain so I don’t think about how to execute a proper flush, but to my parents these things are all so new and strange.  I love having visitors because they point out aspects of my life that I fail to think about, providing me with many laughs.  One more quote from my mom was, “Do these people not use sour cream?  I couldn’t find it anywhere in the grocery store along with Kleenex, they don’t use Kleenexes either?!”

  In the scouting report this past week Charly was talking about a very good shooter on the opposing team and he said that, “las mete como churros.”  Churros are deep fried sticks of dough that when sprinkled with sugar are a sweet breakfast treat.  So, this girl “makes baskets like churros.”  Spaniards have so many expressions for so many different things.  I understand what they are saying in Spanish, but when I try to translate them into English, it just does not make much sense. 

  If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again.  Parking in Madrid is a disaster.  Sarah Crooks, Marta Cobian, and I drove into Madrid one night last week after practice for a celebration dinner (Marta is an intern for BMW and she just landed a stable job within the company) and to our dismay, we had to cancel our plans because we could not find a parking spot.  Even the underground parking garages were full. Uff.

  While my parents were in Barcelona it decided to snow.  First time in 37 years that there has been snow in Barcelona, que mala suerte (what bad luck).

In the second paragraph from the top I used the name, Leslie Buffet.  A little background info...you could say that in my early years of life I was a rather plump child.  Being that my middle name is Faye, my dad took it upon himself to come up with a fitting nickname for his bowling ball of a daughter.    23 years later, the nickname lives on.

I hope you all had great weeks and even better weekends!
love,
Leslie

Imagine all the people...

Pumpkin apple raisin muffins, pumpkin pancakes, pumpkin pasta sauce, pumpkin fritters and pumpkin pie.  Every single one of these scrumptious recipes was on the menu this past week.  Why the overload on pumpkin?  Well, Sarah Castrillo’s dad has a garden (that he is quite proud of), and every time he and his wife come to visit they bring with them a bundle full of earth’s little goodies.  It has been a while since their last visit which means that we have had a rather large pumpkin sitting on our kitchen countertop for quite some time.  This week I decided to do something with it. 

Calabazas! (pumpkins)

The muffins were mmm..mmm...good.  My roommates happily devoured them in a matter of days.  Next were the pancakes, and I do have to say that maple syrup on-top of pumpkin pancakes is a beautiful thing.  I think more restaurants back home need to add this little nuance to their menus.  Then came the pasta sauce.  I was a bit hesitant about this one, especially since I did not have all of the ingredients that the recipe was calling for, but great cooks, such as my grandma, never use recipes, right?  A pinch of this, a dash of that and waala! You have got yourself a pre-game meal.  Sunday called for fritters and pie.  My favorite part about baking pie is the heavenly aroma that floats right out of the oven and gladly fills the house with the most warm and comforting of scents.  This is now the 5th or so time that I have made pumpkin pie from scratch and I think I have finally arrived at an agreement as to how much liquid I should add to the already saturated pumpkin glop.  Result=happy roommates=)  Lastly were the fritters.  Even though they lacked a bit of flavor, I will say that the crunchy outside texture of these fried pumpkin balls combined with the warm and smooth inside was really good.  Next time I will add a bit of sugar and then I think we will be in business.

My pre-game meal of pumpkin pasta proved to be a good choice and gave me the energy to have a pretty decent game.  We played the number one team, however, and still ended up losing.  Navarra has lost one game this year and so we knew that if we played well, there was a chance at handing them their second loss, and in-fact, we were close.  The halftime score was Alcobendas 34, Navarra 32.  Navarra has a pretty deep bench and I think that this is what proved to be the deciding factor.  During the 2nd half our gas tanks were running a bit low and they started to pull away.  We would have only ended up losing the game by 10 points or so, but of course the last quarter was full of fouls, in attempt to stop the clock.  At the end of the game, Navarra had racked up 26 points from the free-throw line, ouch.   Overall though, Charly was very pleased with our effort and concentration.  This game was also Sarah’s first game back in action after about 6 weeks of sitting out.  Her finger is still broken, but she is deciding to just go for it in hopes that it will not get hit too hard.  Brave girl. 

Navarra would be the red section...

After the game I had a little fan section waiting for me.  A bit of background information: Remember how I have been meeting up with people for language exchanges?  Well, one of the first people that I met with about 1.5 months ago turns out to be a really great person and we have since become good friends.  So, Fransisco and 5 of his friends were all waiting for me after the game.  We ended up going out in Madrid to a great little restaurant called, Meson el Chacon, that serves very traditional, Spanish type foods.  All seven of us crammed together and sat around a tiny little table while plates full of crusty bread, strong cheeses, octopus, ham, potatoes, fish, olives and onions were placed before us.  Unlike most other places I have been to, red wine and sangria were not served, instead we drank white wine.  Furthermore, we were not drinking out of typical wine glasses, but instead out of these tiny, shallow chalices that reminded me of something that they would use in China. 

El Chacon. Yum, yum, yum or in Spain, nam nam nam!

I had a good time talking with Fransisco’s friends about the game.  For two of them it was the first time that they had ever watched women’s basketball.  I asked them if it was what they were expecting or if it was a bit different.  They told me that it was a lot more physical than they had expected, ha.  Perhaps they thought that women played basketball in skirts and ran around saying, pardon me, excuse me!  I played my usual game and I think they have now crowned me with the nick name, “fighter,” ha. 

Leslie’s Loose Ends

 I had brought my i-pod to the doctor’s house on wednesday and with it I had downloaded the song by John Lennon, Imagine.  In school they were having a week of topics related to peace and they were going to be singing this song, in english, for their classmates.  So I put the ear buds into Juan and Maria’s ears and we swayed back and forth and sang along with Mr. Lennon. 

Mr. Lennon

 “When pigs fly” we’ve all heard this phrase and perhaps we have all used it at one point or another.  Well, here in Spain they have a similar phrase that translates into, “when frogs grow hair.” 

 Man, anybody else watch the USA vs. Canada hockey game yesterday?  Well, there was definitely a rivalry going on between Miss. Crooks and myself last night!   

Can you believe that February is already over?!  I feel like we just skipped right over it. 

Take care everyone, and thank you for all your updates.  I really enjoy hearing how you’re all doing;)

ciiiaaaooo,
Leslie

Back to reality.

Trying to find the desire to write this week’s e-mail after such an exciting week in Paris is like taking the ice after Johnny Lysacek’s flawless figure skating performance in this year’s winter olympics, it’s tough.

I rolled over in bed this morning, picked up my cell phone and checked the time.  11:20am.  I was waking up a bit later than usual but not for no good reason.  Last night around 5:45am I heard the buzzer for our apartment going off, ring ring, ring ring!  Knowing that each one of my roommates had slept at home I decided to ignore the ringing and go back to bed.  Ring ring, ring ring, ring riiiiiing.  Whoever was downstairs at this early hour was clearly not going away.  I was bound and determined not to get out of bed and answer the call because 10 times out of 10 the person downstairs was nobody that I knew and was just ringing everyone’s buzzer in hopes that someone would let them in.  Well, after 2 long minutes I could not take it anymore.  I threw off my covers and stomped to the front door where I picked up the phone and in my most groggy and annoyed voice said, “Si (yes)?!”  Of course, there was no answer.  I should not have even picked up the phone because once I spoke into it, the person downstairs knew that someone was awake in apartment 4A.  The ringing increased to an all time high and not two seconds later my roommate, Marta Cobian, stumbled down the hallway.  She promptly yanked the phone off the hook and gave the person downstairs a piece of her mind.  Word to the wise, do not ever pick a fight with a spanish woman.  You will not win. 

Well, after this heart warming escapade I found it difficult to fall back asleep, so I picked up my book instead, read for a couple hours and fell back asleep.  Which brings us to the present time, now. 

Along with last night’s unusual theatrics, this past week was a bit off kilter as well.  We ended up playing 2 games instead of one, however, one of the games was more of a friendly scrimmage.  Since we had last weekend off and it had been a full two weeks since we had had a game, Charly decided to schedule a scrimmage against, Canoe, a division one team in Madrid.  As I have said many times before, the biggest difference between division one teams and division two teams is size.  Canoe’s shooting guards were taller than our post players, making their post players quite large.  The game went by in a bit of a blur and as I was sitting on the dark wood floor, stretching out my limbs, one of my teammates said, “estabamos empanadas (we were empanadas).”  Confused as to why she was referring to us as a spanish food item, I asked her to explain the meaning of this phrase.  She visually drew a picture for me of someone waking up in the morning, it is dark in their room, they do not know where anything is, they cannot remember what they have going on that day etc.  In other words, our team was a bit of a  disaster on Thursday night.  To me, empanadas are delicious and I have not really been able to fully understand the correlation, oh well. 

Saturday’s game, unfortunately, had a similar recipe to that of Thursday’s empanada.  At 1:30pm We boarded an Ave. train that took us the three hours or so to Barcelona.  The team we were facing was Segle XXI or 21st Century.  They are a young, athletic team with a lot of talent.  The first time around we had squeaked out a win by just 2pts.  The second time around would prove differently.  With Sarah Crooks still strapped to the sidelines we pulled up our boot straps and took the floor.  The first quarter was a constant foot-race.  The ball flew down the court over and over again, leading to easy, uncontested baskets for Segle XXI.  At one point we were trailing 21-9, but we fought back and got ourselves to within two points before the end of the half, 30-28.  I was feeling very confident in my team and had faith that we could win the 2nd half, but after committing 21 turnovers, the win was out of reach.  This was a very important game that we needed to win.  Right now we are in 5th place, the top 4 teams advance to the playoffs and this upcoming weekend we face Navarra, the top team in our conference.

Sunday morning came and with it the tradition of going out in the neighborhood called, La Latina.  I accompanied several of my teammates to a bar and followed them downstairs.  The room opened up and we were greeted by a large table of friends, most of them having played on the same teams at one point or another.  For several hours we sat and enjoyed beer, sangria and tapas.  One tapa that I had never had before was a bowl of french fries covered in eggs and sliced hotdogs.  Spanish culture is poles apart from American culture.  I sat back and watched as many of these athletes lit cigarettes and joined in on the clapping and singing of various spanish songs.  Spanish women are loud, and nobody ever has a problem telling you how they feel or what they think.  There is no room for passive behavior. 

After several hours the group changed venues and moved to a bar across the street where a large, flat screen T.V was showing the Real Madrid vs. Barcelona, men’s basketball game.  Barcelona ended up throttling Madrid by 20 points.  This rivalry is similar to that of MN vs. WI, and so there were several cranky chicas following the game.  Spanish people are real party animals.  We started the afternoon around 3pm and by 9pm I was ready to head home, but not the rest of the group.  I heard my roommate come back home around 2am and she had to work in the morning.

Leslie’s Loose Ends

 Potaje de lentejas.  This Cuban stew is darn right delicious.  The spicy chorizo makes it one of the best stews I have tasted. http://www.bigoven.com/169443-Potaje-De-Lentejas-(Cuban-Lentil-Soup)-recipe.html Give it a try, it was easy to make and well worth the wait.

 Perhaps I have mentioned this before but in Spain when you ask how far away something is you will always hear a response in kilometers.  Charly asked Sarah how long it would take to get from her parent’s farm to Vancouver and Sarah replied, “about three days.”  Charly was dumbfounded!  “3 days! What if I drive fast? What if I don’t sleep?”  Now, talking in hours and days sounds pretty ridiculous to me after listening to Charly’s way of thinking. 

 Tons of jokes that I hear in Spanish sound pretty funny, but when I imagine saying the same thing in English, it just does not seem right, or funny. Weird.

 I finished reading the Scarlet Letter this week.  An American classic, a bit slow at the beginning, but I am happy to have read it.

For many years I have grown up hearing about France, Paris and the Eiffel tower.  For this reason, I have created a magical, fairy tale picture in my head of Paris.  Combined with my thoughts and my real life experience, I have walked away from Paris with an oh-so-sweet taste in my mouth.  This taste is similar to the same taste I experienced as a 6th grader when my family took a trip to Disney Land.  After that trip I felt so light and airy, Disney Land was in-fact, where dreams came true.  As an adult, I am now enjoying the same sense of deja vu.  For this reason, I was not looking forward to writing about a not so exciting week here in Madrid.  However, Madrid is also a wonderful place in its own way and I love being here as well. 

I hope you all have great weeks and not empanadas;)

hasta luego,

Leslie

Falling in love...

“La Ville-Lumiere” translated from French into English means, The City of Lights.  Paris was originally called La Ville-Lumiere due to its desire to fill itself with more and more scholars.  Now, the name is often used to describe the dazzling street lights that illuminate the city each and every night.

The basketball conference that I play in is made up of 15 teams, which means that every weekend there is a team who finds themselves without a game.  This past week was our turn for a free weekend.  Our coaches held practice on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and then proceeded to grant us 4 priceless days of freedom.  Sarah and I had known about this weekend for quite some time and so several months back we made reservations that would take us to, La Ville-Lumiere.

I have been thinking about this e-mail all morning and have kept putting it off and putting it off because the mere thought of writing it has me feeling quite timid and unsure where to begin.  The journey of life is an unbelievably  magnificent road that tends to lead us through landscapes that we never thought possible.  Landscapes that are teeming with colors so bright and abundant that tears of joy and thankfulness wet my cheeks as I allow my mind to wander through the landscapes of late.
 
Sarah, Mary (Sarah’s sister), and I boarded the 7:20am flight from Madrid to Paris on Thursday morning.  Upon arriving in Paris’s Charles de Gaulle airport, we purchased our train tickets and plunged head first into Paris’s public transport.  I was destined for district number 19 while Sarah and Mary were going to a small town just one hour and a half outside of Paris.  We shared a couple hugs, wished each other luck and headed our separate ways.
 
The Paris metro system is a twinge different than Madrid’s, the biggest difference for me being the modernity of Madrid and the antiquity of Paris.  At times as we were rumbling through the dark underground tunnels I felt like I was Marty McFly traveling through time with Dr. Emmet “Doc” Brown.  I exited the metro at a stop called Juares, wrapped my scarf around my neck one more time and sifted through the streets a bit until I found my hostel.  Taking the essentials with me (camera, money, I.D) I pocketed a map of the city and headed out into the cold.  I must be losing my tough, MN skin because if I stood still for more than a few minutes my teeth would start to chatter and my shoulders would do a little jive all of their own.  Meanwhile, the resilient Parisians would pass me on their bicycles without hats or mittens.
 
I am not quite sure how many miles I put on my boots during this first day, but I would bet that the number was around 10.  Of course I could have played the part of McFly all day, but the streets of Paris are not to be missed.  My first thoughts as I explored the cobble stone roads were of the 1970’s film, Bedknobs and Broomsticks.  B and B is actually filmed partly in London and not in Paris but the old, foggy streets of Paris put me smack dab in the middle of Carrie, Paul and Charlie as they road their magical bed through London.  As I walked along I took in such sites as Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Invalides museum, the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel tower and the Pantheon. 

Standing with Notre Dame in the background.

At the Louvre.

During my journey my body ordered me to duck into two different cafes so that the coffee and hot chocolate (that I spent 5 euros on) would have a chance to warm me up.  My favorite part of this day was perhaps my night walk along the Seine river.  The street lamps lighted my path as I strolled along amongst the fashionable French.  The river ran by me on my left while the exquisite collector’s items of Paris’s luxurious shops sat still on my right, looking out at me from behind their protective glass walls.  Each and every shop was tastefully setup with the most lavish furniture, paintings, sculptors, rugs, armor, and glass ware.  As I walked along, enjoying the peaceful quietness of my own thoughts, I realized something that I had not thought possible before.  I realized that I actually enjoyed traveling by myself.  Perhaps a full week of solidarity would be too much, but a long weekend would be just fine.  After hours of walking I arrived at my hostel, took a long hot shower, and fell joyously into my bed.
 

Exquisite bridges in Paris.

Day 2 was spent in the same way as day one except that I now had the company of Sarah and Mary.  The biggest event on our agenda was the Louvre, the most visited museum in the world.  The main attraction being the Mona Lisa.  Now, I do not want to down play Leonardo da Vinci’s work of art and I am sure that if I knew more about the intricacies of painting and the history of the piece that I would appreciate it more, but to say the least, I was a bit shocked to find it as small as it was.  The painting hangs all by itself on it’s very own wall and is only 31 inches by 21 inches, more of a postage stamp compared with the other paintings in the room.  The other works of art that I enjoyed were The Winged Victory of Samothrace (which is a sculpture of the greek goddess, Nike, which means victory) and St. Sebastian the Patron Saint of Athletes.
 

Sarah and I at the Louvre.

Hey, Lisa!

Nice park job, Smart Car.

The next two days were perhaps the busiest of the trip.  During a study abroad semester in St. Petersburg, Russia, Mary became friends with a guy named, Tangy, who is from France.  Tangy came to visit and stood in as our own personal tour guide for the rest of the trip.  He educated the three of us on anything and everything.  I do have to say, however, that my favorite part about having a local show us around was the fact that he knew of all the good places to eat!  One particular bakery (pastelleria) that he took us to was literally out of this world.  I felt as if I was a character in the movie, Willy Wonka.  Splashes of pinks, yellows and purples graced the walls.  The glass cases were sparkling, spotless and filled with the most beautiful looking breads and treats a sweet tooth such as myself could imagine.  Pastellerias such as this are my definition of happiness. 
 

Gotta love the bakeries!

Our last night of the trip was Sunday, Valentines Day.  Following our thirty minute photo shoot in-front of the Eiffel tower, we browsed the shops on one of the most famous streets in the world, Champs-Elysees.  Renting an apartment on this street can cost as much as 1.5 million per 1,000 square feet, gulp.  Champs-Elysees is the most expensive stretch of real estate in Europe.  From the glitzy glam of Champs, we headed to a neighborhood that embodied a much slower pace.  Montmartre is a neighborhood located on a hill in the north of Paris and is also commonly referred to as the Painter’s Neighborhood.  Painters such as Salvador Dali, Vincent van Gogh and Pablo Picasso had studios or worked around the area.  

Moulin Rouge!

Even though it was quite chilly outside, there were several artists setup in the plaza drawing caricatures of tourists.  We walked around a bit and took in the sites of the church, Basilica  of the Sacre Coeur (sacred heart).  This church was rather fetching.  Made from Travertine stone that is constantly exuding calcite, the church remains a sparkling white even when fighting against the test of time and the pollution of the city.  The view of La Ville-Lumiere from the top of the hill is just charming.  We then popped into one of the restaurants near the plaza and ordered a few desserts in celebration of our last night in Paris.  The restaurant was enchanting.  Warm shades of orange and red covered the walls and a trio of men sat just one table behind us, each playing a different form of guitar. 

The church of Sacred Heart.

I could have sat there for hours, watching their fingers making fast work of their strings and taking in the pure bliss of their faces as they respected each others musical talents.  One woman rose from her table, approached the men and then proceeded to stand in-front of them and sing a most lovely french song while they provided the harmony.  The night before I was in a Greek restaurant and there was also a group of men playing similar instruments but with a greek flare.  Once again a woman stood up and decided to sing along with the music.  This is one of the many reasons why I cherish Europe.  People are without embarrassment in matters of song and dance.  If someone wants to sing or dance they will and the surrounding spectators will watch, clap and appreciate the beauty of the act.  

After a mouthwatering, crepe fatigue started to settle in and we started the journey back to the hostel.  Of course we did make one more stop.  On the way down the hill, we entered into the red light district of Paris where we took several pictures in-front of the Moulin Rouge. 

The next morning Sarah and I took off for one airport while Mary headed for another.  Our metro ride back to Charles de Gaulle was just barely without problems.  After one transfer we boarded another train and just seconds before the door closed we heard a man ask if this train went to the airport and the response was a definite, NO.  We quickly scurried off the train just in time (sigh). 

Now I am sitting in my kitchen in Madrid and thinking about Paris.  What a wonderfully magical city it is.  I was initially a bit nervous to go because I was worried about the language barrier.  There is that leering stereotype that the French are stuck-up and rude to those who do not speak their language.  Well, I can honestly say that everyone was decent towards me and not once gave me the cold shoulder.  I would love to travel back some day during any of the other three seasons. 

Leslie’s Loose Ends:

 In terms of endearment, people in Spain will call each other, Melons. For example, “digame, mi melon de jamon.”  This means, “Tell me, my melon of ham.”

 In many of the parks in Spain you will find stations specifically meant for the benefit of elders.  What I mean is that there will be seats with pedals in-front of them for stationary biking, or big wheels with handles to maintain good arm movements and things such as these.  I went for a walk in Retiro park the other day and actually saw a handful of people using these stations.  I think it’s a great idea.

 I met two people from New York in Paris and they both told me that I had a strong Minnesotan accent.  Truth hurts, don’t cha know.
 
 Valentines day is not celebrated in Europe between friends like it is in the U.S. The day is more specifically just for couples, however, many couples do not celebrate the day either because they feel it is too commercial.  Love should be expressed when you want to show it, not when someone is telling you to.
 
Protests are very common in Paris.  I witnessed a mad scramble of police and protesters in-front of Notre Dame.  It was all rather scary and I did not know whether I should hit the deck or hide behind a statue.

Eiffel Tower!

The Chinese New Year was being celebrated while we were there.  Red Lanterns hung from lamp posts and dragons were being paraded down the streets. 

The Chinese New Year was also taking place.

Ok messieurs et mesdames (ok, ladies and gentlemen)! Sorry this e-mail was so short, but I fell in LOVE with Paris!!!  Have a wonderful week.
love,
Leslie