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