Tag Archives: younger men

Spanish Holiday Part Cinco: Part of the Boys of Summer Series, Traveling to Fill Your Spirit

Standard

So sorry to leave you all hanging for a few days.  I have been busy working on a novel and living like a Spaniard (up early, nap in the afternoon and out late).  You may want to hold off on the Sangria as we will be switching to Cava in a few minutes as we gaze into the eyes of a younger man and stick our toe in the water to test the temperature….

A front desk person gave me directions to the Sant Antoni metro station which is a short two blocks away.  I got on a train and emerged at the Placa de l’Angel in the Bari Gotic the oldest part of Barcelona. The first thing I did was go to a pastry shop and purchase a salami bocadillo and a pastry.  At this point hunger was a motivation but also culinary adventure.  Bread used to be an important part of my diet until almost two years ago when I discovered a gluten intolerance  that causes various physical and chemical issues in me.  My friend, Michele Humlan, a chef with a similar condition told me that European’s process their flour differently (Europeans leave their wheat un-genetically modified which keeps it less glutenous than wheat grown in the States) and that it might be fine to eat bread in Spain.  So eating a crusty bread, for me is a foray into an unknown world filled with fear.  Would it really be OK?  Was this going to make me feel like crap?  The cultural aspect of this experience is important as well.  The bacadillo is a staple in the Catalunyan diet.  They adore ham in any form and it is common to see people eating these sandwiches for breakfast, a picnic or for a snack at any time. I really adore this type of sandwich and the crusty baguette type bread from which it is made. I have missed it terribly as I have yet to discover a palatable gluten-free version.   Throwing caution to the wind, I decide to simply revel in the crunch of the crust and the way it gives way to the soft airy soul of the bread.  I allow the tastes of the salami cheese and butter to dance on my tongue giving each taste bud a turn to experience the combined sensation of texture and flavors.  After the first fanstastic bite, my “movil” rings, it is Kirana,  “I have just taken my first bite of real bread in two years. I am never leaving Spain!” I tell her.

After a brief “Welcome” chat with Kirana and the full demise of my bocadillo, I start walking to take in the sights and smells of the Bari Gotic.  Unknowingly, I head west on Libreteria to the Placa Sant Jaume, the home of the Barcelona Ajuntament (town hall). There is a band playing in the square and many people dancing the sardana which is the Catalan national dance.  It looks a bit like Greek dancing with people holding hands in a circle doing a little series of steps and walking from side to side.  Apparently this happens throughout the town especially on Sundays and people of all ages participate.  Catalans study this dance as it has many versions and they like to make statements about being different from the rest of Spain. It is while watching the sardana that Ricardo calls.  He decides we should meet at the Placa de Catalunya.  He googlemaps from his computer and gives me direction to go down Carrer Ferran to La Rambla and up to Placa Catalunya.  On the way I stop at an adorable little shop called La Boheme at Ferran 49.  It is small but bursting with colorful T-shirts, handbags, jewelry and other accessories.  Barcelona attracts youth from all over the world and much of its local fashion is dedicated to bright colors and slim styles for twenty-somethings.  I purchase two really cute typical Barcelona style T-shirts that I have seen young women wearing for my daughter which the shop keep neatly wraps as a gift.

Carrer Ferran is loaded with cute shop and small tapas restaurants.  The streets are narrow and cobblestoned affording one the essence of an ancient place.  La Rambla by contrast is a wide walkway going dividing two streets like a big median strip with pedestrians tourist shops and newspaper stands.  La Rambla is famous for performance art and pick pockets.  Crowds of tourists walk up and down this main thoroughfare. During the day tourists delight in the people dressed like statues, magicians and street dancers.  At night La Rambla takes on a dark side with prostitutes, drug deals and guys that walk around selling “sexy” beers.  Ricardo told me to meet him in the center of Placa Catalunya where there is a giant star set in marble.  He is late but the evening is grand.  Many people meeting and greeting in this central spot.  Children laughing as they chase pidgeons.  Lovers cuddling on benches.  I wander around looking at the statues, enjoying the fountains and just people watching.  When Ricardo finally arrives, we hug and kiss on the cheek then he kisses my other cheek and says, “two kisses in Spain.”   I wonder what the evening will bring without reading too much into this extra kiss thing.  We start walking.  Ricardo is a football fanatic- football as in soccer.  One of his favorite teams is playing in an important match tonight and he tells me we are going to an Irish bar to watch the game.  Not exactly what I had in mind for my first night in Spain but I am open for whatever.  Somehow it fits.  I always end up in an Irish bar wherever I travel.  At least the first night I am there – and not once from my instigation.

We go to the bar (I forgot the name- sorry) Italy vs Brazil is on the wide screen flat panel television on one side of the bar which has three separate bar locations.  We attempt conversation in between goals over a pitcher of the most disgusting sangria (still mystified why we ordered sangria in an Irish bar) ever created on the face of the earth. It was obviously from a mix and for tourists which happens a lot in the bigger cities in Spain.  If you want the real deal you must make sure to ask how they make it.  It should be red wine, some fruit juice or orange liquor, fruit, maybe brandy but however it is made it should be real and not some sticky nasty red dye infused manufactured crap. But I digress…

Brazil wins and we proceed to the bar in the back for Sunday night kereoke.  This area is filled with twenty-somethings from all over the globe singing kereoke, mostly in English which is the language used by tourists to communicate.  A Dutch duo of girls dominate the evening singing ABBA songs, Ricardo does a great version of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody,  a guy from Mexico City sings “Ring of Fire” and Ricardo and I do a duet version of Bon Jovi’s “It’s My Life”.  At about 11:00pm we head out for tapas.  My young companion is not the restaurant guide I had hoped for but we do manage to find bar stools at a tiny tapas place –literally a window of a four table spaced restaurant that serves mostly to about fifteen tables outside in this courtyard type area.  We order Cava, the typical drink of Catalunya and some tapas all of which were fabulous but most memorable was the melt-in-your-mouth carpaccio with olive oil and fresh arugula.  The evening is balmy, the food wonderful, the Cava is flowing and the conversation turns to expectations of our upcoming stay in Sitges.  Not able to get much of a handle on what his expectations are I decide to cross a line and to observe his reaction.  We toast Barcelona and over our flutes I lean in to give him what I think will be a kiss that will make him weak in the knees for the purpose of catching him off guard.  Our lips meet and the tables are delightfully turned.  This man has true talent- a gift even.  He is hands down the best kisser I had yet encountered and I am undone.  He is definitely willing to cross whatever lines there might be and then some much to my surprise, delight and…. horror.

Advertisements

Spanish Holiday: Part Tres (part of the Boys of Summer Series)

Standard

 

 

This post is part of a continuing story.  To see the other parts click Part 1, Part 2, and enjoy….

So how is that pitcher of Sangria doing?  Time to make another and read on?

TRAVELING TO FILL YOUR SPIRIT continued…

Fast forward a few more days.  My phone rings at work.  It is the mortgage broker, Karin Jimminez, with whom my personal finance guru connected me.  “Rates are going up” she says, “We need to move on this refi right now”.  A little background:  I am divorcing my husband of twelve years and need to lower my fixed expenses.  Michelle, my personal finance advisor thinks that I can refinance my house and lower my monthly payments while eliminating my debt by absorbing it through the loan.  Karin is the genius mortgage broker who can make this strategy work.  Something that has to do with the Personal Property Tax payment and the refinance results in a small windfall of cash for me to split with my soon to be ex.  Michelle gives me permission to do something fun with the money.  I check the cost of flights but even though they are pretty cheap, I am still on the fence.

I email Kirana to clue her into my plan and we decide to talk on the phone.  During a conversation about what I might want to do she begins to explain the “guru energy” of the center.  Swami Satchitanda (of Woodstock/Peter Max/Yogaville fame) was big into creative expression she tells me.  The yoga center just seems to attract music and well known spiritual musicians like Krishna Das and Tina Malia.  They ask to play there she does not seek them out.  When I ask her why she thinks that is she says that Swami Satchidanda taught that creativity is an expression of the divine.  This is exactly what Julia Cameron is teaching and what I am investigating in my own self.  Instantly I say to her “I am coming.”  I now have the reasons, the money and the spiritual guidance.

Ricardo is pleased. But I really don’t know what he is thinking.

Spanish Holiday- The Boys of Summer continued…

Standard

I am Jonesing for a trip right now but it is simply not in the cards this year.  So in my stay -cation frustration I deliver to you, gentle readers, a tale from an unsolicited story I wrote about a trip I made to Spain.  Yes, a boy of summer story for us middle aged gals out there who, despite best efforts, are single on these steamy sultry summer nights.  So for your fantasy pleasure, ladies, I give you  THE STORY OF THE YOUNGER MAN (which actually is about the zen inducing state of travel with a younger man element thrown in).

I will be posting this in installments so go make yourself some sangria (click for recipe here) and sit back and enjoy .

Imagine you are flying to Spain on this nice airplane>>

TRAVELING ZEN- One woman’s adventures in letting go

“I am much more comfortable staying put spiritually.  If I allowed myself to travel, where might I go?  I believe it involves the ability to put comfort aside, and boldly investigate new spiritual territory”  SARK

The first time I read that quote while preparing for a trip to Spain, I missed the word, “spiritually” in the first sentence completely causing my mind to make a connection between physical travel and mystical travel.  UNIVERSAL TRUTH THAT THE MIND FOLLOWS THE BODY AND VISE VERSE – “AMAZING THINGS HAPPEN WHEN YOU CONNECT THE BODY WITH THE MIND”

Traveling itself is an act of spiritual feeding.  Daring to go into the unfamiliar and experience the unknown is brave.  When we are in a strange place without a regular schedule, responsibilities or the normal accoutrements of daily  living the focus of life changes.  Acts that one takes for granted like how to turn on the water for a shower or unlock a door suddenly become important issues.  One is forced to concentrate on the moment and mundane tasks which what “living in the moment” is all about.  Living in the moment is a goal of many spiritual paths therefore traveling brings one a step closer to enlightenment through training of the mind to focus on the moment.  When the mind stops it’s constant monologue of interruptive thought one is open to the power of the Universe to bring what one needs.

A pure example of this is a recent trip to Spain.  I adore Spain.  My hope is to someday live there.  It is simply the most civilized society ever created.  Spaniards know how to live.  The Spanish wake early, do some work, come home in the middle of the day, consume  a big meal and some time to relax, then maybe return to work and at ten at night are out eating tapas, spending time with their loved ones.  They are relaxed.  They speak from the heart.  They appreciate beauty and design and the food is fabulous.  The European mindset of using only what you need makes so much sense to me- I adore how the electricity goes out in your room when you are not there. I love how in a hotel you need a little plastic card to turn on your air-conditioning.  I love how cities are built so people can walk everywhere.  But my income level prohibits me from even visiting Spain much less moving there anytime in the foreseeable future so I usually just wax poetic about it to anyone who will listen and eat tap pas in a local restaurant when I can drowning my sorrows in pitchers of Sangria or  the soft bubbles of a good flute of Cava.  So it is easily understood why I became wickedly jealous of my  young colleague, Ricardo, when he told me he was going to Barcelona to study Spanish for the summer.  Ahh, to be young and without the obligations of spouse, house or children.  What fun to have the ability and the parental bankroll to just go somewhere and learn something new and useful that will offer many life changing moments.  He is living my dream.  Then he did something that made my envious heart skip a beat. He leaned in close to my ear and  in a low voice with smiling eyes said, “Why don’t you come visit?”

There are about 500 reasons why I should not go to Barcelona and visit Ricardo during his summer sojourn.  Many of those reasons are mundane like where would the money come from to take such a trip just for fun? and how would I arrange childcare for my nine year old daughter? and do I have enough vacation time?, blah blah blah.  Other reasons are ridiculous like what would people think of a 46 year old soon to be divorced woman flying across the ocean for a little visit with a 24 year old half Brazilian  hotly of a man with a reputation for living La vida loca?  And not least of all, what does he mean exactly by “come visit?”  This statement is full enough of possibilities that simultaneously confound, flatter and terrify me.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

Tune in tomorrow to find out what happens next…