Backroads and Panoramas

It has been a whirlwind of activity, trying to get this well dug before our month in the country is up. A trip to the finca with Vincens, to see about clearing paths for both the well driller and the builders revealed the problem of two pine trees in the way. Rule of law states no pine trees are to be cut down without permission from the "forestal", the land management wing of the government. So down to Falset we headed with Vincens on Friday morning, following his instructions to keep a low profile and show respect. He asked for the boss once we reached the office, and out walked a woman in a very official forest ranger outfit, which set off her cotton candy pink hair marvelously. It was all I could do to keep from blurting out "amazing hair" as I watched Vincens demur. The outcome was that she was willing to send some of her guys out to the finca on Monday to check out felling the small, rangy trees in question. So we wait for Monday, and hope that we catch a break. Amazing system. On the one hand, I am thrilled they are protecting the land, and I adore the pines that surround the finca. On the other hand, come on, two scruffy pines blocking the way of the terrace entrance, give me a break. But attention must be paid, and Pink is my new best friend.
Next day we headed to the finca to collect more firewood, and begin clearing a path for the trucks (just dead almonds, no pines!). Because we wanted to load up the car, and didn't want to schlep wood all the way back to the boulder, where we usually park and walk in, we opted for the "back road", and even more circuitous and amazing dirt road, winding over hill and dale. Made it to and back, our sweet little Opel loaded down with most excellent firewood, bumping it's way through olive groves. On the way we saw more beehives, only this one was suffering damage, with lots of dead bees outside the hives. There was still one that managed to give me a good welt from its' sting, teaching us to not muck around in their area too much.
We capped the day off with a hike up to the Ermita de la Consolacio, one of the small monasteries that dot the countryside, as part of the great route of monasteries. So breathtakelingly beautiful I was reduced to tears. The panorama from the top encompasses multiple villages, multi-million dollar wineries, winding trails that lead from village to village, and a boundless sky. As the sun began to set we could hear the bells of both Gratallops and Vilella Baixa ring the hour. Heaven on earth.

Wine & Passion

We spent last night chatting with Fredi, who brought two bottles of French red, because he's "tired of Spanish red". Good wine, but the best was the third bottle, which he ran down the street to get, from his own bodega, his "Terram". David prepared his wondrous garlic shrimp and mussels in white wine, and we conversed about everything important: passion, art, desire, bio-dynamics. All the time we fed the fire with whatever we could find: wood from the finca, wine crates, wood from Fredi's bodega. He kept running down the street for firewood and more wine. We capped the night off with a bottle he siphoned off from his (solera), that special brew each bodega makes, sometimes taking one hundred years to reach perfection. It was sublime.
Today was about gathering more firewood, as we purchased a chain saw at the Spanish version of Home Depot, Leroy Merlin (can you believe it?). Sawing away at felled pine trees, we gathered enough wood to keep us cozy.
At three, we went on a tour of the finca with Vincens, the local earth mover, to talk about clearing a path for the well driller and the construction trucks. The man is awe inspiring, a 24/7 kind of guy who not only moves the earth but knows about everything, from olive trees to vine planting to jabali (wild boar). He took us on a tour of the new grandiose bodega he has been working on, Trossos d'el Priorat, owned and funded by a Barcelona family with endless supplies of gold. Unbelievable. Ostentatious, yet amazing.
The bells have rung eight p.m., the fire is warm, and we head to dinner at Fredi's at nine. Maryanne, the delightful young French wine maker who works at (Buil Gine) will be there, and who knows who else. Fredi is a man of surprises. This is a magical place, and our goal is to carve out a small portion for loved ones, including ourselves, to enjoy.

Wind, Washing and Wells

Not sure whose following, but we've been without internet for 2 days, due to the amazing, insane weather. Hurricane winds which have left us without power for up to 24 hours, caused insane damage with downed trees, power lines, and collapsed roofs. Stilled the windmills due to too much velocity and turned the sea into a steaming cauldron. Crazy!
We flew down to Reus, in desperate search of a laundromat. Then David remembered he had read about laundry facilities in camping sites along the coast. We tried Hospitalet de L'Enfant, and even went so far as (Templo del Sol) in our desperation. This is the nudist beach located on the outskirts of the quite popular Hospitalet. Weird. Caravans everywhere (RV's), and the entrance to the place guarded by two golden cobra lights. The place seemed deserted (thank god!), so we hightailed back towards Reus, to the omnipresent Carrefour, where we thought we had seen a laundry. Wrong. It was a dry cleaner, and I'm not keen on dry cleaning under garments. The delightful woman behind the counter just smiled, and assured us we would have to go to Barcelona to find a laundromat. So it was old school, in the sink back at the hotel. Then to the finca to hang laundry in the sun, among the almond trees. We've become gypsies. But we had a delightful picnic, gathered more firewood, washed the dishes in our country dishwasher (bucket with shrub), and headed towards Falset to pick up the water diviner.
The water diviner, now that's old school. We picked up at the appointed place in Falset, in front of the phone box. Ramon, as that's his name, was standing patiently, a small man in his 70's, with a blue plastic bag clutched in his hands, the contents of which were revealed at the finca. We wound our way back to our property, with Ramon sitting in the front, straight as an arrow, me sitting in the back trying to make idle chit chat, David clutching the wheel with both hands. We parked the car (boulder still there!), marched in to the terrace previously deemed (by the same diviner) to be the spot,as we had been advised by the well driller to re-check best location, and proceeded to watch him perform his magic. From the blue bag he took out a small leather pouch containing some ancient, incredibly heavy coins, and a small box. Inside the box lay a pendulum and three vials of various soils. First he marched back and forth swinging the pendulum. He then instructed me to drop coins in his palm, which he held behind him, a clump at once, then one at a time, until he told me stop. It was wild. Chomping on his cigar, he again proceeded to march back and forth, stopped suddenly, placed his hand out, palm up, behind his back, and said "Drop the coins." And from that he marked the spot we should drill and gave an estimate as to depth, cautioning us that because of all the calcification in the rock and the altitude, he might be off by 50 meters. His "guesstimate" was 50 meters, so we aim for 100. And today we found out the permit is in, so let the fun begin.
Back at the hotel, we found ourselves assaulted by the ubiquitous Billy Mays. What a small world, really. No laundromats, a water diviner with ancient coins, and Billy Mays selling the Samurai Shark. As the Catalans would say "Que mes vols?"(What more do you want?).

Tarragona & Taxes

The day revolved around our appointment in Tarragona with Jonathan Eshkeri, a lawyer in Tarragona our man on the street Jeff recommended. We are looking to establish a company here in Spain as a means to integrate business with the personal, to establish residency while staying current with US of A realities.
Tarragona is fabulous, a seaside town with it's own heritage site status: a Roman amphitheater, a notable aqueduct, and history that belies the easy going feel of the place. We maneuvered the round abouts (no easy task) and found the Eshkeri & Grau offices with no problem.
Jonathan was great, and described himself this way: a Jew, who's grandfather was born in Afghanistan, who's father was born in Iran and raised in Jerusalem, and Jonathan himself raised in London. Prior to being a solicitor (all this expressed in a glorious British accent) he was in the family business, the rug trade, having lived in NYC and loved it. After sharing his story, encapsulated in five minutes, he said "I detect a North American accent" and we said we were from Oregon. He then disclosed that he and his Spanish wife had honeymooned on the West Coast, taking a driving tour from Seattle to Tijuana, having spent a night in Portland. "Lovely, really" he described it. How weird is that? So, of course, his next question was, "What are you doing here?". Needless to say, this is what makes the world an interesting place.
Back in Gratallops, on a Friday night, we sit and listen to the bells ring out the hour. David is finally tackling "The Pillars of Hercules" by Paul Theroux(a fabulous book), reading bits to me as I sit and knit a new sweater in yellow, my homage to Michelle, although the designer, Isabel Toledo, described the color of her outfit at the inauguration as "lemongrass."

Callos in Cal Llop

We woke up to rain, and the sound of voices below the balcony, fiddling with the front door. After the mishap with Fredi's car, we were trepidatious. I hung my head out the balcony and called out "hola", only to find Angel (the chef at Cal Llop) and Maria (a neighbor who is more like family) trying to unlock the wooden entry door. Still in my pajamas, I was, needless to say, startled to see them, as I thought Angel was still in Menorca with Waldo and Cristina. But there he was, with a grin on his face, and a bag full of innards, come to cook up a monster bash of callos, which in English translates as callouses. It is a typical Spanish dish made from the parts of cow we Americans never see: honeycomb tripe, feet, knuckles, cheeks, stomach. He was ecstatic, as he had, for 20 euro, purchased enough tripe and such to make callos for twenty people. So to the kitchen I went, to watch and learn. I am not particularly fond of entrails and tripe, but one cannot expect to enjoy fully if you don't jump in to the pool.
Imagine a cow foot, a cow knee, a cow stomach, a cow face, and what's left on a ham bone, thrown in to a pot, cooked so it all comes off the bone. You then take a pair of scissors and cut it all in to uniform pieces, pulling extra hair off with your finger tips, all the while being assured that what you are preparing contains no cholesterol, and that the magic of the dish lies in the variety of textures inherent in the multiple stomachs of a cow. Not for the faint hearted. Nor for the prima donna, as who are we to make the seemingly less attractive parts of such a noble creature taboo? If you are going to eat the animal, shouldn't you show some respect and eat it all? And I must say, after adding some salt, pepper, garbanzo beans, and sweet paprika, it was most delicious. Especially when accompanied by a glass of dry white wine. Life is a banquet.

Random Acts of Hope

Watching the inauguration last night brought on dreams of hope: for articulate, thoughtful leadership and a return to chic individuality. I could not get Michelle's marvelous outfit out of my mind, and was brought back to the years of Jackie O, when, as a kid, I first learned to love pink. Color is in, folks, in every sense, and I'm thrilled by it. Our small TV in the room just bloomed with color: citron on Michelle, fire engine red on Jill, ultramarine on Hillary. I feel I can breath again.
Locally, we woke up this morning headed to Reus, for banking and such, only to see our friend Fredi's car smashed to bits at the entrance to town. So shocking a sight it was that I was thrown in to a foul mood the entire trip to Reus, making our stop at the Carrefours (Spain's Costco) more nightmarish than usual. Beautiful town,(Reus), the birthplace of Gaudi. The sun was shining, though the wind blew cold. We banked, had coffee, got bleary eyed at the Carrefours, and headed back up the mountain. At the entrance to Gratallops we found Fredi and friends, examining his beaten in Volvo. He was so mellow about it. His windshield and windows had been busted in by random vandals on a joy ride at 4 in the morning. The tow truck that came to haul it away broke the axle or something, and his beloved car sat in ruins. More like the Bronx than Gratallops. So weird and out of place, such a violent act unusual in this part of the world. But he was quite cavalier about it, saying negativity had no place in his complex life. I guess when you make extraordinary wine, the rest is just stuff. Cool. Hopeful.

Bees, Barb-B-Que, and Barack

The weather men in Spain are as misinformed as anywhere else, as we anticipated rain on this inauguration day. We have actually had beautiful blue skies once again. Perfect firewood gathering. To the finca! The boulder was, of course, still in the way. So we schlepped in with our basket, and hauled wood up to the car one to a handle, brimming with almond wood.
The bees were buzzing all around, working the rosemary. Our neighbors hives were humming with activity, bees thick around each entrance.Rosemary honey, the best!
The olive trees are still laden with fruit, but we have no idea what to do with the harvest. Greenhorns not green thumbs...yet.
David had prepared ingredients for a barbeque: chicken, potatoes, green pepper all on an open flame, using his flea market grill. Delicious! There is something about sitting outside in the sun, reaching out to grab a handful rosemary and thyme, and throwing it on the roasting chicken, that makes you appreciate the simple things in life. "En plein air" cooking.
Tracks are everywhere, either (jabali) or deer coming to the cistern for a drink.
We are now watching the events in Washington, the pomp and carryings on. Screaming at the TV as the idiots parade by (any Bush). That miserable family make the Hapsburgs look like put together geniuses. But oh how beautiful that Obama family looks. Michelle Obama is a goddess in green. The Rev. Warren, however, is a sad case, a blubbering, pontificating idiot. Sorry folks, we have a long haul ahead of us. But may the gods bless Aretha and that hat!

Firewood and Romans

The sunrise over Cal Llop was a sign of another glorious day in the Priorat. Red sky in the morning may be no good for sailors, but it was great for wood choppers. We set out to find an alternate route to the finca, as the boulder is still blocking the road. Out little Opel was tortured to within an inch of its engine, as we rolled over rocks and ravines, crawling over the mountains with no idea where we would end up. Yet we managed to snake our way to the finca. Took hammer and tong to the boulder, but no amount of elbow grease would give us the inches we needed to get by. Today we take a sledge hammer to it, so stay tuned.
The flea market saw was a gem, and we loaded the trunk with an assortment of wood: pine, olive, and almond. What a roaring fire we managed with that haul.
Winding our way back out, we stopped to explore the neighbors ruin, an incredible masia (farm house) which at one time was an impressive estate. Remnants of a working farm are strewn about, including an old grinding stone. We have found a similar one on our finca. The terraces, from Roman times, are breathtaking. How they did it one can only imagine. Slaves, no doubt. There were two tower structures at the peak of one hill, markers for some event. Something to inquire about, as they are so unique.
The evening was spent strolling through Gratallops, running in to Pepe from Beso Palleja, the land clearing guys. We'll stop and chat with him today. It's a new week.

Buttons at the Mercat

Woke up yesterday before the sun for our drive to Barcelona, to drop the always delightful Cyrus off at the airport for his return to the states and 1 degree weather in Ithaca. It was odd to see our son off at the airport, with us staying in Spain for another 3 weeks. A glimmer of days to come. It was a real energizer to know we could hop in the car and be in Barcelona in an hour and a half. Like going to Queens from Manhattan in rush hour.
We zoomed up the Gran Via, headed to the Plaza Glories, with little traffic on a Saturday morning. Our destination was the flea market, el Mercat Encant. Found a perfect parking spot (free on Saturday!) where we squeezed in the dirt encrusted Opel. The little car thing works, folks.
After a little wandering around, and asking various people where the market was, we finally caught a glimpse of tent tops, and in to the bowels we went. My goal was to find buttons, the weirder and more unusual the better. And what a bonanza it was. David is a masterful button scrounger, digging deep for the best. Buttons abounded! I walked away with pounds, gleaming with our haul. I must say I was very good about walking away with just what I came for. My fingers did indeed graze some delightful things, in particular old postcards and the odd graphic item, like chocolate bars inserts from the 50's that taught you how to do shadow puppets. But this pitufa is scaling down, so buttons only. Now back to the hotel to knit away, as the buttons need a home. David found what he was looking for, a saw and a grill for an open fire. Today we head for the finca to chop firewood and grill the rabbit he says he will be catching with his bare hands. Going country.

Almond shoots and rosemary blossoms

The sun has made it's way to the Priorat. We awoke to a glorious blue sky, beckoning us to the countryside. The dirt road is still a bit muddy, and the boulder keeps immediate access right to the casita impossible. But we are undaunted. The almond trees are showing signs of life, juicy red shoots promising blossoms in another month. That is truly a sight to behold, the delicate almond flowers one of the marvels of nature. And the rosemary, which is abundant on the finca, has covered the ground with that particular periwinkle blossom I adore. The scent is truly intoxicating as you walk along the terraces. We gathered firewood for the hotel, with the intent of picking up a saw in Falset to really score some decent size logs.
We're off to Barcelona this morning, to take Cyrus to the airport. We are hoping to stop at the flea market (Mercat del Encants), looking for buttons for my sweaters. More mayhem, but oh what fun.

Touring the Delta, icy fog on the finca

The weather continues to be chilly, with an amazing blanket of icy fog on the olive trees as we drove to the finca with Pep to show him around. It was as if a veil of lacy net had been cast over the country side. The region is so diverse, with so many micro climates, that you can drive from ice to oranges within fifteen minutes.
We wound our way over the mountainside towards the Ebro, via Miravet, to the delta. Our goal was lunch in San Carles de la Rapita, a fishing port where a fresh daily catch is guaranteed. Had a great lunch of various shell fish and grilled whole fish. As we wound our way back over the delta, amazed at the rice fields dotted with a variety of exotic birds, we found a ferry shuttling vehicles across a narrow waterway, a short cut back to autopista (main highway). In to Reus for a cable Cyrus needed for his laptop, a few vegetables and fresh bread for dinner, and back to the hotel for chicken soup and more knitting.

In the Priorat

We've arrived, to great fanfare. There was indeed snow on the ground, the villages and grapevines blanketed in a lovely white. We were greeted at (Cal-Llop) with hugs and kisses, shouts of "los americanos"! and spent the weekend drinking and laughing, culmunating in a family feast to clean out the kitchen stores before the official vacation closing. Peter Fischer, from (Chateau Revelette) arrived with his wine making partner Eric, who only spoke French, driving from Marseilles with bottles of his amazing white wine. The delightful Fredi, a Swiss wine god trapped in a Spanish man's body, from (Sao del Coster) arrived with red. And we novices from the Oregon wine country arrived with two Pinot's and a Cab from Walla Walla. The first Pinot hit the mark, the second was pummeled, and the Cab was packed by Cristina for their trip to Menorca. The feast was a glorious cacophony of French, Spanish, English, and Catalan. Music!
Our first sojourn to the finca was an adventure of snow and mud. We managed to get two thirds of the way down the dirt track off the main road, and were greeted by fallen rock. David swung the car up an incline, in the hopes of turning around in sinking mud. No such luck. He proceeded to back the car up the road, full tilt, to avoid getting stuck, until he hit a wide spot to turn around in. Cyrus and I walked behind with the shovel, our thoughts being less pressure with no passengers in the car. The air was fresh, the scent or rosemary mixed with the crispness of the snow absolutely intoxicating. We headed back to Cal Llop mud spattered but dizzy with the joy of not getting stuck.
Today we meet with our man Jeff about what's next, and then off to the finca with Pep Figueres, another builder, to get a second opinion and estimate on the casita. Stay tuned, as everyday brings "algo nuevo".