Cieza

20 March, 2014

Last weekend we took a trip to Cieza and Mula, two areas about an hour west of us. Mula means mule, so it promised to be a great adventure. Some friends invited us to go view a cave that has 5000 year old paintings. I'm always up for something new and different, so we took off.

In typical Askins fashion, we were late, which got us in just the right mood. The group was about 20 strong, so being late made the "foreigners" stick out even more. We walked up the hill and arrived at the entrance to the cave. It was basically a big manhole cover. The guide lifted the heavy steel plate door and propped it open with a metal rod that did not seem adequate for the job. We could look down into the abyss and see a series of infinitesimally small and unevenly spaced stone steps disappear into the inky blackness. Our guide suggested that kids go first, because they are more brave. We are definitely not in Kansas anymore.

What we could not know when we started our descent into Hell, was that the next set of stairs were spiral. MY hips touched both sides. It was a tight squeeze, to say the least. We dropped down about 75 feet into a fairly big cavern. Turns out the cave opens up to a beautiful vista, the other side of a river gorge. This is the first running water we have seen in Spain, other than what comes out of the faucet.

Evidently the tour guide was very proud of her job, because she spent about 45 minutes droning about a bunch of stick figures on the cave walls. At one point, she asked what we thought they looked like. In a particularly mischievous moment, I responded that it looked like a beer bottle. One person in the cave was not amused by my interpretation. She obviously lacked my recently honed artistic eye. Amateur.

After we left the big hole in the ground, we headed off for Mula, to get something to eat. I was a little uneasy about the restaurant and town, especially when one of my friends said, "I am pretty sure you are the first, and probably the last, foreigners any of these people will ever see." Cue the banjos.

We ate some great paella, which is basically rice with whatever somebody decides to put in the pan. In this case, it was rabbit. It is hard to distinguish rabbit from chicken, when you just see the meat. Discerning the difference between the two becomes quite easy, however, when you start digging into what you thought was a thigh, but on closer inspection, was a rabbit's head, cut in half lengthwise. I know it was a rabbit's head, and not a chicken's, because of the large front teeth and the eyeball that looked back at me, as if to say, "Can we please get this over with? I am really so done with this meal." Rabbits are not pets in Spain. They are dinner.

Am I eating the rabbit, or is the rabbit eating me?

After our lunch, we headed off to one of the locals' farm. I really didn't know what was going on, as we were basically just playing follow the leader. When we arrived, I realized I was with some pretty important people. We stood at the doorstep of one of their guest cottages, and my friend told me, "You see those mountains over there in the distance? That's on their property too."

Several of us went on a nature walk, and we spotted herds of deer, wild mountain goats and even two wild boar. I was in hog heaven. Sorry.

This is an abandoned building that the deer have taken over.

It was beautiful and relaxing. The terrain here in Murcia is so different from my native longleaf pine forests, dogwoods and azaleas. Our friend's farm has acres of peach and other fruit trees that are now in bloom. This was the first time I have seen something that approached home, and I realized a thirst in my soul.

Valencia

6 December, 13

The girls had a puente, or bridge. That means they had a 4 day weekend, which means we gotta GO! Of course, we extended it another day, which they call an aqueduct. A big part of living in Spain is the ability to go to just about anywhere in Europe relatively easily and cheaply. I say relatively, because it is a little costlier and troublesome than we thought, but still very much worth the effort.

As a family we decided to go to Paris. The last time Susan and I were in Paris was for our honeymoon 18 years ago. I am not sure if Paris is the same, but I know we have changed quite a bit. My first experience in Paris was magnificent. The food was great. The city sparkled. The people were nice. Yep, the people were nice. I remember that I went out one morning for bread and ended up part of a protest march for or against something. It was hard to tell, because everybody kept speaking in French, but we marched in solidarity.

Both girls have been learning French. Katherine has been dying to order four croissants. Elizabeth’s hero is Coco Chanel. We were all a little giddy about the trip.

Susan did her usual magic and found some good tickets out of Valencia for half the price of Alicante. That meant an extra hour of travel to the airport, but we also got to see another great Spanish city. Our flight was for Friday evening, so we decided to leave school a little early on Thursday and take a day and a half to check out Valencia. Good decision.

It took us two hours to get to Valencia, and another two hours to find our way to the hotel. By now we are used to driving in the rabbit warrens Spaniards call roads, but Valencia takes it to another level. I kept looking for the Mad Hatter. We eventually got lost in the middle and just stopped at what happened to be some pretty important government building. We knew that because four cops started staring us down. This presented a great opportunity for some cultural interaction. It was basically like parking on the White House lawn and asking Secret Service for directions. I got out of the car and tried to remember not to put my hands in my pockets, while maintaining a large “I come in peace!” grin. Luckily for us, the cops in Valencia are very accommodating. We told them our predicament, and they were very kind. After several attempts to explain how to get to our hotel, the lead cop just gave up and basically said, “You can’t get there from here.” So he flagged down a police car, and we got a police escort right to the front door of our hotel. Now that is service. Try THAT at the White House!

When I say “hotel”, I really mean a retrofitted building, with nothing on the outside that would lead the uninitiated into thinking it was a place for overnight guests. We walked up to a big wooden door, circa 1250 AD, and rang the bell. I felt like a peasant walking up to the castle to ask for alms. The attendant buzzed us in. (Everybody has electronic locks here. It’s really weird.) Our flat was pretty modern, another commercial for Ikea, complete with a kitchen. It only cost about 50€, which is pretty decent.

I had to go park the car alone, which scared the crap out of me. Susan is my map, so I am lost without her. She has navigational skills that would make an general jealous, but I sallied forth like a brave soldier. When I found the parking garage, it was like descending into the bowels of Hell itself. It was dark and I had to go down two floors.  I kept thinking I was in a scene of “Fight Club”. I finally emerged and made it back to the hotel unscathed. Then Susan decided she wanted us to cruise the modern part of the city and find something to eat there. So I had to re-enter the abyss and retrieve the car. Evidently no fights were scheduled for that night, as I once again escaped with nary a scratch.

Valencia is the third largest city in Spain, behind Madrid and Barcelona. They went whole hog with the real estate boom of the last decade, and consequently have fallen further than other places as well. The benefits will outweigh the costs eventually, however. Valencia has an ultra-modern downtown, something that looks like a scene from the Jetsons. I am not much of a fan for modern architecture, but even I was impressed. We drove around the new sections and found a parking spot. I didn’t even get a ticket!

We were all famished, so we stopped at the first decent looking place we could find. Valencia is the birthplace of paella, so naturally I was looking for that. We ate at El Pavo Laqueado, which is literally translated, The Lacquered Duck. It was a sit-down Chinese restaurant with no buffet. They specialized in Peking Duck; hence the name. We got a fixed meal plan for 4 people. It was spectacular. A server came by and hand-rolled what we called Chinese burritos of duck and fresh cucumber and onion strips, with a peanut sauce. Then they brought out some beef. Then some seafood. Then some spare ribs. Then fried rice. The food just kept coming. After dinner, we went back to the flat and crashed.

Valencia has a lot to offer the tourist. Beautiful beaches, great food, Formula One races, old cathedrals, the largest aquarium in Europe, and much more. We didn’t have much time, so we shelved the aquarium and beach for a subsequent trip and opted for the historical parts of Valencia instead. It was a great decision.

The old city center is definitely geared towards tourists, meaning the food is way over-priced. We ate breakfast there for about 12€ each, which included a croissant, Valencian orange juice that is so strong it could cure cancer, a pastry and a hot drink. The girls both got sugar bombs. Murcia tends more towards the savory end of the gustatory spectrum. Evidently Valencia has a sweet tooth. After breakfast, we shopped at some of the tourist stalls and paid too much for a couple of trinkets. We also found a vintage clothing store that sold Levi’s Button-fly 501 jeans. I tried on a couple of pairs, but my family wouldn’t let me buy them. Evidently they are not as cool now as they were, when I was a teenager.

Next on the agenda was a tour of the Metropolitan Cathedral, which dates from 1238 and claims to house the Holy Grail, or cup that Jesus used at the Last Supper. Interestingly, the cup has been carbon dated to between 300BC and 100AD. It has been the official cup used by popes for several hundred years. The cathedral also houses the left arm of St. Vincent, who was martyred in 304AD. Aside from the strange and macabre, the cathedral is full of beautiful paintings and some magnificent architecture. Elizabeth, Katherine and I also climbed the bell tower and took some incredible photos of the city.

After the Cathedral, we visited La Lonja de la Seda, another building that was full of some cool geometric patterns that reminded me of the video game, Q-Bert.

We finally ate paella at La Ruía, a restaurant just off the plaza. It had that look and feel of a family-owned place that has catered to tourists for generations. The paella was excellent, though, so who cares? This one was chicken and rabbit. After eating, we dashed off to the airport to catch our plane to Paris!

The Redneck's Guide to Food--Paella

13 November, 13


I am all about some eatin'. There aren't too many things I won't eat. Even mayonnaise has become, well not a friend exactly, but a neighbor I don't mind talking to across the fence. I have eaten some crazy stuff in my life.

One day at Carowinds, we were in line at the Hurler roller coaster. As you wait in line, you pass under the coaster, which is a huge wooden monstrosity. On the ceiling of the tunnel, you will find a sea of chewing gum stalactites. I don't know what possessed me that day, but I took down one of them and put it in my mouth. Luckily it was mint flavored, which is my favorite. The kids around me were appropriately grossed out, and I got some free gum. It's amazing how long the flavor lasts in gum these days. The old Hubba Bubba Bubble Gum or Big League Chew would only take about 5 minutes to turn into a bland mush.

Then there was the time at Mama's house, when I was hanging out with all my nephews and nieces. We found a good-sized worm, and I asked them what they thought it would taste like. Nobody seemed to know, and nobody was willing to find out. So I did what crazy uncles do. They taste like dirt. It's funny, you say they taste like dirt, but when we speak of wine, we say it has an earthy taste, as if that is very much better.

Now you know that when I recommend something to eat, you should probably ask if it's been eaten before and left behind by others. That's my disclaimer...

Paella is one of my favorite dishes in Spain. Everybody in Spain loves Paella, and every region has a little different spin on it. Some use chicken, others pork or seafood. Basically, though, it is a big pan of rice, colored with saffron. You add other ingredients to taste. You never cook paella for yourself. It is, by its very nature, a fiesta food, which helps explain its popularity with Spaniards.

The other day, we got a paella lesson from La José. Her name is actually María José, but everybody calls her La José. She reminds me a little bit of Ellie Mae Clampett.

Given the choice of wrestling Ivan "The Russian Bear" Koloff or La José, I'm taking the Russian.

But like Ellie Mae, she is pretty and sweet and happy at the same time. I have no idea what she's saying most of the time, but when I do understand her, it is usually something that I cannot repeat to my children. She was born the middle of 13 kids, so I guess you have to learn how to defend yourself and fight for groceries at the dinner table. They all prayed with one hand on the chicken leg, if you know what I mean.

So La José showed up on Saturday and she got us jumping around like grease on the griddle. She and Susan started cooking up the chicken and red peppers. Then she threw in some artichoke hearts. The last step was adding the rice and saffron. Then you step away and wait for the yummy goodness to all come together.

If you're really serious about paella you go out and buy a special pan, called a paellera. We just used our frying pan, and it was still awesome. We are thinking about trying to cook up a batch over Christmas with the family. Vamos a ver...