**Queue up CCR’s “Who’ll Stop the Rain”

Before I launch into today, I have some catching up to do.

In the teeny, tiny, little town, Zuheros, perched on a hillside, there was…..get ready for it…..a castle. Now our castle crazed photographer had quite the dilema yesterday afternoon. Does he brave the 30 mph sideways gusting wind and torrential sideways rains to climb an exposed ruin? Or does he crawl into a warm bed layered with blankets and finish his movie? It was a good thing, that one of us hasn’t reached full fluffy bunny status yet (I’m speaking of myself, because, well, I am writing this). I kept a watch on the rain, and in a rare window of 12 minutes (9 if you ask Peter), it stopped. Peter, Mark and I raced toward the ruins, climbed all around them, almost got blown off the top a few times (it stopped raining, but it was still super windy), and then raced back to the hotel (the castle was only a 3 minute walk away). All of this happened within less than 20 minutes. The castle provided great views of Zuheros and the surrounding countryside, and I’m sure it would be even more amazing on a clear day.

Ok, now on to last night. Antonio and Jim, arranged for us to tour a small olive oil farm and have a family meal with olive farm owner. The rain kept us from enjoying the first part, but not the second part. The small farm was owned by a man also named Antonio, and his wife, Coco. Antonio wove an intricate story about the complexities of producing small lot olive oil amidst the overpowering food industrial complex, that eventually wound its way back to The Odyssey, as in Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey. I was a little fuzzy by then (because it was getting close to my bed time, not because I had too much to drink) but the story ended with an explanation of why olive trees look like they have more than 1 trunk. Don’t ask me, it’s been 24 hours and I can’t remember now.

Coco made a 7-course traditional meal for 15 people in a house she borrowed from a friend. Everything was delicious, but perhaps my favorite course was the artichokes. Not only because they were delicious to eat (they had teeny tiny cubes of sautéed pork sprinkled on top), but also because it was amazing that she peeled, scraped, cut, and roasted enough of them to feed 15 people. When I serve artichokes to guests, I serve the whole thing, give them a knife and let them do the hard work. Every course was served with their delicious oil. It’s going to be hard going back to the stuff I buy at Safeway when we get home.

Peter is a lucky guy. In the span of less than 24 hours, he has seen a castle, a fort, and a church. The greedy guy tried to get into another castle but it was locked (Whah, whah).

First up was the fort on a hilltop, with the old ruins of a church. I didn’t realize how hilly this part of Spain was, with rows and rows and rows of olive groves as far as you can see. I am not going to wade into the Spanish olive oil vs. Italian olive oil thing (I’m trying to avoid another international incident), but Spanish olive oil is a thing….like a super huge thing.

In the church ruins, which were encased by an exterior building, the ground was excavated and they found tombs that were believed to be before the 8th century. Before it was a mosque which then became a church, which Napoleon eventually burned to the ground.

There was a short film that provided an overview to the hilltop fort. This is my third informational film at a historical site while in Spain, and I think the National Park Service could pick up a thing or two. The films here are dramatic, with actors or computer-generated animations, they tell a story, and there is a Hollywood-like soundtrack that accompanies everything. Not the old boring 50’s science movies you see at NPS visitor centers across the country.

We have a new rain-o-meter, his name is Jim. Jim is co-guiding the tour with Antonio. He’s a Toronto transplant and has been living in Spain for 26 years. You don’t even have to get out of the van to know how hard it’s raining. You just look at Jim:
*Drizzle: umbrella closed, hood down
*Rain: umbrella still closed, hood up
*Downpour: Umbrella open, hood up

It’s really that simple.

We had an opportunity to sit next to Jim at lunch and he shared some practical tips about Spanish culture. For example, by law, every restaurant is required to have a “Complaint Book”. A customer, for any reason whatsoever, can request the book be brought to them and they write their complaint in it. For example, “I do not like that the carrots are placed on the same plate as the olives”. Then periodically, a police officer of some type makes the rounds and reads the book. What happens after this is anyone’s guess. I believe this is a best practice which I am going to implement at home. A complaint book that is on Peter’s desk, that only I can write in. I will request whenever I feel like it, he must provide it, and it will be reviewed, periodically…..by me.

Jim helped us avoid another international culinary incident. In Spain, coffee and desert are served separately. You must enjoy each course in its separate totality before moving on to the next. Peter saved some of his ice cream to put in his coffee (another coffee after 12:00 noon…it was already 2:30, good grief). When I explained the situation to Jim, he laughed and said he’d like to see the waiter’s face when Peter did it. Peter then pushed the ice cream in front of me, was served coffee, and snuck the last spoonful in….my goodness it will be a miracle if we make the next three weeks without completely offending the population of Spain.

Tonight’s entertainment, in addition to Peter finding another creative spot to hang our clothesline, was a flamenco show. As a kid, Peter thought it was a flamingo show. I’m not sure what he envisioned, but I suspect it was nowhere close to what we experienced tonight.

It was a small space, less than 40 people seated in three rows, and an even smaller stage in which they, against all odds, managed to cram 4 performers. Flamenco was a sensory experience of sight and sound. Who knew so many intricate rhythms could be created with a guitar, singing, hand clapping, snapping, and stomping? The dancing reminded me of a complex combination of tap dancing and river dancing, all with a pained expression on their faces. Like they had just sucked on a bowl of lemons. I think they were acting out the lyrics of the music, but since my Spanish is still horrible, it’s just a wild-assed guess.

When the male dancer first came out on stage, he took a position behind the guitarist and provided loud clapping throughout one of the pieces. At first I thought he was a professional hand clapper, but I was so wrong. When it was his turn to dance, he was decked out in black and white polka dot shoes with 1” wooden heels, a matching scarf, and a snazzy black outfit. At the beginning of the dance, his upper body looked stiff as a toy soldier. He gradually loosened up and began striking some exceptional Saturday Night Fever moves.

Sometimes, when the dancers were finished they just stormed off the stage before the guitarist and singer were done. I need a couple of technique lessons on that move so I could employ it the next time Peter and I have a squabble.

Mercifully, they allowed you to take photos during the last number, so I don’t have to try to describe it to you.

Walking back to the hotel on a Friday night, I got an initial sense of what a vibrant city Granada is. More to come about it tomorrow.

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