Foolery

Road Trip to the Shasta Daisy Vineyard

Last Saturday morning I heard from our family friends, Lorna and Carroll Knedler, who own the Shasta Daisy Vineyard. "We're in the middle of harvest, but come on up!" they said. All of these years living with grapes all around me and I've never seen a harvest. Okay then -- road trip. My mom and my daughters and I jumped into the car for the hour drive northeast, to where the Sierra Nevada Mountains meet the Cascade Range.

The Shasta Daisy Vineyard lies just beyond the little town of Manton on the lower slopes of Mt. Lassen. (It's actually stretching the truth to call Manton a little town, since it claims only about 400 people on its town sign. It's a mini burghlet.)

Take Forward Road out of town for eight miles or so, watching for the Shasta Daisy Vineyard signs every mile telling you "only a little farther!" If you come to the end of Forward Mill Road you've gone too far, but by only a little.

The equipment barn is right in the middle of the vineyard and just begs to be photographed.



The view from our hosts' house is stunning -- that's a creek down there, which we could easily hear.



Mid-October and the leaves are starting to turn.



All of this land has been in Lorna's family for generations. I remember the red house from my childhood, coming up the hill to visit my aunt and uncle at their cabin home.



We strolled the vineyards a little bit, staying out of the way of the harvest.



Here's that barn again.



These look an awful lot like the flowers on the Shasta Daisy wine label.



Speaking of wine, here's the baby wine, ready for picking! The pinot noir grapes are SO sweet and I didn't even mind the seeds. Don't worry, I ate only a couple.



Looking east toward the old mill ponds; these grapes had already been picked.



And here's the mill pond. Brave people swim in it, but it's definitely too cold for THIS wussy.



We loved our day trip to the Shasta Daisy Vineyard (find them on Facebook here), and we promised Lorna and Carroll we'd come help pick next year. We didn't do any wine-tasting, be we did buy some wine and it was sooooooooo good. I recommend an afternoon drive up the hill. Wait-- I'll come with you.

Las Vegas to Orland in 12.5 Hours

(Photo by Sparky 10/03/10)

Here are some shots from last Sunday's drive through the Nevada desert.

It was the most beautiful Nevada trip I've ever been on. One of the most gorgeous drives ever, if fact.

Even beauty gets monotonous, however. I needed some kind of outlet. If you are one of the people I text-bombed, I'm sorry.

(Photo by Smedley 10/03/10)

These pictures have been hopelessly manipulated by an over-zealous photo editor (yeah, ME) because I can't leave anything well enough alone.

But still . . . I like them this way.

Weirdos Abroad

This is a photo my uncle sent me this summer. I am not at liberty to tell you who these people are. I will tell you that I am in the photo, though I'm gonna make you guess which one I am.

It was taken in Hong Kong, circa 1993.

It's clear to me that someone had just said something terribly snarky; it was probably me. It's also clear to me who it was said ABOUT.

Some of us have better hair now than then. Some of us, it's pretty much a wash.

And this is just for me:  "Look! It's Peewee Herman!"

Happy Friday, everybody.

Fooleryland Invades Washington D.C.

I may have mentioned that my family and I were in Washington D.C. last week, but now I have a few photos to share.

First, some drive-bys:

 

The White House. Who knew it was so blurry?

 

The Capital thing-y. I didn't know it was so tippy.

 

Whatever this one is. They must have marshy soil in D.C. But this next one was our favorite, so we went inside:

 

The Natural History Museum or, as I prefer to call it, The House That Taxidermy Built. As Chas says, "It's free to get in! Of course, it costs $100 to get out." Rim shot.

 
 
 
 
   


A wonderful, memorable trip. I took my first steps on downtown Washington D.C. soil carrying a bag of puke*. Even George Washington can't claim that. Probably.


*I'd say "long story" but it's much more concise to say "mother."

Shoemaker's Room, Mt. Vernon

 

Mt. Vernon sign

This quiet post brought to you by Staying Up Way Too Late Writing For Another Web Site Dammit, and by the number 47 1/2, and by the letter S. For Sleepy.

Pretending I Know Anything About Photography

The other day I was standing on a beach 3000 miles from home, looking at the sky. A storm was quickly moving in from the east and the sky had that luminosity found only in coastal skies when the atmosphere is charged. I raised my little point-and-shoot camera, chose a preset, and shot. Then I changed the preset. Four shots, four different exposures.
 

The above collage of the four shots has been sharpened, color-adjusted to the best of my ability, contrast increased, and cropped. When I edit I always check with "auto edit" to see what the program comes up with. It was so startlingly different that I made a second collage of the same photos. These have also been cropped and sharpened, but beyond that it was one push of the "auto edit" button. Pretty dramatic difference.

 

ReTweet at the Gaia Hotel in Anderson: Twuly a Tweat*

Another weekend has come to an end -- frenetic, fun and scheduled to the hilt. I think back to last weekend fondly, as if it were someone else's life. We didn't actually get out of town, did we? Yes, we did.

We drove an hour north to Anderson, California, at the top end of California's Great North Valley.  The Gaia Hotel has been open less than a year but seems well-established and popular, judging by the number of cars in the parking lot in the morning.

The first thing you notice about the property is its environmentally-friendly landscaping: no lawns. The grasses, plants, succulents and flowers were sensible planting choices for our water-starved environment, and very attractive. This eco-friendly approach to landscaping is in harmony with the small boutique hotel chain's philosophy of environmental sustainability and conservation. And you couldn't tell that even one tree had been removed for construction, nestled as the hotel is among valley oaks, evergreens and cottonwoods.



Upon checking in we were asked to relinquish any communication devices. No, this isn't the Soviet Union -- this is the Retweet with Broughton* vacation package that challenges guests to unplug from their electronic temptations -- like texting, e-mail, internet and voice mail; you've heard of these? -- and simply enjoy their families and the many activities at their fingertips. For this sacrifice guests receive a deep discount on their stay (this summer special lasts through August but must be booked in June).

"What?! Give up my internet? Impossible! I'm an addict, you know."



Actually, it was quite possible, since I have a desktop computer, which is tough to stuff into my purse. And hey, deep discount, right? Unplug me!

Knowing that I couldn't have any communication devices with me while partaking in my Digital Detox, I left my phone at home.



(Photo stolen from gsherman on Flickr)

We didn't bother bringing our blackberries; everyone knows that blackberries aren't in season until mid-July.

The kids were enthralled with the room, which overlooked a large koi pond with fountains.



I was enthralled with the bed linens, but that's just me.



A walk around the grounds meant a visit with the swans -- yes, swans, four of them. They kept making the heart-shaped necks even when there were no paparazzi present.

We strolled by the pool but didn't go in; we've been having unseasonably cool weather for June. Next time, though, look out. Cannonball.



Next time we visit -- and I believe we will again -- we'll try the exercise room, which should be good for a blog entertaining write-up, and maybe even a front page newspaper accident report.

Before we checked out we strolled into the hotel's own Woodside Grill for the continental breakfast buffet. It was just what you want with kids: easy, delicious, and FREE. Even so, the service was excellent and two very friendly servers made sure we had everything we needed. In fact, I'd say that the best thing about our stay was the way we were treated: as if we mattered, as if we would likely become return customers and even old friends. I'm serious. From the moment we checked in the staff were  top-notch -- efficient, warm and relaxed. I can say that with authority as I have spent my life in customer service, and you don't see good service very often, let alone GREAT service. Way too go, Gaia Hotel employees, and thank you!

Our stay was too short, but we are heavily-scheduled people. I hated to get back to my fast-paced internet-connected world, but I had recharged my batteries and was ready to plug back into the grid.



And I had to get to the grocery store; I was kind of craving blackberries, for some reason.

*     *     *     *     *

*In case you're wondering about the word "ReTweet," it's a play on words stemming from the popular on-line social networking service Twitter. I'm not Twying to Twick you.

For photos from our visit to the spectacular Sundial Bridge in Redding, just minutes from the Gaia Hotel, visit my "locals only" blog Reasonably Educated Bumpkins.

For more information about the Gaia Hotel or the "digital detox" vacation packages available at Broughton Hotels, please click the links. I worked hard to put them there. I hope they work. The end.

Another Turkey

A good vacation makes you long for home.  By that definition, our Thanksgiving getaway was a phenomenal success.

Although we were in one of the more beautiful places in the western states -- sorry, Fresno, I'm talking about Lake Tahoe -- and the air was stunningly warm, I never ventured outside.  I had a lot to do in the kitchen, definitely, but I had also developed cold and flu symptoms and felt like death warmed over each afternoon, so I tended to view a hike in the woods as a probable death march.

The Great Indoors was a grand place to be, however.  I hear there were six bedrooms and four bathrooms, but I don't know because I never ventured to the ground level rooms.  I was afraid I would need a search party to find me and guide me back, and I didn't think I could count on my family to make that phone call, so I stayed upstairs.  I did check out the basement, which had a wet bar, a fridge, billiards, a poker table, three futon couches, satellite TV, a DVD player, a fireplace, and a dry sauna.  There was Not. One. Reason for my children and their cousins to come upstairs, unless you factor in the need for food.

Ah, food.  Because of our rampant Thanksgiving feasting I have added another ply to my winter dermal layer, and will continue the lamination process until New Years.  If, by that date, I have not burst at the seams nor been dragged (by a necessarily big tractor) to an overeaters intervention, I suppose I will return to a more healthful eating style.  For now, come on Christmas!  Bring on the food coma.

This is one of the two refrigerators, packed to the gills:



And here is the freezer:



Hardly seems a fair distribution of the work load, does it?

Overheard:  the youngest child, my 5-year-old nephew, addressing my husband:  "You have a really big head.  Everybody says so."  This is the culprit here, under the pool table:



And here is a little Laurie pictorial, Saturday night:







Please try to ignore the sea of bottles and glasses in front of me . . . and behind me.  Some of them were coffee related, ahem.  So.  The big turkey carnage is over once again, and we are home.  I'm sick, again, still, and I'm having trouble thinking straight.  Gimme a few days.

One more picture, to sum it all up:

Yup, another turkey.

(Many thanks to our new family friend Craig for the wonderful pictures.)

I Can't Think of a Title and There Are No Pictures

Yes (Rick), I know I have an internet addiction, but in truth I am getting on this computer at night after everyone else is asleep, all of the dishes are done, all the wine has been drained, and the only real option on an air bed is sleep.  Well, that was delicate.

Briefly.  We loaded kids and adults into two vehicles, zipped up the freeway onramp onto I-5 headed south for San Diego . . . into a dead standstill.  All lanes of traffic were parked.  Flipped on the radio for the traffic report: a semi truck and trailer had rolled and burned this morning at 5:00 a.m., closing all southbound lanes but one clear down to Camp Pendleton, 17 miles away.  Yup, we pulled off at the next exit and went to the beach.  Nice to have sexy alternatives, huh?

The girls adore their cousins and all is well.  They are exhausted from their day spent playing and laughing, and so tears have been plentiful.  But the Foolery family sense of humor is still as strange as ever . . .

Sparky, from the back seat:  "What's that smell?"

Smedley, the source of all information:  "It's either farts . . . or coffee."

Tomorrow we will try once again to hit the wild animal park, and then I have to hurry home, because I have a date.  I'm meeting fellow bloggers Marcy, Suz, Vicki and Chris.  I plan to lie my ass off all night to make my back story SO much better, but since I will be in the company of video bloggers, that probably won't work.  Wish me luck or a sudden death, whichever is more likely.  (I'm kidding because I'm actually really excited to meet them all, but I do have performance anxiety.  Which is one of the top six reasons I never became a hooker.)

Have a great Friday, and with any luck I'll have photos for you soon!

Laurie

The 2008 Sweaty Car Odyssey Is Under Way!

We made it, folks. I nearly had a full-scale freak-out in the car last night somewhere near Merced (actually, starting in our driveway), but we made it.

A quote for you from my daughter Smedley, to her younger sister Sparky, about why Mama needs a larger suitcase than either of theirs:  "See, Mama's clothes are REALLY BIG, so she needs a REALLY BIG  suitcase."  Hello, Jenny Craig?

It's lovely and cool at the beach tonight. We had wine on the patio and I actually got a bit chilly.  Feel free to whimper like a labrador puppy right now; I know how ridiculous I sound.

Tomorrow: a full day at the wild animal park, where we will leave the children with goodbye notes pinned to their clothes and pockets full of breadcrumbs.  Wish us luck.

Cheers!

Laurie

What a 1400-Mile Road Trip Taught Me

20 Questions is a useful game to keep your children occupied and engaged.

20 Questions is from THE DEVIL.

A W.C. is the very noisy predecessor to the modern-day toilet and was replaced because everyone within a three-block area could tell when you went to the bathroom.  At least that's true of our friend Joe's W.C. (we visited Joe on the way to Las Vegas).

I can survive 101 hours without NPR.  I cannot easily survive 1 1/2 hours of my father's Motel 6 channel surfing of news talk shows.

I say, "This woman whose blog I read . . ." and "A friend of mine in Virginia -- well, SORT OF a friend . . ." more than I ought to for my family's comfort.

Oil of Old Age can occasionally be omitted from my at-home daily skin regimen (which consists of: Oil of Old Age) while at home, with slightly taut and shiny skin as the result.  Omitting Oil of Old Age from my Las Vegas daily skin regimen, however, results in a head shrunken as small as a chihuahua's.

Lubriderm hand lotion, while it works great for hands, is a second class substitute for Oil of Old Age.

Try not to forget the Oil of Old Age.

No matter how much college you had, it hurts when your 7-year-old dumbs down her I Spy game "so Mama can win one, too."

Playland at IckDonald's is a favorite of children everywhere -- even children with explosive diarrhea.

Trying to get my father to leave a rapidly deteriorating Playland eating/breathing space, in anything resembling a "hurry," is just a bit easier than convincing a presidential candidate to pack it in.

Taking a photo of the beautiful salmon dinner your brother cooked will get you a contemptuous frown and will slow the eating process.  Plus, the picture will likely suck.

Eating is a competitive sport in my family.  We don't eat until we're full; we eat until we're tired.

Trying to get to the bottom of your brother's wine collection seems like such a good idea, until you do.

"More coffee" is the answer to most morning ailments, other than jittery nerves.

The A.M.A.-recognized method to determine your real age involves five children eight and under, and a two-story house.  I am 357 years old.

The desert air is good for the soul.  It is not good for the hairdo, and that is why there are no photos of yours truly from my Las Vegas vacation.

Three pairs of shoes seemed like a good idea, but I could have made the trip with only one.  (This statement is non-transferable with intimate items of clothing, Dad.)

Mt. Whitney is the tallest mountain in North America, but by only a matter of feet.  We think we saw Whitney 17 times.

Gas in Death Valley was $5.80/gallon.  THANK GOD, because I was really in need of a reason NOT to move to Death Valley.

Jolly Ranchers, while good for the teeth and the Body Mass Index, are a poor substitute for protein.  Pity.  Ah, well, that's why God created Peanut M&Ms.

No matter how much you left home with, you'll always return with MORE.  Especially if the one person packing the car doesn't know the difference between the host's 8-year-old's presents and your 5-year-old's presents.  Or your host's briefcase.  Or anything else accidentally left too close to the front door.

And the winner of the coveted Silliest Name For A Business Award goes to:  Giggle Springs gas station and mini mart.  It was a double winner, also taking home the prize for Most Aptly-Named Stop on the 2008 Sweaty Car Odyssey.

Open 'er Up on the Buzzkill Highway

Tomorrow morning (Thursday), we leave.

Conversations will go like this:

"Did you bring the Barbies Mama?"

"Yes, Sparky, they're in your backpack."

"ALL of them?"

"No, just two."

"TWO?!  But I put ALL of them in my suitcase!  With Momo, and Lion, and Blue Bear, and --"

"Honey, you know we can't take ALL of those, so I picked --"

That's where the whining and/or tantrum will start, and it may not end until abut Reno, GAWD HELP US ALL.

We're going to Las Vegas for an impromptu weekend, and to celebrate TWO kid birthdays --  Sparky's and her cousin's.  Uncle Bocci, who is a chef, has taken orders for TWO cakes.  I know, I know, and they'll be delicious, too.  But something like 1200-1300 miles in a car with two young children AND MY PARENTS, who are hosting this little road trip (we like to refer to these as Sweaty Car Odysseys, and you can read about last year's SCO here) is enough to make me question my sanity.  I'll be in the back seat with two car seats, breaking up fights and watching Nevada roll by.

Go read the Sweaty Car Odyssey post.  Really.  You'll feel better about your weekend plans, and probably your life.  See you Tuesday!

-- Laurie

A Love Letter to My Blog Family

(Photo stolen from these guys)

Dear blog family,

Greetings from Population Land!  I miss you.  I can't be away from you for very long, it seems.  I must be addicted, because Gawd knows I have nothing terribly important to impart.

I've had a shower, put on clean clothes, ritually burned my road clothes, and I'm alone with a computer in my in-laws' home.  MIL is at a wedding, FIL is watching the big fat huge important football game (Patriots vs. somebody), and Chas and his brother took all the kids away for a couple of hours to let them run off some steam.  Life is good.

It's cold down here.  Not as cold as it was in northern California this week (I don't think it got above 40 or so yesterday), but the 50s are chilly for southern California beach cities.

We left last night after I finished a grueling 3-day work week.  I drove the first 3 1/2 hours before pooping out at Chowchilla, and Chas took over.  I kept waking up and asking, "Are you doing okay?" before slipping under again.  I didn't drool, but I probably snored.

We stayed in our regular motel -- The Swedish Inn in Kingsburg, south of Fresno, along Highway 99.  It's clean, safe, quiet, and pleasant; it's also sort of Swedish, in an American motel sort of way.  They've had mercy on us since we were last there, and taken down the hideous blue wallpaper borders.


(Photo stolen from these guys)

The girls are wonderful travelers.  We have a travel DVD player, but we've never opted to use it.  It's kind of nice to actually talk instead, and look outside the car.  I bore them to tears telling them what grows in the valley as we drive through, but I know that some of it actually gets into their memories.  Traffic was heavy, but fast, and there wasn't even a slowdown.  No wrecks, no road rage, no incessant bathroom stops.  It was too perfect.  The travel gods must have something awful planned for our trip home.

Well, that's all my brain will disgorge at this point.  We may get together with one of Chas's oldest friends tomorrow, but it's impossible to plan anything for these trips.  Too many households to coordinate.

Miss you -- noogies to all, and happy new year!

Love,

Laurie

The 2007 Sweaty Car Odyssey

The 2007 Sweaty Car Odyssey is in the bag and everyone came through it more or less whole.

Highlights of the trip:

It was 100 degrees just after lunch as we drove through Reno. It was quite windy, with dark rain clouds. Chas saw lightning. There was a large dust storm off to our left, and several dust devils to our right. We experienced Reno's entire annual rainfall in a few minutes, which was approximately 347 fat raindrops.

Fires closed highway 395 in Nevada. We heard it was open again the next day, but we opted to jog over to I-95 instead.  We went past the world-famous bristlecone pines (the oldest living things on earth, other than Bob Barker) without stopping.


Photo stolen from Christmas w/a K on Flickr

Sparky, day one: "When does vacation get to be over?"

 

No one barfed this time, though I came pretty close.  I think it was the lunch.

"Hmmmm, were your headlights on back there? 'Cause you don't seem to have any tail lights."

Sparky, upon arriving in Las Vegas: "Can we go home now?"

I nearly broke my middle toe while trying to take a picture of Mantel Man with his "Happy 40th" diaper on his head. In my haste to scoot my chair quickly to get the shot I forgot that I was on large tiles, and the chair dumped me onto Chas's lap. Trying not to look too buzzed I righted the chair and snapped the picture, only realizing at that moment that I had put the chair down onto my own toe while still seated. This is the picture -- was it worth it?

 

Bocci made two days-worth of sangria.  I thought I didn't like sangria, but I know now how wrong I was.  The two days-worth lasted about a day and a half.

Photo by Mantel Man

No moonings to report . . . this time.

Sparky: "Does anybody smell that yucky smell in this car?" [SILENCE WHILE WE PONDERED THIS] "Well, it WASN'T ME!!"

Arriving in San Clemente at Chas's mom's house, the girls were delighted to see Uncle Mike's pickup in front. "He must have come by to feed the cat," we thought, because Mike was feeding Chas's mom's cat while she and Bob were on vacation in Europe. Chas and Smedley went right in, and I stayed behind with Sparky, who had seen the rabbits nibbling the flower garden. Watching the rabbits intently, I became aware through my peripheral vision that the front door had opened, but when I turned my head I couldn't get my brain around the sight: Chas's mom and Bob were standing in the doorway, clearly NOT in Europe. Big problems with their trip which I won't go into, but suffice to say it was their loss but our gain because we got to see them this vacation.

 

We went to the beach twice while in S.C., and the girls had breakthrough water experiences.  Daddy was right there with each of them, in shallow water, and there were lifeguards everywhere, but I still could have used a sedative as I pictured a wave knocking my child down and dragging her under.  It's best to let Daddy handle these things; I'm too neurotic.  How my own mother ever survived her kids' swimming all day, every day as we grew up, I'll never know.

We had lunch at The Fisherman's on the pier as we often do.  I think I like that part better than the beach, even.


Photo stolen from sosidesc on Flickr

The girls made the whole trip -- 1580 miles -- with a small bag each of little tiny dolls, one stuffed animal apiece, and a stack of books.  Very little arguing or fighting, surprisingly little whining, even, considering their typical whinefests.  They are real troupers.

 

Many, many thanks to all of the people who fed, housed, and entertained us on our trip.  Another successful S.C.O. for the record books.

 

What Happens in Vegas . . .

In the grand tradition of high summer Sweaty Car Odysseys, we are leaving town tomorrow in search of somewhere hotter.  Seems that 109F
just
isn't
cutting it for us, and we NEED MORE HEAT.

The hottest place we can go that doesn't require a passport (sorry, Panama; sorry, Congo) is Las Vegas.  We considered Death Valley, but there's not enough concrete there to get the full heat island effect.  So, Bocci's house, HERE WE COME.  Hope he has plenty of low-brow snacks and a few space heaters.

I will be back behind the wheel of this terrible blog machine in about a week.  With any luck, there will be no lurid stories to tell you, but this is my life, so I'm betting there will be.  At least a few moonings to report, undoubtedly.

Cheers!

Laurie

Nerds In Europe Epilogue

The remainder of our trip was not logged into my trip diary, other than the smart-aleck quips, and there were many.  We crossed into France, to Paris for two nights, and then through the French countryside to northern Italy and Switzerland for one day apiece, before turning back toward Spain.

Crammed into a tiny car for over a week, you resort to your most base personality traits.  In my family, that’s saying something.  Bocci and I were punch-drunk 90% of the time.  We were amazed by the great number of people apparently eager to own, even wear, red pants, of all things, so we started counting them.  I think the total was 67.  Kenny and Dad carried their deadpan humor to new heights (or depths), and Mom . . . well, Mom just collected everything she thought we might need in her So Large Carry-on Bag.

The following random quotes are all that remains of our great 1992 Europe trip.

“Is there anything edible in this car?”

“Put it in Mom’s purse with the prosciutto and cheese.”

“Trees!”

“I refuse to eat another thing with heads, legs, bones, or in its own skin.”

Ken:  “Oh, Jimmy Buffett is okay, but I wouldn’t waste any of my money buying his albums.”

Mom:  “I have everything except that stupid itinerary.”
Dad:  “You can say that again.”

Dad:  “That was the best shower I had on the whole trip.”
Bocci:  “Dad, when referring to two things you say ‘better shower.’”

“El burro es un animal muy importante.”

“She looked just like Radar O’Reilly.”

“Those weren’t red pants, but they were so bad they deserve an honorable mention.”

“We can make faces at the people across the tracks, and there’s not a THING they can do about it.”

“Kenny ate sweetbreads, ha ha ha-ha ha.”

“K-K-K-Ken is c-c-c-coming to k-k-k-kill me!”

“We had all of the four major food groups today: fat, sugar, butter and alcohol.”

Bocci:  “I told you, Dad, NO BUENO.”

“I have many friends at CalTrans.”

“Look in Mom’s suitcase.  The aspirin is under the Cuisinart and next to the logsplitter.”

“I was confused.  I peed in the bidet.”

Bocci:  “I don’t want to eat another thing that ends in i-l-l-o or
e-t-t-e.”

Dad:  “Are any of the desserts any good?”
Waiter:  “No, there are no good ones.”

Ken:  “Those Downs Syndrome people are such happy people.  They’ll laugh for hours at the stupidest things.”
Laurie:  “We were laughing at your haircut.”

“I’d lak a shoe with cheese on it.”

Mom:  “There’s a world-famous school of navigation in Portugal.”
Ken:  “But nobody can find it.”

Bocci:  “Ooooh, boy!  Are we going to get a deep cavity search at the border?  I’ve got the PVC pipe!”

Ken:  “Where are zee milkmaids wis zee large jugs?”

Dad:  “Bocci, I have a new system.  I wash out my underwear in the sink at night and they dry by morning.  I could have made the whole trip with one pair of underwear.”

“Look at all the muebles!  Those Spanish must really like to shop around.” (Paris)

Dad:  “They should cut all these trees down so you could see the view.”

“It’s almost time for our early mid-morning snack.  We don’t eat until we’re full, we eat until we’re tired.”

“I feel so superior all of a sudden.”

“They’ll never believe Bocci’s a chef when they see him in his short pants.”

“Our calorie intake is dropping at an alarming rate.  We should pace ourselves with confectionery between meals.”

“I want to live in Blois.”

“You just drive.  I’ll do the eating.”

“Ah lak zee eight-foot trees wis zee four-foot trunks.”

Dad:  “Modesto is a lot more crowded than I thought.” (Paris)

Dad:  “Where’d you get such a skinny butt, Bocci?”

Mom:  “We should try to get rid of all of our French money before we get to Spain so we don’t have to change it.”
Bocci:  “Oh, yeah -- let’s move to Canada but spend all of our money first and show up naked . . . make a fresh start.”

“You’d think they could keep the snails off of the food.”

“I’m going to buy neuf neu pneus [nine new tires].”

“I’m going to have a green salad with lukewarm gizzards.”

“Ah would lak to go to zee hotelle.”

Mom:  “’Blood in the Snow’ by Ivan Torrer Titzoff.”

“I’m not Philippino -- it’s a lie.”

“Ah would lak zee codfish pleez.”

“You didn’t understand that?  Oh, YOU’RE not French.” (Les Port Mahon)

“If you were closer to the kitchen you could meet the chef, but you’re too far away.” (Aux Petits Oignon)

“I feel myself getting narrower.”

Dad:  “Ah wuv Pawis in zee spwingtahm . . .”

Bocci:  “How do you say ‘blow me’ in French?”

Bocci:  “Is this coconut on my croque monsieur?”
Mom:  “Well, I think it’s probably melted cheese . . .”

“They give us too many plates for dinner and none for breakfast.”

Bocci:  “So far, I’ve had my spleen removed, my colon shortened, a vasectomy, and chewed my own foot off twice, and I STILL don’t want to be in any of your pictures.”

“If Jim were here he’d get off the subway on the OTHER side.”

Bocci:  “I couldn’t open the refrigerator, so I just kicked the glass in.”

“There were Mexicans all over this beach yesterday.”

“Orland could beat the crap out of Spain in a war.”

Nerds In Europe Day Eleven: Saturday, June 6, 1992

We drove toward Barcelona, but we decided to stay pretty far away from it.  The closer we got to it, the more expensive the road tolls became.  The Olympics is having a great effect on this country; probably has had for a couple of years, with all the construction and planning.

There are more castles in northern Spain, it seems, or maybe they’re just not surrounded by cities like castles are in the south.  Also, the language is really affected by the area’s proximity to France.  The signs had both French and Spanish on them, or else they were a strange combination of the two.  At one toll booth we were given a pamphlet about protecting the forests from fire and litter.  I looked up every word in my Spanish and French dictionaries, but couldn’t find any definitions.  Someone thought it could be Basque, but we weren’t in the Pyrenees, so we weren’t sure.

Ken:  “We’re coming to the town of Logronos.  It means ‘Nerdville’ in Spanish.”

Nerds In Europe Day Ten: Friday, June 5, 1992

We got a good start -- out of the condo and on the road by 8:45, our personal best for the trip.  We briefly got caught in Málaga trying to figure out their freeway system.  Up to Grenada, so Dad got to see the Alhambra from a distance.  The climb up the hill was steep, on a narrow two-lane road.  Seemed like everyone in Spain was behind us, in a terrible hurry to get to Murcia, for no reason I could see.

The trip was dull, but we did see some beautiful agricultural land.  Lots of olives again, and almonds growing in gravel.

We stopped about lunch time to use a bathroom in a tiny little farm town.  We found a local bar/cafe, which was mostly a bar, and used their servicios.  We felt like we should buy something, of course, so we got ice cream bars.  The locals weren’t hostile, but they sure weren’t friendly.

Back in the car again.  Pretty soon we hit the pay-toll freeways.  It was extremely expensive.  At almost random intervals -- sometimes five minutes, sometimes 45 -- we had to stop at a toll crossing to pay, once nearly $20.00.  Mom figured at one point we’d spent $80.00 on toll, but it got worse than that.  We were on the high inland road; if we’d taken the coastal road it would have been free, but very slow.

I took a turn driving at about Valencia, and drove until we stopped for the night.  The town was a summer tourist area on the water, called -- no kidding -- Peñíscola.  The jokes were flying.


Photo stolen from this nice person

“I’ll have a frosty glass of Peñíscola.”

We drove all the way down the strip -- hotel after hotel.  They started getting seedier, so we turned around and found a nice one, Hotel Hey International.  Let this be a warning.

Photo stolen from these guys

It looked fine from the outside and very nice in the lobby.  They put us on the sixth floor, although it was numbered in the 400s.  (They don’t count common area floors in their numbering of floors.)

The rooms were okay and the views were terrific.  We went downstairs for dinner, and that’s when the fun started.  Even though we were in Spain, where people start eating dinner at 9:00 p.m., these guys closed at 10:00.  We got in just in time.  They seated us, brought us bread, but no menus.  When we asked for menudos ál día, they looked stricken.  When we asked to se la carta, they looked as if we were speaking Serbo-Croatian to them.  They left, and came back with five huge plates of green beans.  Bocci was ticked off, Kenny was annoyed, but the rest of us were starved, so we didn’t argue.

Apparently we had walked into a fixed-plate restaurant, with no posted menu or price list.  They offered wine; we asked for tinto (red), and it was so bad we sent it back.  The possibilities were looking grim.

The rest of the food was edible, but not good.  We weren’t sure if we had to pay for it or if we had already gotten it free with the room.  We found out in the morning that the meal cost $10.00 apiece -- what a rip-off.  But it was perhaps the most memorable meal of the whole vacation (unfortunately), and it has already become the butt of all of our jokes.

“Do we get beans for breakfast, too?”

We walked down the beach walk in front of all the hotels.  They were mostly empty, and some were closed entirely.  Partly due to the weather, partly because the season hasn’t quite started yet, and partly because of the world-wide recession, according to Guillermo and Javier.

We had a drink in the bar downstairs.  Friday night, and we were the only ones in a bar that could hold 150 people.  They must really be hurting.

“I hope we can get a nice big plate of green beans.”

Sleeping is great in Peñíscola because the sound of the water is so soothing.  Just about the nicest thing about the area, unless you really really love green beans.

Nerds In Europe Day Nine: Thursday, June 4, 1992

For the record:  LaDonna’s 18th birthday was yesterday and she graduated from high school today.

Our last beach day in southern Spain.  We went to Cabopino, just down the highway toward Marbella.  Dad suggested it because there’s a nude beach right next to it.

“I’m going to need specific directions to the nudie beach so I don’t accidentally go there.  You’d better write it down.”

So he and Kenny hiked over there to check out the booty, and Mom, Bocci and I walked down the hill through the construction site to the lounge chairs.  It wasn’t long before someone came along to collect rent -- $3.00 apiece.  The sun was strong; just about the first day without storm clouds.  But it was extremely windy and I had goosebumps the whole time.

The hotel (or someone) was busy dredging out the little harbor right in front of us, and a full dumptruck would rumble across the sand every five minutes.  Made for interesting ambiance (and treacherous sand castle building for the little British kids).

We had leftovers for lunch, then cleaned up and went for a relatively early dinner.  First we went to Fuengirola to get a picture of Guillermo’s building and the restaurant.  Then we stopped at Habitat to say goodbye to Javier.

We drove up the hill to Mijas, a small village on the cliffs above the lower coastal cities.  It’s kind of the American quarter, but the town proper is as old-time Spain as we saw.








http://www.gretesmarbella.com/calahonda.html

Ken took us on a “tour” of the town -- meaning we retraced the route they had taken Tuesday, only this time they knew what they were getting into.  The streets were so narrow and the turns so sharp that you expected to be entirely walled in at any moment.

We parked near a large town square and walked arund the touristy shops for half an hour.  A very unoccupied waiter coaxed us into  his patio cafe, where we had a nice dinner.  We apparently took too long for his liking, though, an even though we were his only customers all night, he got pretty impatient.  The food was okay, and the prices were great.

Home to pack and off to bed early because tomorrow we’re heading north toward Barcelona.

Nerds In Europe Day Eight: Wednesday, June 3, 1992

Dad opted for the beach again, and Mom, Bocci, Kenny and I went to Córdoba to see the Mezquita, an old Moorish-Christian temple/cathedral.  The drive was the best yet:  rolling hills of wheat and olives, little villages clinging to the crests of the hills, grapes, and acres and acres of sunflowers.

 
http://www.travelinginspain.com/

They were retarded sunflowers, though -- they insisted on facing away from the sun.  That area may be the best of Spain.

Mom:  “This is beautiful.  It looks a lot like the area south of Sacramento.”
Bocci:  “Oh yeah, like Lodi.  Lodi is famous for its beauty.”

Córdoba was disappointing.  The temple was interesting, but not worth a 2 1/2 hour drive.  We were inside for about half an hour.


http://insight.srijith.net/archives/26082005.shtml

The Mezquita was a strange mixture of red and white plaster columns, tile floors, Arabic inscriptions, and garish Catholic altars.  One room was particularly interesting, though.  It was like a choir loft on either side, facing each other, and the back wall was like a pulpit and altar.  The entire room, except for the floor, was intricately carved dark mahoghany.  Each chair of the would-be choir lofts was like a throne, and every square inch except the seat itself was carved into bas relief pictures, each one different.  Thousands and thousands of hours of work.

We walked through the old Jewish sector of Córdoba, which skirted the cathedral.  It’s pretty much goofy tourist crap now.


http://isfsp.org/sages/cordoba.html

We stopped at a helados shop and bought the Spanish equivalent of Gardiner’s Lemon Ice, then back to the car and home.  The drive back was just as pretty, especially because the clouds were so varied and colorful.

We had a lot of food to use up, so we made spaghetti at home for dinner.  Bocci and I stayed up until 2:30 a.m. watching a particularly dull Robert de Niro movie, “Once Upon a Time in America.”  We got started watching it, and it was strange, but we both felt like we had invested so much time into it that it would be stupid to quit.  (We didn’t know it was a 3-hour movie.)