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The weekend in Oviedo was wonderful — with lots of new sights and people, and marginally cooler weather. We drove up from Madrid on Friday afternoon, and had managed to get all of 40 minutes away when the engine temp light came on. It was 102F outside, we were climbing a long grade, and the air conditioning was on, so it’s not surprising that the poor Yaris protested. To be on the safe side, we switched the a/c off. And left it off for four more hours. It was too late and we were too tired to do anything when we got in to town but collapse. (Though I ate a plateful of octopus first. Yum!)
On Saturday, Mr. Pants suggested breakfast at Rialto, home of many delicious and slightly frightening sweet treats (e.g., carbayones, which are puff-pastry shells filled with ground almond and sweet wine paste and covered with a cinnamon glaze). I had a croissant — carbayones are NOT breakfast food! It was one of the best I’ve eaten lately, made with real butter. On the way out, I picked up some of their famous candies, called “Moscovitas,” for certain people to be visited later this month.
After breakfast, Mr. Pants went for a run, and I took my camera for a walk around town. First stop, Plaza de la Escandalera, to see the pipers and dancers who
plague grace Oviedo on the weekends.
Oviedo is part of the Celtic region of Spain, and its musical tradition has a lot in common with Brittany, Ireland, and Scotland. That includes pipes, and lots of them. They were everywhere!
After my bagpipe fix, I headed for the Cathedral. There was a group of dancers in the plaza, who, when I got there, were patiently posing for photos with a large group of tourists. Finally, they got down to business!
Those costume are nearly all wool — and it was 90F! Talk about dedication to preserving the folkways… I was so enthralled by the dancing that I forgot to take any pictures of the Cathedral. Fortunately, I found my way back later.
I also wandered through the Fontán area, where the market is. In addition to the wrought-iron structure built at the end of the 19th century, on Saturdays there are vendors outside. You can get pretty much anything.
By this point, Mr. Pants had run and showered, and it was time for an aperitivo in the shade. I’d already found a likely spot, where he met me for a beer. Oviedo is on the Camino de Santiago, and we saw plenty of pilgrims. There was a couple doing the Camino at the table next to us. They looked happy to be sitting down!
From our first stop, we went on to a different place for fried sardines (bocartes) topped with fried Serrano ham. I fell on them like a ravening beast, hence no photo.
Mr. Pants took over the camera and posed me in the little street where he was born. That’s the blue linen Hot Patterns shift dress I made and pretty much live in. I whipped a second one up right before we left, and managed to get it into the suitcase. (Stay tuned for the reveal.)
After lunch and a long nap, we drove to the beach to visit my friend Mar, who has a summer house in a village called La Isla. We poked around and hiked along the headland before having a much-appreciated G and T on Mar’s terrace. As so often happens on the Rhode Island side of the Atlantic, the fog had rolled in and cooled things down.
Then it was back to Oviedo for dinner and into bed, since there was plenty planned for Sunday…
I’ve got lots of things crossed off my to do/to find in storage list, and am culling through summer clothes and table linens. There is a big pile of things to give to Big Sisters, there are a few (but far fewer than in the past) sentimental items that have gone back into storage, and there’s the “I think I’m taking it” pile, which needs a second going-over.
But the biggest challenge has been finding cotton trousers in khaki, grey, black, and white. Yesterday, I went to the local Posh Mall — it has a Nordstrom — where I started by looking at Talbots, but something (probably my tax bill) kept me from purchasing basic polished cotton trousers for $89. Plus I’m still broken up with them over the demise of size 18 in their stores.
Then I saw that Ann Taylor was having a 40% off sale so I went and had a look, again swallowing my principles, as they don’t stock 16 OR 18 in their stores. I ordered white and khaki crops in 16 and 18, planning to return the ones that don’t fit. They came today, but even before I got the shipping notice last night I’d decided to send them back and get something less expensive. Think Chez Target or Vieux Navy.
The thing is, the polished cotton trousers being peddled by all of these retailers are essentially the SAME. Same weight fabric, same styles, same figure-type variations, lengths, and leg width. And a $60 price spread.
It went pretty well. I got khaki and grey at ON and black at Target, with the bonus* of a very cute and well constructed jacket. All four of these items cost around $100, with discounts and such. The britches that were eluding me were the white ones. After looking and looking, I decided that I’d keep the pair from two summers ago that are still in good shape. I’m too tired to keep hunting.
The question still on my mind is how much I’m going to alter them. They’re too long — but do I want to morph them into ankle pants? Slim the legs down a little? I’m going to wait to decide until I get to Madrid, since I’m feeling rather surfeited with so much retail activity, and feel dangerously close to making nutso decisions about what I can’t live without in Madrid. (Exhibit A: Toast tongs)
Many of the sewing projects are as yet unsewn. The ones that are uncut are going to Madrid that way. The skirt and top I’ve cut out will be finished, as will the pillows and plastic bag caddy. And I’m going to be packing a box with some patterns and sewing things that I don’t want to fit in my suitcase. (Those things are HEAVY!) I’ll do a test-pack tomorrow and see how it looks. Please be warned that there is not going to be anything “capsule” about this wardrobe.
*Notice I didn’t say “added bonus.” I love “added bonus” about as much as I love “general consensus.” I worshiped at the altar of Strunk and White for the whole of my journalism program. How do y’all feel about “added bonus”?
Another London image…
As I mentioned in a comment over at Pseu’s place, one of the reasons I’ve got a 28″ suitcase is so that I don’t have to be so strict with myself about which shoes and bags I pack. One of the clunkier pairs of shoes will get worn, of course. (And because I’ve got a 22″ carry-on, a few pair of flats and an easy-to-pack bag may make it in with the electronics…just to balance the weight out a little bit.) Here’s what’s on the shoe list as of today (some of these are ancient, so links are to reasonable facsimilies):
- Geox ballet flats
- Driving mocs
- Heeled loafers
- Kitten-heeled pumps
- Gray suede flats
- Tsubo Mary Jane platforms
- Converse “slims”
- Chelsea boots
- Tall riding boots
Thank goodness scarves don’t weigh much. Jewelry? I don’t know yet…and it all goes in the carry-on, anyway.
Tune in tomorrow for the “bag list.”
Really! Details on the Canada Adventure early next week. (The internet connections in our hotels were not up to posting while in situ, alas.)
Since today is cold, foggy, and windy, it seems like a good afternoon to revisit sunny Avila. I thought I’d take y’all along for a stroll.
Avila’s most striking architectural feature is its intact defensive wall, which was built between the 11th and 14th century. It is made of a beautiful golden stone, which is especially lovely when set off by the blue, blue Castillian sky. Much of the stone was taken from older structures, including a Roman necropolis and aqueduct — even millstones were pressed into service. Proto-recycling for teh win!
Avila was home to two great mystic thinkers, or as I like to imagine them “wackos for the Lord,” Saint Teresa and Saint John of the Cross. As is still the case with many Spanish women, St. Teresa was not one to take prisoners. She is quoted as having said to God, “If this is how you treat your friends, it’s no wonder you have so few!” St. John of the Cross, by far the gentler of the two sainted companions, was as much an introvert as Teresa was an extrovert. His spiritual life was unusually rich even for his time, and he is considered by many to be one of the finest poets ever to write in Spanish, though he composed relatively little — no more than 2500 poems in his lifetime.
Since the climate in Avila is harsh, with bitter winters and hot, hot summers, spring and fall are the times to visit. We had great weather, and even had coffee in a plaza, which also let Little G burn off some steam. She loved sitting at the “big girls’ table” us, but running around was higher on her agenda.
We also visited Cathedral Square (though it was too cold inside the church for a long visit), where we amused ourselves taking pictures of lions* fore and aft, and lions doing strange things.
*OK, I know that last guy’s a Wild Man, not a lion. But doesn’t it look like he’s wearing a very snazzy pair of Kitty Pants?
As is mandatory when visiting any place at all in Spain, we had a great lunch. Steak, in fact, as Avila is beef country. If you’re ever in town, drop by this casa de comidas. It’s across from the main portico of the Cathedral, and well worth climbing a flight of stairs with a rambunctious toddler in her stroller.
Below are two more vignettes of Avila in the spring. The stone beast grazing under the flowering plum is a replica of one of the Celtiberian “Toros de Guisando.” Did you know that parts of Spain — mostly in the North — have Celtic roots? It’s true! They even have the bagpipes (gaitas) to prove it.
It was a good day. We had a great drive home through the mountains, passing fields of cattle (including frolicking calves), and singing along to the mega-kids-mix CD I’d made for Little G. Who was conked out in the back seat, natch.
When I lived in Spain during the 80′s, I was often asked by friends and family in the States what I was doing. The answer — that I was working, and going to the movies, and spending time with my friends — never seemed to satisfy them. Not that I never went to any museums or monuments, but I wasn’t on a visit. I was home.
I love being “at home,” rather than “on tour,” in Spain — since I’m still feeling a bit puny, it’s especially nice to not be subject to a strong need to go, do, see. Today, I’m hanging out with my dear friend Mabel (that’s mah-BEL, not MAY-bel), doing laundry. Later, we’ll have lunch and watch our soap. Then a nap (for me), and some errands in the nearby monumental village, though we won’t be visiting the monument (see above). It’s the pharmacy we’re headed to. And probably a coffee and a pastry.
Yesterday and the day before I pushed myself to get in to town to see friends, and boy did I notice by the time I got home last night — I fell into bed and didn’t stir until about 10:00 this morning.
But it’s not all domesticity and pottering por aqui. We’re planning a girls-day-out tomorrow, when the weather is supposed to warm up (to 70F/22C!) and the sun will come out. I’ll take lots of pics, so y’all be sure to drop by!
Everything except the weather. It’s rainy, and on the cool side — def a boots-plus-jeans- kind of day. Assuming that I get around to getting out of my jammies at some point.
Last night, Mr. Pants and I went off to my favorite local bar for tortilla de patata (made to order!) and a big glass of Verdejo for me (beer for him). The best part was the welcome from Montse, who was grinning so hard I thought she’d hurt herself. And the hug — it always surprises me how hard these teensy Spanish women can hug you. It’s nice to have a place to come home to like that!
I’m taking it easy this morning, drinking coffee and reading. Mr. Pants — after a gentle reminder from me — made my coffee, but since there were no oranges, there was no juice. Of course, it has been eight months since we’ve seen each other and the routines need to re-establishing. (I’ve made a start on my end, too. He got his first daily hand massage yesterday.)
Hm. Just had a phone call and a lunch invitation. May have to get dressed after all.
Will post once I get to Madrid… fingers crossed that the flights go smoothly.
Of the feet, that is. If you think that pun hurt, imagine walking all over Madrid in shoes that pinch, or are too short.
I was making my packing list and it occurred to me that I don’t have any black ballet flats that will stand up to the rigors of walking as much as I’m planning to — all the flats I have are more of the “drive there and look pretty” variety — and this time of year, boots will be de trop except if it rains, which I’m hoping it doesn’t. (Still taking the boots, just in case.)
I am willing to shell out bucks for these, since they’re also going to get a lot of wear at home this spring. I’m trying to mend my bargain-but-painful shoe-buying ways — if you actually have to walk in them, cheap shoes are a false economy.
My first stop was Nordstrom, where I tried on 6 pairs of shoes. The Cole-Haan flats that looked so cute online fit very oddly, as if one shoe was a 1/2 size shorter than the other. Some were too fancy, others didn’t fit. The best fitting and best looking pair were from Stuart Weitzman. But at $255, it was a big jump for me, even with triple points.
So I trundled off to DSW, tried on about 15 pairs of flats, and ended up buying a pair by Me Too. They were pretty comfortable when I tried them on with tights, but at home and sockless (which is how I wear my flats), they were stratchy around the topline. Visions of blisters danced in my head! I’m returning them.
Next stop (virtually) was Zappos — I ordered a pair of Rockports, a pair of Van Eli’s, and a pair of Geox “Guenda” — the Geox were the hands-down winners, but a bit short at a size 38.5. Of course, there aren’t any 39′s to replace them with. (And just between you and me, I should have just gotten 39′s in the first place. All of my European shoes are 39′s, even though I’m an 8 1/2 Stateside. What was I thinking?) All three of these are going to go back, too.
Now I’m really up against it — but I found a pair of Geox at Endless, pictured, that look like they’ll do it. And there’s free overnight shipping, so I can try them and decide tomorrow. If they don’t fit, I’ll have to — horrors! — go shoe shopping when I get there.
Cross your fingers — or toes — with me, won’t you?