Mi casa es su casa

In order to inaugurate my return to blogging about nice, happy adventures and not... um... existential crises, I thought I'd write up a summary of my family's visit to La Gomera last month. My mom might want to throttle me for beating her to the blog punch on this one, as she's been plugging away, writing about our time in Extremadura and building up to the island arrival. Don't get me wrong, Extremadura was fantastic, but the true gem of the trip for me was bringing my loved ones back to the place I've called home now for almost a year and a half. Sorry, Ma, but you told me to write today! Readers of both blogs, consider this a spoiler alert if you'd prefer to see my mom's take first.

As I just said, Extremadura was wonderful. We ate and explored and laughed and birded and had an excellent time--the only hitch was that we did all of that under almost exclusively cloudy, blustery skies. As I had never been to that part of the peninsula and have essentially no experience with winter on the Iberian peninsula, I didn't know quite what to expect, but I packed all my coats and gritted my teeth for the cold. In reality, it was never really colder than 50°F, but it chilled us to the bone. And my poor Ohioans arrived expecting at least a little relief from the grey flannel skies that blanket our river valley in winter... Think again! I kept reminding them that sunshine awaited us in just a few days, and that hey, doesn't that [castle/cathedral/rock outcrop/etc] look way cooler and more foreboding against a grey sky anyway?

As soon as we landed on La Gomera on the 23rd in the buttery evening sunshine, the sweaters were off. This shot still makes happiness bubble up in my throat like seltzer. 

We grabbed our rental car and set out on the hour-long drive home from the airport valley to my valley, just 8 miles as the crow flies but a whole lot more as the ribbon of road falls over the cliffs. I pulled over at every single overlook so we could get an eyeful of the sun setting over the mar de nubes (sea of clouds). And of course, we couldn't miss El Teide glowing pink and blue in the fading light. Isn't this a great photo of my dude? 

When we finally reached my apartment, we ran inside to meet the (in)famous Aráfo. He was (as always) a really enthusiastic and loving bull in a china shop, and they loved him right away. Sweet Oscar and his mom had set up a Christmas tree, and he made us all a giant tortilla española for dinner, accompanied by a salad made with lettuce we grew on our balcony. 

The next day, I woke up so excited for my family to see everything in the sunlight. It's a bit disorienting to arrive in Valle Gran Rey in the dark, as you have no idea that there are enormous cliffs towering over the town. If there's no moon, there's just a point in the sky where the stars stop, but you have to wait until morning to see what's blocking them. 

Our first stop was Oscar's plot of land, lovingly referred to as "our terrain", because the word is terreno in Spanish and terrain was way easier for him to learn in English. He's poured so much work into it, and took great pride in showing my green-thumbed mom his corn, potatoes, tomatoes, bell peppers, papayas, and more. Being Julie Zickefoose, she immediately took to weeding. 

After a few hours in the sun, we walked back down into town for a little tour of the neighborhood. The first person we ran into was Tete, the mysterious one-legged man who rides his scooter several miles down the valley every day to sell lottery tickets, advertising by yelling "LA SUERTE" as he cruises through the streets. No one really knows his real name, but he calls everyone Tete and everyone calls him Tete. I was sort of scared of him at first, as one of my first days on the island I came out of the grocery store to find him yelling something at me in a language I couldn't recognize. Months later, I told Oscar about this, and he told me that Tete tries to get tourists to buy lottery tickets by yelling in what he thinks is German. Apparently the Germans can't even understand it. Anyway, Tete had been donning a Santa suit for the past few days to spread Christmas cheer, with the catch that anyone who wanted a photo had to pay him. When he spotted us, however, he told us we could take a photo with him for free. You can see the pure shock and joy on my face at this encounter. It was only amplified when a tourist tried to piggyback on our free deal, and Tete told him it wasn't free for him and that he'd have to pony up two euros. He obliged.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with sunshine battery recharging and wading in tide pools. Once the sun went down, we slowly got ready for Christmas Eve dinner, cooked entirely by Oscar's mom Vicky. The only thing she did not make herself was the traditional Christmas pan de jamón, which is like a giant, lightly sweet calzone with ham, cheese, raisins, and olives. That puppy was made by the mom of Oscar's good friend in their family bakery down the street. 

Worlds colliding! Moms colliding! Even little brothers colliding!

The next day--Christmas Day--we got off to a slow and steady start, deciding to spend the morning making cookies. At my request, my mom brought a bottle of almond extract across the Atlantic, and we put it to good use with our friend Lucy's almond-frosted sugar cookie recipe. We hadn't made Christmas cookies since I was a tiny girl with my grandmother Ida, but starting a new tradition felt right. 

After the last batch of cookies was out of the oven, we decided to drive up the mountain to get the lay of the land. Somehow I managed to take no photos of that excursion, because there was an ugly, heavy calima haze in the air and the control freak in me was really mad about it. How dare the Saharan dust cloud these vistas for my family? My jaw was clenched all day until we descended back into town just in time to witness one of the most spectacular sunsets I've ever seen. Typically, calima dulls the colors down to steely blues and watery yellows, blotting out the sun's rays so it's just a ball sinking over the horizon. But we were in for a Christmas miracle. 

The colors were vibrant and spreading all over the sky and water, growing more intense every moment we sat in awe. 

The day didn't feel much like Christmas, but I was more than fine with that. I had everything I needed and more.

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A day or two passed before I felt ready to face the bitter disappointment of calima blotting out our beautiful mountain vistas again. But one morning, I woke up and peeked through the blind to see the view of the cliff across town wasn't as hazy as it had been. My heart leapt and I piled everyone in the car to go see my favorite overlook. 

As much as I love this place, I'd been avoiding it during our whole trip because I refused to let my family see it in such "bad" weather. If calima persisted the whole week, well, I'd hold out until the very last evening for a chance to see it in all its glory. But luckily we didn't have to wait that long. 

We took a little hike I'd done a few times, which starts at the overlook deck and follows the cliffside before eventually plunging down to the tiny town at the bottom of the valley. We wouldn't go that far, but we would find caves and rockface flora and a million beautiful views.

Eventually we tore ourselves away from the cliffside and overlook and drove into the laurisilva, which is the special Canarias laurel forest. All islands from Gran Canaria west have patches or swaths of it, but La Gomera's is perhaps the most celebrated. It's incredibly beautiful but extremely hard to photograph, because nothing accurately captures the way the light filters through the twisted branches, or how the total silence brings everything into sharper focus. 

I had a spot in mind for lunch, but it was on the other side of the island. No problem! We wound our way through the laurisilva and eventually popped out on another ridgetop, this time facing Tenerife. I had never been to this area in weather that was not foggy, windy, and drizzly, so I was just as blown away by the blue sky vistas as the newcomers. We also happened to whiz by a fig tree that STILL HAD FIGS, prompting me to slam on the brakes and pull a U-turn. I'd talked so much about fresh figs that it really hurt for my mom and Liam to miss fig season, but we got our redemption. I pulled the branch in with a stick and my mom held Liam's arm as he leaned out over a precipice to grab the one reachable fig. It was so worth it. I would post a picture of the victory, but our fig faces aren't exactly blog-ready. So here's a cool plant.

We visited and ate at the Mirador de Abrante, which is glass-walled restaurant sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking Agulo, one of the island's most picturesque towns. We were lucky enough to catch a silbo (whistling language) demonstration being put on for a tourist group, which blew everyone away. After lunch, we stepped out onto the martian landscape for some photos.

you know we had to do it to em

the queen prancing!!

 After we'd gotten our fill of the reds and the blues (although who could ever really get their fill of that?), we rode the hairpin turns down the mountain to Agulo, which ended up being a favorite stop of the trip for those of us more botanically inclined. Because Agulo is on the northern side of the island, it gets way more precipitation than Valle Gran Rey, and the vegetation--both planted and naturally occurring--is lush. There also seems to be a generally more discerning eye for aesthetics.

 

Roughly 20 minutes were spent looking at this!!

The sun sank behind the cliff and we hit the road to go home. That night, thanks to Spain's drinking age, Liam and I got to go to a bar together for the first time! We ordered fruity drinks and Oscar got a Heineken, the smell of which reminds me so much of my dad. We played a couple of rounds of darts in his honor, and Liam managed to win both times, pouring water all over the heated rivalry Oscar and I have going.

Before we knew it, it was the last day of the trip. We decided to stick around town to let our road-weary travelers rest before their marathon journey home. There was lots of loving on Aráfo...



...A somehow entirely fruitless (but beautiful nonetheless) whale-watching excursion...

...And one last big family meal.

The next morning, we got up early to get them to the airport for their flight out on the little propeller plane that services the island twice per day. Of course I was sad to say goodbye, but something in me just felt so complete. I accidentally missed my bus while watching them walk through security, but in typical Gomeran fashion, my friend who works at the rental car agency drove me down the mountain to catch the catamaran back to Valle Gran Rey. 

This is my home. And now they've seen it. 

2019 Holiday Letter

Recently, as I was taking my daily mental stroll through my thoughts in search of inspiration to write, it occurred to me that it wouldn't be a bad idea to write a holiday letter on my blog. So much happened in 2019 that picking one thread to follow is extremely difficult, as many are woven into deeper fabrics that I just don't have the strength to put into words yet. Or maybe ever. And as I've noted before, writing about the mundane feels like a betrayal of these bigger experiences that take up much more room in my head. So a holiday letter feels like a nice compromise--I'm tasked with recounting the year but must do so with brevity, coherence, and chronological order. I was inspired by my grand aunt Toot, 89, who sent me a Christmas letter right on time last month. Of course, I started in on this and then had to turn my computer in for a 3-week long keyboard replacement (island time), so please excuse my belated reflections in a moment when everyone has shifted back to looking forward.

Coincidentally (or maybe not), I began writing this letter exactly one year from the day my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. It's been a full year since I've known a world without that pain. I'm sad of course, but also strangely relieved that I've managed to survive the first year. Of course I'll have to start preparing for the anniversary landmines, but I hope and believe I'm correct in thinking that things will continue to get a bit easier rather than harder. I really have noticed change for the better recently--my bouts of sadness are shorter and the time between them is longer. When I first got back to Spain and settled in, I was an emotional werewolf, transforming every two to three weeks for at least a few days. Poor Oscar bore the brunt of it and lived to tell the tale.

January 2019 started with me at home, making an unplanned visit to see my family. At the moment the clock struck midnight, I had my arm around my dad as we swayed and listened to Auld Lang Syne playing from the television. It felt kind of like staring down a really long, dark tunnel and knowing that you had to start walking through it. I made no resolutions.

After the first week of the year had passed, I flew back to Spain. It was not what I thought I would do, and it was actually not my decision, but my parents insisted I go back. I had a life on the island: an apartment, a job, loved ones, and happiness. Staying home would have afforded me more time with my dad, but there would have been a cost. I really can't say what my mental state would have been if I had stayed in the cold, gray Mid-Ohio Valley indefinitely, awaiting the bitter end. Instead, I returned to sunshine and my students, and lived relatively happily (all things considered) in that bubble for a couple of months. I went for a lot of walks as I let my ankle heal from a bad November sprain. Oscar started bringing me a fresh papaya/orange/ginger juice at school every day. We woke up at 4:30 one morning and climbed the stairs to my roof to see a blood moon.

In February, I slowly started running again. I eased back in with just minute-long intervals, and very gradually worked my way up to 10 and 15 minutes at a time. Exercise combined with lengthening days helped me quite a bit. I also got to visit the peninsula for Fulbright's mid-year seminar, which was held in Valencia. The trip was 5 days of paella, wine, cool art and architecture, and connection with other Americans (something I hadn't realized I missed so much).

Madrid's Parque El Retiro

L'Albufera, Valencia

Las Fallas exhibit

March is perhaps the blurriest month of them all, and seemed like an entire year on its own. It started with a visit from my dear intrepid Elizabeth, which happened to coincide with Carnaval in Tenerife (the second largest Carnaval celebration in the world!). 

Unfortunately, at the end of her visit, bad news from home got worse, and once again, I found myself booking last-minute tickets to Ohio. I was disconsolate for many reasons, but especially because Oscar and I had just bought tickets home for June, when we thought he'd get to meet my dad. On the day before my departure, we were eating breakfast when I asked him if there was any chance at all that he could find coverage for his business and come home with me for a week. He paused for a second, and then said "¿por qué no?" The next thing I knew, we were on our way, following the sunset across the Atlantic. I can't possibly describe how much it helped me to have him there by my side, whether I was using him as a pillow or just feeling the comfort of his presence. And best of all, when Oscar walked through the door, it was a total surprise for my dad, who thought he'd never get to meet him. Their meeting will forever be one of the most heart-bursting moments of my life. 

The heartbreak of the goodbye at the end of that visit isn't something I'd wish on my worst enemy, but we survived it. A week later, my dad left the Earth. 

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To be honest, I really don't remember much of April or May. I think I was numb for quite a bit of that span, although a major bright spot was a solo trip I took to Toledo, Spain during Semana Santa (Holy Week). I spent four days wandering through the streets, smelling lilacs, eating marzipan, and revelling in how every corner I turned afforded me another beautiful eyeful. No bad angle in that city. 

Near the end of the month, my dear friend and Bowdoin/Fulbright comrade Lillian came to visit from Madrid. We rented a car so she (and I!) could see more of the island, and had a blast. 

Why yes, we are holding a Fulbright bandana at this scenic overlook!!

Unfortunately, life delivered another wallop on the last day of her visit, when I found out my grandmother Elsa had passed away in a house fire, exactly two months to the hour after my dad took his leave. The sense of loss I felt and continue to feel is tremendous. Not only did I lose my loving, supportive grandmother, but also the entire house in which I spent a large chunk of my youth. I'm still very puzzled by the cruelty of it all. I guess I thought I'd earned immunity for a while, but that's just not how life works. 

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June marched right through the door and there was little I could do to stop it. I ended my Fulbright year by planning for another, as I found out I was to be the mentor for the Canarias contingent the next year. I got to know this group of superhumans who would be working with me from across the country, and felt so thankful to have another year ahead of me. 

Mid-month, I packed up all of my things, dropped them off in a new apartment, and flew home once again with Oscar for that June trip we'd been planning. We stopped one night in Lisbon before the transatlantic leg, and then headed straight from Boston to Maine so that I could show him a little more of where I came from. 

The cheapest flight I'd found back home was actually from Portland, ME to Pittsburgh, which thrilled me beyond belief because it meant I could take Oscar to his first baseball game!! It felt like the perfect way to honor my dad. Our dear friend at the Pirates, Greg Brown, made sure it was an extra-special visit, and I got to meet the announcers I've been listening to on the radio my whole life. More heart-bursting moments. 

After all that excitement, summer at home was a dream filled with flowers, birds, our new dog Curtis, and my mom's cooking. I spent much of it working on materials for our Fulbright Orientation, bursting out of the house around 5 to hit the country roads on my bike. There's really no place I feel more at peace than under Appalachian summer skies. 

Photo by the wonderful Amy Parrish

Toward the end of summer, Liam and I took a fantastic sibling's trip to Chicago, where we ate all the foods we'd always admired from afar (deep-dish pizza, bubble tea, authentic ramen, authentic tacos, etc) and laughed a LOT. Here's hoping it was the first of many such trips!

Soon after that, I was invited to spend a week in Bermuda with Elizabeth and her family, which was such a wonderful and relaxing experience. It was fun to visit a totally different kind of island, and even better to reconnect with my best friend out from underneath the shadow that had been with me in March. 

After a quick turnaround, I was back in Spain again and ready to take on the year. I met all of my wonderful grantees at Orientation, and just loved being the person that got to introduce them to the region and job through conversations and presentations. 

Equipazo canario!!

Once I was back on La Gomera, I settled into my new home with Oscar and his American Staffordshire Terrier, Aráfo. I have to admit, I was pretty apprehensive about living with Aráfo. I was used to dogs of a more delicate size, and was worried I wouldn't even be able to walk him. But my mom armed me with a good harness, and Aráfo worked the magic that all dogs have, and now we're the best of friends. It helps me SO much to have a dog around that I'm fairly certain I'll never live without one again. 

Celebrating 1 year in October!

Since then, I've just been living my life, which (aside from the island location) is remarkably normal. I wake up, go to work, come home, cook, clean, exercise, and fall asleep in the middle of movies. Sometimes I forget I'm 23. It feels like I've lived a lot more life than that, and that I should really be something more like 35. But hey, sometimes I escape the island and travel a bit. This fall, I finally ventured north of Madrid to Asturias and Barcelona. Each trip deserves its own write up, but there's already a subpar Toledo post rotting in my drafts, so they may well remain in my 2019 memory box. That's okay. Fresh slate. 

My Asturian mentor counterpart and all-around shining star Carinna!!

La Sagrada Familia

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It sounds weird to say, but if I had to hand out superlatives, 2019 wouldn't win Worst Year Of My Life. Certainly Hardest Year Of My Life, but not Worst. Too much good happened in between the awful that it somehow tipped the scales. Living in the moment was the key (and still is), as any step outside of that took me somewhere I probably didn't want to be and robbed me of the joy I desperately needed to embrace. Does that mean I'm still clueless about my future? Yep. But did I survive 2019 and come out far more intact than I should have? Yes. And that's what is really important to me now and moving forward. 

So this is my attempt to wipe my mental slate clean by acknowledging (however briefly) the major events of the last year. We'll see if it works to clear this long-standing writer's block and helps me return to the present moment. I'm hopeful it will. Regardless, if you're reading this, thanks for sticking with me. 

Love,

Phoebe