How to move to Spain in 14 easy steps

1. Start by giving up ultimate and caffeine on the same day, making you all the more charming to your children during steps #2 - #14.

2. Leave the U.S. on an overnight flight. Incent your children to sleep at least 2 hours.*

3. Arrive to warm welcome from best Spanish friends in the world.

4. Who also happen to have cake.  On them. And the keys to your apartment.

5. Where 3/5ths of your family sleeps off the flight.

6. While Jon, Nora, Miguel, Nuria and their incredibly patient daughter Ireny…

     A. Officially register for residency in Alcobendas (the part of Madrid where we live)

     B. Sign paperwork at the rental agency downtown

7. Next, wake up your boys and have them “help”….

     C. Spend 400 Euros at the local grocery store

     D. Get the internet hooked up

     E. Acquire cell phones.**

8. Bid your Spanish friends adieu. Wonder how you will ever repay them.

9. Feed your children. Spanish food optional.

10. Watch a spectacular thunderstorm that rolls in around 9 PM.

12. And lasts for 6 hours.

13. While Starhills alternately weep and sleep.***

14. Wake up at 11:30 the next morning, slightly stunned and wondering what day it is.

* If your child happens to wake you on the flight over at 2 AM EST for no reason, there’s an excellent PBS documentary on USAIR right now-Last Days of Vietnam

** Nora’s dream come true: her cell is nicer than Mommie’s (Nora texts > Mommie texts in Spain)

*** Heather awake for the 10-2 shift, caught and tried to comfort many of the weepers. Jon was awake for the 2 AM-4 AM shift and managed to catch the Red Sox game. All slept soundly from 4 AM on.

It smells like Alcobendas!

Hi! It's Nora! 

This post covers the first two or tree days of our 2015-16 our adventure...

     The day we left, I woke up at 7, got dressed and promptly learned that we were not leaving until 12, and instead of being hidey-holed up in my room until we left (as I would have proffered), i would be put to work cleaning and preparing for us to leave. "The house had to be perfect", Apparently.

     During the 7 hour plane ride, I watched TV for 3 hours, slept for 2, watched the lady in front of me's television (she was watching the abyss) for a half an hour, and stared into space for the rest of the flight. 

     When we got off the plane, Seth had a minor meltdown about not feeling well, so we made our way to the bathroom and proceed to sit in front of it for 15 minutes. I guess sitting in front of a bathroom cures airplane sickness.

     We got to the apartment, and made plans for the rest of the day. They included, shopping, shopping, and shopping. Daddy and I got in our good friends Nuria and Miguel's car, and shopped until 4 at which time we decided to return to the apartment.

     Our first trip to the famed Al Campo cost us 398 euros. Not bad considering the amount of stuff we bought. I realized that the only english i will encounter outside of 'the mouse hole' is on an oreo box that says 'family size'. How sad.

      When we got home, it was close to 7, and finally, the cable guy came. I was simply ecstatic. Like a true teenager. Haha, mom. He left around eight, when I promptly brushed my teeth and fell asleep. I woke up at 11:45. 15 hours of sleep and still tired. Sounds like a book.

      I always feel like a tourist here. I really don't like like it. 

      We are headed to cyprus on Monday!!! Golden beaches, turquoise sand, a monstrous amount of touring, here we come! 

THINGS WE WILL BE LIVING W/O THIS YEAR

• Car
• TV
• English
• Maple Syrup
• Dryer
• My own room
• And more that don't matter as much...

We are back!!! Starhills in Spain returns. We just landed in Madrid for another fun year in Spain - stay tuned for the 2015-2016 version of this blog.

San Isidro (also known as the marching oboe post)

A few weeks ago, this appeared in our mailbox:

It was a species of the weekly governmental missive, the one that tells us about the wonders of our city (Alcobendas), assures us that the pinwheel graffiti doesn't mean we have active Nazi gangs, lists weekly events, features photos of our growing youth, and so forth. But what was on this particular cover? An absurdist can-can dancer? An advertisement for drinking, gambling, and androgynous PeeWee Herman lookalikes in high-water pants?

The words on the flyer didn't help; we didn't know most of them, and a trip to Google Translate-land was unhelpful: "The schottische in a tile, the rest, in all the track."

From what we could gather from the inside (more on that later), the flyer seemed to be announcing a 2-week festival named after San Isidro, the patron saint of Madrid. We took our friend the absurdist can-can dancers' friend, and attended many of the offerings. Here are some scenes. 


Part I: The Fair


This particular festival came with an old-fashioned carnival-type fair. We took all three kids over several nights, to mixed effects.


Seth's eyes were bigger than his stomach -- or so we infer from the fact that he'd beg excitedly to go on a kiddie ride, look worried when it started, crumple his face when it got going fast, then sob loudly until the burly carnival worker pulled him off.  The worst was the baby bumper car, where he seemed to forget that he controlled the actual car and almost ran himself off the road, weeping and wailing.


Nathan found his heaven in the form of a giant hamster wheel that turns on water:

And Nora got to drive the big-kid bumper cars. Don't have a picture of that one, but her face said "This is the BEST THING EVER. I'm SO DOING THIS when I'm a teenager!"  the whole ride.


Mommie and Daddy were intrigued by the civic culture on display -- not just lots-of-women-dressed-up-in-Flamenco-costumes, but hundreds of little stalls selling not tzotke, but instead, beer. Not in a bad way -- in fact, it looked like each beer stall was sponsored by a different civic organization, perhaps as a place for their members to hang out or a way to make money (or both). Robert Putnam, ditch Italy and study Spain; apparently, nobody bowls alone here.


Part II: Actual Saint's Day


One of the pleasures of living in Spain is that the Spanish have lots of holidays, and they take them seriously. And they take them wherever they fall -- there's none of this "move the day around to fit the corporate vacation schedule" kind of thing. So if the holiday happens to fall on a Tuesday, for instance, you're going to observe it on Tuesday. And Monday. Because there's a fondness for creating "puentes," or bridges, between mid-week holidays and the weekend.


In any case, San Isidro's day fell on a Tuesday. My sister (Carrie) and her boyfriend (Colin) had just arrived back in Madrid from their ramblings around Spain, so they were in the mood to be entertained. Actually, no wait -- Colin woke up quite sick and went to the ER with Jon. But that's another story.


So Carrie, the kids, and I went off in the morning to enjoy some park time in the cool of the day. Our friend the absurdist can-can dancer had also mentioned a parade at 11, so the plan was to make our way back from the park and enjoy the parade. Our friend the roulette-topped dancing can also noted that a) the parade would take place in the Piñar de San Isidro;  b) buses would be available, because there's no parking in this particular Piñar; and that c) following the parade, they'd be serving a local treat. A three-fer for the Starhills, who love treats, parades, and bus rides, in that order.  Jon googled Piñar de San Isidro, and to our delight, it's apparently this very large man-made hill that we overlook from our apartment. So we took the bus back from the park at 11:00 to find....nobody. Not a soul around. Definitely not a parade.


We walked back up toward the center of town, hoping to locate said parade. And as we came up onto Montes, there was a giant bus with about 100 senior citizens clamoring to get on. The sign on the bus said "Piñar de San Isidro," so we ran for the bus (me carrying Seth) and hopped on. 

The bus took the scenic tour of Alcobendas, then it took the scenic tour of the road to the airport, then it took the scenic tour through some actual farmland. I was starting to get nervous: on a bus with three kids, no idea where we're going, no food, 100 seniors and my sister (Carrie loves to chat up random seniors, which usually required intervention on my part, as her Spanish was sketchy). Plus I had a 1:00 meeting. Would we end up in Madrid? Carrie maintained that the parade was there. Would we end up deposited in the middle of nowhere? Possible, because that's where we were.  Would we end up a casino named San Isidro in Barcelona? Given the average age on the bus, I couldn't rule that out. 


As it turns out, it was option (B). The bus pulled over next to a farm, let everyone out, and we commenced following everyone up a very long dirt driveway to the Piñar, which turns out to be a picnic ground with lots of pine trees and a tiny little church. We arrived to find this in progress-- the town band, complete with marching oboe section:

Now for those of you who don't know, I played the oboe in high school (and a bit in college). I still have nightmares of breaking my reed on the music stand just moments before a solo, turning to my reed case, and finding only duds. A scarring experience, replayed a few times a year right before dawn. I imagine that marching with the oboe would only be more nerve-wracking. But perhaps there's been some new reed technology in the last 20 years. 


Following the oboe section were some folks dressed up and carrying various artifacts, including a statue of the baby Jesus.

They proceeded to the church, held a service, and served the treats. As a measure of how exhausted the Starhills were after all this, they actually declined the treat to go wait in line for the next bus home. In the line, predictably, Carrie charmed the 80+ crowd. 


So the lesson here, and this is an overarching lesson for our year in Spain, is that the unofficial motto of the place (and especially of our erstwhile guide, the absurdist dancing can) should be "Whatever happened last year, it'll happen that way again this year." There doesn't seem a need to do anything, for example, like provide directions or tell people exactly where events will occur, because most people here have been there/done that, and why waste the ink?


Part III: Children's theater


OK, I promise this one will be short. In the US, we've taken the kids to see a particularly excruciating children's band. The scenario goes something like this: seven young adults, dressed up as robots (or mice, or whatnot), playing too-loud rock music, elaborate set, some plot involving outer space. Jon and I have no idea how any of these adults make money off the show, given their numerosity and expensive sound equipment/set.


On a day that the big kids + Jon were out of town, I took Seth to a children's show here. The scenario went something like this: eight young adults, dressed up as rat robots from outer space (I kid you not), a trampoline (on which bounced a very buxom rat-robot), loud rock music, and plot involving the smelling of cheese. Which they did, admirably. 


Part IV:  Orchestra Blue


So after departing from the children's theater, Seth and I decided to wind our way home via the main drag in Alcobendas, which consists of a plaza outside of the Montes bakery. There, our little absurdist dancing can friend had promised that there's be "Orchestra Blue" performing at 8. So we pulled into the square, and it looked a lot like it does during the day -- seniors all lined up on the benches around the square, except they're all squished in because their wives are actually there too, rather than home cooking lunch. 


The orchestra starts playing. They look remarkably unlike an orchestra. In fact, they look like a rock band:

And in fact, their first song is a roots-rock American tune. 


The good citizens of Alcobendas sat still on their benches, impassively staring at the scene. I wondered what they'd do next. Continue to be polite but non-expressive? Ignore the band and start to talk about politics or futbol? Get up and wander off? Riot? 


Nope. They got up and danced:

The music did eventually turn to Spanish standards, which only encouraged more to come out.

So that's San Isidro, 2012. And the long-promised marching oboe section post. Next up: the Wildflowers of Spain. Don't laugh -- they're very, very beautiful. You'll see.

 

The Montes brothers

I walked into the store the other day, and all three were there. I took it as a sign from above and got them to pose for a picture.

 

Not the best picture, but I didn't want to push my luck. The one on the left (Antonio) is one who seems to be in charge of the shop. The brother who has a habit of arguing with the seniors is on the right.

Notable

We are winding down the school year as well as our stay here. Jon and I are both in denial -- I convinced him that we could easily pack and clean the entire apartment the day before we leave, so that we don't have to disturb our otherwise perfect lifestyle with suitcases and the like. I STILL owe our loyal readers (i.e., the grandparents) a long story about the local marching oboe section. However, before getting to that, here's some more scattered thoughts about our last couple weeks/last week here. Sort of organized by theme....

Things I am proud of:

- I managed to memorize neither my cell phone number nor my home number this year. Little slips of paper with these things written on them = wave of the future.

- Our kids speak Hebrew with a Spanish accent

- Our kids speak Spanish. It is like a miracle to me, I swear, every time I hear them chattering on with their friends. Seth can't conjugate a verb to save his life and has a Texas accent, but he can at least get by and the other two are regular locals. Our Spanish friends have in fact gleefully commented "No accent!" about the older ones. Which I take to mean "Not only no American accent, but none of that terrible South American accent either!"

Part of the miracle is that our kids now know how to do something that we have had very little hand in teaching them, and they are in fact far better at speaking/reading Spanish than either Jon or I. I feel lucky to have reached this point so early on in our kids' lives.


Things I will miss
- Montes bread. And the occasional verbal brawling that take place between the owners and clientele.

- Being able to order beer with breakfast. Not that I do, but it's just strange to me that neither Dunkin Donuts nor Starbuck's has beer on tap. All the similar institutions in Alcobendas do.

- Loooonnng social gatherings. Some friends organized a picnic for us a couple weekends ago, and it was just a lovely day -- feed kids, watch them play in mud, sit in shade, talk, eat, talk some more. No wonder Americans never feel like they never get a chance to know people -- we don't spend enough time together doing nothing.

- The generous and wonderful Jewish school community. Especially upon leaving, it's become even more clear that we've been so lucky this year to land in a fabulous school, one where everyone (teachers, aides, office staff, principal, parents) have been so kind and thoughtful toward our family and children. Just as an example, Nora was sick for 4 days last week, and she received numerous emails and phone calls from friends and teachers. There's also been many parties and presents for kids leaving the school, which is very touching.

- We've also been impressed by the quality of instruction at the school. There's nothing like reading the Torah (or listening to oral stories) to get your kids thinking and talking (and occasionally debating) about important issues. The math, as well, has been particularly strong -- Nora's book is well-designed, conceptually grounded, and even (I think) challenging for her, in terms of requiring some out-of-the-box thinking. Nathan has flourished as well, we think because the teachers have seen that he's far ahead in some subjects (especially math, where he occasionally likes to try Nora's homework) and met him where he's at.

Miscellaneous

- Seth can't seem to keep his girlfriend straight. There's a few blonde preschoolers at the pool, so it's easy to see how difficult a task this would be for a 3-year-old. Carolina, the object of his affection last Friday, appeared at the pool a few days later. Jon pointed her out but Seth shrugged, commenting "That's not Carolina, that's Olivia." Carolina speaks Spanish and Olivia speaks French, so they're kind of hard to confuse, but oh well.  Seth went back to playing with the boys, ignoring Carolina even when she came over to talk to him. Maybe this is how he's chosen to mend his broken heart (see last Seth-related post).

- So upon hearing some friends talk about scheduling something for the "afternoon" -- and it being already 3:00 PM, I finally inquired about what constitutes morning and afternoon here in Madrid. Morning = before 2; afternoon = what my parents could call a Late Dinner -- perhaps 6 PM.

- We have a new observation to place in the sociological/phenomenological category titled "Why plan ahead?" School lets out on a Wednesday--tomorrow, in fact. Our kids have after-school sports on Wednesdays. For weeks, we asked the kids' after school teachers what the last day of after-school would be, and for weeks, they replied "The last day of school, of course." Last week I thought I'd give it one more shot, and asked the director whether we'd have class on the last day of school. Here's what transpired:

Me: Do we have class next week?
Andy: Of course!
Me: But it's the last....
Andy: Oh wait. Wait here.
[Goes into office, comes out 5 minutes later]
Andy: No after-school sports next week

This was decided, by the way, AFTER Seth and Nora's classes had let out. So there was no proper picture-taking or whatnot [though Nathan got one done for his class].

- In a similar vein, we got the graduation notice about 2 weeks ago. Just a note saying there'd be graduation, where it would be held, and that's pretty much it. Jon went up and engaged in extensive intelligence-gathering ("are we supposed to come?" "What goes on at these things?"), which led to the conclusion that the whole school is supposed to show up at said graduation. If we'd been better at writing on the blog this year, there'd be a whole entry on city- or school-based social events organized on the premise that "things are the same this year as they were last year, so we're not providing details because you should already know." This seems to be a common occurrence here. 

- As an aside, a few days ago the graduation time was actually moved to a bit earlier -- Spain is playing in the semi-finals of the EuroCopa, can't have anyone missing that.

- Speaking of the EuroCopa, I mostly haven't been watching the broadcast, but can always tell when Spain scores, because for a few minutes it sounds like I'm sitting in the middle of a soccer stadium. A loud cheer rises in unison from the city, followed by honking horns, hollering, fireworks. Why pay the big bucks for a ticket when you can watch on your large-screen TV and get pretty much the total experience at home?

Town band

So it's 9:30 pm, and I'm sitting in bed after a loong Saturday with the kids. Thinking about going to bed early. When out of the blue, I hear (we all hear) booming song, apparently coming from the nearby park.

We rush to the windows but can see nothing, because the other part of our ubanizacion is in the way. Nora conjectures that some folks are singing the Eliyahu, but Jon notes that it's pretty unlikely that there's a group of Jews gathered in a Madrid park for Havdalah services.

So I venture out and here's what's going on:

No, that man second from the left isn't wearing a kippah, that's just a reflection of light off the iPhone lens. No, this is actually the town band, with a chorus backing them up. I can tell because we've seen this conductor with his flock at every parade in Alcobendas (by the way, I owe you all some pictures of the marching oboe section).

Sound check was at 9:30. Concert started at 10. Here's part of the song that Nora thought was the Eliyahu -- I'm sure Nana can ID it for everyone who's interested. Some American composer, no doubt.