My story
The story of how I ended up in Spain is a rather serendipitous one – let’s just say that a 15 minute conversation in a bar in Spain changed my life. Over five years later, I no longer live in San Francisco, but in Madrid with that same Spaniard with whom I had that brief conversation. And I am living the adventure of a lifetime. We travel nearly every weekend, whether it be a short drive to somewhere near Madrid, or some place much farther.
My blogs, which started as somewhat of a diary for myself (my excuse for some ultra-poor writing in the early days), and an effort to keep my family up to speed on the latest, have become more of a chronicle of all the amazing adventures to be had in Spain and beyond. With so many friends, and friends of friends, and friends of friends of friends, visiting Spain, I’ve found myself delighting in the opportunity to share everything I know about Spain so that future visitors may have the same enchanting experience that I’ve been fortunate enough to have myself. So that’s why I started this site – to share my journey and also to gather the restaurant recommendations, the recipes, the secret spots, and so on, making them available for everyone who wants to know. I am very lucky to have such a wonderful, knowledgeable and proud host – my husband – who has eagerly introduced me to a million new places, traditions, foods, wines, and more – I thank him, and look forward to passing on these experiences to you.
And if you’re curious about the name “la tortuga viajera” – tortuga, or turtle, is a nick name I inherited from my husband. Basically, because I have rods in my back from a corrective surgery, I can’t always get up easily when I’m on my back. Yeah, ha ha. Anyway, since turtles travel carrying their homes on their backs, “the traveling turtle” somehow seemed fitting. So there you have it!
If you would like to read more about how my story came to be, below (and on the following pages) you will find a collection of my more personal blog posts.
Meet Nico
This just in: babies are a lot of work. Yeah, like a lot. Apparently having a kid is a full-time job with virtually no break, and one which pays with the occasional, albeit priceless smile. But whoa, it’s exhausting.
If you haven’t guessed already, my adventures these days have a lot less to do with traveling to far-off places, and instead revolve entirely around keeping my little dude happy.
Right, and he just woke up….the tears should start flowing in 5, 4, 3, 2….
OK, and we’re back (several hours, diaper changes and deep sighs later).
My sweet little Nico was born Thanksgiving Day here in Madrid, Spain, weighing in at 6 pounds, 15 ounces. (I realize this surely was the first and last time that I will ever actually lose weight on Turkey Day!) He seems to have the same restless spirit that I do in that he positively hates being cooped up at home, and will usually only calm when outside of the house. Not so great news if I wish to rest, but it means my preference for being out and about hasn’t had to change nearly as much as I thought it would. That said, trying to plan just about anything concretely remains an almost entirely futile effort.
But enough of my motherhood revelations: instead I would like to share with you a handful of photos of my darling guy in his rare sleeping state. The first few were taken at one week old, meanwhile the others were done when he was one month.
Anddd he’s hungry now. Ciao for now, folks!
One-month-old photos taken by Izzy Hudgins Photography.
Tortuguita
Dear Readers,
I have a confession. And no, this time it doesn’t have to do with cheese, pueblos or even cute Spanish grandpas. No, nothing even close. This time I must come clean as to why I’ve been so completely missing from my blog in the last months.
Photo courtesy of Gabriel Saldana via Flickr
If you haven’t guessed it already: Tortuga’s having a tortuguita. That’s right, I’m pregnant and expecting a little boy (I’m still thinking it could just be a giant tortilla española) toward the end of the year. Jacobo and I are positively elated!
As you can probably imagine, these last months have been a bit disorienting. Apart from the physical and mental intensity involved with the whole growing-another-person thing (I still can’t believe this is happening!), I spent five head-spinning weeks in the States, followed by a quick trip to Malta, and all while my freelance writing workload somehow managed to quadruple (never mind the size of my stomach – eek!).
I’ve been in such a pregnancy haze, actually, that I spilled olive oil all over (and incidentally in) my laptop last week, and it has since ceased to function. (I’ll have you know that the Mac service people here in Madrid didn’t even flinch or crack a smile at the olive-oil incident, as if it were totally normal. I’m going to pretend that olive-oil spillage on anything is entirely commonplace in Spain.) The good news: By some stroke of luck, I had gotten a backup laptop of sorts while home, and it was my old laptop that suffered the tragic – albeit quite tasty – accident. Consider this my PSA: Olive oil and laptop innards are not friends – take note.
Basically, it’s been a crazy, beautiful and largely blog-free time, and I’ve hated having to keep the big — and getting bigger! — secret from you all for so long. But, believe it or not, I still haven’t even shared the news with my Facebook friends (gasp!), so now you and the probably five other people who’ve hung around through my silence are still among the first to know. Surprise, Mom and Dad!!! I kid, I kid.
Times might be changing, but going forward I’ll do my best to keep you all up to date on my continued adventures – the ones that involve tasty travels, not diaper changes. I do hope you’ll still come along for the ride. And thank you for your continued support!
Sincerely,
Tortuga and her soon-to-arrive Tortuguita
Once upon a time
The sun rose quickly on the morning of Saturday, July 24th, surely more quickly than it ever had before. There I was with my family and closest friends, dancing in the courtyard of a 700-year-old monastery as the sky seemed to fast forward from onyx black to a glowing navy blue and soon to dawn. Meanwhile the DJ mixed away as though the birds competing for musical attention were nonexistent. Between the alcohol, dancing for hours on end, and being surrounded by people from all chapters of my life, the moment did not seem real. I still ask myself if it really even happened.
The whirlwind really started the week before though when my father arrived, followed by a cousin, and then after that the floodgate of guests opened. In that week leading up to the wedding I played tour guide, perhaps partly out of obligation, but more because I just love Spain so darn much that to not share my bursting enthusiasm with each arriving guest would have left me heartbroken. So that week I packed my schedule with a full list of events and must-see spots: Pedraza, La Granja, Navacerrada, Cuenca, La Ciudad Encantada, Chinchón, a friend’s ranch in Fuentidueña, Patones de Arriba, Buitrago del Lozoya, tours of Madrid, dinner in the caves of El Molar, a tour of Santiago de Bernebéu Soccer Stadium, a rehearsal dinner at Jacobo’s parents house, a bus trip with 30 guests to Segovia, and finally a dinner and wine tasting for all of the Americans. Oh, and then the wedding.
The excessive laundry list of events and excursions during that week surely left me exhausted, but on the other hand, they kept me distracted from the impending wedding – something I was dreading only because I just really dislike being the center of attention (and there’s nothing like being overly dressed in a massive white gown to call attention to oneself). The idea of walking down the aisle with all eyes on me was just mortifying. But soon enough, the time came and I found myself out at a hotel in the city of Guadalajara spending the entire day with seven of my best friends painting nails, getting hair done, flipping through American magazines and developing hotel workout routines using wine bottles and luggage carts. All in all, a very productive day.
Arriving at the monastery, I was in a haze – people buzzing around everywhere, months of my planning coming to life before my very eyes. A part of me desperately wanted to stop and fuss over the flowers, or even jump in to offer a helping hand to make sure that everything was coming along, but these thoughts were quickly derailed as my lace train got caught on age old cobble stones at every turn.
Before I knew it I was being summoned to the church – the time had come and panic was setting in. I knew the whole thing could go south very quickly (translation – me breaking down from nerves and refusing to walk down the aisle) or that I could just suck it up, which was not at all something that I was certain was within my skill set. My music was cued, though, and before I could even decide which path I would take, I felt my parents pulling me from each side into the monastery. I guess there would be no turning back at that point.
I arrived at the altar clutching onto Jacobo’s hand the first moment that I could – palms sweating, I held it in a death grip. Given the perfectionist that I am, one might think that I had hoped this ceremony to go off without a hitch, when in reality I hoped that there would be flaws, humorous flaws, to lighten the mood and distract me from the intense gravity of what was about to happen.
As I analyzed the altar flowers (hmmm, some of them were wilting….ah, they used birds of paradise, never a favorite flower of mine, but they did look lovely in the arrangement) my cousin Nate, an ordained minister in the US, concluded his introduction and warily nodded to the Spanish Justice of the Peace who would manage the official part of the ceremony. This Justice was someone we could not choose, but rather the Justice from the miniature pueblo, Lupiana, below the monastery. He began his introduction by slowly and delicately removing his eyeglasses from their case, then gently pulling each paper from his manila folder and placing them thoughtfully one by one across the table as if they were tarot cards. To me this was beyond hilarious. He began his speech, which included multiple mentions of Jacobo’s and my name – well, something that should have been my name. It was incredible how he enthusiastically struggled with it, each time warping it further, and declaring his mispronunciations as though they were triumphs. “E-line! Bet! Ril! Bley!” This was fantastic.
The poor little Justice was on his own planet though. As we enjoyed his ramblings we realized that his dissertation had carried on far longer than we had anticipated and that he’d just gone and done the whole darn ceremony, meaning that we would need to move things around and do the rest on the fly – no problem. When we “thought” the ceremony had finally ended, the quartette began to play, signaling the end, meanwhile the judge started hollering into the microphone that the ceremony was not over, everyone must sit and that we were doing horribly, really horribly (the word is actually “fatal” in Spanish, which was especially touching) over and over again. I’m not going to lie, I kind of thought this was funny too, but I suppose after he said it a few times it just started to get a little awkward. I think at some point he managed to snap out of his stupor, though, and then declared in a soft, friendly grandpa-tone that if we needed anything from him in the future, he’d be happy to help. And that was that. It’s important to note (for me anyway) that my affection for Spanish grandpas may have diminished somewhat as a result of this experience. I was kind of disappointed too that he didn’t bring his cane and messenger hat. A real pity.
Tons of pictures and a cocktail hour later and it was time to enter the cloister where dinner would be held. The hallways of the three story courtyard were filled with 18 tables adorned with soft orange runners, Spanish cork oak trunk vases, bilingual menus and countless wineglasses. Seated in the corner at table 7, I gazed at the row of tables to each side and the illuminated garden in front of me, which changed each minute as the sun went down and the lights went up casting an ethereal glow on the stony walls. The fountain softly babbled and light music drifted hauntingly into the night air. It was the definition of breathtaking. I tried so hard to take in the moment and bottle it up inside of me somewhere so that I might never forget it.