To the Races!

Every August, the river's beach in Sanlúcar is packed for the annual horse races around sunset. The horses walk from the finish lines down the beach to their starting point giving the spectators lined up against the orange construction fence to check out the horses before rushing off to a decorated cardboard box to place their money down on their pick.

The bookie? A kid no older than 10 who gladly takes your euro, scribbles out your ticket, and then offers you a gift for placing a bet at his stand when the beach is populated with them. Name of the game? Pick the horse that will be in the lead when the pack crosses that meter marker.

The horses? From all over Europe as the winnings are large, and the races famous. The event officially dates back to 1845 when the the Sociedad de Carreras de Caballos de Sanlucar de Barrameda was formed. However, before this organization held its first official races, the event had been staged informally for years by locals who raced the horses used for transporting fish from local ports as they awaited the catch to be brought in.

So, how does one pick your favorite horse? For me it was no question- Sir Pepo was the only name in the list of 42 horses over 4 races that I knew would have my wager. When I saw him nearly prancing down the beach to the starting line we made eye contact and shared a special moment. As soon as he passed, I rushed to the booth behind us (through the pack of 20-something guys). Caballo number ocho, por favor. Ocho? Si. Ocho (holiding up 8 fingers). Uno euro. The little boy filled out my ticket and handed it through the cardboard box. His mom then grabbed a bag of bracelets and asked me which one I'd like. Um...time to start pointing because colors still come out in Italian.

As  I made it back to our spot along the fence I lost my buddy. She was just right here. Oh crapola. The group of guys had found her and were being rather attentive. As one saw that I was making my way back he asked which number I placed my bet on, numero ocho. Once the race started, all but one of the guys (he had picked a different horse) started chanting eight eight eight and when the horses passed the line in the sand? Sir Pepo was the first in line! And then? Well it was sort of like when you're the one that makes the final out, makes the final shot, or just won some major competition and the ENTIRE team, coaches too, storm the field and suddenly your feet are no longer on the ground.

Um really? I just won 3€ but as far as they were concerned with their celebration it might as well have been 3.000€. I did finally break my self free (talk about NO PERSONAL BUBBLE MOMENT), the bookie's family was laughing because clearly they knew I won. Shoot. I think the whole section of the beach knew that I won. 

Unfortunately, Sir Pepo was our only winning pick of the event, although we had called the first race but hadn't worked up the courage to figure out the betting system. I mean really? Handing money over to a kid? With the low bets (I think 1€ was the max) most people were betting euro cents on horses. Sort of like penny slots in the states. Our other picks included: Syrillus, Seminole Cry, & Face the Fact. Face the Fact was a much older horse and a long shot, but we liked the way he looked so placed our money down. At 2 booths. Those kids gladly took our money! Oh well, there's always next year and I'll be ready with my name selecting strategy down pat...so watch out niños I'll be looking to finance my cat's toy mice addiction. 

Nico Extraction After Action Report

Nico is my fur baby and as such that means I'm allowed to have proud momma moments. Today's adventure of 2 flights (about 4 hours flying time combined), lots of airport waiting, and 2 car rides stressed me out more than Nico. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sure who was holding on tighter as I had to walk him through security in Naples, but everyone commented on how calm he was. And on that first flight? He was way better behaved than some of the human babini!

I don't think world traveler is in his future but he has already been on 2 flights and in 2 countries. When you think of all the people in the world who may never get those opportunities my cat IS pretty spoiled. (Future kids just ask me how much this 2 day adventure cost if I ever say we can't afford tickets somewhere...)

He must have meowed most of his meows out with the Momma Mia soundtrack on the way to the airport because apart from a few meows once we landed he was silent. When he did meow? I'm pretty sure it was his Neapolitan telling me to be aggressive in getting in the aisle and getting him away from the Italian family clearly headed to Barcelona on vacation and talked the entire way in the only volume Italians know....loud.

I think with my heart resuming its normal rate once we landed in Barcelona he understood he was going to have to just chill out for several more hours. Our solution to passing the time? People watching, plane watching, and strolling him around on a cart so he could check it out. Yes. I did feel ridiculous strolling my cat through an airport but it kept him quiet...

On the second flight he became friends with the little girl behind us in line and an English speaking German who was impressed that Nico was so quiet. Of course this is the same person that asked if I the cat was going on holiday with me. Um no. We're moving. The crew also loved him, asking his name and finding it amusing that he was from Italy. One attendant even told him ciao when we disembarked, but Nico still remained quiet. 

Over all, today was an easier day than I was imagining but the thought if doing this again in less than 2 years seems WAY too soon.

Spain is Different

This week is ICR (intercultural relations) and unlike the week I spent in Naples, jet lagged and overwhelmed, this time around I feel like I've got this. Places Rosa tells us to visit are places we stopped at along the way. The idea of mañana meaning sometime in the future sure sounds like dopo domani to me. Late nights and late starts. Niños are king. No rush. No personal space? Not to brag but these aren't new concepts. Watching newly arrived classmates makes me laugh knowing that despite their reactions they too will adjust.

The one thing that does have me terrified? The pesky 50 question driver's license test not so much because it's different than Italia but more because of my past track record on written tests.

*Spoiler alert- I totally passed my test missing just one question. Woohoo. Now I have to wait for the temporary ID to come in before the real one. Yep. No NATO translation here, it even has a (terrible) picture on it!

Driving around town with locals (for housing appointments or on the tour) it cracks me up what their notion of "crazy drivers" is. One of the new DODs teachers just arrived from Turkey so it's nice to have someone I can look at and share the "if she only knew" look with as we wait 30 seconds for a scooter to move from its illegal parking spot blocking the bus' passage on the narrow cobblestone road.

A few things already stand out as very different when I catch myself comparing my new town from my old town:

Here in Rota, the locals truly see us as their neighbors. Despite our large cars, early dinning times, & at sometimes obnoxious behavior, we are not seen as outsiders. The families visiting from Sevilla during the summer? They're the foreigners. With NAVSTA Rota (that's Naval Station Rota for you non fluent militarese folks) being here for 50+ years much of the town has grown up with us Americans. Passing them along the street you still get an Hola, buenos dia. If you look lost they come up and try to help by pointing you to the street that leads to the base. Everyone has a home for rent that they'd love to show you. And refreshingly, charades is a last result as most of the real locals have a few key words of English down pat.

TRAFFIC LAWS MATTER. Pedestrians don't even look both ways prior to crossing as if some invisible shield projects up from the painted lines on the street, always protecting them from on coming traffic. They also are incredible thankful and polite when you wave someone in. Don't get me wrong, you can still hear the honks at the gate in the morning as a result of a cop directing traffic as a result of back to back round-a-bouts with a whole lot of cars pulling off some fancy maneuvering.

In the same way that traffic laws matter, there is just a whole lot more regulation. Take for example the process for my car registration. After producing license, registration and insurance I recieved my gate pass. I then I had to get a car inspection and for those of you familiar with the Naples inspection? Nothing like that. In fact Ravi failed at the first pass. He needed new tires. Got him new shoes; got the inspection paperwork. Back to security to submit the paperwork mentioned above with inspection certification. Wait for a week. Go back to "order" plates. Come back a day later. Get plates on car. Get registration sticker for windshield. As for said license? I still have a temp one. The real deal take 3 months.

I guess that pretty much summarizes why Spain feels so different than Italy ever did. Here, we are really living like the Spanish do. We go through the same steps they do, follow the same rules. So many more steps, rules, regulation that despite feeling that I remained a semi decent rule follower in Naples, that means nothing when there were so few rules to adhere to. It will all come together and it is a great 2 year transition before heading back to the states where rules really do matter.

Culture Shock

I'm sure not in Italy anymore. As we headed north and made our way down to Rota I started to see little things that in a past life were normal but now looked out of place. But now? A week in Rota, as I am settling in I realize there isn't a day that goes by without me stopping dead in my tracks in awe and shock of something. Here are the ones that have stuck with me:

• It is safe to park on the street. Even along the beach in the high season. 
• While still smiling about the sidewalk I was running on, I realized the only obstacles I was dodging were other joggers, bikers, and pedestrians. 
• Congested intersections are honk free zones. 
• Hairdryer works without an adapter. As in the 220v plug really is standard!
• Cilantro cost a mere $1.61! 4 pink lady apples? $2! Although still ridiculously high, about 1/2 the cost of the commissary in Naples.
• I can drink tap water!
• "Soft" water which probably is still a tad on the "hard" range but my hair is loving it!
• Mosquitoes are a rare species here. 
• Ice. It's plentiful and pretty standard.
• People stand in lines.
• Cars park within the designated lines.
• I'm pumping my own gas and paying with a credit card.

Of course there are things that I'm homesick for:

• Church bells at all hours of the day telling me what time it is. 
• Coffee that actually caffinates my body (cáfe con leche just isn't the same as a good cappuccino).
• Bright red, flavorful, juicy tomatoes.

I know the lists will grow as time passes on, as I de-Italianfy. For those here that were also once in Naples, I now understand this whole "transition" concept they spoke of. Most of the items on the list were standard back in the states, but after 3 years in Naples? You really begin to appreciate the little things...like clean air.