Who Am I?

I find that with each trip back to America no matter where in the states I visit or who I see even with the euphoria of shopping my favorite shops, eating my favorite foods, and catching up with loved ones fades the feeling of I don't belong here sneaking in. It's something that I've often struggled with, but with each trip and the time on my 5 year clock ticking away I find that the concern continues to grow and it is a reality that I will have to face.

Don't get me wrong- spending time with family and friends is amazing. It's a reminder that there are people out there that have known me for more than just the past few years. It's a reassurance that there are in fact places I can talk about by name, rather than a geographic reference of "south of San Francisco" or describing a restaurant that made huge cakes that would be often consumed at dinner.

And for those that I've met since moving overseas the same applies- our little micro environment facilitates this acceleration of friendship. We understand the hardships of overseas living: resetting breakers daily during summer, restructuring our schedules to be able to eat out, cultural differences. We also understand that these are just minor setbacks for all we gain with the opportunity. We have our own language filled American terms/nicknames for everything but still maintain the lo siento and vale in our vocabs.

But what about the in between? I've never really been an one or another girl when it comes to things. I want ice cream with my cake. I'll get up extra early just to make sure that I can get everything done in a single day. I'll work a trade with my meal partner to make sure I can try the other dish I was looking at. Figuring out how to blend my lives from each location has always been a mystery to me.

Until recently.

Sitting in a restaurant overhearing several languages, looking at a menu with Italian, Spanish, & American traditional dishes in addition to a few surprises like tofu and falafels this feeling that I struggle often with was beautifully illustrated in front of me- right down to the Italian waiter living in Portugal with his Italian-American wife running this very much hipster restaurant!

At this point there is no blending the various life experiences I've had. And that's OK. There is no point trying to mix it all together...it would just get lost. Time to take the example found in the restaurant and mix-match my life.

Let's face it- I'll always want tofu (and other "hippie food"), my purses will be Italian (as will my driving), and for the foreseeable future that wine in my cup will be Spanish.

Festa: Día de la Virgen del Carmen

Virgen del Carmen and I live together, but I'm not too familiar with her story or who she watches over. Her tile is anchored firmly in my patio wall, under the stairwell that leads up to my roof. Weekly, I'll remember she's out there as I go in and out of the laundry room.

Needless to say when I heard about Virgen del Carmen and the blessing of the local fishing fleets I had to look into it, especially when I learned that she would be boarding a boat and going to sea! Not too bad of a way to spend her one day out from an alcove of a church- right?

Her Biblical importance is found in the Old Testament when prophet Elias, towards the end of his life, became a hermit in a cave on Mount Carmelo. Hundreds of years later, pilgrims trying to follow in the prophet’s footsteps, invoked the protection of the Virgin Mary of Mount Carmelo – Stella Maris, the Virgin of Carmen. Now, the Virgin is the patroness and protector of all seamen, fishermen.  Virgen del Carmen is believed to be keep the waters clean and safe. For many of older generations, they do not believe the sea to be fit for swimming in until after the 16th after she has blessed the water. 

On the evening of July 16, in the fishing villages and towns up and down the coast, la Reina de los Mares is paraded through the streets and taken out on the bay on a flower-adorned boat, accompanied by a flotilla of jábegas (fishing boats). A prayer is said for all those that spend time on the water.  Rota is no exception with a healthy fishing community and the local naval base. The crowds lined up along our beach path, port wall, watching the parade from shore was pretty impressive; especially as the sun began to set (you know, at 10pm) and the sunset illuminated the back drop for the procession.

Paella 101

Back in March on a trip to Valencia (no, you didn't miss a post- I still haven't blogged it) I purchased a paellera.

Why?

Well paella is said to come from Valencia so I figured why not buy one of the shallow round pans from its alleged home.

Fast forward to a few days ago while I was cleaning my kitchen and while dusting the never used pan hanging on the wall declared that I would make it soon.

Having no experience making the stuff, and still not even convinced that I like it, I did what anyone would do- pulled the recipe that came with the pan and recruited a friend.

Piezes, "property fried", inmediately. I mean HONESTLY, what could possibly go wrong with 2 Americans trying to make this stuff?

Granted, living overseas nothing is as simple as home. A trek to the local grocery store was in call for as the commissary doesn't carry rabbit, or mountain snails. (I know, right?) Feeling completely out of place as I hit the store filled with the vacationing Spanish doing shopping for their dinners at 8pm, I navigated the aisles similarly to a drive in Italy crossing between lanes, zig-zagging, and narrowly escaping collisions with carts. The man being the carne case reassured me that I wasn't crazy when my request of conejo y pollo was met with "paella?"

As for the dozen of mountain snails? Well, I translated that prior to departure. I knew I was in trouble when Google Translate asked if I meant "mountain soil." Um. No...come to think of it let's just hold the caracoles this time around.

With a recipe like the one we had, I'm happy I had an assistant and a bottle of wine. Despite all the dissections that I've done in my prior life that poor half of a bunny with head still attached nearly made me give up the effort and go grab pizza...

But I'm in Spain.
And I may have promised a friend on duty I'd take him dinner.
And I own an unused pallera!

Translating the poorly translated instructions, we made it through the steps until "recipient" became so distracting of the word I couldn't take it any longer. Making sure there was plenty of water in the pan I became a tad skeptical if we would need to go grab pizza, but we let it boil as we trip planned.

Plus, we had a Spanish supervising our efforts so how tough could this be? He even scored some of the innards of the rabbit...which he opted to share with the street kitties.

So, patiently we waited the "rice to dry."
And waited.
And then waited some more.

FINALLY the soupy mixture began to resemble the paella served in town. Well not really. The local variety is really orange, almost red with primarily seafood peaking out of the arroz. Ours? Lots of green stuff- green beans and lima beans mixed in with the chunks of meat, some still on bone with a realistic yellow color of rice.

The verdict?  Other than a pinch of salt and funny looking habas it was yummy! Not quite the yum factor of the street vendor in Valencia that I sampled, but better than what was served at a cafe on the same trip. The pan was gobbled up. Olé even sampled the few stray pieces of rice from the table after meal- it was a hit! So much so that now I believe Bar Nico will be hosting a monthly noche de paella that will rotate regional recipes. Of course I should probably look for a local cooking class that can teach me some of the variations for but now? We did good and I just may be brave enough to buy another rabbit in the near future.

Destination: El Bosque

It's no secret that I'm a carb girl. Most of you recall that when I departed for Naples I referred to it as my "no carb left behind tour" so the fact that I signed up for a foodie bread making tour should be no surprise. Before you roll your eyes and understand why I've put a few additional pounds on, at least hear me out on the wonderful flat roll we call el mollete. 

The mollete the most common of breads found in Andalucía. It's a soft white round, flatish roll toasted for breakfast before being topped with jamón y tomate and drizzled with aceite. The lightly floured exterior and light interior is very comparable to an English muffin, although the mollete is larger than most hamburger buns. Tienes hambre? Vale. 

This weekend's adventure through the white washed towns in la Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park the bus followed the signs through the green hills with fading sunflowers and we ended up in the tiny puebla of El Bosque. Like the town's name suggests it was situated at the foot of Mount Albarracin and trees dotted the streets and bridges spanned the streams trickling through town. 

Our first stop was desayuno, because we couldn't work on empty stomachs. Café con leche, zumo de naranja, y tostadas filled our tables. Tubs of lard, manteca colorá y zurrapa de lomo appeared on the table to spread on the toasted molletes. Plates of jamón followed with bowls of crushed tomatoes creating various options for the two halves of toast on my plate.

The next stop was to Molino de Abajo windmill that was built in the 18th century. For the past 300 years this mill has been grinding what for the use of making bread. In the beginning years of the windmill, a donkey would turn the wheels causing the wheels to spin, grinding the kernels into flour. Three generations ago, the family decided to draw water from the river and channel it off for hydraulic energery for 2 mills and also for large mixers for the bread dough.

When the water flows from the channel the wheels start spinning and although relatively quiet, the air quickly fills with a fine dust as the collection tub collects a mound of flour. The flour still has to be sifted prior to use but it's a simple, albeit messy process.

Once the dough was ready we each got a piece and got to work making a roll. Since we were the second group to visit the mill, they took the mollete dough, so we created a slightly crustier roll as the smell of fresh bread filled the air in the kitchen.

Yes, that's my attempt at a fish that made a yummy dinner paired with goat cheese also picked up in the town, some red wine from the north, and a splash of olive oil from the region. With a bag of molletes, two types of goat cheese, and a few more freckles from the sunny day I headed back home with plans of revolutionizing the egg McMuffin with these flat disks ready for toasting. Who needs a bagel when a freshly baked mollete can be found?

4th Year EU Resident

Flash back to March 2011, where I'm sitting in the HR office at NPS working through my acceptance paperwork for a job offer. The tone of the office quickly turns from laughter guessing the miles between the current duty station and new duty station to somber when my pen lands on the line for signature accepting a 3 year tour. 

3 years? That means I won't be in DC by 30. 
3 years? Sure I can do anything for 1 year, but 3?!
3 years? I don't even like Italian food. 
3 years? Oh, I really want out of Monterey, but is this how I should do it?

Well, those 3 years flew by- all in Naples. Somehow I even managed a second OCONUS location, and now that year 4 is complete it's hard to believe that the silly 5 YEAR RULE may now actually play into effect with my overseas tour. An extension has been requested as I work to update my resume and start testing the market. Fear and anxiety get the best of me when I think about having to move back "home."

See, the funny thing is most days the idea of moving back stateside terrifies me. Truth of the matter is when I'm feeling "homesick" I realize it's Naples I'm missing. How then am I going to fit in? Will I be able to afford to travel? How can I live without the local culture?

Then the reality kicks in...Katie. Are you kidding? You are American. You will still travel. If you afforded it a GS-5 you can afford it now Miss GS-DoubleDigits. They have the internet back at home, use it to find local events. 

Truth of the matter is, I've loved every minute of being overseas, yes, even in Rota. True it's been challenging at times.

Okay, more than a few "times," but to have this experience is worth more than the costs of long frustrating work hours, car issues, traffic jams, late dinner times, and limited social groups. In all honesty one weekend tasting tuna tapas before dancing in the streets to a neighborhood band erases the miserable week at work. And guess what? It will be the festival I remember, not the week of work.

Being over here has taught me so many lessons that I can't even begin to list them but I'll try just the same: patience, flexibility, resourcefulness, communication, cultural understanding, bargaining, trust, confidence, introspection. 

It's true that every location isn't a one size fits all, but I've said it before and I'll probably say it until I go to my grave- EXPLORE EXPLORE EXPLORE! There is so much more out there than your neighborhood, city, state, country. You may find that you like where you come from even more once exposed to other countries or, you may find that as much as things are good where you came from, there may be a better or preferred you pick up while traveling.  And when you can, ditch the weekend crazy itinerary (still need to learn this one) to slow down and explore the back roads! There's always an adventure to be found there. I promise.

~~~~~~~
Make sure you book your room(s) at Nico's B&B. Bar Nico has been restocked with Spanish wine and nightly entertainment is provided by local celebrity Olé. We'll be open for business until we're not...May 2016 is the next mile marker we're currently looking at.

Ruta de Atún

Sleepy beach town. Beautiful spring day. Food festival. Needless to say I kept feeling like I was walking through the streets of Pismo Beach, Capitola or any of my other California coast towns.

Zahara de los Atunes was the destination, with its annual tuna festival: Ruta de Atún.

Zahara de los Atunes dates back to the time of the Phoenicians and as the name suggests, known for their tuna fishing grounds. The 3,000 year old Phoenician almadraba style of fishing is still in use in this region when the tuna pass from the Atlantic Ocean back to the Mediterranean each year to spawn. Fishermen lower a maze of netting below the water and the red tuna swim in but cannot find the exit prior to the nets being raised from the sea.

Unfortunately for this Spain resident, around 80% of the fished tuna is exported to Japan for sushi. The extra layer of fat built in the stomach areas of the fish make the red tuna melt in your mouth. So yummy! Every May, after the the full moon the fleets hit the ocean to kick off the month long festival with the main event being the tapas weekend.

Local bars and restaurants take part by entering their tapa and letting participants vote. That's where we came in with our "ballot" and picture map showing us where to go. At each spot we paid our few euros for a tuna tapa and beverage. Talk about an easy day in Spain! There were no options, we just had to tell them how many orders we wanted and pick our drink of cerveza, tinto, o agua.

Our afternoon dabbling in food critiquing eventually turned to taking extra laps around the block inbetween stops just to give pace ourselves.

During our walks we stumbled upon a group performing at a little hole in the wall. Standing room only, people from the neighborhood took turns dancing sevillianas, the regional type of flamenco dancing. The lead singer had young and old alike moving from their chair or curb side to dance while the crowd joined in with singing. Yes, even these two Americans filled with tuna and beverages got caught up in the atmosphere clapped on the off beats and swayed with the music. 

Garlic Festival? Artichoke Festival? Squid Festival? Chestnut Festival? Gelato Festival? And yes, even the Fried Food Festival...I may have found the new favorito of you all.

It was only a matter of time...

...until I invited a local into my home and called him mine!

After weeks and months of being tempted by pictures on Facebook, spotting options around town, and even having a friend on the look out for me I caved. Last night I allowed the sweetest, blue eyed, cuddler into my home that I've ever met. 

Blame it on those sapphire eyes looking at me like I'm the only one in his world, but I knew from the moment I laid eyes on him that he would be mine.

And that's how I became the owner of dos gatos!  Let me introduce the newest member to my family- Gatito um... he actually doesn't have a name yet. Here I am 3.5 years later here I am asking for your help again in naming my kitten. (Read Nico's story here!)

Same ground rules apply, but with a slight twist:

• His title is Señor, vale?
• He's Spanish, so he needs a Spanish sounding name. 
• Other names off the table: Azul, Pico (or any other name that rhymes with Nico)

As far as this gatito's personality- he's a rambunctious little pipsqueak who likes charging me when I ignore him. He's determined to be Nico's friend and bravely faces each growl, hiss, and swat his big brother sends his way. Stairs taller than him? No big. Loves toy mice. Eats like it's his last meal.