I would now like to share with you my first hand experience of what it is like to vacation with a Spaniard:
On a typical morning you will wake up at a decent hour, say between 10-11am. As the house stirs, someone makes coffee, someone else takes the dog out, the shutters are opened and the house slowly wakes up. After a cup of coffee (or two) there is generally a light breakfast of bread, ham and cheese. By now, it is around noon, which is a civilized time to start one’s day.
As in the case of today, Edward, his nephew Ian and I went to the market in the “morning.” We are staying at Edward’s beach house in Sanlucar, which is a quaint fishing village on the mouth of the river Guadalquivir. An interesting note on Sanlucar, this is the village from which Colombus’ ships left for the Americas, and coincidentally the first port they returned to laden with stolen gold, so you can imagine the wealth this city once held. Now, it is a charming seaside town mostly supported by the fishing industry and Spanish tourism, which lures people with the outstanding cuisine and less than boiling temperatures.
But I digress. Edward, Ian and I went to the market to buy all the seafood one could imagine for a paella. Then we bought vegetables, a paella pan and rice and voilà, we had paella. Just kidding. Edward then proceeded to boil a fish to make a broth to cook the rice in, because according to him no respectable paella is made with water. Then he made local clams cooked in an I.P.A beer, of which we ate half as an appetizer and the other half - I.P.A reduction included - went into the paella. He then cooked the giant pan on the roof top terrace while we drank beer and watched boats sail at Columbus’s river mouth while it cooked.
The 6 of us ate the giant and delicious lunch around 3pm, and then we decided to go meet up with Ale’s friends at a surfing beach. After a quick coffee, we loaded up into the car and headed for the beach. To be fair, in Spain this is when you would typically take your siesta, but seeing as how we all slept for most of the morning, we decided to trek on.
The beach at Roche is a long, beautiful stretch of brownish-orange sand that meets the bright blue of the Atlantic Ocean. I felt the fresh breeze of salty relief just being near the ocean after a week landlocked. Even though the waves were small, sloppy and weak, I rented a board and we all took turns riding crappy waves, body surfing and splashing around. I could see the potential for good waves along the beach during the winter months, and put this particular stretch of coastline on the list of places to consider come October. In addition to potential waves, Playa Roche has a restaurant on the beach (of course) where we bought a few rounds of beers, because that is what one does on Spanish vacation.
We left the beach as the sun set, around 9pm, and headed for home. Instead of hitting up one of the cheap and ridiculously delicious restaurants in the neighborhood, we decided to have a light dinner of fresh bread, cheeses, meats, olives, and of course, an excellent bottle of wine. After sharing stories in a few different languages and laughing a lot, everyone began to wind down, because after all by now it’s 2 or 3 in the morning.
The next morning, people begin to stir around 10 or 11am, only to do some iteration of the Spanish vacation all over again.
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