After the most random Friday night ever, Courtney woke me up IN THE DARK to get ready for our program's beach weekend getaway. A wine tour and four star resort made the pre-sunrise awakening palatable. Sort of. It took Courtney just two tries which is impressive.
We finished packing for the overnight and grabbed an empty 8:40 am metro, bocadillos (sandwiches) in hand.
On the bus, I sat in the back 5 seater aka winners' circle because it had a great view through the front window and it reminded me of my 2008 trip to Spain with 30 of my best friends. It was unsurprisingly dejavu. Largely because I was still on the verge of dreaming and awake.
The bus took off and we all schmoozed and arrived in Jerez de la Frontera before we knew any time had passed. I was just getting into a really great playlist of 90s bands and Jewish a capella and recent rap too. Shame.
Except not a shame because we pulled up to a bodega. Aka wine factory. Aka 10:45 AM drinking? Since it is illegal for me to drink in the United States, this was my first wine tasting and tour - which felt suave and cultural. And tasty.
The bodega was built about 20 years ago but holds another thousands of pieces of artwork, ancient to modern, two party rooms, horse stables, gardens, and extensive wine cellars. Just like my house in New York.
As our tour guide insisted on speaking the most awkward English ever, we kind of learned about how they make wine, but also just kind of stared in wonder at the ginormous barrels (pronounced 'payrolls' by this wonderful guide) of wine. Just an idea of how much wine, contributed by my friend Epencer: Everyone in our program would have to drink a liter and a half of wine everyday for a week and then some to finish a barrel.
There were thousands of payrolls.
Sometime between the stable tour and the mansion, the tour guide finally switched to Spanish and I started listening to the tour. Though the grounds are really stunning, the boss doesn't even live there. It's solely a workplace. If I can be the event planner at a bodega forever, I think I will be quite content, to say the least. And perpetually drunk.
As we opened the door labeled 'bodega,' I was expecting another bright room with a bunch of payrolls and some artwork. Except then I was on the balcony of the largest warehouse I've ever been in, with the most barrels I've ever seen, and the most overpowering scent of fermenting grapes I've ever smelled. After gazing in wonder, we were taken to a bright gallery, one of three in the world with some type of Picasso collection.
Aka a bunch of incredible originals by the Spanish master artist himself that I could look at up close. There were sketches and sketches and sketches. I hardly noticed the Dali and the Miro in the corner. I'm not even an art aficionado but wow, this bodegaman makes bank if he has all of this stuff.
We finally got to the wine part. We got one bottle. Then another. Then another. And then stickysweet raisin cream wine aka sugar. All had 17.5% or higher alcohol content. That's basically liquor. Real Tesoro, royal treasure, really just tasted like wine. And I don't love wine. I especially don't understand 'dry' wine. It's liquid - it shouldn't taste dry. One day, I may appreciate it more, but I appreciated the buzz on the rest of the bus ride where we took silly pictures and acted ridiculously while admiring the views of Cadiz, a city in the ocean, where Columbus sailed the ocean blue from. Usual. These things probably should stop sounding so incredibly awesome to me.
On the bus, I ate a sandwich that involved a piece of sliced wheat bread and a half of a baguette roll sandwiching a zucchini omelette. Uh, what? I had two slices of sweet potato and a croissant with cheese and sour orange jelly on the side. These foods so don't match in America. But I'm not in America. So, whatever. It was funkier than the Jamon and Queso most people were eating.
We arrived at the hotel in Chiclana's Sancti Petri area. For some reason, I knew we were staying in 4 star accomodations but still bugged out over how insane the hotel was. Rooms of three with a living room with couch sofa and chaise lounge. And a bedroom with a king-size bed. And a shower with a showerhead attached to the ceiling. This was the most exciting part. More exciting than the fully-furnished terrace looking out onto the lawn with the pool.
The excitement over the room was forgotten quickly since the beach was the most beautiful piece of nature I have ever experienced. We could jump soft waves, walk on the flat shore, and chat up cute locals. We could tan/burn, read magazines, sleep, and just be. We could also be topless as a legitimate fashion because this is Europe and that's what they do. I opted out but my companeras definitely took advantage of the opportunity, turning our area into a nude beach where I felt almost like the odd-woman-out for wearing a bikini top AND bottom - a novel concept of swimwear in this coastal region.
We returned to the hotel starving as the winebuzz dissipated and the sun stole our energy. Fading away, I was overjoyed when Tessa and Becca showed up with a baguette, some spreadable cheese, and some sausage. They were kind enough to share all of it because they are great people. Like everyone on our program. Seriously, these are the types you want to surround yourself with. Because they feed you when your winebuzz and zucchini sandwich fail you.
We got to dinner and surprise, giant buffet of food Americans love PLUS all the food Spanish people love. I had a ball. Fresh-grilled salmon? That's the meat of kosher people living abroad right there.
The desserts were so good I can't even talk about them because you will be hurt by how much you missed out or saddened by the fact you are no longer there.
After dinner, I snuggled with some friends in a happy food coma, took some cute pictures, and then went to my hotel room aka party central where easily half of the program had congregated to, um, hang out. And not drink. or make way too much noise. Or listen to a Pitbull playlist on the TV that cost 4.32.
While most of the party moved to the beach for an assortment of delightfully oh-so-study-abroad events involving more ocean, many stars, and desnudez, I stayed back, straightened my room, worked out the 4.32 euro charge, and ate a whole stack of oreos while gossiping on a friends' bed. Mom and dad, you seriously should not be losing sleep over my decision-making. I had a quintessential seventh-grade sleepover party while I could've been streaking down a foreign beach. (I do have three more months for the later and doble estuf oreos are very hard to come by here...Okay?).
In the morning, we woke up for a breakfast buffet that rivaled dinner's grandiose absurdity in proportion and deliciosity. We ate too much, grew giant food babies, and were content foreigners. Joan and I took a romantic stroll to the beach (complete with the adorable photo below) and reflected on the stellar state of being. We then ran into the ocean to frolic with some friends. Worth the lovely shade of pink glossing my shoulders for sure.
Salty and sandy, we returned for lunch, which would have rivaled breakfast and dinner except the potentially vegetarian foods were stuffed with meat and ham. Foodstruggles, I was back to my cheese and bread regimen until I worked up the courage to approach a chef and ask if the gazpacho had salmorejo (hamproduct) in it. It did, which he told me was delicious. I told him I'm sure it is, but I only eat non-meat things. He responded that it was ham, not meat. Ultimately, I got my point across and he so kindly brought me gazpacho without salmorejo from the kitchen, my veggieknight in shining armor. And then lunch was awesome. And it ended in truffles, which were also awesome.
As the foodbabies were redeveloping, we plopped down tiredly by the pool and spent the last hour basking in the afternoon sun, spraying sunscreen on already pink skin, and falling asleep.
The busride home involved 5 minutes of window-staring and 90 minutes of passed out glory.
I can't imagine a more perfect way to have spent the weekend before classes. Even with my awkward ear burn.
Joan and I decided that these three weeks have undoubtedly been spectacular. Perhaps too spectacular, giving an aura of eternal vacation. We decided that for the first time in a while we can honestly say we're really excited about school. Even if we have class at 9 am.
Thank goodness I have Courtney to wake me up.
Pictures in the next post. These are just getting way too long. This is no great American novel (though it might be in 3 months :-P )
PS. Why you should continue to read this week: My host dad has been painting the same door for two weeks and it's almost done. There are two Norwegian girls who moved into our house and don't speak Spanish. It's hilarious. And I deboned two fish for dinner. Cultural wins.
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