Say Cheese!

Sometimes the only way I know what day of the week it is because of Spanish class and my exercise plan.  It has been an interesting transition to move from an Outlook calendar packed with meetings to just a few commitments per day, and usually only one of these is fixed with the rest moving in an ebb and flow fashion like the rest of this last year.

I have more time to cook.  Food is a gateway to culture (as I am sure someone has said before) and to language.  Grocery aisles filled with brands, descriptions and flavors. Vegetable stands packed with Spanish nouns.  Meat and cheese stores with only a few items that seem familiar.  Recipes dutifully translated between metric and imperial.

There is an art of kitchen translation.

So when I volunteered to make the main plate for the holiday family lunch with a day's notice, I was a little nervous.  Cooking for one adventurous eater is fine but for five others who like meat and who may not be as adventurous?  Well, I've always been a risk taker and a believer in the power of prayer.

The first time I had lasagna here I was quite surprised to find a layer of ham.  (Six months later,  I now expect ham in everything and when a dish is delivered without it, I am a bit over-joyed though I do try to use my Southern "this is wonderful" poker face.)  My mom has been making a wonderful vegetarian cheese lasagna for years and this was the dish I would try to replicate.

This culinary assignment taught me about pasta noodles, more about our crazy 1-10 oven, and that cottage cheese can only be found at specialty cheese stores.  (In the end I gave up on finding it when it did not translate well.)  Instead I substituted roasted vegetables from the week's trip to verdulería and I grated blocks of cheese.

Not exactly like Mom used to make (and it required an additional trip to the grocery store between layers two and three), but I was happy to bring a little piece of East Tennessee into Argentina.

Lasagna as a Spanish Lesson
May 2017

Side note:  the more traditional dish for 25 de Mayo is Locro.  (Filed away for future reference)

I Will Carry You

One year ago I was walking from Los Arcos to Longroño (per my GPS a distance of 18.65 miles).  I started walking at 6:40 a.m. with a German man who drove me crazy.  We got lost before breakfast and shared a laugh over cafe con leche with other Pilgrims at our lemming behavior.  In my journal, I noted that this was the day I laughed the most (to date) and I met the first person who, instead of telling me my pack was too heavy (like every other soul on the Camino), said I should be proud that I could carry it.  It was a welcome perspective.

I earned another new blister, saw two rainbows as well as snow-capped mountains, was passed by a man on a horse (the only day this happened), and took a homeopathic crystal from a stranger from Vienna to help my feet.*  I shared a hard story to help another and along the way encountered beautiful stacks of rocks (cairns) with notes tucked away.  I wrote that it reminded me of the prayer wall in Jerusalem.  Sometimes we have to physically leave something behind in order to do it emotionally.

Between Los Arcos y Longroño
May 19, 2016

That day's quote from GBC P@1ge was especially fitting after the walk:

"I was amazed that what I needed to survive could be carried on my back.   And most surprising of all, that I could carry it."        - Cheryl Strayed

* There have been only two times that I can recall accepting medicine from a stranger:  this occurrence and while I was on my Giligan's Island I Think We're Going to Die Alaskan Cruise.  In general kids, don't accept medicine from strangers.

Supermercado Un Otra Vez

Six months later and I'm again in the supermarket on a Saturday evening.  I'm marginally better but my partner still needs to skirt me out of the way of an oncoming shopping cart in the cleaning products aisle.  The woman was not stopping.

A few aisles and twenty minutes pass, and flour disappears from the shelves while I try to decide if I need "0000" or "000" having a very Mr. Burns "ketchup or catsup" moment (though no one had to take me away).

I linger in the small "imports" section and wonder how a bottle of A1 or Barilla pasta sauce can make me feel wistful.

Still, I forget the oatmeal.

The traffic outside mirrors the supermarket and I have a flashback to dodge ball.  If you don't move quickly, you're a target.  Every fourth street will be a two-way avenue and only these have traffic lights.  For the others, they are alternating direction one-way streets with no stop signs, and traffic operates somewhere between these maxims:  "may the better man/woman win" and "every object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless compelled to change its state by the action of an external force."*  If there's a dip in the road for water to run, the other side has the advantage.

Pedestrians move where they can, frequently crossing mid-street.  Bright colored clothing is an asset.  Beware of honking horns and stray dogs.  Look both ways because bikers and occasionally cars like to break the rules.  And if you make it through this pinball motion, most days this is enough to feel like you've had a good day.

* Newton's first courtesy of Nasa.gov

Mochila o mochilita?

A year ago, I was trying to decide what to take with me and what to leave behind.  I had a very naive idea of the things that would be important for this trip.  Over the course of the 550 miles, I kept a running list of the things I let go and the things I chose to carry even though I knew they were a burden.  (There's a broader life lesson in this for another day.)

Camino planning - Draft #2
May 2016

Most of the things in this picture were packed, though two of the hats and the swimsuit were omitted (and they would not be missed).

I took Marie Kondo's advice and thanked an item before leaving it behind along the way.  This seemed to make it a little easier for the black tank and the water bottle.  (The Lush deodorant was not in this category since 1) it didn't really work and 2) the Irish contingent told me it made me smell like roast lamb.)

For months, I have been living a semi-nomadic life with items either in Huntsville, at my parents, and or here with me in Argentina.  Frequently, I've been in one place wishing I had "the thing" that was in another.  But it's been fine.  I've always had what I absolutely needed and this, like the Camino, has left me thinking quite a bit about the things I should carry.

Picaduras

Monday I took a small break from spreadsheets, and I offer this little Ode to the Mosquito:

The mosquito is biting me
Would you leave me alone?
Can’t we find a way
To share this little home? 

By my count it’s
Three times ahead
At least today you’ve
Stayed away from my head. 

A swat in the laundry
But I know you’re still around
Waiting and flying
Until exposed skin you’ve found.

At current, I have nine bites.  Apparently they will be at their worst for two weeks more (más o menos).