It took us a while to find the church because Google tried to send us down several pedestrian cobblestone streets that were either too narrow to drive down or had stairs. The church was lovely, and the mass was a standard hour-long Spanish wedding. They had brought the priest with them from where they live in Murcia.

I could’ve taken a hundred photos of the church’s facade if I’d had my DSLR and it weren’t raining. It was gorgeous.

The best part of the wedding was getting to chat and drink with some of the friends I made in my four years in England. No one seems to have aged much in the six or seven years since I’ve seen them, which is good.

And then there’s this guy, Carlos, who looked very vaguely familiar, who we eventually figured out that we knew from one night out with friends back in August 2001, which happens to be the only such night I’ve blogged photos of.

Here we are with the bride and groom. I wish them all the best.

One thing I love about going plastic-only in the US is that it gets around that horrible sales tax that causes purchases to be higher than the price listed on the items in the store. I hate that! In Spain, the VAT (or IVA, in Spanish) is included on all the prices, so if you’ve got one item that’s 0.95€ and another that’s 2.25€, you can go ahead and count out your 3.20€ while you’re waiting in the checkout line and hand over the exact amount to the cashier. That sort of calculation is all but impossible in the States.

The second thing I love about using only a debit or credit card in the US is that it allows for more accurate tipping. Several times I’ve noticed items priced on bar and restaurant menus such that, if you don’t want to deal with coins (who does?), you’ve got to give a 30% tip. For instance, say your bar bill comes to $3.05. If you drop four $1 bills on the bar and walk out, you’ve left a 31% tip. But when you are given the blank space to write in any value you choose, and you won’t have to deal with change in return, exact percentages are more accessible.

The third thing I love about using plastic rather than cash is that you automatically get a record of your purchases. Sometimes, in Spain, I’ll take a couple hundred euros out of the ATM and then, after what seems like a few short days, I’m out of cash again and I have to rack my brains to remember where it all went. Sure, it’s possible to keep a diary of each transaction, but it’s such a bother that I would never do it. Knowing where you’ve done business before can help the next time you have to search for car hire USA or other repeating transactions.

I’ve lived so long abroad now that when I go back to the States, the green money looks funny and fake to me, not like the colorful Euro notes and coins that are valuable enough to take the time to bend over and pick up off the ground. The US coins are so worthless I’d rather just not have a quarter than lug one around in my pocket all day.

I dare say that one could live quite comfortably in the US with a wallet only big enough to hold a drivers license and a single credit card. That’s something I miss in Spain.

Contrary to life in the US, life in Spain consists of personally knowing your own butcher (mine is my neighbor, Bruno), seeing – and often choosing – the cut of meat that is fed into the meat grinder to produce the exact quantity of ground meat that you desire, or asking your butcher to slice the chicken breast actually off the chicken and then into fillets for you.

Today, my butcher and his family were proud to be planning to feast on some piglets this weekend. With no provocation whatsoever, he brought the little piggies out of the walk-in fridge to show my daughter and me how adorable they were, even in death.

Morally, my view is that I would rather exist than not, which opens me up to eating a wide variety of animals, as long as they are killed humanely. If you wish to not see dead animals, look away now.

Oink! They look a bit like a barbershop quartet.

Little piggy bottoms.

Five snouts.

They looked awfully cute draped over the counter like this, as if they were awaiting drinks at a bar.

Nora liked them.

This is only the second time she has allowed herself to be picked up by Bruno, our neighbor and butcher.

Cute little oinkers.

While familiar with the phrase “not by the hair of my chinny chin chin”, I never knew that piglets actually have little whiskers on their chins!

If Nora hadn’t demanded my phone to snap pictures, I would never have noticed how interesting they look from her angle down at the ground.

I wish my supermarket friends a marvelous spit-roasted porcine feast this weekend. ¡Que aprovechen!

Last night, when I was putting Nora into her pajamas, I was hyping today’s parade, telling her that we were going to get up early to go to daycare and put on costumes and parade around town. She was very excited, but then she blew my mind. She said, “You’re not going to leave, right? When we went to see the Belén, you took pictures and left, and I cried.” The accuracy of her long term memory, and emotional sensitivity, continues to amaze me. I told her that no, I wouldn’t leave, and that we would come home for lunch afterwards, but that, after lunch, she had to go to daycare while I worked like normal. She agreed.

All 207 of my photos are available in this Flickr set. Another parent urged me to also create a Flickr group that he can add to, so I’ve created Carnaval en Colindres for that purpose. To heck with the Spanish law prohibiting the unauthorized publication of photos of children. No one seemed to mind last year.

Things were pretty hectic getting about forty kids into plastic costumes, but the daycare workers managed admirably.

Eventually Nora spotted me peeking through the classroom windows taking photos.

Her favorite comfort toy that she demands every day upon being dropped off is this little worm that lights up when you hug it, called Gusiluz.

Adela, the daycare boss, as the evil stepmother. She said she would’ve carried around a hand mirror as well, but she needed a free hand.

Yours truly, Prince Charming. It’s tricky designing a costume that can be worn on the outside of a bulky winter coat.

This particular dwarf followed me around town, holding my hand, and clutching around my leg when I pulled my hand away to take a photo.

This year, as a senior at the daycare for 0 – 3 year olds, Nora had graduated from the push cart to the rope, except that she didn’t stand for that long. That’s her on the far right. The only way I got her to hold anyone else’s hand was to threaten to leave if she didn’t.

The kids from another school were dressed all as pirates.

Another school were hippies.

Some older kids were dressed as African tribesmen. It’s a shock to my American racial sensibilities every time I see how acceptable blackface is in Spain.

A band of big dwarves and little dwarves paraded around town.

At some point, Nora figured out that the one year olds in the pull cart had snacks, and actually managed to convince them to hand her some. She never left the side of the cart after that.

Five Snow Whites, an evil stepmother, and a prince. A couple times I asked if there would be any kissing, to which I responded that my resuscitation services were available should a Snow White lose consciousness, but luckily none did.

Just like last year, I was astonished at the work and planning and creativity that went into the costumes. I was very impressed and had a good time.

After doffing our fantastical plastic overgarments, Nora and I headed to the grocery store for our normal daily bread and food purchases. She demanded to ride on my shoulders the whole way there, and then, when we got inside, insisted that she was tired. I said, “Well sit down, then,” and she began demanding a place to sit down, but I ignored her, figuring the floor was sufficient, and went about my shopping. When she switched to Spanish, another shopper pulled out a crate of milk for her to sit on. Rather than sitting on it, however, she expressed just how exhausted she was by trying to use it as a pillow, as if she was unable to hold up her own head. When we got home, however, she ate all her lunch but finally succumbed to exhaustion on the stroller ride to daycare.

Sooo…sleepy…

Prince Charming and his favorite dwarf.

The full brochure.

The first pincho we tried was at La Marina Company. It was by far the most elaborate and special in a “you’re not going to ever make this at home” sort of way.

La Marina Company: Panacota de frambuesa con anchoas – That’s a cooked cream of raspberries with anchovies.

The presentation was gorgeous, but the combination of flavors was a little too bizarre for our philistine tastes. It came with a little dropper of Modena olive oil. There were too many flavors for my wife’s expertise in anchovy quality to gain any purchase.

A close-up of La Marina Company’s pincho. In general we were pretty displeased not only with the pincho, but also by the service. It took about ten minutes for the pincho to make its way down from the upstairs kitchen. By that time, we’d almost finished our wines.

La Casona: Suprema de buey – This “Ox Supreme” was described in the brochure as “Hamburger of ox meat with onion, egg and cheese”. After La Marina Company, our eyes were immensely disappointed when the tiny little burger rolls were plopped down before us. But wow, had hour eyes deceived us! The first bite had us both moaning with pleasure. The grainy bread, the tender meat, the sweet caramelized onions and the cheese made an excellent combination. Supreme, indeed!

It’s really not much to look at, but I could happily eat a dozen of these little treats.

Cafetería Colón: Hamburguesa de potro a la barbacoa – “What’s potro?”, I asked my wife. “Baby horse”, she replied. Whoa! Well, this is the place that had kangaroo meat in 2009. The ingredients listed were: sweet roll, colt meat, tomato, onion, garlic, pepper, parsley and barbecue sauce.

Like most foods with barbecue sauce, the sauce completely overwhelmed any other flavors, making this a very boring pincho to eat. The potato chips on the side did little to make it any more special. I’d certainly never have guessed that it was foal meat. It was a big let down after the previous hamburger in La Casona.

La Abadía: Destinos Pejinos – Apparently pejino is a local word meaning “a humble resident of coastal Cantabria”, so the title translates to “humble Cantabrian destinations”. Indeed, the primary ingredient was respigos, a local winter delicacy. The ingredients were listed as: pastry toast with cumin and respigos.

Visually, it looks like something your sick cat might leave on the carpet, but it was quite tasty in a humble, healthy sort of way. I didn’t care much for the “pastry toast” on the bottom; it reminded me of a bland granola bar.

The second night, we went to El Concept, but they were out of pinchos, and had enough business so that they didn’t really give a damn. Boo!

El Somera: Guiso de jabalí al chocolate – The name means “wild boar stew with chocolate”, and sure enough, that’s what it was. Unfortunately, for cost saving motives, there were a lot of potatoes, and very few chunks of boar meat. I must say, however, that I was impressed.

The little bowls were lovely. It definitely took second place away from La Albadía’s respigos.

A bore eating boar.

El Guti: Hamburguesita de ternera con salsa de queso y su guarnición – The title means “Little beef hamburger with cheese sauce and garnish”. The meat was fantastic, and the potatoes were fresh out of the frying pan.

The little burger looks insignificant, but the taste was powerful. I think it just barely edged out El Somera for second place.

Conclusion

Of the six pinchos we tried, I would rank them as follows:

1. La Casona – Definitely the best tasting pincho of all, despite presentation.
2. El Guti – Excellent flavor, though simple presentation.
3. El Somera – Wonderfully warm stew, with a slightly sweet chocolate tone.
4. La Albadía – Very hearty and healthy, but nothing spectacular.
5. Cafetería Colón – Too much sauce, but a decent snack.
6. La Marina Company – A lot of work put into preparation, but a very eccentric taste.

So concludes this year’s Pincho Week. I hope to do much better than a 33.3% sample size next year. ¡Hasta entonces! Until then!

The immense irony of the situation being that they are dressed as shepherds and need shepherding themselves.

It took me a while to spot my daughter. She’s the one at the back with the grandma scarf on.

That one.

The “everyone hold onto a rope with loops tied in it” trick is what makes such an excursion remotely feasible.

My little old lady.

The Nativity Scene

I encourage you to check out the detail in the large version.

There was a “moon” in the sky. Also, sometimes there was lightning and thunder.

Many of the characters were animatronic, the fires were flickering, the water flowed, the windmill spun, and one house had smoke emanating from the chimney.

The star of the show.

The magi arrive from the east, one on camel, one on an elephant, and one on a horse.

The house with the smoke had lamps inside, a kitty on the deck, and a sow nursing piglets in the yard. You can see the blurred windmill in the background.

I struggle to imagine the number of hours of detailed work that went into this nativity scene. I was very impressed.

A group photo. Nora seemed content walking to the church with her friends, but as soon as she saw me, the balance of desires swung hard towards her needing to be with me holding my hand at all times. I was the only parent there, and she was the only child crying.

It is becoming more and more popular for marriages in Spain to be “civil”, done at the town hall, rather than religious, done in the church. Starting in 2009, the majority of Spanish weddings have been non-religious town hall ceremonies.

When you add these two things together, the fact that people are accustomed to and love to have parties to celebrate the birth of a child, and the fact that many people don’t see what a celibate man in robes who actually thinks he can, and should, turn wine into blood by uttering magic words has to do with celebrating family events…you get somebody suggesting that a government official should say some inspiring words to a crowd of a newborn’s family members.

I wonder if they use official government water? No I’m kidding. I looked it up. Apparently a civil baptism is a ceremony to celebrate a new Spaniard getting citizenship. The ceremony usually includes a reading of several articles of the Convention on the Rights of the Child adopted by the UN in November 1989:

Article 6 – 1: States Parties recognize that every child has the inherent right to life.

Article 6 – 2: States Parties shall ensure to the maximum extent possible the survival and development of the child.

Article 12 – 1: States Parties shall assure to the child who is capable of forming his or her own views the right to express those views freely in all matters affecting the child, the views of the child being given due weight in accordance with the age and maturity of the child.

Article 12 – 2: For this purpose, the child shall in particular be provided the opportunity to be heard in any judicial and administrative proceedings affecting the child, either directly, or through a representative or an appropriate body, in a manner consistent with the procedural rules of national law.

Article 27 – 1: States Parties recognize the right of every child to a standard of living adequate for the child’s physical, mental, spiritual, moral and social development.

Article 27 – 2: The parent(s) or others responsible for the child have the primary responsibility to secure, within their abilities and financial capacities, the conditions of living necessary for the child’s development.

Article 27 – 3: States Parties, in accordance with national conditions and within their means, shall take appropriate measures to assist parents and others responsible for the child to implement this right and shall in case of need provide material assistance and support programmes, particularly with regard to nutrition, clothing and housing.

Article 27 – 4: States Parties shall take all appropriate measures to secure the recovery of maintenance for the child from the parents or other persons having financial responsibility for the child, both within the State Party and from abroad. In particular, where the person having financial responsibility for the child lives in a State different from that of the child, States Parties shall promote the accession to international agreements or the conclusion of such agreements, as well as the making of other appropriate arrangements.

I remember the mountain of paperwork I had to fill out and drive to various government offices around my province after my daughter was born to get her “into the system” so she could suckle the socialist teat. It’s a big hassle, one worthy of a glass of champagne upon completion.

To me, a civil baptism deciding what country a human has allegiance to, before he is able to think for himself, based solely on the geography where he escaped the womb and allegiances of his parents is just as immoral as deciding what religious beliefs he should hold based on the same criteria. But most people don’t really put that much meaning into it. It’s really just a party for a happy reason, which is something I can get behind.

It brought to mind the image of a suspension bridge with two towering pillars holding up a span allowing people to cross from one weekend to the other.

Of course, I’m employed in the US, so I’m slogging through the lava like any other week.

I picked up a bottle and continued shopping. At the checkout, I asked the cashier if she knew anything about this wine, and she responded that it was a great wine for the price, a good “weekday” wine, and it was the wine that her father drank with his lunch everyday.

The wine was quite good, definitely one of the highest quality/price ratios I’ve ever consumed. I won’t bore you with those bizarre adjectives wine connoisseurs use, as I’m not one. But I am a bit of a psychology connoisseur, so I would like to discuss things this winemaker did very, very right in packaging their wine.

First of all, the name is genius. It literally means “red [horse] mane”, hence the horse logo, but out of the corner of your eye, or with the movement of someone pouring you a glass, any Spaniard or wine drinker knowledgeable about Spanish wines is going to see the words Crianza and Rioja, both of which are marks of quality and their usage is highly regulated. You have to get official certification to put either word on your wine bottle. Crin Roja is neither crianza nor Rioja; it’s from a vineyard called Vinícola in Castilla La Mancha.

Secondly, you almost never see gold netting on bottles of wine in my price range. Only the very finest wines, usually reserva or gran reserva are netted. The internet tells me that this tradition originates from an intent, by rich Europeans of yore, to prevent the house staff from opening the expensive bottles in the cellar for themselves before refilling and recorking them with an inferior wine.

Why is all this important? Not only do these clever tricks make the wine sell better, but they actually make it taste better!

The industry of expensives wines is mostly all bullshit. Blind taste test after blind taste test have shown that those of us that are not wine experts (and the experts, too, to some extent) base our estimations of wine quality on subliminal and priming stimuli, with price being the primary factor. As neuroscientist Jonah Lehrer explains in his book, Proust Was a Neuroscientist,

What these wine experiments illuminate is the omnipresence of subjectivity…Our human brain has been designed to believe itself, wired so that prejudices feel like facts, opinions are indistinguishable from the actual sensation. If we think the wine is cheap, it will taste cheap. And if we think we are tasting a Grand Cru, then we will taste a Grand Cru.

Our sensations from drinking wine are interpreted by a subjective brain that is also factoring in biases and beliefs and expectations. Just like the placebo effect still works even when the patient knows they are getting a placebo, cheap wine in a fancy gold netted bottle with words that look like crianza and rioja will taste better, even if you know it’s all just clever packaging.

¡Salud!

Lest you think I’m implying that Americans are much more polite than Spaniards, let’s look at another set of customs: the dinner party.

When you are a guest in someone’s home in Spain, there is an unspoken rule that you shouldn’t ask for anything to eat or drink, and that rule is remedied by the expectation that the host will offer you things to eat and drink. Americans have this same system to some extent, but where Spain and the US diverge is at the dinner table.

In the US, when a host lays out a bunch of food on the table at a dinner party, the guests more or less understand that it’s all for them and they can ask each other or the host to pass the potatoes if they want more. In Spain…not so much. A Spanish guest will tend to eat only what he is expressly offered to take. As a result, proper hosting etiquette is to constantly suggest that people with empty plates take more food. Sometimes it’s even considered polite for a guest to decline food that he really wants to give other guests, or the host, the option to take it. Since both parties understand this, a polite host will continue to persist even after the guest has declined.

Personally, this drives me mad. I really can’t stand customs where no doesn’t mean no. I prefer to tell the truth and not have to repeat myself. But, I have to remind myself that I am in a different culture where my host is only being polite. It takes effort. And I’m not the only one. My wife had the opposite problem of waiting for food to be offered to her in the States, and sometimes walking away from the table hungry and annoyed at how rude Americans can be. Now that she and I fully comprehend the cultural difference, we know not to get annoyed, or, if we do, that no one is to blame but ourselves.

When you visit other cultures, the people will, by definition of being from a different culture, seem rude to you, and you will seem rude to them. If you can’t bend your mind around to the opinion that experiencing and learning about these differences is the very thing that makes traveling and living abroad so much fun, then you should go back to your hometown where everyone behaves just like you.

This ad for HSBC got a lot of airtime back when I was living in England. It illustrates my point perfectly and humorously.