The meaning of eating deep

What is the meaning of eating deep? Eating deep, to me anyways, means enjoying each and every single bite, mhhmm-ing and ihmmm-ing at every rich forkful of whatever it is you've been served. Of looking at the smiling faces around you, rosy with too much wine in your veins, happy with the intriguing conversations, whether it is with 15 people at the table or five. I dare you to take a fresh slice of watermelon as the summer comes to a close, go ahead, slice up a big piece, bigger than your face, stand over the sink and take a deep bite into it, go ahead, let the juice run down your chin, spit out the seeds and eat deep my darlings, you only live once. Or invite your friends to dinner, sit at the table drink wine, laugh, share stories about your childhood and bite deep into the moment...this episode is about eating, drinking and living deep, thinking tonight might be the only night.
The picture above, believe it or not, is of my very first paella, my first real paella, on the beach, with kind people, freshly made. Last week, some of Carles's friends invited us to lunch to eat fresh mussels, fried calamari, and paella paired with chilled white wine, beach side style. Carles had to run and they invited me to stay and keep the festivities going. After a three hour lunch we went to another chiringuito where they made the best caipirinhas in the middle of nowhere. It was like stepping back into Brasil, even though I was in Catalunya, it was Paradise.

The chiringuito was off the beaten road, with a small cardboard sign that said, "ChiringuitoManel" and a florescent orange arrow. I would've never found it on my own. It's a fishermen's local spot and the owner had a spectacular choice of music, old classics, jazz, cuban orchestras. It was straight out of a movie. I spent the entire evening there, watching the light dim down to night time. Carles even called at 9:30 worried I had gotten lost and I still had a dinner to cook since I had invited Idoia, Ada and Carles's friend Rosa for dinner. I was the host and the host was "riding the wave" on caipirinhas...

Nothing that can't be solved. I got home, stretched out for a bit and sobered up before cooking up the dinner. Yes, this is eating deep.

The girls arrived right on time and we ate like kings and queens and photographed the moments, these are times that should not be forgotten.

We laughed, drank, played with Chet and even managed to host a slumber party. Happy happy was the tune of the evening and I had yet another adventurous day in Reus. God, I swear I could do vacation time for a lifetime, without a doubt.









And the festivities went on. On Friday evening, Julia arrived straight from Barcelona to visit me and to see exactly what I had been up to. I loved the idea of hosting a friend at the house where I was being hosted, but that is exactly the type of person Carles is. He will open his door if I tell him the person is worthwhile. Friday night we enjoyed a night in Reus and on Saturday morning Julia and I sat at the table with breakfast and chatted it up about what we had missed out on the last few weeks.

It is utterly impossible to not sit and chat in this kitchen for hours on hand. The light, the warm coffee and milk, the company, the idea of eating deep and savoring each moment.
It is a miracle I haven't gained more weight, with all the talking and eating.

After breakfast, we met up with Idoia and Ada and did a tour of Tarragona. Julia had never been and although I have been there often, I realized, historically, I have never seen anything of it. The only Tarragona I've seen is the night life...sorry mom. It was amazing to walk around an ancient Roman city,(Tarragona was originally the capital of Catalunya and one of the biggest maritime ports,until Barcelona took over) filled with magic, history and an incredible view of the sea. Like Idoia said, "The Romans were not stupid people."

I Just want to acknowledge little Ada, who took this lovely picture of me...
I think we have a future photographer on our hands.

We roamed the streets of Tarragona and submerged ourselves in history and knowledge, nothing like a handful of information after a long night of drinks and dancing. We acknowledged the accomplishments of the Romans and ate ice cream to toast their genius. Of course, in between, we went to Idoia's amazing home for lunch and ate to our hearts content. We even had the luxury of spreading out in the living room and napping...ah yes, if you eat deep, don't forget the siesta!
We finished the day with more Tarragona history and prepped ourselves after a swim to go out for the night. We couldn't let Julia spend a Saturday night without seeing the madness of disco mania. We dolled ourselves up and went to Salou, which is a horribly touristy town with lots of crispy red giris (tourists) and ate dinner, drank and danced to our hearts contents. S-U-M-M-E-R!!!


On Sunday, after a long fun filled night, we ended the weekend by not going to one beach but two, making sure Julia went home satisfied. And I think she did because as we bid our goodbyes she had a smile pasted on her face, demonstrating to me that yes, she had eaten deep.

As I finish up, a glass of wine at hand's reach, Chet asleep next to my feet, Carles snoozing on the couch, a sultry voice coming out of the radio, I realize that I don't know how not to eat deep, how not to savor each moment and perhaps that's why these pages are so rich. I only have a few days left of this paradise, of rising in the morning and writing with the sun, of going to the beach, of being near those I care about, but I promise to bite deeply into each and everyone of these last days.

Field Trips!

Shhhh...listen, it's silence. Today we went on a field trip to the outer villages of Reus to see some breath taking sites of the country and churches and castles built centuries ago, perched on rich red rocks that have been standing since time began. Silence was exactly what you heard. Notice the date above...1230, even if we closed our eyes and tried to imagine what exactly the year 1230 held, it would be nearly impossible. All I could describe it as is silence, a distant memory of what existed before any of us were even a speck of creation.


The rocks themselves are porous and with time they have turned into sand, leaving behind holes, caves and shapes that are nature's art. The ermita itself sits perched on top of remnants of rock and as you stand inside, you wonder if this will be the time when it finally releases its grasp on the mountain. It is both exhilarating and humbling. It doesn't help that the older I get the more vertigo seems to take over and heights are more threatening to me.
Even so, Carles challenges me to sit on the outer edge of a boulder dangling from life and I fight my own fears, smiling, not looking down. It silences me, it holds me tight, this urge to want to fly. The view is absolutely spectacular, the lands and crops tended to by generations of farmers, olive groves, apples rotting on the ground, "This," I claim to Carles "is Europe." He laughs and I fall silent. This is what I dreamt of ages ago, lost in the fields, in the mountains, qualsevol lloc.



I think even Chet felt humble at the sight of the height we were at. We decided to take him on his first field trip, his first outing and he precariously walked around, shaking when we put him up on rocks to model for us, unsure of the distance, trembling with a fear that ran through my own blood. He currently sits at my feet, exhausted, asleep and dreaming of all the rocks he jumped since every so often his back legs twitch and I can only imagine the images flashing through his memory.After visiting the ermita we went to a castle a top another mountain, made out of the same rock. Another majestic site, with a trail decorated with fallen rocks that had fallen into place, creating shadows and art, ivy, and large trees that softened the sun. The air was clean, the noises were whisked away by nature and I felt so at peace. We were like children, all three of us, Chet, Carles and I, exploring hidden paths, doorways halfway open that lead you to other trails and dead pathways, windows that led to nowhere.



Yesterday, as we rode around on a bright blue Vespa through tiny villages, looking for an adventure and a place to eat lunch, zipping through tiny streets centuries old, I felt like a real European. This is just what I came here to look for. Carles called me the Hemingway of Catalunya, "You will bring all the Americans to Reus, to discover the undiscovered and the beauty that these villages with their sun scorched wrinkled smiling faces have to give." And I fell silent...

Meet Chet Baker

As many of you know, I have taken the last few weeks of August to do a semi-retreat in a small town south of Catalunya, to write, disconnect and spend a few weeks in an amazing home with a kind host and his dog Chet. Chet, I promise, will be the model dog on the front covers of doggie world. He is the most photogenic puppy I have yet come across and he loves posing in front of the camera and making his little puppy eyes for the world to see. We are currently working hard on forming a loving relationship in which he doesn't bite my ankles, feet and hands. Carles pushes me to smack Chet on his snouzer (spelling?) every time he bites me and I am learning how to be stern with Chet and not let him dominate me, but who can smack a face like this? He follows me around the house, nipping at my ankles and begging for a treat or two. He sits at my feet when I write and destroys anything I leave at hands reach.
The last few days have been made of sweet magic and tranquility. There is something about being outside of the city, in a small country village where the air is clean and sprinkled with the smell of burning wood and cleanliness. The house, although spacious, is cozy and quiet, the perfect setting for writing a novel. I wake up in the mornings, light and inspired, have breakfast with Carles and then lock myself in the writing room and write with the morning sun at my feet and a view of the garden. I write for almost two hours, slowly and carefully and then I come out of my abode and help prepare lunch. Depending on the weather, simple as is it sunny or not? we either go to the beach...Carles has shown me one of the best beaches I have yet seen, the water is an amazing blue blue blue with the contrast of the green forest and white rocks and big swelling waves that help you float...or we nap. In the evening I gobble the amazing collection of music Carles has. Turns out that he is an avid music collector and has over 80,000 albums in his collection! I am in absolute heaven, working diligently on my novel in the mornings and organizing my own collection of music now that I have my dusty fingers on his collection. I have all the music my heart has ever desired and if he doesn't have what I want, he finds it for me...oh life, precious precious surprises it holds...After sitting in front of the computer for a few hours we prepare dinner, eat, then sit in the living room drinking wine and talking into the quiet summer hours of the night. Sounds perfect? It is.
On Saturday, Idoia finally came back from her 15 day trip in Egypt and I was so excited to see her and give her a big hug. Just so you get an idea, Tarragona is about an hour south of BCN.



Tarragona, if you have been paying attention is where Idoia lives. Reus is about 15 minutes inland from Tarragona. It is a small town, a bit on the country side famous for the modernist houses it has and the time that Gaudi spent here. For being a small town, it is filled with culture and amazing architecture which Carles happens to know tons about. Okay...back to Saturday. So in the afternoon, Carles and I went out for a yummy lunch and afterwards he took me to a small Ermita in Castelvell, a small village. An Ermita is a small church where the hermit of the village used to live.

What's special about this Ermita is that it is where people used to place relics of lost limbs, dead babies, injured animals etc, asking the Saint of the Ermita to bless them and help them. The relics have now been replaced by old paintings of the relics themselves, small works of art in bright happy colors demonstrating horrible and drastic situations. I wanted to take all the pieces of work with me, they were so strange.

That same evening we went to dinner with Carles, the house owner and sweetest host I have met, with Idoia who was glowing with peace after two weeks in the desert and Red Sea and a friend of Carles, Rosa. Turns out that Tarragona was celebrating its Festa Major and that that Festa Major was celebrating the saint of water and so we found ourselves in a Plaza with a giant Watermelon, jug, clam and I don't know what else with a sprinkler system that soaked everyone and everything. It was unlike anything I had ever seen in my life and I had the time of my life.We danced under the colorful array of light and tried our best to avoid getting wet, since we did have a long night ahead of us and were not prepared to walk around soaking wet until the wee hours of the night.


















After the water festivities we made our way back to Plaza del Font where there was another concert and we danced our little booties away to all the types of music you could imagine...from Soul and Funk to Pop rock and Heavy Metal. The giant smiles were pasted on our faces and the confetti fell from the sky as we twirled skipped and jumped. Finally, as the concert came to an end some time after 5am, and the last notes of electric guitar were strung, it started to rain, just in case those that thought they had escaped the water party earlier, the rain made sure to take care of us. We walked to the car, barefoot, singing, and soaked, delighted with the summer raindrops. It was absolutely movie like.
The night finally came to a wet end as we sang Bebe in the car at the top of our lungs on the way back to Reus. I had the time of my life and slept with the tenderness of a baby, delighted to have danced in the rain. On Sunday I was fortunate to be invited first to a vermouth in a plaza in Reus as Carles told me stories of the people in town and then after dropped off at Idoia's parents house to eat lunch with the family and rest.

I have absolutely everything I need, all the love and care I could possibly demand and as time goes by, I realize that I am one of the most fortunate. I write, I read, I breath and I live...it's a dog's life.

My August Days, My Favorite Days

"To be human is to be dense, mysterious, and inexplicable." Anonymous

There is something wonderful and exciting about thunderstorms in August. The heat subdues, the humidity lets go for a moment and you fall asleep with the mystery of those summer storms that take me back to when I was a child and I knew that cloudy skies meant the closing of a beach filled agenda.

There is something mysterious about flowers growing in between rocks, no water, no tending to, no nothing, and yet something sprouts from between two rocks, two lifeless pieces of stone that make room for life. These next few photos represent the last few days I have spent doing mostly nothing, other than eating, sunning, sleeping, getting massages and spending the time of my life enjoying my vacation. In just a few days, I will pack my bags and go to Reus to begin my novel...finally. I am so thrilled and even though I'm not going far, the simple idea of having to write again is a trip in itself.

Sea clippings on the Brave Coast (Costa Brava) where time is infinite, where you spend your days on the beach, the taste of sea in your mouth. Ancient fishing villages where Catalan is essential tinged with the hope of French, where the shell fish you order in the restaurant are filled with sand and sun and your best friend whispers, "don't worry, that means it's fresh". Where I am a child again, jumping on rocks, tumbling with the waves, with a fiercelessness I never imagined I'd have again. where it rains, but still you find enough sun to go to the beach. Where the paint is chipping. Where I am human.

Where the waiter reads your mind and treats you to a choclate mousse torte because you aren't brave enough to order one...or maybe child enough, while the French speaking child next to you becomes your buddy and hands you fresh rocks from the sea as offerings in exchange for the last morsels of choclate torte and you laugh together and dance...where the forest green mixes with the blue blue of dreams.

And my worries are swiped off my choclate summer brown skin and for an instant I am in heaven without a choice. Oh mysterious and grand life, utterly inexplicable and that is to be human...