by Carol Weston
Dear Diary,
No one could have slept through what we heard today.
Antonio parked, I poked Matt and Dad awake, and we all walked to a square packed with people. We inched our way toward the middle of the mob. Antonio said to cover our ears because at 2:00 P.M. sharp, firecrackers were going to go off for several minutes, and we would not just hear them—we would feel them in our stomachs and under our feet.
I braced myself and wondered, Is this town full of pyromaniacs? (I just learned that word. It means people who want to set fires.)
At 2:00, everybody stopped talking. They were waiting for the noise, but there was no noise. There was a delay. So you know what the smooshed people did? They whistled! When American audiences are unhappy, they boo or maybe hiss, but when Spaniards are unhappy, they whistle.
Well, the whistling didn't last long because at about 2:01, there was a thundering drumroll that went on and on and on. Like a zillion sticks of dynamite.
Matt decided then and there that he Spain.
Dad looked at me as if to say, “Is this supposed to be fun?” and I shrugged as if to answer, “Don't ask me.” It is strange! Close your eyes, and it was a war zone. Open them, and it was a citywide block party—a party that goes on for almost three weeks.
When the explosions stopped, Antonio looked at Mom. She smiled a half smile. He said, “I do not like the Mascleta, but I wanted you to have the experience.”
“Experience” in Spanish is experiencia (X Pair E N C Ah). Mom said some long words are similar in English and Spanish. “Adventure” is aventura (Ah Ben Too Ra). “Television” is television (Tay Lay V Syon). “Clementine” is clementina (Clem N T Na). Mom said it's fun to say English words with a Spanish accent and hope for the best. Some English words are spelled the same in Spanish, like “patio,” “piano,” “radio,” and “mosquito.”
We waded through the crowd until we got back to Antonio's car. He drove us to his home outside Valencia and asked, “Are you angry?”
Even though I hadn't 100% loved getting my eardrums shattered, I wasn't angry, so I said, “No.”
Mom looked surprised. “You aren't hungry!”
Oh! Hungry!! Mom obviously understands the whole accent thing better than we do.
I said, “I am hungry,” and Matt added, “I am starving.”
Spaniards eat lunch really late—at 2:00 or 3:00 instead of 12:00 or 1:00!
Antonio had prepared paella valenciana (Pie Ay Ya Ba Len C Ah Na). It is a famous Spanish dish made with rice and saffron. Saffron is a spice that comes from dried insides of crocus flowers. You need a lot of flowers to get a little saffron, so it costs a lot. It is orange-red and turns rice yummy yellow. Antonio's paella also had peas, beans, peppers, cut-up chicken, and, I hate to write this but… rabbit.
He used a round shallow two-handled pan and put in ingredients he had already chopped up. It bubbled and cooked and we waited and waited and waited.
It smelled soooo good!
Matt asked, “Is it really spicy?” but Mom said that Mexican food is sometimes spicy, not Spanish food.
Matt said, “Knock knock.”
Mom said, “Who's there?”
Matt said, “Sombrero.”
I said, “Sombrero who?” and Matt started singing, “Som brere ohhhver the rainbow—” until I made him stop.
Anyway, here's how the paella tasted: scrumptious or rico (Rrree Co). Actually, I ate only the rice and chicken—not the rabbit. I'm not an adventurous eater, and besides, I kept thinking about Cecily's pet rabbit, Honey Bunny. So I picked out all the rabbit pieces and pushed them to one side of my plate. Since I didn't even want to look at them, I offered them to Dad. He said, “Sure,” and transferred them onto his plate. (It's helpful that he's a B.R—a Big Pig!)
The grown-ups also had Spanish champagne called cava (Ca Ba) and giant shrimp appetizers called langostinos (Lang Oh Steen Ohs). Mom beamed and said everything was delicioso (Day Lee Syoh So). “Antonio, do you always eat this well?”
He smiled. “No. Only on special occasions.”
I hope Dad is paying attention to how special it is for Antonio and Mom to see each other again!
I asked Mom where Antonio's wife was and Mom whispered, “They recently separated, remember?” She added, “That's another word that's almost the same in Spanish—separado” (Say Par Odd Oh).
Well, I did not remember, and who wants to learn that word?!
Right now the grown-ups are drinking coffee and eating almond candy called turron (Two Rrrohn). I didn't like it. Antonio is also smoking (yuck!) and making Mom and Dad laugh some more. Matt whispered, “He doesn't seem so serious.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You said he was a serious boyfriend,” Matt said.
“A serious boyfriend doesn't mean the person is serious, Doo-doo Head! It means the relationship is serious!” (Sometimes Matt is not the brightest crayon in the box.)
Matt looked confused, but I was too jet-lagged to explain. Besides, Mom is making us both take a nap. I'm going to take my siesta (See S Ta) right here in this hammock in Antonio's backyard. We need to sleep because Antonio has big plans for us tonight. Sleepily—
Antonio's brother's apartment
Dear Diary,
We are staying in the apartment of Antonio's brother. His name is Angel, which, I'm sorry to say, is pronounced On Hell. Angel is lending it to us because he and Mom used to be friends, and he always goes away during the festival because he doesn't like noise and crowds.
Valencia is noisy and crowded right now!
We walked around the old part of town until my legs practically fell off. It's good that they didn't fall off or they would have gotten stepped on by thousands of people. There was a big parade or procession—procesion (Pro Sess C Yohn)—of dressed-up Valencians: men and boys in fancy embroidered vests with shiny brass buttons, and women and girls in puffy dresses with lacy veils and red-and-yellow sashes. They were all wearing traditional Spanish clothes, and they looked like princes and princesses. Or grooms and brides. Or life-size dolls.
The celebration was called Ofrenda de Flores (Oh Friend Da Day Floor S) or Offering of Flowers. A big thick line of people was carrying piles of bouquets through the town up to a cathedral, where they stacked them row upon row against the church wall.
It was beautiful!
Dad was walking with Matt and me, and Mom and Antonio were walking a few steps ahead. A giant amber moon was lighting up everything—the night' time parade, ancient stone walls, octagonal bell tower, and even Mom and Antonio.
All of a sudden, I could picture the two of them as a couple! And I could picture Mom as a regular woman before I came along and turned her into a mom.
It made me dizzy.
I reached for Dad's hand and said, “I'm too tired to keep going.” Well, we tried to leave, but there were so many people, we could barely budge, let alone make a fast exit.
Spaniards are night owls! We could still even hear a few faraway firecrackers. (That's an alliteration.) (So is that)
Matt said he was falling-down drop-dead tired too, and Dad lifted him onto his shoulders. Sometimes I wish Dad could still carry me.
We finally got out, and Antonio drove us back here.
Mom thanked Antonio for a wonderful day. It was a wonderful day. But it was one of the longest days in my whole eleven-year life. The last time I was in a bed with sheets and a pillow was in New York, so it was a double day, and I am exhaust.
Did I just write “I am exhaust”? I am not exhaust!! I am exhausted!!
Tomorrow we are meeting Antonio's kid and going to a bullfight. I told Antonio that I hope he got us bad seats because I don't want to sit up close. He laughed even though I wasn't trying to be funny.
It won't be very dark when I turn off the bedside lamp because moonlight is streaming in through the window.
March 18
Dear Diary,
I can't believe that the day before yesterday was just an ord
inary school day. Fifth-grade Spanish class with Cecily, Christopher, Norbert, and Senora (Say Nyor Ah) Barrios seems like forever ago!
I like how trips make time First you look forward to a trip. Then you enjoy it.
Then you look back on it. If you ask me what I did last summer, for instance, a lot of it is a big blur. But if you ask about our week bicycling around Amsterdam, I could tell you all about it.
Today Matt and I slept until noon—dawn in Manhattan. We'd still be snoozing, except Mom woke us up, saying, “Hop up, kiddos! I now pronounce you good as new. You're officially on Spanish time!”
I would have rolled my eyes except that just opening them was enough of a challenge.
Mom and Dad are drinking coffee or cafe (Calf Ay). Dad always jokes that coffee is an important part of a balanced breakfast. They were also listening to classical music (musica or Moo Z Ca) by a dead Spanish guy named Rodrigo (Road Ree Go).
While we were having breakfast, Matt said, “I bet I can make you say black.”
I said, “I bet you can't.”
“What are the colors of the American flag?”
“Red, white, and blue.”
“What are the colors of the Spanish flag?”
“Red and yellow.”
“What color is grass?”
“Green.”
“I told you I could make you say green!”
“You said black!”
“Ha ha! And you just said it!”
What an A.L.B.—Annoying Little Brother! I can't believe I fell for that!!
After our noon breakfast, Matt made me play Towel Bullfight. I hold up a towel and flap it in the air. He gets down on all fours, snorts, points his pointer fingers out from his forehead, and charges. Then I snap the towel away and flap it on the other side, and he charges again. He looks demented, but he loves it.
Mom said we should dress nicely because going to a bullfight here is like going to the theater at home—you shouldn't just show up in jeans.
How can a bullfight be like theater? And what will it be like?
Gotta go! Antonio and his kid are ringing the doorbell.
same day (even though that doesn't seem possible)
Dear Diary,
Antonio's kid is twelve and a half! And he's cute!
His name is Miguel.
He has brown hair and brown eyes and a nice accent and a nice smile.
And he speaks English—pretty well, anyway.
Here's how he says my name: May Lah Nee.
Here's how I say his: Meeg L. (You don't pronouce the U in Miguel, same as you don't pronounce the U in guitar.)
When Antonio introduced us, Miguel looked right at me and said, “Encantado” (N Con Todd Oh), which means “Enchanted.” Then he kissed me on both cheeks!
I thought I would keel over. But I didn't. I just started smiling and couldn't stop.
We all got into Antonio's car—this time Dad sat up front—and it was squooshy but I didn't mind because I was squooshed against Miguel.
The plan was for them to show us around and then for just us four to go to the bullfight.
Miguel asked me if I like Spain and I said, “Si si si.”
Antonio drove us to a place called the City of Arts and Sciences. A “brilliant architect” named Calatrava (Cahl Ah Tra Va) built it. He is from Valencia and has bushy eyebrows. The buildings are white and space-age y. One looks like the skeleton of a whale and an-other like a giant eyeball. Mom said Calatrava designed a section of an art museum in Milwaukee. It has wings that flap and it looks like it's about to take off.
We took a walk by a row of palm trees growing inside a glass building. We also saw a big pendulum and a twisty floor-to-ceiling model of DNA.
Dad likes how the science museum was a Please Touch (not a Don't Touch) museum.
Mom likes how Valencia has really ancient buildings, really modern buildings, and lots of bridges.
I like Miguel.
He bought popcorn. In Spanish, popcorn is palomitas (Pa Low Me Tahs), which means little doves. Maybe because if you throw them in the air, they flutter? Miguel kept offering me little doves and I kept saying gracias (Grah Sea Ahs), which means thank you. Once our fingertips sort of met inside the popcorn bag. I pulled mine away and could feel myself blushing.
Whenever I share popcorn with Matt, we always get into a fight because one of us accuses the other of eating too fast—gobbling the popcorn up by the handful instead of a few at a time. Or else we agree to eat the white ones first and then the yellow ones, but one of us forgets and does it wrong.
Miguel and I did not argue at all.
Even though it was sunny, there was a cool breeze and I suddenly got goose bumps. Mom said that goose bumps in Spanish are called chicken skin or piel de gallina (Pyel Day Guy Ye Na). Matt thought “chicken skin” sounded funny, and Miguel and Antonio thought “goose bumps” sounded funny, so everyone was laughing. Except me. I didn't like that the topic of conversation was my sticking-up arm hairs.
I was rubbing my arms trying to make the goose bumps go away (can you make goose bumps go away?) when Miguel offered me his sweater. I said, “No, it's okay,” but he gently insisted. He said, “You have cold.” I was about to say, “I don't have a cold.” But I remembered that in Spanish, instead of saying, “You are cold,” you say, “You have cold” or Tienes frio (Tyeh Ness Free Oh).
I said, “Unpoco” (Oon Poe Coe), which means “a little.” That's when he took off his sweater and draped it around me!
Isn't that romantic??!!
No boy in America has ever shared his sweater with me!
I said, “Gracias,” and smiled. The sweater was big on me but it felt nice and warm. We kept walking and I said, “These buildings are cool.”
“You should see them lighted at night, May Lah Nee.”
I couldn't tell if he was making conversation—or halfway asking me out?!
Antonio said, “¿Tomamos algo?” (Toe Mom Ose Ahl Go). Even though it is just two words in Spanish, Mom translated them as, “Shall we go get something to eat and drink?”
I said, “Si,” and we squooshed back into the car. This time Freckle-Face Matt got in between Miguel and me. I don't know if Matt was being bratty on purpose or by accident, but I wished we could switch places.
We were driving along and suddenly we heard what sounded like an earthquake.
“What's that?” I asked. “¿Que és?” (K S).
“La Mascleta,” Miguel said. “It is two o'clock.” He checked his watch.
“I thought that was yesterday.”
“It is every day of Las Fallas,” he explained. “It starts March first and happens at midday until March nineteenth.”
“That's un poco loco—a little crazy.” I felt good about making a rhyme in Spanish, but I hoped I hadn't offended Miguel. He repeated “un poco loco” and laughed. His eyes twinkled and I tried to make mine twinkle back. (Can you make your eyes twinkle?)
Well, instead of having a sit-down two-course big-deal lunch, we went bar-hopping. That may sound inappropriate for kids, but it's what Spanish families sometimes do. Antonio took us into a bar and ordered beer for the grown-ups and plates of ham-and-potato omelette for everybody to share.
Not exactly my Dream Meal.
I probably wouldn't have tried any of it, but Miguel said, “Spain is famous for its delicious ham.”
I said, “¿Delicioso?” and he said, “Try,” so I did.
“You like?” he asked. I wanted to say, “I like you! but I just said, “¡Sí!”
He said, “Ham in Spanish is jamon” (Hhhahm Own).
Now that I think about it, I guess our conversation wasn't the height of romance, but somehow it felt like we were saying more.
I repeated, “Jamon,” and said, “You are a good teacher.”
He said, “You are good student.”
Were we being friendly? Or were we flirting??
I wasn't sure—I'm new at this!
Miguel asked, “You have tried tor
tilla?” (Tor T Ya). I wanted to say, “No, but that's okay.” Tortilla means omelette, and Spanish omelettes are not served hot; they come room temperature and stuffed with potatoes. Miguel said it is a specialty and he speared a cube of tortilla with a toothpick and handed it to me. If Matt had offered me a tortilla kebab, I probably would have said, “Gross!” But since it was Miguel at the other end of the toothpick, I said, “Gracias,” and ate it in one bite.
It was better than I expected.
Everything was. Does food taste better when you're happy?
We went to a second bar, and Antonio ordered barnacles. Hungry or happy or not, there was no way I was going to eat squishy squiggly barnacle insides— no matter who offered them. Antonio, Miguel, Mom, and Dad raved about them. Miguel said they are a delicacy and that fishermen scrape them off rocks while watching out for huge waves.
Dad said they taste like the sea. Well, a huge wave once knocked me over, and the sea is not a flavor I want to taste again. So I just ate bread.
“You like bullfights?” Miguel asked.
“No se” (No Say), I said, which means I don't know. I told him I'd never seen one.
“Later you tell me your impression, okay, May Lah Nee?”
I love how he says May Lah Nee.
Our names sound nice together too: Miguel and Melanie. May Lah Nee and Meeg L.
We Martins are the 4-M family (Melanie, Matt, Miranda, and Marc), and in the back back back of my mind, I've always wondered if I might someday marry someone named Max or Michael or Mitch or…………?!
Never mind! My imagination is totally out of control!!
Miguel said, “Keep the sweater for now. I don't want you to have cold.”
I thought:
After lunch, Antonio handed Dad four bullfight tickets, and Dad handed him a bunch of euros, which is money. The Spanish used to pay with pesetas (Pay Say Tahs), but now people use euros all around Europe.
Antonio and Miguel are going to meet us for dinner.
I wish it were dinnertime!
