Blizzard of the year

Ok, so it wasn't quite a blizzard but for Barcelona it was. This being my first winter in Barcelona, I am told that this year's very cold weather is unusual. Then one day, winter decided to really hand it to us.

That infamous snow day, Francisco and I entered a restaurant for lunch while flurries were coming down. We walked out two hours later and the flurries had to turned to thick white snow...and lots of it. I remember Francisco commenting before going to eat that when it snows in Barcelona, not only is it rare, it's very light and never sticks on the ground. He spoke too soon I guess because we finished lunch just to find his car covered in a white blanket.

The people were going nuts! In front of my house is a park and it's surrounded with other apartment buildings like mine. I walked out into the balcony to watch and amuse myself with all the children and their parents throw mini snowballs at each other (I mean really there was like 3 inches on the ground!). Suddenly I saw a quick flash of light. I thought, lightning during a snowstorm. Weird. Then I saw another one. And another one. And another one. They just kept coming. I then realized everybody was out on their balconies with their cameras taking pictures.

I always use to make fun of all those southern states when they close everything down with an inch of snow on the ground. Now I understand why. Barcelona literally was in chaos during this snowstorm. Without the usual need of salt trucks, the city didn't have any to clear the roads. Cars were stuck on highways. Public transportation also went into shambles. Many decided to ditch the cars (after the cops shut down the highways) and opted for the trains. Many of those people didn't get home for hours. A student of mine who lives in the mountain part of the city - where there was even more snow - drove his car when he reached a point where his car just couldn't go on anymore. He was only ten minutes away from his house. He decided to park his car on the street, take the Metro to get him closer to his house, and struggle to keep his balance on the icy snow on the walk home from the train. Many neighborhoods also lost electricity and didn't get it back for weeks.

Now I understand how just a little bit of snow can interrupt and break down an entire city's infrastructure. Sorry for making fun of you, Texas.

P.S. I do find it hilarious to see Spaniards carrying an umbrella to protect themselves from the snow. It's like Asians carrying umbrellas to protect themselves from the sun.

Encounter with the Guardia Civil

The Guardia Civil, Spain's national police, is one of the few institutions that still remain from the Franco dictatorship. These cops have a reputation to be very tough and strict. Although Franco is long gone, I still can't help but associate the Guardia Civil with the old-school, one-sided, super conservative, fascist Francistas.

So it wasn't a surprise that I got a little nervous seeing all the Guardia Civil in the north of Spain -- probably also didn't help that I have always had a fear of authority (probably due to my catholic school upbringing...those nuns really traumatized me). They were literally everywhere. It didn't occur to me till later that I was in ETA territory. ETA is a militant group who want separation from Spain. For decades, they have been fighting for independence for the Basque Country using terrorist tactics.

In order to go to Robriguero, we had to go through a rotunda that connected many different routes in and out of the provinces of Asturias and Cantabria. On this rotunda, the Guardia Civil was always present. This was a very strategic checkpoint for them to look for potential Etarras transporting weapons and drug dealears smuggling drugs. It was only a matter of time that they would stop us.

Once they did pull us over, the Guardia opened the driver's door, popped his head in and said, do you have bombs, explosives, guns, pocket knives, marijuana, hashish, and other kinds of weapons or drugs? We sat there a bit stunned by the very direct and accusing question. We obviously replied with a no -- this type of questioning always bothered me. Who the hell would say yes?!! He then asked Francisco to get out of the car, empty his pockets, and put all his belongings on the car seat. When he was done, he was told to go in front of the car. The man then came around to my side, opened the door and asked me if I spoke Spanish. I said yes and he then told me to get out and join Francisco at the front of the car.

It was rainy and freezing that day, so Francisco and I stood there trembling and wet while the guy continued to search the car. I knew we were innocent but you can't help but be nervous when a guy with a gun is making demands and looking at your stuff. Francisco asked him if we could grab the umbrella at least and the guy said, yeah just stay there. I'm getting it for you right now.

Just when I started to get annoyed and more nervous about the whole thing, the man showed his human side. He asked Francisco to come and open the trunk. Francisco proceeded to walk over towards him WITH the umbrella, leaving me shocked/annoyed by his selfishness. The man, amused, then said, dude LEAVE the umbrella with your girlfriend!

The man shortly after let us go and gave his thanks with a smile. This man totally changed my perspective on the Guardia Civil. They're not so bad after all. If anything, maybe all men, especially my boyfriend, should join the Guardia Civil and learn a little something called chivalry.

Spain's disappearing towns

Robriguero is just one of the many small towns in Spain. Very few young people live in these towns as they all have gradually moved to bigger cities for more and better opportunities. This of course begs the question: what will happen to these pueblos as the residents slowly die off?

Well, they simply stop to exist. There are already some towns where there is nothing and no one but empty houses. Although places like Robriguero fill up during summer months when families visit their pueblos and families, or spend time in their second homes, it's hard not to imagine that one day this quaint quiet town of thirty will one day disappear as well.

From pueblo to pueblo

Robriguero was not the only small town I got to experience on this trip. The Northern Spain journey was actually just going from one pueblo, or village, to another.

Cue: A town about 12 km from Robriguero. Here lives Francisco's cousin, Iñiego, and his girlfriend, Ainoah. Iñiego had demolished his house a couple of years ago and rebuilt it from bottom up practically all by himself. It's a beautiful two story house with the top floor serving as guest apartments. Cue is on the coast and is home to many tourists during the summer months. The mountain just behind Iñiego's home is a popular golf course. So many houses here, which are quaint and lovely and whose exterior walls are all brightly painted, are apartments for rent or second homes for Spaniards. Across from Iñiego's house, a giant house was being built. It is said that the homeowner is a rich doctor from Miami who plans to only stay there one week a year and leave it empty the rest of the time. If I had a second home, I wouldn't mind having it in Cue either.

Llanes: a town just 10 minutes by car from Cue. Llanes is much bigger than Cue and has a lot more happenings. Unlike Cue, it has a bit more of a central area with lots of bars, restaurants and shops. In this town, you can also find the creepy, haunted looking house that was used in the Spanish movie, El Orfanato, or The Orphanage.

Covadonga: a town whose main feature is a massive church situated on top of a mountain. Seeing the cathedral on our way up the mountain reminded me of the feeling you get seeing Germany's Neuchweinstein castle as you get closer to it. I was in awe. I was so moved by it that the words "I want to get married in this church" shockingly came out of my mouth. Shocking mainly because I don't ever want to get married in a church (sorry mom). Then once I walked in the church I had the complete opposite feeling. Just like most old-school cathedrals, it just gave me the creeps, like there were many dead haunted souls floating about.

This church has been a main player in many popular events such as celebrity weddings. But historically, the church area was a strategic location for a man named, Pelayo, to lead the local residents of Covadonga to fight against the Moors. From the top of this mountain, they were able to defend and protect their pueblo from the invading Moors.

Another main attraction is the cave church in the mountain across from the cathedral. The church is small and probably can only hold 10 people. The view from this church was amazing. Under it was a waterfall that fell into a mini lake where people throw change as they make a wish. Francisco's parents got married in this church and I probably would to if I didn't have my "no church wedding" rule.

Lastly, Covadonga is home to two glacial lakes located in the mountains. It's supposed to be stunning up there but unfortunately, we couldn't go due to road closures. There was too much snow and it was too dangerous for cars going up on steep narrow mountain roads.

Oviedo: ok, this one is not a small town at all. In comparison to Madrid and Barcelona, yes, but in Asturias, Oviedo is probably one of the bigger, more populated ones. Oviedo is famous for Los Premios de los Principes de Asturias, an award that is prestigious like the Nobel but not quite as important. Woody Allen is one of the many recipients of this award and paid tribute to it by briefly featuring it in his movie, Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Oviedo is probably the cleanest Spanish city I've seen. The streets were spotless, and the air was fresh. The people of Oviedo also were very elegant. You can tell there's lots of money in the city because everyone just looked fancy.

And a quick funny story: there are a bunch of peacocks in a park right at the center of Oviedo. Obviously it's an open park so the peacocks are allowed to go in and out of the park as they please. We were walking down a street just a block away from the park when we saw a peacock hanging out outside, looking into a bar, and everyone just walked around it, like it shouldn't be bothered. Ridiculous! Not surprisingly, I made Francisco cross the street with me, away from the nasty bird.

Robriguero

When I first found out that Francisco's mom is from a town of 30 people, I was shocked. I was even more shocked when he told me how he loved it there. I thought, who the hell would want to live in a town where there are more cows and sheep than people?! But I was excited to see it anyway, mainly due to curiosity. I was so excited that I wouldn't stop talking about it.

The night before we went to Robriguero, we spent the night in Bilbao and hung out with Francisco's friends. I was telling his friend, Yuli, about our upcoming trip to this ridiculously small town. She started laughing and says, oh yeah I know that town pretty well. I responded, you do?! And she continued, yup that's where I'm from. Crap! Foot...in...mouth. And her boyfriend, Carlos, proceeded to say, I think my town is even smaller. Thankfully, both had good humor and didn't take my ignorance as offensive.

To get to Robriguero, you have to go through mountains and other small towns. And the road up to Robriguero is one of those where you make one little wrong move and you'll surely fall to a certain death. I was completely freaking out the first time we drove up.

Once we were there, it was nothing but beautiful. Yes, there's absolutely nothing to do but watch TV. Yes, there are no bars or shops. Yes, there is absolutely nothing but a number of houses, small barns and a church. But that is the beauty of Robriguero: its peacefulness.

It was so quiet and so incredibly beautiful, with nature enveloping you in its greatness. There were no honking noises, no sirens, no hustle and bustle, no traffic. I may not be able to live in Robriguero year round but I wouldn't mind visiting it once a year just to escape the city and regain my sanity.

Being there was also seeing Francisco's childhood. He spent pretty much all of his summers as a child in Robriguero. He showed me where he use to help his grandpa with the animals and the plants. He pointed out to me the rivers and various places where they use to swim and play. Despite my protests, he also took me to the chicken house to grab some fresh eggs to take home; thankfully, he couldn't get the key to open the door. We also went to see the little church and visited the cemetery behind it where his granparents are buried. It made me sad when I realized that his grandma died giving birth to his aunt. It made me think how great his grandpa must have been to raise two young girls on his own for over 50 years. No wonder everyone has such fond memories of him. On a much lighter/humourous note, I am also permanently haunted by the dead whose graves I stepped on...I had no idea they were there!

During our trip, I met many of Francisco's childhood buddies from Robriguero. Although they are all living in different cities, they still get together and visit each other when they can. They have such a special bond that it was very endearing to see them together again. I have to admit it made me a little envious. Obviously for such a tiny town, Robriguero is not that bad after all.

Getting Fat in Northern Spain

Northern Spain is known for it's great food. Pais Vasco, especially, is known to produce many great, well-known, michelin-star-filled chefs. So it was only right that Francisco and I would find ourselves eating a lot, and eating well, during our most recent trip up north. Here's a summary of our little gastronomic tour.

Wednesday, 27/01/10, Bilbao: Although Francisco spent three years studying at an Escuela Hosteleria, where you learn all the in and outs of Restaurants/Bars/etc., Bilbao is really where he learned what good food and good drinks are all about. It's where he studied to become a sommelier and learn the food culture of Pais Vasco. For our first dinner on this trip, he took me to a restaurant called Mina. The owner/chef and his wife/server is a friend of a friend. They only serve a pre-fixed menu that includes a 7 course meal. Just looking at the menu made me full.

First course was oysters. I don't like oysters so they offered me some creamy cheese with tomato preserves and apple garnish. Next came the pork loin topped with milk custard. Third course consisted of cod in a potato puree. Fourth was hake with mushrooms. By the time the fifth course came, I was about ready to pop but I had to persevere. I was a little suspicious of the fifth plate. The menu said pinchon and they described it to me as a little bird. Francisco knows I hate birds but when I asked him if it's similar to chicken, he said "yeah kind of. Just try it. It's really really good." I thought maybe it was cornish hen. I did end up eating it, and it wasn't that bad, but it definitely didn't seem like cornish hen. It wasn't quite poultry-like nor was it like pig meat or beef. It was tender yet tough. It was something strange. When I got home, I looked up the translation and vomited a little in my mouth. I ate a young pigeon! Out of all the birds I could eat! So gross! Sick!! Disgusting! Ugh! Ok, I'm gonna try to keep going now. The sixth course was the first dessert: lemon sorbet on top of ice blended rum. The seventh and last dessert was milk custard with hazelnut and raspberry sauce. By the end of this dinner, I was ridiculously full and drunk from the bottle of champagne we shared.

Thursday, 28/01/10, Santander: On our way up to Asturias, we stopped in Santander, the beautiful coastal city in the region of Cantabria. There we ate in a restaurant owned by Francisco's classmate from the wine course. I think we were still semi full from the previous night that we ate a little less in this meal. For appetizers, we ordered squid with risotto in squid ink sauce. For the main course, I had mini cordon bleu's with potato puree and Francisco had a giant plate of fish. For dessert, we shared a coulant, a flourless cake with chocolate sauce in the middle. It's more typical of Catalunya, not Cantabria, but I was craving chocolate really bad.

Friday, 29/01/10, Canga De Onis: After a nice drive to Covadonga, we stopped for a lunch break. We were in this precious little town but we had no idea where a good place was to eat. We finally settled for one that looked pretty nice from the outside. They specialized in different kinds of rice so I was all about it. The main course, which was a creamy rice with cod, was good, but I wasn't that impressed. What I was impressed with was the appetizer, pulpo a la parilla, or grilled octopus. I've eaten octopus but usually chopped up in some kind of sauce. This was a big chunk of the tentacles and it was delicious! The meat was so tender and very flavorful. Just thinking about it now makes my mouth water.

Saturday, 30/01/10, Oviedo: For lunch, Francisco, his cousin, his girlfriend, and I went to eat in place called Tierra Astur. This place was the size of a warehouse. It was so popular that there was a line of people waiting when we arrived and we had to wait for 45 minutes to be seated...and this was at 4 in the afternoon already. Why do people come here? For the grilled meat, and lots of it. Every table had a tabla (a wooden platter) full of meat piled on top of each other. There are different combination tablas that consists of different types of meat. Mostly each combination is based on how many people are in your party. We ordered one that was good for four and I can't even remember all the meat that was in it: sausages and different parts of the chicken, pork and cow. Also on the tabla is a heaping amount of french fries. And because a mountain of meat was not enough, we had to order a salad with Asturian cheese (the area is like the Wisconsin of Spain) and tortos to start off. Tortos are corn based pancake like bread topped with whatever you want. We ordered one topped with scrambled egg and ground meat. It was amazingly delicious.

As expected, we couldn't finish the tabla. It was the first time I've ever seen people with leftover bags in a restaurant in Spain. And as always, we couldn't leave without ordering coffee and dessert. We all ordered tarta de abuela, grandma's cake. It was a layer of cookies, chocolate, and flan. It was to die for. I need to learn how to make abuela's cake.

Sunday, 31/01/10, Fuenmayor: I was very excited to go to Rioja, Spain's wine country. I was even more excited to see Francisco's friend, Rafa, who is a salesperson for a bodega, or winery, in Fuenmayor. I love Rafa! I met him the first time I visited Francisco in April. He's very friendly, nice, and always makes me laugh. Everytime Francisco visits Rafa or drives past this town, he always makes a point to eat at Chuchi's. It's a bar/restaurant/wine shop. It is considered one of the best restaurants in this tiny town and it has every wine made in Rioja. So for dinner, we went to this much talked about restaurant. Rafa and Francisco showed me the wine shop and it was one of the coolest things I've ever seen. From floor to ceiling, this place was full of wine. The diners of the restaurant are free to grab whichever wine they prefer from the shop and bring it to drink at their table.

For starters, we ordered a salad and grilled mushrooms. But the restaurant also gave us free mini appetizers of sausage, shrimp, and salmon. For our drink, the boys ordered a bottle of 1999 red wine from some winery I don't know about. For the main course, I ordered the roasted suckling pig. It reminded me of the Filipino roasted pig. It was so good: the meat melted in your mouth and the skin was perfectly crispy. I was so full after eating only half of it that I decided to not get dessert. But then I started picking at Rafa's dessert so he ordered one for me so he didn't have to share his. It was a plate with flan, strawberries and cream, and chocolate truffles. Francisco was supposed to share with me but of course I ate most of it. After the meal, the guys had dessert wine and the chef came and sat with us to chat.

Monday, 01/02/10, Barcelona: Eating binge ends. Diet begins.

A girls' day out

Having friends is important. Having girl friends to have girl talk with is even more important. That is definitely one thing I miss here: female companionship.

One Saturday, Michelle and I decided to hang out and check out some gourmet store she wanted to see. I invited Luisa along and we met up with Michelle in Barcelona. When we got there, a girl named Inge, an event planner from Brussels, had met up with Michelle as well. The two of them had met the night before at some dinner and Inge was interested in going to the gourmet store also.

So the four of us went to the store and I was excited to see some Asian food there. I didn't get any but it's good to know where I can get some if I crave it. While at the store, Michelle invited us to have lunch at her place. On the walk to her apartment, we stopped at an Italian shop/restaurant,where they sold fresh pasta, homemade tiramisu, and italian wine. It was wonderful.

While preparing lunch, Michelle called Rebeca, a girl she met in her Catalan class and invited her to join us for lunch. Rebeca is from Taiwan and is married to a Catalan. They had met in California where they were both doing their masters and is now working as a translator.

We had a nice long wonderful lunch of chicken sausage and pepper pasta with a nice bottle of Italian champagne, and for dessert, tiramisu and tea. During lunch, Rebeca showed us her new purchases from Zara where she was shopping prior to lunch. We then decided to go shopping and check out the winter sale, or rebajas. After some window shopping, we continued our very girly day and saw a romantic movie. Up in the Air was sold out so we had to settle for that Morgan's movie with Hugh Grant and Sarah Jessica Parker. It was a terrible, terrible movie, but Hugh Grant somehow always puts a smile on my face.

By the time the movie was done, it was late at night and time to go home. We had such a good time. It's always nice to be able to talk (or vent) to other girls about things boys just wouldn't understand. Every once in a while, a girl just needs a good girls' day out.

Run in with the cops

It's not too often that you find yourself in a cop car, unless you're a criminal, a delinquent...or have a boyfriend who has police as regular customers.

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out late with some friends at Francisco's bar. After the bar closed, we decided to go to Casino, a discoteca in El Prat (who knew there's one here??!!). Since it's quite a walk from his bar, Francisco, the only sober one in the group, drove. It was already 4 in the morning and the cops were out and about watching for delincuentes. We were all being loud and obnoxious in the car when we came up right behind a police car. Francisco started to go a little faster so he could go in front of it. Manel, whose car we were riding on, started to get nervous and kept saying, "Fran don't do it. Por favor Fran, don't pass him". Francisco did it anyway and as we drove pass the police, he says, "hey hey hey". And the police say, "oh heyyyy!!!". We all look at Francisco with WTF on our faces. Then he says, "they come to the bar all the time for coffee."

After an hour or so at the bar, we were ready to go home, but the others wanted to stay. We couldn't take Manel's car so we called for a taxi. There was none coming so as we stood in the freezing cold trying to decide if we should walk or wait some more, the same police car slowly drove by. They stopped at the front of the discoteca and started talking to Francisco. He walked over to them and I kept talking to some people (it's amazing how my spanish fluency goes way up when I'm drunk!). He suddenly came back to tell me the cops were giving us a ride. I was so relieved. I really didnt feel like stumbling my way home.

We got into the car and it was great. It was kind of thrilling riding drunk in the back seat of a cop car, like I've done something wrong. The catholic school girl in me got excited and I felt like I was being rebelious.

The cops were great and dropped us off right in front of the house. They chatted with us a little more (one of the cops' wife also won the same award Francisco had won in November) and then they went on looking for bad guys.

Ahhhh this is definitely one benefit of dating a barman.

Pota Blava

I don't care for birds. Whether it be a dirty pigeon or a colorful peacock, they are all the same to me: creepy! When I was told in early December that El Prat's biggest annual fair was coming, I was interested to hear about it. But when they told me it was a chicken fair, I got goosebumps all over.

In El Prat exist a very rare breed of chicken called pota blava, or pata azul in Castellano; basically, they have blue feet. I don't know where they came from and I don't really care to know but everyone here gets all excited for the feria de gallos. Weeks before the fair, signs promoting the event are posted on lightposts and in business areas. On the main streets, you'll find chicken statues painted by various local artists...very similar to the cow parade in Chicago.

The feria was held in an open parking lot a couple of blocks away from my house. Like all major European cities, parking space is very very limited, so you can just imagine the parking situation when the feria took over for a week and a half. The actual feria was only a weekend long, but the setup and de-setup took longer.

On the weekend of the fair (December 11 - 13th), I tried my best to stay away from it. But in the end I felt bad saying no to Francisco's mom and his aunt, who was visiting from Asturias. They assured me there would be other things there like horses and donkeys, which I didn't mind seeing. And they also promised to protect me from the gallinas, or hens, (ha!), and that we would get churros (how could i say no to churros).

Once we entered the chicken tent, I was in my own personal nightmare. First it smelled like ass. It was very reminiscent of the smell when you walk pass the horse carriages near Water Tower, but worse because the smell is all concentrated in an enclosed space. And then there was the noise. Oh that horrible noise: all the chickens cacawing and whatnot. The place was literally full of chickens placed on high platforms. There were hundreds of them just chilling in their cages. I wanted to die. As we circled the tent (which felt like forever), I looked down on the floor the whole time to avoid seeing these nasty (yet delicious!) creatures. I breathed a sigh of relief - and fresh air - as soon as we exited.

We went into other tents and I was happy to know that there were other interesting things at the fair. One tent was dedicated specifically to businesses in El Prat. Various negocios had their own booth to promote their products. Of course, in the middle of this tent is the always present Spanish bar where people stopped for coffee, drinks, and tapas.

Outside, there were fun stuff for kids like games and mini shows. There were also booths selling artesan food like ham and olives. But my favorite were the various churrerias. Francisco's mom bought a large order of churros. I thought we would all share it but apparently it was just for me. I almost fell into a diabetic coma.

So in the end the feria was fun. I'll probably go back to it next year. I'll just have to avoid the chicken tent.

Calçots

I love calçots!!! I could probably eat them everyday.

Francisco has been talking them up since I got here. They come from the onion family. They’re like the fat version of those Asian onions you see on Chinese food all the time. They grill them and then you eat them with romesco sauce. I have no idea what’s in the sauce but I’m also currently obsessed with it. Calçots, which only exist in Catalunya, are only available during the cold months so you gotta get them while you can.

Manolo, Francisco’s brother, heard of a place that does a calcotada, a calçots meal. So after the spa, we went straight to the restaurant to stuff ourselves silly. We started the meal with pan tumaca. Pan tumaca is toasted bread on which you brush garlic, tomato and olive oil. Then the waiter handed us a bib and gloves. They had to explain to me that this process can get very dirty. Suddenly the calçots came and it felt like there were endless plates of them. They come wrapped in aluminum foil (they grill them that way) and when you open it, the calçots are all charred and black. Once their cool enough to touch, you take one with one hand and peel it with the other. When the burnt outer layer is peeled, you see a nice looking green vegetable underneath. You then dip it into the romesco sauce, hold it up over your head, and eat it as you slowly dip it into your mouth. The flavor is oniony but sweet and juicy. And with the garlicky, mild spicy taste of the romesco, it’s like heaven in your mouth. Needless to say, I ate a ton. I ate and ate until I couldn’t possibly put any more in my stomach. After seeing a huge pile of black calçot skin on my plate , I took off the gloves and the bib, cleaned myself off of charred remnants and ready to go home and take a siesta.

But no, in typical Spanish meal, it couldn’t end there. Then came the second course: the meat plate. It had sausages and steak and potatoes. I looked at Francisco and said, “there’s more??? I thought the meal was the calçots??!!” I just about died of obscene gluttony right there but I had to persevere. No good Spanish person would let all that food go to waste. So I ate all that I could.

And finally after came the dessert. For some reason, my stomach always finds room for dessert, even if I was super full during the previous course. I was excited to finish off my typical Catalan meal with a typical catalan dessert, crema Catalana, which is basically like crème brulee. Unfortunately, the restaurant had ran out of it. I was very disappointed but I was happy to settle for the alternative, cake!

Loteria Navidad

December 22nd is probably one of the most important days for Spanish people. It's the day they find out if they would have to return to work after Christmas, or enjoy the rest of their life as millionaires.

As early as October Spaniards can start buying into the christmas lottery, or Loteria Navidad. Each decima, or lottery number, cost a whopping 20 euros. If you want to pay less, you can buy a participacion. This means that if you buy a participacion of a decima, you only get a fraction of the prize if that decima wins. Your share, of course, depends on how many participaciones were sold.

The beauty of Loteria Navidad is that there isn't only one winner. Of course, only one wins El Gordo, or the fat prize, which is the biggest prize of all. But many others can win smaller, consolation prizes with other number combinations within their decimas. So the more varied tickets you buy, the more chances you have of winning something.

People go crazy for Loteria Navidad. So much so that people will line up for hours outside Lottery stands to buy a decima...yes, here there are places that are specifically just for selling lotto tickets. People buy them where ever they think they feel lucky. In Madrid, Doña Manolita's lotto store is famous for having sold many El Gordo winning tickets. In Catalunya, one town is famous for being the most lucky and having sold the most amount of winners in history. Many will flock to this town just to get a decima or two...or ten.

Others may prefer to buy them at local bars or family shops that sell them. Anyone can sell them! Francisco and his family for example bought a set of decimas to sell at the bar. This is not to make profit though. It's a marketing strategy, in case the winning ticket was bought at the bar. Francisco simply called the nearest Lotto agency, asked for a specific series (the series started with the date of the bar's opening day and consists of about 150 decimas), and displayed them at the bar.

When I visited Madrid in October, Francisco's mom had asked me to get a couple and I went to the famous Doña Manolita. I never thought I'd find myself standing in a long line waiting to buy a 20 euro lotto ticket!

It is also advised that you buy one from all over the country to increase your chances even more. Hence why Aurora asked me to get her some in Madrid. This also makes Loteria Navidad a great Christmas gift. Friends or relatives from other parts of the country will usually buy decimas for you. Nothing says "I appreciate you" more than a decima. I decided to buy the ones from Madrid as a present to Francisco's mom. She of course refused to take them so she paid me for one and gave me one from the bar. It was my first Spanish Christmas lottery ever. I was excited of the prospect of winning millions of euros (multiplied in dollars!) and I was picturing myself debt free and travelling the world.

...I think you can guess how well my decima did.

On December 22nd, the winning numbers are drawn live on TV and everyone watches it. The numbers and prizes are sung out by children from Colegio San Ildefonso. Some might find it obnoxious, but I think Illinois Lottery's Linda Kollmeyer is far more annoying. Check it out.

A decima from 2007

A shitting tree trunk

Santa Claus, or Papa Noel, is usually the character people think of when thinking about Christmas. But as they say, Spain IS different. Not only is Three Kings, or Dia de Los Reyes, more celebrated than Christmas, but here in Catalunya, they take it one step further.

Let me introduce to you the cagatio, which literally means the shitting uncle. But in reality, it's a shitting tree trunk and every catalan family has one for christmas. The cagatio is an adorable little tree trunk with a cute smiley face painted on one end. Parents buy a tiny one a month before christmas and gradually replace it with a bigger one so it seems like it has grown. The kids have to feed it of course...I'm assuming by this they mean they water it.

After nochebuena, which is the traditional Spanish Christmas eve dinner, the children are given sticks. They then proceed to hit the cagatio with their sticks until it shits out gifts. How can a tree trunk possibly poop out gifts? Usually, the adults cover the back end of the cagatio with a red cloth and hide the gifts under it. When the children have had their fill of beating the crap out of the poor cagatio, they remove the cloth and reveal all the wonderful gifts that it had crapped out. Now this tradition was much easier back in the day when children received very simple presents. Nowadays, the parents have to be a bit more creative in hiding massive gifts...with a bigger cloth perhaps?

The Catalanes also have another tradition that goes along the lines of pooping. Here they have these incredible, stunningly beautiful, well-crafted Nativity scenes. In it, they have the usual manger, Mary and Joseph, the animals, the shepard. And then there's the caganer, the shitting peasant. It's a figurine of a man, in peasant clothes, squatting with a pipe in his mouth and taking a dump. Was the caganer really present at the birth of Christ? Maybe not, but that would have added a nice humorous kick into the Nativity story, wouldn't you agree?

Makers and sellers of caganers have gotten smart and now they also sell them using real people. They have caganers of politicians like Obama or the Spanish President, Zapatero. They also have them of famous celebrities and football players, like Javier Bardem or Leo Messi.

Now don't ask me how these traditions exactly began. I still can't figure out how the birth of Jesus is related to moving bowels. But whatever reason they have, I'm sure it's a darn good one.

El cagatio

El caganer

Catching up

The next flew blogs are a bit delayed. I had planned to write before Christmas but got lazy. So it may not seem relevant now - mainly because they are about the holidays in Spain - but I'm going to blog about them anyway.