Spain

In Cadiz, Ash Wednesday is Carnival, the last festival before Lent. Wild parties are the plan of the day, and everyone consumes mass quantities of food and beverage with reckless abandon. Traditional dress is not limited to the wild, rhythmic Flamenco dancers. We will see many women - both young and not so young - with bright, colorful dresses; the men also dress in their traditional bolero jacket and pants. You will meet many people - everyone is welcome - and they encourage you to speak their language. It's okay if your dialect isn't perfect - we won't make fun of you. Newt claims to have family in Puerto de Santa Maria, so when he made the mistake of using Mexican slang (vice Castilian spanish) we really let him have it! He may not live that one down. But it's all in good fun. Also, be sure to try drinking sangria from a bota. A bota is a special decanter for wine. Most are made from leather bags, but others are made of glass. The glass bota is sometimes mistaken for a bong, but the only thing smokin' here are your feet as you dance flamenco!

What's Castilian spanish? That's the dialect you learn in traditional spanish classes that you may have taken in high school or college, or learned on the street. In southern California, and other areas close to the Mexican border, many proper words are changed into slang - just like humans do in the United States, Canada, and other countries throughout the world.

Be forewarned! During Carnival, the sangria and Cruz Campo is flowing freely, and fights may break out among the locals and the gypsies.
These are not pretty sights. Sometimes people are knifed, some wind up in the hospital, and others die. Personal property can be damaged by the occasional brick flying through the air, so be on guard - and Have Fun!

Hola! Last night we stayed in a gypsy camp with some of Newt's friends. The first thing I noticed was the overwhelming scent of garlic and olive oil. Yes, that's right - olive oil, in the air. Olive oil is used in nearly everything here. If it's fried, baked, boiled, or raw, olive oil is used to flavor it. It takes a bit of getting used to though.

We arrived just in time for a feria. A feria, en Espana, means festival. In Spain, there is a religious festival for darn near anything and every saint ever named. The ferias last anywhere from 3 days to a week, depending on the occasion. Tonight they celebrate our arrival! The spanish people just love faeries. Poor Newt was overlooked - he looks like your common gecko - which are in every darn corner I look! Urrrrr - they give me the willies! Anyway, the feria grounds are nicely trimmed, with soft grass that gently caressed our feet as we explored. A giant tent is held in place by wire frames, and brightly colored lights are everywhere. The sound of guitars attracts our attention, and we are drawn to the center tent where humans are on a stage, clapping and stomping as they dance madly around the floor. A strangely dressed man tells me it is - a marvelously flamboyant dance originating with the Andalusian gypsies. Every song tells a story ranging from love to history and politics. It is considered Spain's folklore music and combines dance, movement, feeling, with meaningful song.

Tonight we had the best time! One of Newt's old flames, Magdalena, is one of the local gypsies. "Lana," as she likes to be called, was more than happy to show us around. First we went "tapa hopping" at the Taxi Bar.
Tapas are the spanish version of an appetizer or hors d'oerve. We had pinchitos - which is spicy meat cooked on a skewer. The meat tasted a bit different - not quite like beef, but it definitely wasn't pork. The spices were harder to identify, and was a little like curry with a kick. After someone commmented on the lack of hounds roaming the street, I decided I'd had enough of the pinchitos, and concentrated on the kamikaze that landed in front of me. Soon after that, our guide suggested a tavern that we might like.

The White Horse Tavern, was a nice little pub that served Guinness, Stout, and domestic Spanish beer. My favorite was Cruzcampo, although many of the humans preferred San Miguel. I know this because most of the empty bottles were labeled San Miguel. In fact, the label was painted on, which surprised me. One of the bar flies told me the reason he preferred San Miguel was because there isn't any quality control and the alcohol content varied. I'm so much better off for knowing that - not! The White Horse tavern served up a nice suckling pig, though. I'm not much of a meat eater - especially pork - but the skin was nicely salted and crisp. Just as Newt was fixin' to get into a tiff with one of the local geckos, I asked Lana to show us a nice bodega. Since it was getting late, she suggested we take a trip out to Tio Pepe's in Jerez tomorrow. It is a nice bodega that offers tours to visitors, and even serves samples of different types of sherry. I can't wait!