It was a quiet day in Lake Wo--... whoops, I mean, Oviedo.
We took a family trip north to Gijon this weekend, so that Annabel could attend a birthday sleepover, Eric could play Magic, and Alex and Eric could go out on the town. Despite being only about 25% larger than Oviedo, Gijon has a different vibe, a little hipper, a little more funky. Oviedo is one of the most conservative, clean (multiple winner of the Platinum Broom Award for cleanest city), and buttoned-up cities in Spain, whereas Gijon seems to be a little more open about its working-class, dockside roots. Annabel semi-joked about the tall buildings and empty streets (on Sunday), saying it reminded her of a post-apocalpse horror movie. I didn't see any particular architectural distinction from Oviedo, and Alex and I had fun speculating about various flats for sale while Annabel insisted she could never live in such a spooky place.
Everyone had a great weekend, despite some nasty cold, wet weather. Annabel had tremendous fun at her sleepover, an unusual event for Spanish folks who don't ordinarily entertain in their homes, and don't ordinarily have homes in which seven girls can sleep over comfortably (each on her own little fold-up cot). I was very sorry not to see the house, which Annabel described as gorgeous and overlooking the sea. (As you can tell from these pictures, the sea is a prominent feature of the Gijon landscape.) She said it reminded her of Rosemary's house on Paros, which is a heck of a compliment as those of you who read the Paros blog entries will realize. The birthday girl's mother was apparently one of those incredibly fun and cool and industrious parents who put together complex games with prizes for the party, games that are actually fun for the kids. Alex always expresses amazement at such mothers, while I try not to point out too strenuously her own amazing-fun-mom accomplishments.
Alex employed her extraordinary trip-planning skills to find us a cheap and cool hotel right in the middle of the old district, and while I played Magic she had time to do a little shopping. (She happened on some amazing reddish-brown wingtip Camper boots, in her size!) I returned and we headed back out at a very reasonable Spanish hour, about 9:00, had a drink in a bar near our house, then walked over to check out a couple of restaurants that she read about online. We had another glass of wine in one of them and looked out over a small plaza filled with hundreds of underdressed teenagers going in and out of bars and milling about in the nasty cold weather. We had to weave our way through hundreds more of these teenagers in the course of that evening, moving in packs through the streets everywhere in our district, including crowded around the door of a bar across from our hotel. We indulged our fuddy-duddy-parent natures while watching these kids, criticizing their high heels, short skirts, and lack of layers. The whole heel thing is absolutely amazing--teenager after teenager tottering around on three-inch spikes. And there is this crazy Spanish fashion at the moment involving short-shorts and thin stockings, popular even with young adult women, and even in the coldest weather. Personally, I don't get it--it's ugly and impractical and skanky. You'll just have to imagine the depths of Alex's disdain.
As morbidly interesting as the spectacle was, eventually we had to move on, after deciding that neither menu at the places we'd scouted really appealed to us. We went back to an Italian restaurant we'd passed that seemed busy, and indeed it was--no table available until midnight, we were told. So we went across the street in a little bit of a funk, and discovered what turned out to be a fantastic restaurant, well worth the forty-five minute wait in the bar (where we stretched out our single glasses of wine, by now feeling the effects of three drinks and no dinner at 11:00).
Boy did we feel Spanish, still eating dinner at almost midnight! And afterwards it was only two blocks to our hotel, although we did have to maneuver around the horde of teens. Their noise was, thankfully, just a dull background rumble from our hotel room.
The morning was beautiful for a while, sparkling, with a rainbow over the harbor while we had coffee near a little church I wrote a poem about back in 2004. Then we stopped at a gallery built from an old palace, to see the work of the painter Barjola (whose wife was from Gijon). We spent some time at the seawall overlooking the sea, where the tide was out and there was plenty of room for the dozens of gleeful dogs who were dashing about on the beach and entertaining onlookers like us. Annabel was returned to us there, bubbling with stories about the sleepover, and we went underground to look at the Roman baths that we'd first visited in 2004, where Annabel became enamored of ancient ruins and where our family mythology developed what turned out to be the very important distinction between Romans (who take baths, use utensils, etc.) and Barbarians (who are very, you know, barbaric in their personal habits). It was fun for us to revisit our own family history as well as ancient Roman history. However, having just spent three months in Greece, Annabel's perspective on Romans had shifted significantly: she now thinks of them as the barbarians.
By the time we came back up from underground, the weather had turned nasty again. We bought a couple of cute Asturian presents/souvenirs and had lunch at that Italian restaurant we'd seen the night before, then picked up our bags at the hotel and walked up to our bus just as it was about to leave for the thirty-minute ride back to Oviedo. A very fun weekend was had by all, though it went by too quickly, and now it's time for another week of school. A short week, as Annabel will miss Friday for our excursion to Barcelona. Hasta pronto.
We took a family trip north to Gijon this weekend, so that Annabel could attend a birthday sleepover, Eric could play Magic, and Alex and Eric could go out on the town. Despite being only about 25% larger than Oviedo, Gijon has a different vibe, a little hipper, a little more funky. Oviedo is one of the most conservative, clean (multiple winner of the Platinum Broom Award for cleanest city), and buttoned-up cities in Spain, whereas Gijon seems to be a little more open about its working-class, dockside roots. Annabel semi-joked about the tall buildings and empty streets (on Sunday), saying it reminded her of a post-apocalpse horror movie. I didn't see any particular architectural distinction from Oviedo, and Alex and I had fun speculating about various flats for sale while Annabel insisted she could never live in such a spooky place.
Everyone had a great weekend, despite some nasty cold, wet weather. Annabel had tremendous fun at her sleepover, an unusual event for Spanish folks who don't ordinarily entertain in their homes, and don't ordinarily have homes in which seven girls can sleep over comfortably (each on her own little fold-up cot). I was very sorry not to see the house, which Annabel described as gorgeous and overlooking the sea. (As you can tell from these pictures, the sea is a prominent feature of the Gijon landscape.) She said it reminded her of Rosemary's house on Paros, which is a heck of a compliment as those of you who read the Paros blog entries will realize. The birthday girl's mother was apparently one of those incredibly fun and cool and industrious parents who put together complex games with prizes for the party, games that are actually fun for the kids. Alex always expresses amazement at such mothers, while I try not to point out too strenuously her own amazing-fun-mom accomplishments.
Alex employed her extraordinary trip-planning skills to find us a cheap and cool hotel right in the middle of the old district, and while I played Magic she had time to do a little shopping. (She happened on some amazing reddish-brown wingtip Camper boots, in her size!) I returned and we headed back out at a very reasonable Spanish hour, about 9:00, had a drink in a bar near our house, then walked over to check out a couple of restaurants that she read about online. We had another glass of wine in one of them and looked out over a small plaza filled with hundreds of underdressed teenagers going in and out of bars and milling about in the nasty cold weather. We had to weave our way through hundreds more of these teenagers in the course of that evening, moving in packs through the streets everywhere in our district, including crowded around the door of a bar across from our hotel. We indulged our fuddy-duddy-parent natures while watching these kids, criticizing their high heels, short skirts, and lack of layers. The whole heel thing is absolutely amazing--teenager after teenager tottering around on three-inch spikes. And there is this crazy Spanish fashion at the moment involving short-shorts and thin stockings, popular even with young adult women, and even in the coldest weather. Personally, I don't get it--it's ugly and impractical and skanky. You'll just have to imagine the depths of Alex's disdain.
As morbidly interesting as the spectacle was, eventually we had to move on, after deciding that neither menu at the places we'd scouted really appealed to us. We went back to an Italian restaurant we'd passed that seemed busy, and indeed it was--no table available until midnight, we were told. So we went across the street in a little bit of a funk, and discovered what turned out to be a fantastic restaurant, well worth the forty-five minute wait in the bar (where we stretched out our single glasses of wine, by now feeling the effects of three drinks and no dinner at 11:00).
Boy did we feel Spanish, still eating dinner at almost midnight! And afterwards it was only two blocks to our hotel, although we did have to maneuver around the horde of teens. Their noise was, thankfully, just a dull background rumble from our hotel room.
The morning was beautiful for a while, sparkling, with a rainbow over the harbor while we had coffee near a little church I wrote a poem about back in 2004. Then we stopped at a gallery built from an old palace, to see the work of the painter Barjola (whose wife was from Gijon). We spent some time at the seawall overlooking the sea, where the tide was out and there was plenty of room for the dozens of gleeful dogs who were dashing about on the beach and entertaining onlookers like us. Annabel was returned to us there, bubbling with stories about the sleepover, and we went underground to look at the Roman baths that we'd first visited in 2004, where Annabel became enamored of ancient ruins and where our family mythology developed what turned out to be the very important distinction between Romans (who take baths, use utensils, etc.) and Barbarians (who are very, you know, barbaric in their personal habits). It was fun for us to revisit our own family history as well as ancient Roman history. However, having just spent three months in Greece, Annabel's perspective on Romans had shifted significantly: she now thinks of them as the barbarians.
By the time we came back up from underground, the weather had turned nasty again. We bought a couple of cute Asturian presents/souvenirs and had lunch at that Italian restaurant we'd seen the night before, then picked up our bags at the hotel and walked up to our bus just as it was about to leave for the thirty-minute ride back to Oviedo. A very fun weekend was had by all, though it went by too quickly, and now it's time for another week of school. A short week, as Annabel will miss Friday for our excursion to Barcelona. Hasta pronto.
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