QuinnRoads

TAIN’T A FITTING NIGHT "IN" FOR MAN NOR BEAST

Strategies for Winter Survival

It’s cold here in Granada. Very cold. Record-breaking cold. How cold, you asked? It was so cold there was ice on the inside of the living room window. But to begin from the beginning.

A polar front has covered all Europe with cold and snow. In Spain the lows have been record breaking. Granadinos have told us they have never felt it this cold. Last Thursday morning, January 27, it was –8 C, about 18 F. Only 18? What’s the fuss. The fuss is similar to the fuss that takes place in San Francisco when the temperature tops 100. The city by the bay is not equipped for extreme heat, no air conditioning, just as Granada is not equipped for extreme cold, no central heating.

Our flat has four rooms, two bathrooms and a long hallway. All the floors are tile; there are no rugs. We have two electric, oil-filled radiators. There is a third, but it is broken, so we bought a small heater with fan. Under normal conditions, when the temperature is in the high thirties at dawn and reaches the sixties by afternoon, the house is comfortable. One radiator heats the living room, the other, along with the blower, the front bedroom/study. I cut on the radiators upon rising and both rooms are, as they say, right tolerable within an hour. All three balconies face south, so the sun streams in through the windows all afternoon, so that often we don’t need to use the radiators at all. The back bedroom and bathroom, and the hallway, however, get no sun, are unheated and remain pretty nippy.

However, during the current cold wave (the temperature was –6 on Friday and –3 this morning) the normal procedures do not work. It takes both radiators and the blower to heat the living room. The remainder of the house would serve quite nicely as a meat locker. Unfortunately, it is necessary to venture out of the living room and out onto the tundra. This presents certain challenges.

The Kitchen: Roasting a chicken or baking a meatloaf will bring the temp up to almost 60, but not quite. It is difficult to measure accurately with measuring spoons when you’re shivering.

The Bathroom: Fortunately, we have lots of very hot water for showers. Unfortunately, eventually you have to get out. Stepping out of the shower is what I imagine diving into San Francisco Bay on New Year’s Day is like. The shock is immediate. It is necessary to dry off quickly before your hair freezes and breaks off. But drying off quickly leads to another problem: you are naked in a room where the temperature is forty-six. Your clothes are forty-eight. Know how it feels to pull on a cold, wet bathing suit? That’s how it feels.
There is a second challenge: not screaming when you sit on the toilet. I do not always succeed.

The Bedroom: The back bedroom is the coldest room in the house. This room presents three challenges: getting into bed, getting out of bed, and getting the other person into bed first. The waiting game begins a little before eleven.
“You look sleepy. Why don’t you go on back. I’ll be along as soon as I finish reading this article,” I say.
“I’m going back as soon as I finish my wine,” Kay replies, taking a tiny, tiny mouse sip.
We watch each other from the corner of our eyes. Finally Kay gives up (I almost always win) and I hear her run down the hall, and then the sound of whimpering as she climbs into bed. A little while later I follow. As I don’t want to wake her in the morning fumbling around in the dark putting on my clothes, I undress in the front bedroom, then race down the dark hall and climb in. This is an act of true love.
In the morning I get up first and begin the warming procedures. This is another act of true love.

All this is in incredible contrast to the week before, when one day we picnicked in the hills and on two others ate lunch in the sun. Each day began around 40, and by one-thirty the temperature was near 70. The sun here in Andalucia seems particularly warm, and even on chilly days all the cafe tables in the sun are filled. As the sun moves across the sky, the tables are constantly moved across the plaza to escape the shade, where no one will sit. As the area exposed to the sun shrinks, they simply begin removing tables. On both days we took a table in the sun, removed our coats, and not long after our sweaters. At one point we were so warm we thought of asking for an umbrella, but they were all being used.

We know those sun-drenched days will return. We’ve already got a table in the sun picked out. In the meantime I’m searching for a toilet-seat warmer with a timer.

SINGING THE STOVETOP BLUES

Good Things Come (Even if Unannounced) to Those Who Wait.
And Wait. And Wait.


When Guillermo, our rental agent, showed Kay and I the flat where we now live, we were a bit overwhelmed. Compared to the rather spare apartment we’d been living in, it was sumptuous. There was a private entrance and rooftop terrace, three balconies, a laundry room with dryer, two large bathrooms, one with a tub and a kitchen that had, wonder of wonders, an oven. It even had a pantry. It was too much to take in, so much so that we didn’t notice the stovetop was missing two control knobs.
We didn’t say yes right away. But seeing four other apartments that Friday afternoon put the flat in perspective. We decided that night to take it, a decision we haven’t regretted. We met Conchita, our landlady, at Guillermo’s office on Monday, signed the lease agreement and moved in four days later. Conchita spoke not a word of English, but Guillermo handled everything.
It was the end of July and very hot, so we weren’t doing much cooking. It took a few days for us to realize the extent of the problem. The stove, which was electric, had only two working burners under its glass ceramic surface, and neither was very efficient. One knob slot had been sealed with an unknown substance, and we didn’t know whether the burners controlled by the missing knobs even worked. The landlady would have to be informed.
We knew that attempting to describe the problem by telephone in our rudimentary Spanish would be difficult, understanding her response would be impossible. In addition to the stovetop, there were a few other things we needed to be explained or demonstrated, as there were no manuals of instruction to be found. We needed instructions on using the best settings for the washing machine, a demonstration on how to get the door of the dryer to stay closed, and information about the dishwasher. We had our agent arrange a meeting, with his English-speaking self in attendance.
We met. We showed her the work we’d done, like painting and furnishing the terrace. She explained the washing machine. She demonstrated how you could hold the dryer door closed with the gas tank. She informed us that the dishwasher didn’t work. And she described the stovetop as muy antiqua and said she would see about it, but that the gutters needed to be repaired and that was expensive. She smiled and shrugged in that very Spanish way.
It sounded as if the gutter problem had priority over the stove problem. We (mostly Kay, who does almost all our cooking) would do our (her) best. Kay cooked, but it was very frustrating. Not only did she have only two burners to work with, they were adjoining, making it extremely difficult to use a large pot and a large pan (think spaghetti) at the same time. Something would have to be done. Even though the lease specified that we agreed to take the place "as is," no one had pointed out that "as is" included a two-burner stove.
The electricity and water accounts are in Conchita’s name, and she was to come by every other month to collect. We decided that when she came, we would restate our case. She came, without notice, near the end of September. The only information I was able to glean from our conversation was that the stove was too old, which we already knew, and that the water bill was too high, for reasons she didn’t understand. We were getting more desperate but didn’t know how to deal with the problem. Kay struggled on.
In mid-November we invited Celeste, a new, Spanish-speaking, American friend over for dinner. When the doorbell rang, we assumed it was Celeste. It was Conchita. Unannounced, as usual. We tried to tell her how important it was for us to have a working stove. She tried to explain the light bill. We asked her to come back in fifteen minutes when Celeste was scheduled to arrive. She agreed. Celeste arrived. Cochita returned. We talked.
She told us to that electric bill was low because the meter hadn’t been read. Then Celeste, who has lived in Spain for several years, and who is both fluent and not shy, told Conchita that we were serious cooks who needed a proper stove. But it is old, Conchita replied. But it is Christmas, Celeste said. Conchita’s face changed immediately. Ah, Christmas. She promised to have something done before Christmas.
A week or so later the doorbell rang. It was Conchita and her brother, who also speaks no English. They arrived, as always, unannounced. He looked at the stovetop. They would return.
A few days later the doorbell rang. It was Conchita and her brother. They had not, of course, called. He had a new knob, hoping to install it in the unsealed slot. There was no way. They would return.
A few days later rang. This time Conchita’s brother was accompanied by her son, who spoke some English. We had no idea, of course, that they were coming. They had come to make measurements for a stove. They would return Saturday morning with a new stovetop, a fact that we confirmed in both English and Spanish.
The doorbell did not ring Saturday morning. We waited all day Saturday. That evening I went to the local supermarket (which is not so super) and who did I see? The brother. We communicated. The son didn’t call you? No. Sorry. We will be there Monday or Tuesday. This was confirmed in both English and Spanish.
You have probably noticed by now that some elements of this story tend to repeat themselves.
We waited all day Monday and Tuesday. No doorbell. No phone call. Wednesday through Friday one of us was home at all times. We waited all day Saturday, December 18. Nothing. The next day Kay prepared a wonderful, though challenging, multi-course holiday meal using only two burners.
We didn’t know what to do. We didn’t know the son’s phone number. We didn’t even know his name. It was Christmas week and we were not waiting at home any longer.
On Thursday, two days before Christmas, a little before six, we were preparing to leave the house for a small party. The doorbell rang. The ringing was, it goes without saying, unexpected. It was the brother, the son and the new stovetop. Both wore wide grins. It was as if the delays had never happened.
"Feliz Navidad," they exclaimed.
I quickly prioritized. It was Christmas. It was Spain. It was a new stovetop. That we had waited and waited came in fourth. So I dubbed the son Santa Claus and the brother San Nicolas. They laughed and nodded enthusiastically.
We explained that we had to leave. No problem, they told us, we’ll close the door when we leave.
We left. The house belonged to his mother, he used to live in it. There was nothing to worry about. We returned to a really fabulous stovetop. If you’ve got to work with electric, this would be the one to choose. Kay is one happy camper. Last week she cooked a meal using all four burners at once.
Life in Spain works in mysterious ways.

LETTING THE HOLIDAY COME TO YOU

Warning: The Following Is a “What We Did for Christmas” Story and contains several pontifications. Proceed with Caution.

The Christmas holidays have always been important to Kay and I. We spent a lot of time with the family. Flannery has always managed to get home from where ever she was living. Almost four years ago Bax and Renée supplied the only missing ingredient: a kid. That would be Gray. We also spent more time with friends. We gave parties and we went to parties. And we observed our traditions, some years adding a new one, some years dropping one that no longer worked.
Traditions have their value. Not those that limit but the kind that keep you in contact with your past, like those at Christmas when, for a few weeks, we can halfway ignore what’s going on in the world and we revisit the past. Why else do people watch It’s a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Carol every year? Or see the Nutcracker for the twelfth time? Or listen to A Child’s Christmas in Wales again and again? Or hang the same, treasured ornaments and eat the same Christmas dinner, plus all the other traditions that lend some sense of continuity. Much of the Christmas spirit is about nostalgia, both for what was and for what we wished it had been.
So the fact that our Christmases have always been very much like the ones before, was good. Then we moved to Spain.
Christmas 2003, our first in Granada, served as a transitional one. Fortunately we had Flannery with us, but everything else, family, friends, our Christmas stuff, like ornaments, dinnerware, wasn’t. Even so, we tried to recreate what we could of our traditional Christmas: Christmas Eve walk and buffet, decorations, stockings, ham biscuits and mimosas for breakfast, etc. It was very nice, but there was an undercurrent, particularly for Kay, of what wasn’t.
This year we decided to let the holiday be what it would be and not attempt to force it to be what it used to be. At least we knew some people, so who knew what might happen if we let it. There would be no stockings and just a few small gifts. We’d declared the installation of a fixed-line phone our gift to each other.
We did a little decorating. Kay bought a two-foot spruce and decorated it with tiny lights, tiny balls and a tiny garland. She and Flann had made wreaths last year and Kay put those up on the balconies. We also strung lights on two balconies. And we had four Christmas CDs. So we weren’t playing Mr. and Mrs. Scrooge.
Slowly, beginning around mid-December, the holiday took on a rhythm and momentum of its own. We saw flyers announcing a Christmas concert in a nearby church. There was a choir of perhaps 25 singers, no instruments. The music was very good; the setting was memorable. The church wasn’t very large, three small chapels on each side and seating for perhaps 100. Small gas heaters were placed around to knock the chill off, bring the temperature up to 50. No one took off their coat. Well, churches that old don’t have central heating. How old, you ask. The bell tower had once been a minaret of a mosque. And the Moslems were driven out of Granada in 1492. That old.
On Sunday before Christmas we had our American friends over for dinner, roast chicken, stuffing, sweet potatoes, gravy, etc. On Tuesday evening we walked down the hill to see the lights and mingle with the shoppers and strollers. It was cold and clear. Large Christmas lighted decorations hung across almost every street. The shops were full and the pedestrian shopping areas thronged with people. We walked all the way to the river, stopping along the way for a bit of refreshment, and eventually climbed back up the hill.
On Wednesday we took a long Christmas-week hike and picnic with an American couple who are in Granada for two months to study Spanish.
The next day, Thursday, we delivered homemade Christmas cookies to various merchants who’ve been particularly friendly and helpful: the downstairs café staff, the fellow who develops our film, the local market owner and his family, the real estate agent who found us the flat, and the sweet young couple at the central market where we buy our olives and olive oil. Kay also made apple-raisin chutney to give to friends, packaged in jars she’s been saving for that purpose.
That night we had an English family over ‑ he’s actually Dutch/Spanish, but they moved here from England. Their boys are four and seven and delightful. We’d talked to them several times on the street, in the local market and in the plaza – they live only a couple of blocks away – but had never gotten together. Kay thought the boys would enjoy the tree and lights on the balconies, and she had little gifts for them under the tree.
We’d also met another young English couple with a four-year old. Ryan is adorable. Some weeks ago Kay had asked him if he’d like to come over and make gingerbread people, which he’d never done before. When the day came, Ryan brought along his five-year-old cousin who was visiting. We never found cookie cutters, so we created a template from a piece of cardboard. We used the same method later for Kay’s Christmas tree, bell and star cookies. The boys rolled out the dough and used cheese spreaders to cut out the gingerbread people, then decorated them with raisins and tiny candies. They loved it.
Kay likes Ryan so much she decided to make him a stocking (his name sewn on) and bought lots of stuffers, candy, games, paints, stuff. He would be, of course, waiting for Father Christmas to fill his stocking on Christmas morning. Kay told him that she was putting in a special request for Santa to fill an American stocking for an English boy, and because of the time difference, he might be able to make it. She called on Christmas Eve around six-thirty with the news. Santa came! She told him. Can you come over right away? He came, along with his parents, who were in on the ruse, and his grandmother and aunt, who were visiting. We had the table spread with food, so we had a little Christmas Eve buffet after all.
Because Ryan and family were coming over that evening, we’d done our Christmas Eve walk that afternoon. We’d walked along the road that winds along the river through the Sacromonte, once the heart of the Gypsy community. On one side of the road the cave houses and flamenco joints climb up the hill, on the other side there’s the river and beyond that the steep, bare hillside.
Christmas morning did have a few surprises. Flannery has filled her mother’s Christmas shoes and sent stocking stuffers and wonderfully thoughtful gifts. As I said, Kay and I had toned it down, so scarves and knitted hats were the order of the day.
That afternoon we visited friends who live in the neighborhood. She’s an American, he’s Spanish, and they have a two-month-old son, Pablo. Her mother, who was visiting, was also there. Kay will be babysitting as soon as Pablo’s ready.
On December 27, it snowed during the early morning. It doesn’t snow very often in Granada. Last year it hadn’t snowed at all. It was very cold, around 30 at rising, maybe 40 by afternoon. It didn’t snow much, but there was enough to cover everything. I woke Kay and off we went. The streets were almost deserted, as nothing opens before ten, and we walked to the mirador, or view spot, where we could see the Alhambra and the rooftops down the hill, all covered with snow. It was beautiful.
We were able to recreate our traditional New Year’s Eve, but that was easy. Great dinner, champagne and a DVD in the comfort and safety of home.
Christmas 2004 turned out to be more enjoyable than either of us had anticipated. Perhaps there’s a lesson: there are times when you can’t make it happen; you have to let it happen.