Slow Days

I thought that I should clarify my the last statement about our intended bar-hopping. Bars in America and Europe, but especially Spain, have two different meanings. For the most part, an American bar is either a place where college kids go after the game to get sloshed and hookup or a dimly-lit windowless tavern on East 4th Street where nobody knows your name. In Spain, bars are everywhere and are a center of social life and serve food, coffee, and drinks. All walks of life come into the bar, from kids getting a snack, to construction workers, grandmothers, or the local priest. Drinks are small, only a few ounces of wine or beer, and the tapas are incredible. We have gotten to know one of the bar owners down the street. We aren't greeted so much like Norm but instead the locals mutter to one another under their breath, "Here come those weird Americans again." We'll have to settle for that.





We are using our time here to catch up on some schoolwork for the kids. Some of us have colds so we are just kind of laying low for a few days. Having said that, even a fever didn't keep Allie from playing in the sand yesterday and Noelle is definitely the beach bum of the family.