Tapa Thursdays: Huesos de Santos

As a self-confessed Halloweenie, I love things spooky, from cemeteries to haunted houses. Lucky for me, Spain celebrates a national holiday, Día de Todos los Santos, or All Saint’s Day, so I can celebrate my Anglo holiday with a day off.

Todos Los Santos is celebrated in the Catholic world on November 1st, where family members of the deceased visit their final resting places. Many cities around Spain have their own traditional fiesta. In a country that loves its reliquía, there could be no other dessert on All Saint’s Day served but huesos de santos. These marzipan pastries are rolled to look like bones and stuffed with egg yolk cream, called  yema, or fig, yogurt or chocolate. It’s kind of like a Spanish type of cannoli, made in a similar way.

What it is: An almond pastry typically eaten during the All Saint’s Day feasts.

Where it’s from: The origins of this sweet are still unknown, but it’s believed they were first made in Madird. Still, their popularity is widespread, making it the de facto treat for the holiday.

Where to get it in Seville: Practically any pastry shop will have huesos de santos between the week leading up to Todos Los Santos and up to a fortnight afterwards. I bought a half-dozen at Cafetería Ochoa (locations on Sierpes, Repúblic Argentina and Eduardo Dato) for 36€/kilo.

Goes perfectly with: a hot coffee with milk. Sevillanos have their afternoon coffee often accompanied by something sweet.

If you like tapas, why not tell me which ones you’d like to see featured on Sunshine and Siestas? Alternately, there are more pictures on Sunshine and Siestas’s Facebook page.

Seville Snapshot: Playa Las Negras, Almería

The sun in Seville is deceiving in the month of October. The crisp Autumn days I remember from growing up in the Midwest mean nothing here, as the blustery weather is an afterthought and never really arrives to Seville until Winter begins in late November. While mornings can be cool, the midday sun blazes like it would on a summer beach day.

My friend Jacqui and I have a lot in common, choosing Spain after we graduated from Midwestern universities. We like being outdoors and having a beer midday. We like beaches. I begged her to send me this picture from Almería, a small corner of Andalcuía I’ve never been to.

This photo was taken at the beach in Las Negras, Almería. It is a quaint, charming and peaceful town of less than 400 residents right in the middle of Almería’s Natural Park Cabo de Gata. The town got its name from the founders, a group of widows from a nearby community who had los their sailor husbands in a mysterious shipwreck. It’s a great place to stay on a trip to Almería due to its proximity  to several of the region’s best beaches and natural park.

Jacqui Davis has been living in Spain for nearly six years now, where she is a program Director for a study abroad company. She LOVES travel and languages, running, outdoor activities and her boyfriend and especially trips that include all of the above.

If you’d like to contribute your photos from Spain and Seville, please send me an email at sunshineandsiestas @ gmail.com with your name, short description of the photo, and any bio or links directing you back to your own blog, Facebook page or twitter. There’s plenty more pictures of the gorgeous Seville on Sunshine and Siesta’s new Facebook page!

Fisherman’s Feast of Boston

My 27th birthday cake was not actually a cake. Instead, six ricotta-filled canolis lined an old-school wooden box. A package all tied up with string. Yes, sweets are perhaps my favorite thing.

“Yeah, the guy took them in the back and squirted the filling in, so it’s fresh!” my dad quipped, excited to have brought Boston’s North End, a traditionally Italian neighborhood, into my celebration. My big day, celebrated August 15th (thanks for the birthday wishes, jerks!) marks the start of the 100+ year-old Fisherman’s Feast to celebrate the Madonna del Socorrso.

Our suites were located on the corner of North and Fleet Streets, the virtual apex of the celebration. On either end, vendors selling everything from oysters to orchiette, Italian sausage to limoncello stretched along the 17th Century streets once home to Paul Revere and other revolutionaries. The scent of the food was toxic (for my waist, that is) and shouts of Mangia! Mangia! could be heard over the Baaaahstan drawl.

The festival begins on the Thursday after August 15th with a Semana Santa-esque procession of the Madonna from her tiny blue chapel to the waters of the Boston Harbor, where she blesses it for good yield. The next four days are full of raffles, street performers and dancing, capping off with a parish girl flying from a third story window to the blue-draped Madonna to bless her and pray to her.

My family did little else but eat and drink, but I noticed wide white ribbons around the neighborhood in bars, pizzerias and family-run delis. The ribbon framed an image of the Madonnas and saints, and patrons had pinned dollar bills as a donation. I reached into my purse for a buck and pinned it to the picture of Saint Lucy, my Confirmation Saint,  whose stature (eyes in bowl included!) can be found in a small chapel in the neighborhood. Gotta have my eyesight to be able to feast my eyes on Feasts like this one.

The Freedom Trail, marking the hallmarks of American Independence, were just steps away, snaking past Paul Rever’s House long before the North End was home to Little Italy. Even the tell-tale red brick sidewalks seemed to seep up the smell of Italian sausage, which we could smell over our breakfast each morning!

Mangia and music was the theme of the night. Right below our inn, a rickety stage was set up and the over-the-hill band members, dressed in the azue blue and buttercream of the Madonna’s veil, belted out “Notte en Roma.” We settled in for a beer, unsure if our already pasta-heavy bellies would hold any more oysters or pizelles. Stand after stand boasted Northeastern and Italian fare, tempting even the youngest entrepreneurs.

I’m privy to any summer festival – the food, the characters, the carnival rides. While Feria de Sevilla is hands-down my favorite (not to mention most extravagent!), I can’t turn down a good fling. People in the North End seemed to be there for the same reasons: a momentary escape for good food and good company.

What’s your favorite summer festival?

Travel Highlights from the First Six Months of 2012

It really hit me when I was saying goodbye to my students last week – time really does fly when you’re having fun. I’ve been so busy with everything that I never even stopped to take it all in, and what I’ve done the most in these last six months is travel. Menudo vida, ¿no?

January

On the tail end of my trip to the American Southwest with Kike in tow, I spent three weekends in a row out of town. First up was a trip to visit Hayley in Antequera and celebrate her birthday. Amongst other things, we went to Málaga to have a seafood cumple lunch at the famous El Tintero, where there’s no menu, just a live auction for your food! I don’t know what was better – fresh espetos or Hayley’s red velvet cake!

The following weekend, I got a cheap trip to Alicante to visit my dear friend, Julie. I’d never been before, so Julie showed me her sleepy seaside town – the tapas scene, the dominating Castillo Santa Bárbara and I even snuck a night in Valencia in!

February

One of my favorite places in Spain is Kike’s village of San Nicolás del Puerto. Nestled between the hills of the Sierra Norte de Sevilla and the acorn trees that feed the pigs, this pueblito of 700 people has become a treasured weekend getaway. This time, we took Susana, Alfonso and Luna, who loved the horses and piglets at Finca Los Leones.

March

I was thrilled that Kike would be spending time during a three-month training course in Galicia which has become like a second home to me in Spain. Our trip took us to Santiago, La Coruña and El Ferrol and included stunning weather, surprise run-ins and even a broken car. It’s all cake when you’re with the one you love, though!

Following that, I finally realized my dream of traveling to Turkey. Though we didn’t get to explore anything outside of Istanbul, I was taken by the warmness of its people, the monstrous monuments and the sumptuous food. I’d love to go back one day and see parts of the interior and coast.

April

After arriving from Turkey, I took a train out to Zaragosa, capital of Aragón and one of Spain’s largest cities. The weather did everything but let the sun come through, so we spent a lot of time relaxing and cooking while we stayed with Gonzalo, a friend of Kike’s from the military. Am I willing to go back? Sure, but not anytime THAT soon.

May

In 2012, I wanted to change up my travel routine a bit, so I went along with Audrey’s idea to do a giant obstacle course. She had exaggerated on obstacle course, but inversely: I signed up for the Tough Mudder, a 10-mile run with 25 obstacles somewhere along the way in the fields outside of the Boughton House. My body ached for days afterwards, but it was worth it. We got to see Oxford, too.

The weekend before, we’d gone to Murcia, a little forgotten corner of Spain where nothing happened but a wine tasting and a fight on the beach, all wrapped up into a lot of time in the car.

June

June has been quiet, comparatively. Between ending my current job and starting a new one, I’ve only made it to Marid for a weekend for a conference and a few goodbyes.

So, what’s next? The only big trips we’ve got on the horizon are this summer and at Christmas, but I’ll have three-day weekends to enjoy from September on. I’m heading to La Coruña Monday to work for the same summer camps I’ve been at the last three Julys (my apologies for the lack of posts), then making my yearly trip to America for the month of August. While I’m there, I’ll visit NYC and Boston for the first time in my life before heading back to Spain in early September. I’m also heading to the Travel Bloggers Unit conference in Porto with Lauren of Spanish Sabores.

So what’s been your travel highlight of these first few months of 2012, and what’s up next for you? Leave me a message in the comments so I know where to expect a postcard from!

Murcia via Instagram

Lorca Castle

Liz of Young Adventuress recently tweeted, Am I the only one who doesn’t used what’s app or instagram? In short, yes. Social media has been taking its toll on my love life recently, as my boyfriend walks away from me any time I whip out my little htc hot mess of a phone (since my nice one was stolen in January). I squealed with delight when instagram became available for Androids just before Feria last month, and used the looooooong car ride from Sevilla to Murcia – last weekend’s destination – as a way to test it out. In short – I’m in love. While I preferred Pudding Camera for its crazy settings, Instagram’s ease with social media make it a bit more of a winner in my humble, html-challenged mind.

Nearing our final destination…

The Novio’s job takes him this week to Murcia, a strange, moon-like crater that anchors down the southeast corner of the peninsula. While I’d had little desire to ever travel there, I had a (nearly) free ride and a place to stay, so I jumped at the chance. We pulled up to Cartagena, a town rich in military history (and home to the first self-propelled submarine, who knew!) shortly after 9pm. The journey had been long, with bouts of natural beauty through the Sierra de Huétor and the green, green plains that run along its backside towards the coast.

Cartagena’s port stood quiet and still on a Friday evening, and even the Calle Mayor was lifeless. Our quick dinner of beer and ensaladilla was met with a good night’s sleep before we headed out the following day for Jumilla.

Souvenir shop in Cartagena, right off the dock

Murcia has few claims to Spain, apart from a few big cities, a bunch of expat enclaves and wine. Jumilla, a sleepy town that nearly reaches the border of Valencia, is home to several wineries, and I was dying to tour one. I had gotten in contact with Bodegas Silvano García, who graciously offered us a tour of their small, family-run bodega and a full cata de vino for only 5€. Even Mr. Grumpy, who wasn’t keen on making the drive, enjoyed himself and pumped some (grape-flavored) fuel back into the economy.

wine tasting at Bodegas Silvano García

Later that day, we headed down the coast to Águilas, where his Aunt Laura and her family live. The day was cool and drizzly, but the sound of the waves and the smell of salt somehow always makes me feel like Spain was a good, good choice. The day was far less than perfect, which made me eager to get on to Murcia.

Águilas beach

Finally, a sunny day. After a quick trip to the ER and our Sunday churros routine, The Novio and I wandered the central heart of Murcia. It was Mother’s Day, so people were overflowing the terraces in the square at the foot of the cathedral.

“Let’s go in,” I told The Novio, Camarón finally unglued from my face. The salmon and cobalt hues of the building were inviting, and I had a feeling of who I might find in the cathedral: St. Lucy, the eyeless one I chose for my confirmation name. Little known fact about me: I always add to the donation box when I find her in churches by surprise.

of course it’s sunny the day I have a seve´-hour bus ride to look forward to

We met Paco and Inma, two of his coworkers, in Plaza de Santa Catalina. Paco is from Murcia and invited us to have lunch with him and his brother, so we squeezed into the corner of El Pulpito, awash with cool grey tones and smelling of seafood. Carmen’s mother had told me to try pulpo al horno, an octopus that’s been baked, and I was not disappointed. The caldera de arroz, stuffed clams, ensaladilla and cold beer did not disappoint, either.

murcia’s finest: pulpo al horno

I was the bus a few hours later, crammed into a window seat. I watched the craters of Murcia eventually return to the flatness of the plain where Seville sits. I can’t say Murcia is my favorite part of Spain, or that I’d ever be willing to make the seven-hour bus ride happen again. Yet, somehow, I don’t feel like I got to see all it really has to offer. My Instagram photos reveal little more than the day’s main events (I let Camarón have all of the glory, afterall), but I’m anxious to see more – and, let’s face it – eat more octopus.

Have you ever been to Murcia? What were your impressions of it? Any place in Spain you’ve never been that you’d be willing to go if you had a free ride out there? And if you’re on instagram, let’s follow! I’m found at sunshinesiestas.

¡A Vivir, que son (seis) días (de Feria)!

I’ve written for Backpacking Matt and The Spain Scoop about my favorite fiesta of the year: the Feria de Sevilla. Curve-hugging dresses, horse carriages and thousands of bottles of manzanilla sherry characterize the fiesta más alegre of the South just weeks after the gold-laden pasos are stored in their temples.

While in my surrogate caseta, Los Sanotes, my friend Susana’s cousin came to look for me. Yanking my beer out of my hand, she introduced me to a 60-something couple who were standing, dumbfounded, against the wall of the temporary tent. Introducing myself, they fired a million questions at me (whereas I asked just one: Would you like anything to drink?) about the history of the Feria, what it costs to be a member of a caseta and how to best go about enjoying themselves. For as much as I know about Feria – pescaíto etiquette, the names of the streets and how much a jar of rebujito costs – Feria is all about viviéndola. Being with friends, having a buen rato while wearing an enormous flower on yourself and admiring the trajes de gitana are all just a part of the week at the Recinto Ferial.

If the Feria is all about living it up, I’m all lived out. Three rides in horse carriages, two broken shoes and having to wash my flamenco dress three times to get all of the dirt out must mean that this ferianta did more than her fair share of dancing sevillanas and capturing the essence of the fair in pictures. Below each picture is a line from a sevillanas song (a four-part flamenco lite that’s heard emanating from each of the 1000+ casetas) with a link to the song on youtube. As the popular sevillana, A bailar por Sevillanas says, Si Ud. no ha visto la Feria, se la voy a enseñar (If you’ve never seen the Feria, I’m going to show it to you):

Ya huele a Feria, y olé, ya huele a feria

Once the somber processions and palios-encased Virgins are safely back at their churches, the construction of the main gate, called La Portada, is nearing completion, dry cleaners are working overtime to press volantes (ruffles), and the talk of Feria is imminent. Ya huele a Feria, it smells like Feria, and ¡olé!

La Feria se ilumina con su belleza

While the carnival rides and casetas are open, the fair doesn’t officially begin until midnight on Monday, after the traditional pescaíto fried fish dinner. The mayor waits until precisely the right moment to flip the switch that lights up the main gate, called the portada, and the thousands of paper lanterns, farolillos, that illuminate the street. Almost immediately after this moment, called the alumbrado, the bands start up and everyone starts dancing. ¡Olé, esa feria!

Vámanos pa la Feria, cariño mío

I’ve worked out a math equation: the less days that remain until the alumbrado, the more antsy I am. This year, as in years past, we’ve gone to have a few drinks before dinner on Sunday and enjoy the fairgrounds without people or horse carriages. The Calle del Infierno, with its circus tents and carnival rides, is the only really lively part, which means we get special treatment in the caseta. This year, I decided to skip out on the alumbrado and get a good night sleep, only to be restless and not fall asleep until 3am. I wanted to shake Kike awake and say, ¡Vámanos a la Feria, cariño mío!

Debajo de la portada, se la voy a enseñar

Imagine this: a maze of more than 20 streets, all named after bullfighters, more than 1000 red-and-white-and-green-striped tents, and a mess of people wearing brightly colored dresses. Add in all of those pesky horse carriages that clog the streets until 8pm, and there’s simply just one place to meet: under the main gate. There’s a whole lot of public casetas clumped nearby (PSOE, Garbanzo Negro, San Gonzalo), so this is a good place to begin your afternoon if you’re waiting to meet friends.

Me gusta el mosto en noviembre, y mirar al cielo azul

Feria is about as propio to Seville as the Taste of Chicago might be to my native Chicago. It’s a whole big gathering of people admiring beautiful Andalusian women, Jerezano stallions and drinking local wine. One of my favorite sevillanas is Los Amigos de Gines’s Yo Soy del Sur, I’m from the south, which pays homage to all of the best things about Andalucía – the bullfights, the crops, the never-ending blue sky, the pilgrimages. I get chills listening to its slow compás, these are my customs, and I never want to lose them. Ojalá

Se enamoró mi caballo de una yegua de Castilla

If I could bring two people to vivir la Feria, I’d have my dad chugging beers with Kike by night and my mom riding in Leonor’s horse carriage by day. From the early morning hours until the last call of 8pm, the streets jingle with cascabeles as hundreds of horse carriages parade around the Real. It’s not cheap – the little licence plate needed for circulating on the streets costs 86€ an hour!! I love living the feria by day to admire the stately Andalusian stallions which carry manzanilla-wielding men and gorgeous gitanas on their backs, and am lucky enough to have friends who bring carriages! Now if only I’d spot the Duquesa de Alba!

Me gustan los toros serios y los toreros con arte

Apart from the horses, the toros de lidia bravely stare down toreros six times a day during the week’s corridas. Nothing says Feria like a stroll around the fair in the morning, mantilla firmly on your head, with an afternoon at the Maestranza. From this point in the year, the Sunday afternoon bullfights officially start. While I’ve been just once to a bullfight in Seville, we do get to enjoy a mini session at my school: the preschoolers dress up as the toros and bullfighters, and we all chant, ¡Torero, torero! as the jury decides to award the valiant baby bullfighters with an oreja or two. Arte, pero arte.

Me metí en una caseta que estaba llena de pijos, todo el mundo en traje y hablando de su cortijo

As I’ve talked about the casetas before, it’s important to note that they’re private and guarded by door guys. I once invited my friend Lindsay to Susana’s, and she told the portero that she was friends with the guiri inside. He shook his head and said, no foreigners here! Most of the tents are owned by businesses, political organizations, the armed forces and big groups of friends, but there’s no denying it – most of the people who own the tents are rich enough to pay for them. It’s not cheap – Kike and I pay 75€ for the year, but we’re just two of the hundreds of socios . Whenever I am invited to a new caseta, I like to take in the ambience of the people who are talking about their horses, wearing nice suits, and have obviously come from money. I’ve been to some of the bigger and nicer tents in Feria, but prefer the less pretentious ones (and this hilarious sevillana – I went in to a tent full of preppy people, everyone wearing a suit and talking about their horse farm).

Mírala cara a cara, que es la primera

Once night falls and all of the socios have had dinner, the flamenquito bands arrive for live music and two lines of dancers form to dance sevillanas. This four-part dance is like a coqueteous encounter between two lovers: each step, they seem to get closer and more sensual. You can dance with up to four people, either boy-girl or girl-girl (but who care if you dance boy-boy!) and the music doesn’t stop until 5am. My favorite memories have been dancing – with friends, with socios, with my partner, with my students – and each year I feel more confident in my dancing. In Los Sanotes, I’m often invited to dance, and I swear it’s the least American I feel during the entire year.

Esa gita, esa gitana, se conquista bailando por sevillanas

When Susana first took me to try on my very first flamenco dress, I knew not to expect anything else but a lot of drinking and feeling very awkward in my tight dress. I was a hot gitana mess, but each year I feel just a bit more flamenca and love that the Novio has some amazing moves when it comes to dancing sevillanas (even if I have to drag him onto the dancefloor!).

Pasa la vida, pasa la vida y no has notado que no has vivido

Before you know it, the tents are coming down and the fairground is vacant. Seven days pass by in a blur of sherry and polka dots, but some of my most treasured times in Seville have been had at the fairgrounds. The famous sevillana Pasa la Vida by Albahaca talks about how life moves by so quickly and often we forget to live it, but the opposite happens to me during Feria. I can sleep four hours a night and stand dancing for 14. I feel sexier shaking my culo in my dress. I feel confident in calling everyone I know and finding them somewhere in the Real to have a drink.

When it’s all over and life goes back to normal, some little spark inside me seems to kind of flicker out, like my Amigos de Gines sing in my absolute favorite, Algo se muere en el alma. I’ve got to wait 51 excruciating long week to pin the flower back atop my head and my espartos to my feet. Something, indeed, does die in your soul.

Ever been to the Feria de Sevilla? Any good stories to share? Celebrity sightings?

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