Ciclistas a go-go y Boabdil (reposted video)

Siesta time above the Mediterranean Sea in the middle of your ride?

Ok, let's resuscitate this thing.
Some of you knew that we moved to a new apartment in our barrio, the Albaycin, last December. We now live in a relatively modern structure with good light and heating, although we had an infestation of peach-colored, spongy, mold recently growing on the side of the wall that at one point in time took on the figure of the Virgin Mary... no kidding. We felt blessed for about a day. And now the spot that was replastered after the plumbing repair clearly resembles the border of Spain. What devotion to the Catholic religion and nationality we ask? Spaniards, gotta love 'em not hate 'em.
Before I go into more exciting events, I have to elaborate on our plumbing adventure. After the mold began to take on a life of its own and we seriously wondered about our respiratory health, fleeing the scene every day after the boys left for school, we called our landseñora. She informed us that she, in fact, was no longer our dueña and now we needed to call another located in Murcia, some 2 hours away. After about 24 hours we had the local joe come in to assess the situation (he called himself "boca arriba, boca abajo", hmmmm, should have kicked myself when he said this and called another plumber). Now, I'm no handy-woman, but I am competant, and if I had to, could sweat a copper pipe. Instead of being the pushy American, I chose the submissive, midwestern style of interaction, of which I'm still capable, and tried to give our friend the benefit of the doubt, or least a few more hours of labor (meanwhile, Brad is cursing me in the background in English the whole time).
Three weeks later, I look at the white-washed wall as I write this, and simply hope that the repair will last until we depart this summer. It was really kind of cute, in a stupid way - the whole interaction between boca arriba, Brad and I. The whole time I know Brad was chomping at the bit, trying not to go down to the ferretería, buy the parts, and fix it himself, while I'm talking politics about the current state of Granada and how so many people are on paro - unemployment, in Spain and boca arriba is professing his machismo Spanish self, slick hair, cheap cologne and all. I love it.
Onward...where to begin. I'm trying to compose myself after Brad left as well as realize single parenthood again. Our last weeks together as a family were incredible. Brad met a phenomenal group of mountain bike riders that without fail, rode every Tues and Thurs from Fuente verde at 16h, as well as Sat. and/or Sun. Some nights he would get home as early as 21h and others, well, let's just say this - the ride up the narrow cobblestone paths and stairs of the Albaycin became a slightly, more, technical challenge for him after hours at Boabdil.

A tubo, tapas and Carolina at Boabdil. Where else would you choose to spend any night of the week?

Boabdil was the son of the Arabic queen/wife Aixa (my hero) who unfortunately wed Mulhacén the Arabic king (the highest peak in the Sierra Nevadas named after him). Boabdil eventually overthrew and ultimately killed his father with the help of his mother. This is the name of the bar owned by Carolina's dad. We simply adore Carolina and can't get enough of her - Myles and Owen including. Friday and Saturday roll around and the boys beg to go to the bar. That doesn't sound so good does it? Well, tapas and tubos are the daily grind here. You simply cannot go without them. The boys love the salchichas, Brad loves the veggies and pancakes de calamari and I, well, I'll take the rich, earth flavored, dark-green olive oil, over manchego cheese from Madrid, aceitunas, and mussels. Granada is the only city in Spain that continues to serve free tapas with an order of drinks. They really get it. Boabdil is especially keen on this idea of feeding the hungry and otherwise intoxicated with their elaborate, large plates of you-never-know-what. We go to Boabdil sometimes to feed our kids. If you look at your budget and the time it takes to cook a great meal, the numbers are there, trust me.

A quick little taste of his/herstory. Long ago, like, centuries ago, a glass of wine was served with a slice of fresh baguette set ever-so-gently on top of the glass. It was meant to keep the flies out or tapar the glass. (hmmmm, kind of like tapperware, ah! I found the origin of Tupperware! Ok, don't laugh.) You can tapa your left-overs, tapa your tube of toothpaste after your significant other tells you to, tapa your mouth after making a fool of yourself, but you can't tapa the fact that this is something we should do in the states. Ok, so every now and then you might find yourself in a bar that might give you some peanuts to shuck (maybe they'll even let you throw them on the floor if they haven't experienced a law suit yet) or stale popcorn to gum, but never, do you get a few morsels of delectable bites that will tide you over and influence you enough to order another round, maybe two or three, so you can call it a full, course meal. It only makes good business sense, does it not? Brad and I argue, no, discuss, how we need to open a tapas bar in Squaw or Shwarma King thing...veggie or meat with a beer for $6.00 - takers - investors?

Back to the Ciclistas-a-go-go. What can a say about this chance of fate? I met the woman who pulls Myles and Owen out for one-on-one Spanish classes at Gomez last fall and began to have conversational English classes with her. We developed a close relationship and quickly realized that we had a lot in common. One was her bro-in-law and his passion for mountain biking and her family's love for the outdoors. When Brad arrived his first outing with Juan lead to a friendship that has grown not only with Juan but with many other riders from the group. I can't find the words to express how touched we were by how quickly our friendships formed with the ciclistas and how well they treated us, helping put on a surprise birthday party for Brad and a going away party as well. I continue to be in touch with the ciclistas even though Brad isn't here and we plan to have them shack up in our house in Truckee to ride in the Sierras as well as take them to Moab. Brad couldn't have chosen a better group of guys with which to ride and learn essentially all the single track of Granada, plus a little Spanish. They awarded Brad with a trophy of a rider that read, "El Americano quien sabe todas las rutas de sinlge-track de Granada." Use your dictionary. Heck, they even named a ride/drop after Brad because he was the first guy to do the drop (even on the vaca vieja - the second-hand Orbea he rode). I'm still trying to figure out how to embed audio/video/slideshow in one video. Any suggestions?
                                                                           
Like the new photo at the beginning of the post? That's our barrio. You can see everything if you look closely - the Mirador of San Nicolás, Gomez Moreno, the big pine tree by our apartment and our laundry hanging on the terrace.

Only a couple quotes for this post. I'll be writing about the Huerto de Carlos, the nun's buns and a detailed interview with a native madrileño on the intricacies of profanity in the Spanish language. I'll save some good quotes for that one.

"The hippies are bathing in the fountain."

"Bratt, Bratt, Bratt."