On Spanish Time

Five days ago, an unknown number of years ago, R. was born. So, on Friday, we celebrated!

In typical Spanish fashion, this post is late. Also in typical Spanish fashion, nothing was planned and everything turned out beautifully. The day went something like this:

(A photo from R.’s perspective at the end of the table)


1. We were lucky enough to wake up in Maó [this sentence can be read many ways. You choose, dear reader], which happens to be the ideal place to do late b’day recon shopping (that’s the technical term). While R. went off with El Cubano to buy some materials for the country house, I found a cake, some candles (which, naturally, don’t announce his actual age), tickets to a concert he had been talking about, and a new pair of espadrilles, since his were as busted as a five-year old with her hand caught in the cake batter when her mom walks in…

(Shoes, tickets, and cake!)


2. Around one, we make it back to the country house in Es Migjorn. (Did I say country house? I meant, like, campsite. Yes, a campsite that one day will be everything you envision and more and until then, sit back and enjoy the views, dude.) R. and Cubanito worked and I read (and organized the kitchen!)

3. Evening swim.

4. 10 pm means the stars are out (and the guitars are out) and the Milky Way glopped across the sky. Two brave souls tended the BBQ (Spanish style: some loafs of crusty bread and some pork loin and chorizo to stick in between. Naturally, red wine to wash it down.)


5. 10:30 R.’s brother, the Argentine acrobat, and my Dutch friend pile out of a 20+ year old Renault with an almond cake in hand. The brother had forgotten (but, better late than never!)

6. A raucous round or two of the happy birthday song, two cakes, plenty of candles, and enough Flamenco to make you feel like you’re in Seville…all of these things make a BiRtHdAY!

After that, of course, more things have been happening. But, we’ll just have to leave those stories for the next time.


(Hands clapping to flamenco)


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