Three Weeks Ago:
It’s ten minutes before noon in Eugene, Oregon. I am leaving my apartment for another class in intensive French grammar, holding a fist full of change for another pesto bagel from the campus cafe, when my phone rings.
“So…I have some interesting news…” It’s my Aunt Debbie, and she is being elusive and her tone is playful. I have no idea where this is going.
“Good interesting or bad interesting?” I ask.
“Oh…I think you’ll enjoy this…”
Ten minutes later I hang up the phone. Bearing with me the news that I will be accompaning Debbie to France and Spain for two weeks, I find suddenly that the nuances of my summer class and campus dining have become infinately more bearable. Quaint, even.
In the spare moments of our busy days since this afternoon we have been planning the trip. As of yet, we will stay in Tordera, in the home of Maria Castilla Altea, a surrogate grandmother to Debbie’s kids. Then we will seek out the eccentricities of Cerbere, a small train town on the Catalonian Coast. From there we head to La Bruyere in Bordeaux where we will be experimenting with market-fresh foods and wine pairings. We hope to make it to San Sebastian and Bilboa before heading back to Barcelona for our final days. Now, as we sit in the JFK airport next to dozens of other Barcenola-bound travelers, we await a feast for our mouths and our hearts.
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