But let me give you some history.
It was 21 years ago, on a mid-February day, after an impossibly easy labor, that a baby girl was born to Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt in Caracas, Venezuela. The next day, she met the Albacetes*. They would see her when she first walked, and see her last when she was around two years old.**
Fast-forward 19 years.
I took the bus from Madrid to Zaragoza, enjoying the view of the countryside as the bus zoomed out of the capital and over rocky plains. It passed between, climbed-up, and curved around hills of ivory rocks and red earth, which were alternately covered in green grass, green trees, green vine fields, with the odd building here or there. I'd been living in a large city for 4 weeks and was more than ready for some nature, so I soaked it in (on either side of a delicious nap).
At last, I arrived at the station and called the Albacetes to let them know where to pick me up. And that's when I re-met the Albacetes. Well, half of them, since Mrs. Albacete (or Patricia) and David, the younger son were in Tudela. Mr. Albacete (he let me call him Felipe) and Arturo, the elder son, drove me around a bit to let me see Zaragoza before we left for the 40 minute drive to Tudela. They were so friendly, and we had great conversation, despite my poorly tended Spanish.
Let me tell you about Tudela: It is adorable. After Madrid's hodge-podge of crazy colors, noncontemporaneous structures, and mismatched styles, it was refreshing to see a small city with continuity and, a gift to my eyes: far less grafitti.*** Quaint, with a small industrial sector, larger residential areas, and green within easy walk of the Albacete's abode, Tudela enshrined hundreds of years of human habitation and expansion with more grace, I thought, than Madrid. I am, of course, biased by my love of nature and the wonderful welcome I received there, but that doesn't mean I'm not right. An interesting fact I learned was that Tudela had successfully been one of the last city's in Spain to expel the Jews and Moors, and they did so under great protest. This little town had some spunk.
The weekend was a lot of fun, but also deep. Patricia, Felipe, and I had some great conversations about what God is doing in our lives in the midst of great adversity, and I left their home feeling very encouraged in my faith and convicted about the great need to pray for and support fellow believers. David played some great guitar for us, and I hope to hear his band perform later this spring, when I'm back in Spain to catch my flight out of Madrid. He kindly slept on the couch so that I would have a bed to sleep in at their house. What a gentleman! Thanks, David!
Arturo took time to show me around Tudela, both the city and the green park area near their house, and we talked about everything from politics to nature, with beer and spirituality sprinkled in. When he wasn't teasing me mercilessly, he was a chivalrous tour guide, despite, I'm sure, having better things to do than show me around. I also met a wonderful new friend, Christel, from the UK, who goes to the Albacete's church and is teaching English in Tudela. She is an amazing woman of God, and I'm hoping to see her in the UK after my program ends in June, because she has offered to let me come visit her!
The food Patricia made merits a mention here. She made arepas one night, and I was soooo happy to eat them! It has been years since I've had any arepa, which a traditional Venezuelan flatbread, and she made them wonderfully! She also made this amazing stuffed bread the evening of my departure, and I savored it on the train-ride back to Madrid. Regarding new beverage experiences, Arturo introduced me to this mix of wine and coco-cola, which (sorry Arturo), I've forgotten the name of. It was actually pretty good, despite Arturo's friend's expression of pity and horror when he saw us ordering it.
The weekend went by way too fast. And thus and alas, I had to leave Tudela to get back in time to write several research papers for the last week of the Madrid portion of my program. The train ride was uneventful, but I ended up having to take a taxi from the Atoche Renfe station, instead of the metro, which I had hoped to take, because it is 15x cheaper.**** I hope I get to visit them again in June, but we shall see. May God bless the Albacetes and the wonderful new friends I made through them!
Footnotes for the Gainfully Employed [or not. The economy is rough, dude.]:
*Well, almost all of the Albacetes. Their elder son was almost 1 and the younger was not to be born until several years later.
**No, I wasn't a miraculous 2 year old with incredible memory. My inside source for all this early information is Mr. Albacete.
***I hate the graffiti in Madrid; most especially the ugly, inartistic kind that is just vandalism which defaces their public monuments and ancient architecture. There is some talent displayed in other places, like the community art project spaces, but too much of the graffiti around town detracts from the urban space and heinously attacks my aesthetic sense. Rant completed.
****My 1-month metro pass had run out just the day before. And I only had my credit card (no cash, and my debit card was eaten by an ATM several weeks prior and a new one was on its way in the mail). The metro machine would not accept credit card, because a credit card does not have a PIN, so I had to spend more for a taxi that would take my card. Sigh. There went 15 euro. #thestruggleisreal #shouldnotcomplain #iamineuropeafterall
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