Spain does not celebrate Thanksgiving. It is a distinctively American experience. It is ironic that last year in America, Gina and I spent Thanksgiving alone at our home in Dunedin. However, Ray, my long-time friend (over three decades), and his partner Alan will be with us this year. We plan to gather around the table on Friday because Thursday is a huge deal—unveiling the annual Barcelona Christmas lights.
We debated observing Thanksgiving this year as we have mixed feelings about the holiday centered around Christian colonists. Forbes Magazine records that due to American propaganda, the severe erasure of Native history, Thanksgiving has been whitewashed, and most of us have been taught an incomplete and, in some cases, inaccurate understanding of what happened. For the Wampanoag tribe—among other Native tribes—the fourth Thursday in November is considered a day of mourning, not a day of celebration. Thanksgiving celebrations often followed brutal victories over Native people, like the Pequot Massacre of 1636 and the beheading of the Wampanoag leader, Metacom, in 1676.
However, with American friends here, keeping a day of Sobremesa this week seems appropriate. Sobremesa is one of those beautiful Spanish words that doesn’t exist in English, so translating can be challenging. It’s a word that can be both a verb and a noun. The direct translation is upon the table; however the real meaning of the word encompasses so much more.
When you get together with friends or family for a meal in Spain, the experience is not just limited to the meal itself. Sobremesa is the time you spend in deep, meaningful conversation, relaxing together after serving dessert. You talk, drink, reminisce, laugh, and thoroughly enjoy each other’s company. You… sobremesa.
Once people have eaten delicious food and enjoyed a bottle of good wine (or two), they can talk about anything. That makes the conversation after a meal so much richer than during it. Good manners and mutual respect are hallmarks of sobremesa. Most commonly, sobremesa is enjoyed over a nice cup of coffee or shots of digestive liqueur. This beautiful ritual originated in Spain and is one of several meaningful traditions that captured our hearts in our new homeland.
Sweet
Next week, we celebrate a year of life in Barcelona, Spain. Living among undivided, welcoming, kind, respectful, and vivacious people has been so refreshing. We have relished every moment here; it was one of our best life decisions, relocating to a country better suited to our ideal way of life, interests, and beliefs.
It has been challenging (learning a new language) yet invigorating as we adopt delightful new customs and celebrations. Several guests have remarked that even the air feels rejuvenating. The lack of humidity, the unique smells, the sunny days, and the hum of everyday life combine for a stimulating experience. I’ve never smelled anything so fresh as the Spanish atmosphere. Life here is like micro-dosing psychedelics. Vivid, new, colorful, and stimulating, and restorative.
We have our interview for the two-year renewal of our Visa Tuesday, and we are hopeful that our residency will be granted. When people ask how long we plan to live in Spain, our answer has evolved to be “Indefinitely.” We have no plans, at this time, to return to America, barring an unforeseen turn of events.
We have been surprised by the number of guests we’ve had from America. Since last December, we have had sixteen different friends visit us. It has been fascinating to observe them react to life here in our “city of dreams.” Some are enchanted, some unimpressed, and some are confused by the aromas, architectural reverie, flamenco nights, tapas and paella, the sea of flavors and aromas, and the Mediterranean breezes. Observing their habits, we realize we are morphing into Europeans, specifically Spaniards. We are much different people than when we arrived.
We are also grateful for our new friends and acquaintances here: Paulette, Zena, Benjamin, Luna, Juan, Jing, Sven, Chris, Findley, Arian, Julian, Jesus, Carolina, Nancy, Gabrielle, Miriam, Gemma, Marzieh, Armin, Leonardo, Josep, Flores, Liv, Roberto, Kate, Daniel, Albert, Quiera, Jose, Rosio, Rafael, Viola, Mike, Gaby, Rafael, Leon, Natalia, Alba, Anna, Janet, Nicholas, Chabby, Cristina, Maria, Andrea, Montse, Arnau, Eva, and Anna.
I had no idea that this seductive city would join Gina as my muse, confidante, and the maker of memories that will forever shape my being. Next week, I plan to write about our year in more descriptive and, at times, humorous detail.
Bitter
We feared the seemingly inevitable demise of freedom in our homeland. And almost two years later, from across the Atlantic, we watch in horror as our greatest fears come true. No American can act surprised. The Evangelical “messiah” has been very clear about his vision of cruelty and dictatorship. And unlike his eerily similar Spanish predecessor here in the person of Franco, he did not have to fight a bloody civil war to take power. The American people naively rolled over and let him trample over them and establish total power.
Americans have never witnessed the anguish and pain of the Catalan people who still walk the streets of Barcelona, traumatized by the eerily similar goals of the MAGA mob (liars and crooks) that is coming to power. We feared Americans were too ignorant to read history and too entitled to care about democracy over their selfish interests. Gina kept saying, “That thug will never go away.”
We knew that modern Evangelical Christians now believe the Sermon on the Mount is woke propaganda and that T***p is their long-awaited Savior. Ultimately, 82% of Evangelical Christians voted for this embodiment of evil—a Faustian bargain. We also knew that virtually all Evangelicals had never read their Bible and did not know the story of Saul—and the prophet Samuel’s warning against kings. And that those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it. We didn’t want to be right, but unfortunately, we were correct. Thus, a bittersweet Thanksgiving.
Our butcher, Jesus, at Galvany Mercat, chose us a standing rib roast (asado de costilla) from Galicia. Leonardo at our wine shop carefully selected a Galician Mencía wine to accompany the meal. Our vegetables and sides all have their origin in Españya. Only in a few countries can one find meats, vegetables, fruits, nuts, and wines from the same terroir, the same earth. The resulting tastes are like nowhere on earth. Move over Thanksgiving; here’s to Sobremesa. ¡Que aproveche! ¡Salud!
Click HERE to enjoy my latest watercolor: Guapa
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