…And give you Telepizza.
I’m sitting in a cafe drinking two Americanos and bringing you a shorter post for your Friday!
This week has been full, full, very full. So has my belly. Each day of San Mateo brings degustaciones (essentially: people line up in the street to approach tents where teams of volunteers are cooking up one traditional dish to taste. You pay 2 or 3€ for the item and, oftentimes, a traditional drink that goes alongside it, served up in paper plates and cups. I’ve tried the Valencian Paella that came with red wine and a hunk of bread + the Bizcocho with Chocolate. For breakfast. It came with moscato.), pit stops for pintxos, and very social dinners.
On Tuesday night, my roommates and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful terrace (the one from the last post) our otherwise-unimpressive penthouse Airbnb came equipped with and host a takeout Telepizza party out there (we had a near-disaster moment trying to help the motorcycle delivery man find our apartment, but after three separate calls, many deep breaths, and multiple friends interpreting his extremely fast complaints over the phone, we found him. He was nicer in person). On Wednesday, we attended a winery tour and tasting at Franco-Españolas, the bodega walking distance from town, and then hopped over to the fair. My friends and I ordered a dozen churros with Nutella, but then they were distracted by a spinny ride, so I ate six while I watched them twisting and turning from safety afar. Yesterday, Thursday, we decided we needed to get out of town and took a day trip to Burgos, in Castile and León, the neighboring autonomous region directly west of La Rioja (there are 17 autonomous regions here, like how we have 50 in the U.S), which prompted walking up a very large hill to a medieval castle and stopping for traditional Yemas de Burgos (egg yolk flavored sugary fondant-type chewy treats).
Now it is Friday, and I am quite ready for maybe one more night of calm fun before normal life begins!
Everything feels still new, but I was surprised yesterday while on the return bus home at how comforted I felt driving past the “La Rioja” sign and then simply watching the fresh-faced roller hills and vineyards of this region swoosh by before we steered into the outskirts of Logroño. Maybe I am just customarily quick to adapt; maybe my feet were tired from so many stony steps and made my entire body calm at the sight. Whatever the case, it’s crazy what a difference just a couple of weeks has made to my conception of “home.”
Now, with my to-go Americano in hand, I’m headed to the grocery store, the pharmacy, and the photo print shop before they close for siesta. And maybe a slice of Telepizza if I get it all done before I need a nap myself.
Till next time,
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