Chapter Three: A Sevillana Christmas

When we pulled back into Seville late in the evening, my body was crashing. My back was stiff from driving all the way back from Lisbon, my eyes were dry, contacts ready to fall out, and more importantly my feet just wanted to stop being used. I had thought I brought the right shoes to Europe, but I had assumed wrong on two accounts:

A.) The distance we'd be walking every day
B.) How many cobble stone streets I would encounter

See, here in the states, I'm used to walking. Not as much since I've moved to LA, which all of you should know, is a driving city, but still, I hadn't guessed we'd be covering that much ground. Don't get me wrong, I loved every moment of it, I just wasn't ready. Throw that in with the fact that the last cobblestone street I encountered was probably years ago and you have a tired lower half. All I wanted to do was nuzzle up under a comforter in the piso and get some shut eye. Tomorrow was a big day - Christmas Eve!

Now - my family has traditions. Pierogies. Lots and lots of pierogies. Potato ones. Sweet cheese ones. Sour Kraut ones. Did I already mention a lot of them?

So of course my goal was to make them from scratch, as us Kalicki's do every year. But we had an issue. I was going to be in a kitchen with an Italian and well, we all know how they love to cook and eat. And of course Paige's family has their own set of traditions. So what did we have to look forward to for dinner other than pierogies? Pasta with scratch-made red sauce, homemade meatballs, fried calamari, and caprese salad. Hot damn. For all of you who know me - I'm a major foodie. My eyes have always been bigger than my stomach and don't get me wrong, I can' put down a lot of food. So to say I was excited would be a bit of an understatement.

After slowly waking each other up, we threw on some clothes and went out into the city to obtain all the ingredients we needed for our feast. We wandered around for a bit, going from the grocery store, which surprisingly didn't yield much, to the open market, which was brimming with fresh meats, dairy, and produce. Walking from shop to shop was quiet the sight. Not only were my eyes assaulted with such colors and shapes, my nose was flooded with hundreds of delicious smells, all competing for my attention at once. Luckily, we were able to get almost ninety-five percent of our ingredients fresh from the market - everything from calamari, to the cheese, potatoes, tomatoes, and ground meat. All that was hanging in the balance was sour cream - literally the main binder in the pierogi dough. So off to the international supermarket we went.

And much to my surprise, Spain does not consume or even apparently believe in sour cream.

Ugh! What blasphemy!

But we sat down, put our brains together, called Paige's mom for some advice and decided unsweetened greek yogurt should do the trick. Fingers crossed, I threw some cartons into the cart and back to the piso we went to begin the culinary preparations. The rest of the evening was dedicated to food. We threw on some Christmas tunes and went to town. Singing, dancing, laughing, snacking, rolling out dough, dicing garlic, breading calamari. The apartment smelled wonderful, my shirt was covered in flour, and my cheeks hurt from how much I was smiling.

When it all came together, I was impressed. Not only did everything look incredible, it all tasted fantastic. The greek yogurt played perfectly into the dough and Paige's pasta, sauce, and meatballs were literally to die for - I ate them until I felt like my heart was going to stop, clogged with italian goodness (don't worry Libby - your recipe is safe with me). If it had only been the two of us, the amount of food would have been unbearable, but thankfully we had some of Paige's friends come over to share the evening/special meal with us. Cynthia and Kenny. Two other wonderful Americans who lived in Seville and also taught english. After a while, another came over, Caitlin, and the five of us relaxed and laughed over a couple bottles of wine.

Once dinner was all said and done, we did the dishes and curled up in bed, ready for the next day to arrive. I actually had a hard time falling alseep. It felt like years before, when I was a kid, anxious, laying beneath the covers, shutting my eyes as hard as I could, ready for the sun to rise so I could run out and open my presents.

And when the sun finally did rise, I was happy.

For the last two years, I've had to spend Christmas in LA, away from my family, the traditions, and home. This year, when I opened my eyes, it was different. Yes, I wasn't with my Mom, brother, or Dad, but I was with someone that mattered as much to me. This was the first time in a couple years that the morning felt special. It had a glow to it. Warm and bright. It was the first time since I had been in college that Christmas felt magical.

Slowly I crawled out of bed and brewed us some coffee. I was in no rush to do anything, just soaking it all in. The fact that I was with someone on Christmas was all I needed - whether or not she was still snoring in the next room. Eventually we both met in the living room and exchanged gifts. For a minute, I was beside myself because Paige's mom had actually sent me a stocking, full of goodies - so even five thousands miles away from my own, I felt like I was home (thanks Libby). On my end I got some sweet pjs (another Brennan family tradition), a pair of moccasins, and a certificate to an old school turkish bath/spa (more on that in later chapters).

The day continued as any Christmas should. We just lazed about. Munched all day, reheated our meal from the previous night for dinner, and watched Django Unchained. Afterwards we went out for a little stroll and climbed atop Las Setas and soaked in Seville. I said it before and I'll say it again. It truly was a magical day.

What else could I possibly ask for and look forward to?

Oh right - Morocco.