Month: July 2022

I am checked in to my hotel room on the 11th floor of the Hilton San Diego Bayfront Hotel for the IB Global Conference. It’s pretty sweet. I have two queen beds and a view of the San Diego – Coronado Bridge. And it’s just me!

It’s kind of nice being all by myself after two and half weeks of travelling abroad with the family, navigating meals, compromising on how much to walk and what to see, diesel vs gasoline (ha ha – but not really funny yet). Then it was getting the house back in order and having tough conversations with my parents about moving into a retirement community (this deserves its own post – more on that later).

So, here I am, ready to immerse myself in all things IB, present with colleagues, learn from fellow educators around the world, and also enjoy some of what the area has to offer. What I won’t be doing: nagging my son to work on the Common App for college, telling my daughter to get off her phone, feeding the cats, weeding the garden, doing the laundry, etc. I’ll miss them for sure, but it will all be there waiting for when I get home in four days.

The birdies are getting ready to leave the nest in the village. We’ve made the rounds to a handful of graduation parties since mid-June, and each one has had the same basic format: proud and supportive parents, families, and friends congratulating the graduates and asking them questions as they politely and somewhat bashfully thank us and answer our queries as best they can.

Slowly but surely, more teens trickle in until the party splits into two: adults in one area and teens in another until they take off for wherever the night’s parent-free gathering will take place.

Yesterday’s party was sweeter than the others. Entire families showed up, and it felt like old times. The seniors basked in the comfort of the community for longer, especially now that the excitement of graduation and prom have passed, college orientations have and are taking place, and reality has sunken in: they are leaving, and it’s no longer abstract.

A group of rising seniors gravitated toward one another, kids who have known each other since pre-school but have gone to different schools or who hang out in different social groups. They sat down in a row of chairs next to one another and mused how they were now going to be the seniors. They had absolutely no interest in talking about colleges, applications, or exams; they just wanted to bask in their newfound status.

It’s good to be home. Sasha dozes in her bed, Jessie stalks a toy mouse, the kids’ laughter and chatter float up the stairs from the basement as they play a video game together, and the dishwasher hums in the kitchen.

Chris is out at a friend’s birthday celebration/weekly poker game, so I have the evening to myself. We took Sasha on a walk earlier and paid our marvelous cat/plant/pond sitter and picked up the two books I had put on hold at the library that became available just when I got back in town.

On our last day of our adventure, our thoughts are tuning to home. We miss our pets, a full pot of coffee, and an unlimited supply of filtered water.

Maxine has been ready to go home for about a week now. She’s not exactly the get-up-and-go type, and these five to ten mile walking days have stretched her in what I would say is a good way. She probably has a different take on it. All in all, though, she’s been a pretty good sport. We just have to get her home COVID-free so she can go to camp on Sunday, something she has been looking forward to all year.

It’s nice to be back in Lisbon ( pronounced liʒˈboɐ in Portuguese), where seabirds glide and dip outside the windows, pastels de nata beckon from store windows, the consonants are softer, I get to say “obrigada” again, and yes, nearly everyone speaks English (we Americans are very spoiled).

We are spending our last two nights in a two-bedroom apartment on the top of a sixth floor building in the heart of the Chiado neighborhood (using a tiny elevator that freaks out Edwin), a block from where we stayed our very first night of the trip. It’s a beautiful neighborhood of narrow, steep streets with bars, restaurants, shops, and squares, which also means the streets don’t sleep until the not-so-wee hours of the morning. Thank goodness these windows shut tightly; we have transitioned to a much later schedule while in Portugal and Spain, eating dinner between 8:00 and 9:00, but we’re not out in the square drinking until 2:00.

We have one full day here instead of two because of the car debacle, so we’d better make the most of it tomorrow.

I had a feeling about today; I really did. I was anxious to get the five-hour drive back to Lisbon from Rota over with and drop off the car, looking forward to shedding that responsibility.

We filled up with gas at a truck stop about two hours into the trip, and the car immediately started making a rattling noise. A few miles later, the car chugged to a stop, luckily just as we pulled into a gas station. Chris said it’s possible he used gasoline instead of diesel. That’ll do it.

We spent about three hours on the phone with a rep from Expedia, who was trying to arrange help for us with the nearest Avis car rental agency, about 35 minutes away. She couldn’t get through to anyone, it being Sunday in Spain.

With my minuscule knowledge of Spanish and Google translate, we were able to get a taxi to take us to Badajoz for the night, which is a decent sized city. We are in a Marriott hotel room instead of a cute little flat in Lisbon.

Well, at least we’re all fine, and I had opted for the full insurance with Expedia. It’ll probably be a hassle in the morning and a large fee up front, but what can you do?

On our way back from Granada to Rota we stopped in Ronda, yet another gorgeous town. We found parking outside the old city and walked about 15 minutes down a main avenue lined with cafes and shops to get to the famous cliffside views.

We walked past the oldest bullring in Spain but had no interest in a tour. Bullfighting has such a rich history in Spain but to me it’s inhumane and sad. We skipped it and focused on the gorgeous views.

Ever since we spilled out of the cab yesterday into the Albaicín neighborhood of Granada, I have been awed by the Alhambra spreading out over the hills high above us, exuding majesty, guardianship, and a touch of foreboding.

I knew a minuscule slice of its history, which was fleshed out a little more today on our two-hour tour. For several hundred years, the Moors controlled the Iberian peninsula until the Spanish finished wresting it back in the 1490’s. This area was the last part of Spain the Moors lost.

The palaces of the Alhambra fell into extreme degradation and were filled with “banditos” and “gypsies” over the years, terms I am confident are not PC.

Ferdinand and Isabella took up residence and began restoring it but when the capital moved to Madrid, restoration halted.

Today it overlooks thousands of tourists enjoying tapas and drinks, strolling along narrow cobblestone streets and across stone bridges. Modern and classical music float out over squares as people chat, dance and laugh under the watchful eyes of the Alhambra.