Biarittz, Bayonne, Brie, Baguettes, and a Banana

There is something about being three that makes you very sure that the threat "You aren't allowed to come to my party." is the end all, be all of a life. Somewhere between the boogers being whipped on my peacoat and Maria telling a random four year old girl that she was really ugly with really ugly eyes, Maria withdrew my invitation to her party. I suspect that she was hoping that I would immediately break down into uncontrollable sobbing and grief over this. The whole telling a stranger that you think they are ugly deal didn't really go over too well with me, but the whole reprimanding her and telling her to apologize didn't go over well with her. Maria has figured out that if she cries long enough, if she kicks her mom and then refuses to apologize, or if she is flat out rude and then says sorry, she will get a reward. Usually it comes in the form of a bonbon or a sucker. The whole tricking your mom into giving you candy in exchange for misbehavior is rather genius and horrifying. On the other side of the Maria story though, there is this really sweet girl who loves sharing and being polite. On her own terms.

After my night with Maria, I Skyped my mom, totally mortified that perhaps I might end up with a little girl that would know exactly how to get what she wanted. This prompted my conclusion that if I ever have kids, and if they by some horrible act of God are an eighth as crazy as poor Maria, then I shall be forced to send them to my mother for the rest of their lives.

Then today I spent about forty five minutes talking with Gloria and Mayte about the things little kids get away with and how anyone in their right mind can overlook bad behavior like they do. It certainly isn't just a Spanish trend; working in a ski resort town in customer service since I was fifteen taught me the value of selective hearing and a permanent smile. And I have to thank my mom for forcing me to stand in the corner until I finished my meals when I was little because I am sure that is why I was able to survive last night when I found out dinner was a full can of mushrooms, fried, with a few piece of bread.

That meal was kind of a let down after my last weekend. We had Friday off school so we got up at the cracky crack of dawn (okay more like three hours before since the sun is particularly lazy right now and sleeps in far later than I am allowed too) at 5:30 to make it on a bus at 7:00. Santander is a resort town, which means that in the off season, you are subject to limited bus hours. The whole process of getting to the station was more work than nearly the rest of the trip. The bus took us to Hendaye, which is right over the border of France and Spain. We spent about an hour and a half there, wandering first into a no trespassing area that turned out to be the railroad tracks, and then down to a little outcropping that overlooked the little port.

From Hendaye we took a short train into Biarittz where we managed to get on a bus to the tourism office and book a hotel. Friday we spent the day exploring and eating mass amounts of brie. Prior to France I had not eaten brie, or a banana, in probably ten plus years. Both of those changed, so despite a few too many bottles of wine and a Frenchman telling me that I am not normal (thanks for pointing out the obvious when a girl is crying over a lack of cute boys) I can say that it was a highly productive weekend.

Friday night we ended up walking around in the rain until we found an Indian restaurant for dinner. Somehow Christina and I ended up ordering chicken and an Indian style salmon to our order, which turned out to be the most fantastic mistake ever. Add one more thing to the list of foods I now love. That makes it actually three foods that I lost my total fear of in a matter of 72 hours. Saturday we walked out on the coast of Biarittz after a breakfast of chocolate bread... yum yum yum. Last week's effort to eat healthy and do the ab ripper every night was immediately un-done when I found out that the man in the bakery near our apartment spoke English and was really friendly. If you are nice to me AND you can offer to cut bread in English, you are fabulous, in my opinion.

I am kind of sad to report that despite their reputation as being rude and cold, the French outshone the Spanish on hospitality and kindness. Except the whole "you are not normal" accusing man in the hotel. Rude. Prior to coming to Spain I thought everyone here was all about the two kisses and loving everyone and having a great happy family life together. Not so much. Except the kisses part. They do love their kisses. Which is kind of strange since they don't want to be your friend. Who knows. Anyway, I love the French people and want to transplant them into Santander as soon as possible.

Saturday afternoon we got on a bus to Bayonne, which was my favorite of the three towns we went too. I have a thing for tiny streets and lots of shops and lots and lots and lots of food. Emma had sent me on a mission for a chocolate chip cookie that came in a yellow wrapper. So when Lauren came walking up with her panini in a yellow wrapper, I knew: my four month desperation for a cookie had come to an end. And let me just inform you that I have no idea what the name of the place is, but if you go to Bayonne you must find that cookie. It is a matter of life or significantly near death depression. Saturday night we returned to Biarittz and massacred six packages of Brie cheese and a three foot long and five inch wide baguette and two jars of fig jam and twelve bottles of wine in about thirty minutes. As I said, any good that I did on my whole "getting fabulously in-shape before returning home" plan was undone. And I have no regrets. All I have now is an immense desire to consume massive amounts of Brie at a high pace. I could skip the wine though, probably for the next ten years. At least now I can replace with with bananas, salmon and Brie.

Sunday morning we got up and went to San Jean de Luz, where I ate my first non-McDonalds/non-airport cheeseburger since getting to Spain. If you can't guess this let me just put this plain and simple: I LOVE FRANCE. And I love the food. More than I can say.

France inspired me to start a blog list about all of the foods I will be able to eat when I get home. So I am starting a recipe book for when I have my apartment next year. I fail at getting any comments on my blog, mostly because I think the page views each day are simple from me checking to see if anyone cares, but if you by some chance do have a really easy, delicious recipe, you should give me it. I will return the favor, I promise! Because.....

I am going to learn how to make Paella. And flan. So I will bribe you. If you supply me with successfully fabulous easy delicious recipes, I shall teach you my secret Spanish home cooking ways. God willing I can figure it out.