What am I doing here in Spain? Well, my father-in-law is partially to blame...

And what am I doing here in Spain?  Well, my father-in-law is partially to blame.

It was early 1999 and my wife and I were living in Oak Park, Illinois—the birthplace of Hemingway.  My in-laws—both Madrileños—were in town for a visit.  My father-in-law pulled me aside with a concerned look, and the following conversation ensued:

Father-in-law:  What time to you get up in the morning?

Sal:  Oh…about 5:15am.

Father-in-law: [Defiantly puffing out his chest]* Never* in my life.

That clinched it.  I knew it was time to start preparing to move my frazzled nerves from the US to Spain.  Of course, my Madrileña wife (who I shall refer to as “Mrs. Virtual Tapas Bar”…or “Mrs. VTB” when I’m feeling especially lazy) had been waiting for that moment for quite some time.

We met at the University of Illinois years earlier and were married in 1997.  It was a given that we’d sooner or later move  (and in her case, move back) to Spain.  Often—especially during long, cold or stressful days—we’d defiantly fantasize about such a move; but no timetable had been fixed. 

And then finally, the accumulation of too much (a) sleep deprivation, (b) Jerry Springer, (c) hour-long commutes to work, (d) insufferable weather (Chicago’s climate is Spain-like from July to August—the rest of the year, it’s Scotland), and (e) listening to dinner conversations about stock options and mutual funds, etc….etc….etc. took its toll.  Discussions about a possible timetable for moving became more prominent.  Then…my father-in-law’s “startling” revelation sunk the final nail into the coffin.

In late 1999, we packed up our two cats and moved to Barcelona—where we immersed ourselves in the distinctive pleasures of Catalan culture.

In late 2002, our daughter (who I shall refer to as “Pumpkin”) was born, and our Telepizza®-sized condo suddenly became claustrophobic.  It was time to move again.  Besides, the Vespas whizzing by at 3am were driving us nuts.  Man!  The Catalans love Vespas.

We now live in Castilla-LaMancha, in a town of 5,000 human inhabitants—and nearly as many smelly, four-legged ones.  For the sake of privacy, I’ll refer to my town as “Sancho-ville.” 

Oh…stop complaining.  At least I told you my real name!

I’ve been writing “forever,” publishing since 2001 and blogging since June 2004.  Expatica Spain has generously—dare I say, mercifully—placed few parameters around the content of this blog.  As such, I intend to write about my observations and reflections on life, food, drink and silliness in Spain. This won’t be much of a stretch for me.  Over the past five years, I’ve written hundreds of descriptive essays on these topics for the benefit of friends and family back home. 

Now it’s time to share them (and more!) with vosotros…my new friends.

The full Sal DeTraglia's Virtual Tapas Bar Blog can be found at:
http://saldetraglia.blogspot.com