Making the Move, part 6

During the weekend Christine and Peter Lotto did come over, along with their daughter Alison. The three girls had a great time splashing in the pool. Peter worked in systems for Carrier Corporation, and Christine was a librarian. No amateur at PTA-type activities, she said she was in charge of finding hosts for parents’ get-togethers for each grade at the school. I remembered having spoken to Marisa Brandao, a Brazilian woman who had integrated herself swiftly into the Westover PTO in Stamford. I had asked her, anticipating my move to Spain, how she’d done it. “I just went to the meeting, and they needed somebody to run the membership drive, and I said I would do it,” she said. I signed on to do the fifth grade parents’ social.

* * *

We took a day trip down south of the city that first Sunday, before Mike was to return to work, to Aranjuez, where there is a Bourbon palace with formal gardens. It was the typical Madrid thing to do, to get out of the city on a Sunday and find a pastoral spot for a relaxed meal and a walk. On the way we drove through a pueblo (village) of charming white houses, with strings of lights hanging above the streets. It was unexpected and delightful to see, but only because I was not yet used to the fact that nearly every little town in Spain is charming.

On this beautiful sunny day we parked not far from the palace and walked through the gardens, full of red and white flowers. Just across the little Tajo river was a shady street that led to the Casa del Labrador, a tiny palace, and we walked down to look at it. Lisa spotted a stand where a boatman was selling tickets for brief river excursions. “Can we go on a boat trip? Please?”

“Sure,” Mike said, and we had a relaxing float down the Tajo.

We had a good Spanish lunch at a riverside restaurant, Rana Verde (Green Frog). We were there earlier than the real Spanish lunchtime, which is 2 p.m., and we were still puzzled by the menu, but we did get the job done.

Mike had gotten his company car, a little Mercedes whose best feature was the 12-CD changer in the trunk. It was a comfortable car, even for Mike’s 6’4” frame, and it was a lot of fun to drive. “What color would you call this?” Mike asked.

“Tan,” I said.

“Purple,” said Julie.

“I thought it was pink,” Lisa said. It was some kind of color that didn’t occur in nature, and we never figured out how to describe it.