In 1998 I lived in Segovia, Spain for a three-month college semester, studying art, history and the Spanish language. I stayed in the home of Mari Luz Merinero with two other college students from Kentucky. They spoke Spanish. I spoke not a word.
During one of my first nights in Spain, Mari Luz, who I soon began referring to as “Señora” or “mi madre en España,” prepared one of her copious and delicious Spanish dinners. For reasons that I can no longer recall, my roommates were absent, so I sat across the table from Señora alone, a fork in one hand and a Spanish-English dictionary in the other.
The situation was intimidating at first because Senora did not speak English, but she displayed a superhuman degree of patience. The silence never felt awkward and I became more comfortable in that foreign land over the next several weeks.
When I returned to Kentucky, I wrote letters to Señora on an irregular basis until the communication trickled to a halt some years later. Looking back, I think that it was my fault due to embarrassment and procrastination. My Spanish was perhaps kindergarten level, so writing was difficult. I thought of Señora and Spain often and vowed to return one day.
That day came in October, 2014. I used the internet to locate Señora and reestablish communication. She lived in the same house and, using Google Earth, I investigated her street and discovered that not much had changed. Via email, Señora had offered to prepare my favorite Spanish dish, Pallea, for my girlfriend and I. I could hardly contain my excitement.
She was waiting with the door open as Holly and I walked up the long, cobblestone street. We sat down in her living room and talked about a myriad of subjects. Holly spoke no Spanish, so I served as an inadequate translator. It was mentally draining, but fun, and I estimate that we understood 75% of the conversation. Señora lectured me at length about my Spanish not improving much in 16 years. In response, I could only nod my head sheepishly.
Señora explained to us that the fish market was closed and she could not prepare pallea without fresh fish. She offered to make tortilla de patatas instead. It is a ubiquitous dish in Spain, but as always, Senora’s recipe was better than the restaurants. She invited us back for dinner the following evening for pallea and we could not refuse.
The huge dish was glorious, filled to the brim with yellow rice, vegetables, shrimp and various mystery seafood. It was also lined with mussel shells, exactly as I remembered. Holly and I brought sweet red wine, and although Senora rarely drank alcohol, she decided to partake on that special occasion.
With full stomachs and long goodbyes, we left Señora and continued our journey across Spain. As I sit here now at home, I struggle to find the words, in Spanish or English, that convey how much I appreciate that wonderful woman. The best that I can do is faithfully write and send photographs, reminders that I will always think of her and Spain.
Added 1/26/15