We Find A Home of Our Own

During our 10 years together, David and I have moved… a lot. From Paris to California to New York to Chicago back to New York to Torrevieja in Spain and then, just over two years ago, we moved into a village house in Altea that I adored the minute I first saw it. Everything about it felt right, and we eagerly unpacked, certain that this would be our home for a long time to come. But, not even a week later, we were on the move once again after discovering that the landlord wasn’t quite ready to let go of his beloved home. In a hurry, we found an apartment on the edge of the old town. It was spacious, it was light, but it brought tears to my eyes because it was cold and lifeless and didn’t feel like a home. At that time, I felt it was a sign that we weren’t yet ready to be accepted into Altea. We were being shoved on the outskirts where the expats live. And that’s where we stayed – with our belongings shoved in the closet, our frames still in boxes, our books stored away under the stairwell. Unlike the village house, this apartment didn’t inspire. So we slept there but didn’t really live there. We ate there but never really cooked there. It was a place that we rented, but it was never really our home.

Though it wasn’t home, we never bothered to look for a better place. We were tired of moving and, quite frankly, we were too busy with AlteArte to care where we slept. So we stayed there for two years and would have stayed longer if not for Pascual who called David one day to tell us about a house right in front of his own that had just been put for rent. Had it been anyone else who had told us about the house, we probably would have been lackadaisical about the whole thing and stood by as someone else rented the place. But because it was Pascual, we didn’t have any choice but to call.

In his mid-50s, Pascual is one of the personalities that gives Altea its color. Belonging to a family that made its wealth off of shoe factories in Elche before Spain lost its foothold in the shoe industry, Pascual hasn’t worked a day in his life and is determined to keep it that way. So, while we slave away at AlteArte, he often stops by to report to us that he’s off to the sauna. He comes back looking refreshed and vibrant with skin glowing. Normally, he keeps his long curls tucked behind in a ponytail, but, occasionally, he straightens his hair which gives him a flair of elegance and makes it seem almost as if he just stepped out of a dracula novel. He lives a life of Zen in his four story feng shui house that stands high above the others with spectacular views of the Mediterranean. But more noteworthy than his appearance or his house is his personality. He’s an entertainer and life is his stage. Put on just the right type of music and catch him in the right mood, and he’ll perform for you as he has spontaneously done on rare occasions at AlteArte. He closes his eyes and feels the rhythm and starts to move, contorting his body so that his legs are wrapped behind his head one minute and then sprawled out across the floor or lifting his entire body off the ground by holding on to the ceiling shaft the next. And it’s not just through his yoga-like dance moves that he entertains. Talk to him and he’ll carry you swiftly off down one topic and then abruptly shift the conversation with a subtle play on words but it’s all done in such a seamless fashion that you can easily get lost along the way. You can catch up later when he pauses, waiting for a reaction, but, by this time, he knows that you’ve been left behind and he happily laughs at his own joke. In the beginning, my elementary spanish wasn’t good enough to understand these nuances. Now that I’m a bit better at Spanish and have come to know him better, I’m able to follow him on his tangents and detect the soft twinkle in his eye when he’s about to change directions. He’s also the town gossip. He comes by in the afternoons to have a coffee in his own special glass – sometimes while we’re still busy cleaning – and delivers us our daily dose of Altea news. With Pascual in our life, we don’t need to read the local newspaper. With time on his hands, he spends his days going around to all the local businesses, collecting all the local scoops and satisfying his thirst for gossip more than anything else. And he’s always searching – whistling as he looks – for Gala, his 13 year old greyhound who makes her own rounds of the local restaurants in search of food.

So when the house in front of his went up for rent, he wouldn’t drop the subject and urged us to call to visit. And when we relented and did call to make an appointment, he took the phone halfway through the conversation and talked to the owner who he knows personally and sold us to him just as he had sold the house to us. Looking back, I realize that we were puppets and he our puppeteer. He had orchestrated the whole thing partly because he knew the house personally and wanted us to secure it as ours but also because he wanted to ensure that the new people who moved in to the house right in front of his wouldn’t disrupt the perfect life harmony that he had worked so hard to create. We were the perfect candidates. We came home late every night, we weren’t loud, we wouldn’t throw parties. Pascual had thought the whole thing through perfectly. Now, he just had to put the pieces into place.

We visited the house the next day, and as we approached, we could hear Pascual talking. He was already there visiting with the owners. We entered and were greeted by a distinguished woman and an older gentleman whose eyes were kind and gentle. And then we looked around and saw the sea! The living room was lined with windows overlooking the Mediterranean, and the doors to a small balcony stood wide open to let the breeze in. Perched high up, the house offered unobstructed views of Calpe to the left and Benidorm to the right and water stretching to the horizon. Then we saw the kitchen, and I fell in love with the windows – one facing the cobbled village street and another looking out over where the fruits and vegetables market set up every Tuesday. And then we visited the master bedroom just off the living room and I was swept away. With water everywhere I looked, I got the sensation of being in a boat and I was charmed by the thought of living in a boat-like house just steps from AlteArte. But the tour wasn’t over. Just off of the master bedroom was a steep staircase, and we followed it up until we reached a door. Pushing it open, we caught our breath as light flooded in. And we stepped out onto a brilliant terrace with breathtaking views of rooftops and water and life that took place below our feet. And I turned around and had to laugh as I saw the majesty of Pascual’s house looming behind us. We were high up but he was even higher. And I saw the church that had taunted us for two years in our apartment by staying just out of view, blocked by the apartment building next door. Everything was perfect about this little village home… even the noise – or lack thereof. We had grown so used to the constant drone of cars on the main street just outside of our apartment that the pure tranquility of this house perched above the sea was as noticeable as the noise of the cars was in the other. Two days before, we hadn’t even thought about moving, yet here we were ready to take it which would mean moving in 10 days. But the decision was not ours to make. The owners were showing it to others and would be making their decision in the next couple of days.

And so the waiting started. And I tried to keep my anticipation in check for fear of the disappointment that would ensue if the answer was no. But we were put out of our misery a day early when we got a call and were informed that it was… ours! So nearly exactly two years after we had first moved to Altea, we were moving again to a village house that wouldn’t slip through our fingers this time. After getting the keys to our new house, we went to see it once more and we started to notice the smaller details that we hadn’t seen during our first visit. And that’s when we spotted a picture on the wall. It was a picture of an Altean street, but it wasn’t just any street. It was a picture of the street where AlteArte is located, and, upon closer inspection, we could even see AlteArte in the background.

Was it a sign that we finally had arrived to where we belong? If there was any doubt, more signs followed. Shortly after taking over AlteArte in 2010, Jaime, an older gentleman and the former owner of a restaurant called BellaAltea, randomly offered us two framed photos of Altea that showed Altea as it once was 40 some odd years ago when donkeys roamed the streets and everything was much less built up than it is now. One of them was a photo taken of Calle del Sol and Jaime explained that his house was one of the houses in the photo. For two years, we had had these photos on display at AlteArte and we had explained countless times to interested tourists that it was Altea 40 years ago. As it turns out, our village house is on Calle del Sol, just upstairs from Jaime and therefore, it, too, is pictured in the photo that Jaime presented to us nearly two years ago.

Not only have we moved from the outskirts of the old town into the old town, but we have moved to one of the most coveted streets of the old town. Calle del Sol offers some of the most spectacular views and is one of the oldest streets in Altea. And to top it all off, our landlord – the old gentleman with the kind and gentle eyes – used to be the doctor in Altea. In other words, the one doctor who, in old times, used to go around making house calls and was single-handedly in charge of taking care of all of the people in Altea, is now our landlord. All the Alteans of our generation know him because he used to be their doctor.

I wake up to sunlight, I sit up and I can see the sea, I go out to the living room and onto our balcony and I look over Altea’s rooftops and I see the village from a whole new perspective that I had never known before. I see life as it happens on rooftop terraces – people peacefully enjoying their breakfast, others hanging out their laundry, yet others watering their plants. The life that takes place on Altea’s rooftops gives new dimension to life in Altea as a whole.

And I see the flock of painted pigeons fly right in front of me. I had heard of Altea’s painted pigeons, I had even seen them in photographs that my friend, Nadia, had taken, but I had never seen them with my own eyes. Yet, here I see them again and again as they fly by, sporting brilliant colors and landing only briefly on a nearby rooftop before taking off to fly once more.

And our little village house really feels like home. Our books are on the shelves that line the living room, our frames are proudly on display and it’s so cozy to be here that it’s hard to even leave. David cooks more often now and the cats love sleeping on the balcony, each one taking his respective corner.

By moving from the outskirts right into the very heart of Altea, was it a sign that we were being accepted? Had we earned our right after two years in Altea? As we had our housewarming party with some of our closest friends, I had to wonder whether a tourist passing by that night had heard the laughter coming from within our little home and had yearned to join in as I once had when we had first arrived to Altea. All I know is that it feels good to be here. I have gotten to know Altea much better than I did two years ago. I have seen its different shades of color, I have felt its depth, I have gotten a better understanding of its soul.

Perhaps I had to go through that rite of passage before we could take up residence on the Calle del Sol.

I caught Pascual in action during one of his impromptu performances.

When Gala’s not in search of food, she’s waiting patiently for Pascual.

View from the living room

Balcony

The Living Room

David busy cooking in our kitchen.

This is only half of our terrace.

The view from our balcony and terrace

We saw these painted pigeons soar right in front of us as we stood on our balcony.

More Painted Pigeons

We threw a housewarming party and filled our little home with some of our closest friends.

Changing… Seasons

The streets of Altea are quiet these days and it’s hard to imagine how Altea was just a few months ago when they were bustling with couples and families and strollers and when the restaurants had their terraces out full of people until well after midnight. But even though the contrast is great, it doesn’t come as such a surprise as it did the first time around when I didn’t yet understand the ebb and flow of Altea’s seasons.

Life in Altea has a rhythm of its own. Like the Mediterranean that surrounds this coastal village, the majority of time the rhythm is calm, quiet, tranquil. However, every so often, the weather gets stormy, and the sea becomes troubled, creating an impressive show of force as the water crashes dramatically against the wall of rocks. The Summer season is similar. It’s dramatic and unrelenting with its steady flow of people weaving out of Altea’s labyrinth of streets. Spring and Fall provide a brief relief from the extremes of both.

Though the seasons still take some adjusting to, the underlying current of constant change has surprised me even more. When we first arrived to Altea, we were impressed by the businesses that had been open for decades. But the foundation that seemed so solid has given way to reveal a much more transient world underneath. Within the past year, we have seen more changes than we can keep track of. Many businesses opened up in the Spring, poised to capitalize on the busy Summer months. But already by Fall, their stay had expired and they were already shutting their barely-opened doors – for good, like the random vintage photo studio where customers dress up Victorian style and the silk store next to AlteArte that added a splash of color to the white street with its purple doors and fast-talking, money-flashing, salesman-like owner. One clothing store moved from its small modest store just outside the old town into a beautiful, flashy space that was visible from the square only to vanish from Altea altogether just months later. A bar opened just off the square in December with odds that were stacked against it: the rent was formidably high, the space was a cave with no outside space (it’s practically suicide to not have a terrace in the summer), and the owner was one person doing everything himself. While many placed their bets that the bar wouldn’t even last until the Summer, the owner, though small in stature made up for his physical size with a resilient determination to defy the impossible and ultimately defied the odds and endured. But, in order to do so, he had to make some choices. To attract the bar-hopping youth, he stayed open after the other bars shut down. Thus, his bar became a popular After Hours place where the party would often continue until 9 in the morning. The strategy was an effective way to attract business in the short term but was impossible to reverse and, in the long term, became the cause of his demise. In September, he received police orders to close the bar.

Being a relative newbie in Altea, I lack the perspective to know whether this constant shifting underneath is Altea’s natural ebb and flow or if it’s a disturbing sign of the times.

Plagued with unemployment rates of more than 20 percent and still struggling to find its footing after its 2008 dip into what has been called “the greatest recession in sixty years,” Spain certainly wasn’t a land of opportunity when we first arrived in 2009. And, in Torrevieja, the news headlines played out on the ground, making it feel more like an abandoned ghost town rather than a bustling city of 100,000. For Sale and For Rent signs hung from every building, large restaurants stood vacant, and desperation and desolation plagued the air. So when we arrived in Altea, it was a breath of fresh air in many ways. Not only was Altea far more picturesque and charming than Torrevieja, but it also seemed more insulated from the recession – as if somehow this small village cradled between the mountains and the sea could defy the economic storm that was whipping through the country. For Sale signs were scarce, the homes well-maintained and the businesses were, well, in business.

But perhaps even Altea is no longer safe. Just recently, the city hall laid off 24 employees and the debt rose to 47 million euros. That’s following a Summer where the store owners on Calle Mayor – the main avenue where if a shop is going to work, it’s going to work there – complained about their sales. Sure, the streets may have been full of tourists this Summer, but they weren’t spending, the shop owners reported. Fortunately, for us, the tourists still had to eat and drink. And, thanks to David’s strategizing, we decided, after hearing again and again how good our mojitos were, to go full force and specialize in just that. We made mojitos our niche and have developed a line of different flavored ones. As a result, not only did we significantly increase sales from our first Summer as the average drink order increased from 1.50 (the price of a beer) to 5 euros (the price of the basic mojito) but we turned our first employee, Pablo, into a mojito machine as he churned out thousands over the course of three months.

The trick right now is to stand out, especially in Spain which has the highest ratio of bars to population. Since bars are the businesses that work best in Spain and jobs are hard to come by, naturally, more and more of our clients who are unable to find jobs are creating their own by opening bars of their own.

Those that survive not only the natural ebb and flow of Altea’s seasons but also the economic storm that only seems to be growing will be the businesses that think outside of the box and respond with new and creative ideas, like Pepa who has turned her store, Artesans, into a second-hand shop… the first of its kind in Altea’s old town. From racks that were once filled with designer names now hang a mishmash of clothing, including one of my shirts – last time I checked. By doing so, she has differentiated herself and has breathed new life into her business. Xef Pirata has become popular with its high end tapas because it satisfies a craving left by Altea’s numerous Italian restaurants that all offer too much of the same. With our mojitos, we hope to give people a specific reason to come to AlteArte.

Following a Summer that was disturbingly lackluster, the long Winter ahead will be a crucial time for many. Some will inevitably be washed away by the tide. Others will find their footing and face things head on. As for us, I know that as long as we take the time to properly sow the seeds in the rough times, we’ll outright flourish in the good times ahead.

David making a classic Mojito and a Morajito (Blackberry Mojito) Photo Credit: Lars Lindberg

Photo Credit: Lars Lindberg

David got to be good at mass producing the mojitos!

We turned Pablo into a mojito machine. He was great at keeping the orders straight regardless of whether it was a mojito without alcohol, with gin, with coca cola etc.

Our terrace often filled up with people drinking only mojitos!

It Takes A Village

I grew up in a village. Located in the mountains East of Los Angeles, Idyllwild was an idyllic place to spend my childhood. I starred as the Ugly Duckling in the town play, competed for cakes in the cakewalks at the town festivals and celebrated my birthdays bobbing for apples and hunting for peanuts in the forest of trees surrounding my house. Surrounded by familiar faces in a town where everyone knew everyone, I was raised in innocence and able to fully treasure and cherish my days of childhood. When I was 12, my dad found a new teaching job in Santa Barbara and we left Idyllwild before the smallness of the town could become a bad thing and before the forests that were our playgrounds lost their magic and left idle minds susceptible to alternative forms of entertainment. Consequently, Idyllwild, for me, remains a place of innocence, clean of impurities and the best way to describe a perfect childhood.

Altea is a village. Much like the mountain village in California where I grew up, everyone knows everyone, everyone’s neighbors with everyone, and changes don’t happen without everyone knowing about it – sometimes before it has even happened.

Coming from the outside to take over AlteArte meant that we were crossing many invisible barriers. It was easy enough to rent an apartment and physically move to Altea. It was another thing to open a business here and, ultimately, be accepted into the community. For, even though many outsiders including Norwegians, Dutch and English have settled here, it doesn’t change the fact that many of the people who run businesses in Altea’s old town have grown up in Altea. They know the majority of the village, having played with them on the playground, by somehow being related to them or having worked in some capacity with them. The connections between people are intricate yet crucial, and coming from the outside meant that we had absolutely none of that when we arrived. Entering on these terms certainly put us at a disadvantage yet we had one big thing going for us: we were taking over as the third owners of AlteArte, meaning that two owners came before us. And it was just by a stroke of good luck that the two previous owners were from Altea and had made a name for the business within Altea’s circle of locals. So when we opened the doors on February 27th 2010, people came, perhaps not for us but at least for AlteArte. Over the last year and a half, we’ve kept some, lost some, and made new customers.

Over the past year and a half, the signs of acceptance have come in many forms. Acceptance came in the form of lots of helping hands like when we were organizing a party for Carnaval. Making posters and buying decorations for AlteArte was one thing but coming up with something to wear was a whole other obstacle – and especially daunting for someone like me who might be able to find creativity in words but falters when it comes to imagining up a costume using articles from one’s wardrobe. Fortunately, after mentioning my dilemma to Pepa the day before our big party, she instantly made a plan for me to come by her shop early the next day. With the help of a few more friends and lots of imagination, we tried on tops, bottoms and wigs until we found the perfect combination. And it didn’t stop there. Pepa even came to AlteArte before the party got started to do my hair and put on my makeup. That night, I was a hit. And it’s all thanks to Pepa who lent me her time, skill and imagination on a day that I needed it most.

Support and acceptance also came flooding in when David had to go to Paris unexpectedly when a close family friend lost a long battle with lung cancer. The funeral was to be held on a Saturday meaning that I would be alone for the weekend. We arranged for a friend to help me behind the bar, but it was the assistance that came from our regulars, our friends, that I hadn’t quite planned on. I collected many numbers that weekend – from friends who, upon finding out that David was gone, reassured me that they were only a phone call away should I need anything. And when the ultimate test came at 3:00 am on Friday night and I had to change the keg, I reviewed my scribbled notes on “How to Change the Keg” and then ran upstairs to the stock room to try it out. In my haste to do it quickly, I must have incorrectly disconnected the hose because, all of a sudden, gas was spewing out, quickly freezing the top of the new keg and making it impossible to insert the hose. Running to get help, a task that should have been routine turned into a multi-person effort as it was quickly determined among the crowd who had the most expertise at actually changing the keg, not just drinking the beer that was in it. Perhaps it was highly unprofessional and should be a faux pas best left unmentioned, but, in that minute, when everyone was trying to sober up to fix the problem and not outright laughing at me in a drunken stupor, I felt a wave of gratitude for these people who had accepted me – the obviously foreign, far-from-knowledgeable-about-alcohol girl – in to their village and who were pulling together to help me survive my first weekend alone.

But, unlike my childhood village which remains captured in my memory as idyllically perfect, now in my adult life, I have found village life to have its own faults. Being located on a residential street largely adds to AlteArte’s charm, but it has largely contributed to the recent problems that we’ve had as well. When we added an extra table to our terrace just two steps down, we never imagined that it would cause such an uproar in the neighborhood. At first, the reaction was silent. But, two weeks later, the silent rumblings reached an audible level when one of the neighbors informed us that many people were quite upset. Having never intended or wished to declare war, we removed the table and, by doing so, restored peace… albeit only momentarily.

Our Summer party on June 21st couldn’t have gone over better with the customers. People were dancing to the live music and filled every inch inside and outside of AlteArte. But it couldn’t have caused a bigger scandal in the neighborhood. At 1:00 in the morning, the cops arrived. Had the neighbors called? Yes, and they wouldn’t stop calling, said the cops. And when we arrived to work the next day, the displeasure was tangible. One neighbor came to complain, another informed us that everyone was filing complaints at the police station and yet another shot me a half disgusted/half upset look and was going to disappear into her house until I approached her to apologize. And perhaps it was my overactive imagination – but most likely not – that made me believe that the whole neighborhood was talking about us behind closed doors, over telephone lines, and behind our backs. And, that day, I just felt deflated. Apparently, it hadn’t mattered that, for a year and a half, we had closed our terrace to get everyone inside by 2 am, had changed the clientele to avoid having students partying in the streets with their barking dogs, had done our best to show that we wanted to enhance the neighborhood, had changed the glass in the windows to keep the noise in, and had even supplied internet to our neighbors free of charge. Instead, what mattered is that we had had live music one night that kept the neighbors from sleeping. (Ironically, the entire weekend that followed our Summer party, the village celebrated Sant Joan with music in the square that was so loud that we could hear it clearly at AlteArte at 4 am and fireworks that went off at 8 am announcing a new day of festivities.) All this was difficult enough to deal with but when a rumor started among the neighbors that people were dealing at AlteArte, it all became a bit too much to handle.

The politics of village life is more complicated than I remember it as a child. I don’t remember the gossip or the hurtful rumors. Instead, I remember the overnight slumber parties at friends’ houses and playing in my tree house with my sister. But I suppose that my innocent memories of Idyllwild has more to do with my personal innocence than with the village. And Altea is still a little paradise but with more layers of depth than I first spotted when I saw only the exterior beauty but didn’t know what lay beneath. Sure, our recent challenges of keeping peace with the neighbors have jaded us slightly as we try to define our role within the community but the joys of knowing people on a deeper level come largely thanks to the fact that Altea is a village.

And, regardless of whether it’s the village coming together to help or trying to patch things over with the neighbors, the fact that we’re even having these kinds of interactions means that we’ve become part of Altea’s community. And, slowly but surely, we’re weaving ourselves into Altea’s complicated, intricate patchwork of life and relations. For better and for worse, we’re becoming a part of this village.

Pepa applying my makeup before the party.

From head to toe, Pepa took care of everything.

The finished product! Many people couldn’t even tell it was me!

David didn’t need any help – he picked out his costume and did his makeup by himself!

This powerful duo got me ready for the big night!

The summer party was a hit!

Our terrace was packed the night of the Summer Party.

In Pursuit of Happiness

The Summer that David and I met was one of the happiest of my life. I lived on Rue Quincampoix, a charming street, smack in the middle of Paris with my good friend, Mimi. I had managed to extend my visa so that I could enjoy Summer in Paris with its blue skies and long days. I joined an international staff at Hard Rock Cafe with its rock and roll atmosphere that somehow combined speed with a laid back atmosphere. I was 23 and had the luxury of youth on my side and the promise of life ahead of me. And, after nearly a year of dealing with older guys hitting on me, cocky guys trying to sleep with me on the first day, and awkward guys trying to nibble on my ear at the movies, I had finally met a normal guy who took me to a macrobiotic restaurant along the Seine and asked me about me and didn’t play games. We worked together, and, after a month, we lived together, and we even spontaneously took a trip to Amsterdam together. I stopped worrying about the future, started living in the present and fully enjoyed that last Summer in Paris. I didn’t realize then what a luxury it was to have happiness come so easily, so effortlessly.

David followed me to California when my visa expired and I had to leave Paris. We found him a job, I taught him to drive, he got his driver’s license and, while he reveled in having a car and Southern California’s driving culture, I missed living in a city where everything was accessible by metro or by foot. For David, Southern California reminded him of Spain and he enjoyed the climate and the landscape. For me, I had grown up in California and was bored of living in a place where the climate never changed and seasons didn’t exist. David liked getting lost in huge stores like Best Buy and Circuit City where he was surrounded by every kind of gadget that you could desire. Meanwhile, I was turned off by the materialistic lifestyle. I had gotten a refreshing taste of something different during my year in Paris and didn’t want to get stuck in Southern California. So, at my urging, I uprooted us and suggested that we try out New York.

For me, New York was exciting. I loved taking the subway or walking the streets and constantly feeling alive as I was smashed in and surrounded by people. I loved the fact that everyday was different with new experiences and new encounters. I loved the thousands of small businesses, each with its own character. I loved the feeling of potential and possibility and passion as people came from everywhere to pursue their dreams. I felt energized by New York’s constant movement and action. I felt alive! I felt happy! But while I reveled in all of this, David was subjected to the stress of cooking for the elite, working 12 to 14 hour days, and spending all of the most important holidays in his employers’ homes. While I had lots of friends and the time to hang out with them, he didn’t even have time for himself. He longed to do something on his own and dreamed of starting his own business. He was tired of working long hours for others. While I was happy, he was miserable. And by year three, it was wearing on him… and us. And I knew that something had to change. And that’s when it did. The Universe stepped in and we both got laid off from our jobs.

We came to Spain, deciding that it was finally time to pursue David’s entrepreneurial dreams. In Altea, we found a microclimate where seasons still exist. We found a community where people walk everywhere and wave to each other in the streets and interact. We found beautiful surroundings. But, most importantly, we found AlteArte. AlteArte has made us a part of the Altea community faster than anything could. It has given both of us purpose and friends. And, finally, we found a place that could make both of us happy.

And, for the first six months, David and I worked side by side seven days a week, giving AlteArte our all. We were united by a single mission and even though we had our arguments, we were in it together. Then, as Summer turned into Fall and we started closing one day a week and the slow season arrived, I also slowed down and began to seek a life outside of AlteArte. I wanted to see my friends outside of AlteArte’s four walls, I wanted to enjoy everything that I hadn’t had time to enjoy in the Summer. I wanted to focus on my writing and find some balance so that I didn’t burn out. And, at first, I expected David to want the same things. I had envisioned that we would enjoy our days off together, that we would go hiking in the mountains, explore the little villages around us together, maybe even take a brief trip to Portugal together.

But our days off more often turned out to be David heading off to AlteArte to work on something only to be inevitably discovered by his friends who would see the scooter outside and know that he was inside. There, he would spend his entire day. Meanwhile, I put to rest my desire of doing things together and instead focused on doing things on my own or with friends. I enjoyed the nice walk out to the lighthouse in Albir; I went hiking, picking wild asparagus and lemons along the way; I went running on the promenade; I enjoyed a barbecue on the beach; I played volleyball and had a picnic in Calpe. And I let go of the expectation that the things that would make me happy would make David happy. While I needed to get away from AlteArte to bring renewed energy to AlteArte, David had so many ideas that he wasn’t happy unless he was spending significant amounts of time in AlteArte. And how could I fault that? Wasn’t his commitment a good thing? His work ethic was actually one of things that first attracted me to him. I would be selfish to pull him away from that and ask him to spend more time with me, especially since, technically, we spent most of the day everyday working together.

And so the Winter passed in this way. The problem is that David’s commitment to AlteArte became so great that, as crazy as it sounds, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was even greater than his commitment to me, especially when, on several occasions, he spent the entire night at AlteArte and didn’t even bother to let me know that he wasn’t coming home. I started feeling as though there was another woman except that I knew that the new object of his affection was AlteArte. And when I started having to practically force him to spend time with me, I started realizing that, as good as his devotion might be for the business, it wasn’t good for the relationship. Because I wasn’t happy.

Happiness is a fragile thing. For those who have the luxury of seeking happiness, it’s a constantly moving platform. The trick is to find the right balance, the right recipe, the right combination. Personal happiness is one thing. Even trickier is finding happiness as a couple. Since we met nearly 10 years ago, David and I have been searching for a place where we could both be happy, where we could both feel fulfilled. Even when we were contemplating between moving to Paris or Altea, we based our decision based on where we felt we could be happiest.

My slowly building unhappiness overflowed this week when, despite my sincerest efforts to keep it at bay and to understand that spending time at – and on – AlteArte was what made David happy, he stopped and noticed that something was wrong. And he talked to me. And, instead of being on the defense, he listened to me. And without me even having to say anything, he understood that he had gone overboard, that it was too much. And the next day, he suggested that we go out for lunch, and we ate outdoors where we could see the water and we talked. And later, at AlteArte, he was more attentive and affectionate. Last night, after we closed, I left him at AlteArte because I knew that he wanted to work on some things. But he promised that he wouldn’t stay the whole night and, when I woke up, he was at home and I noticed that he had sent a text in the middle of the night saying that he would be home soon. And it made all the difference. It’s not that I need him to spend every waking minute with me, it’s not that I need him to do everything with me. I just need to know that he’s thinking of me and that our relationship is still important.

Happiness came so effortlessly for David and me that Summer in Paris. Since then, it has required a global search and lots of communication and understanding on both of our parts. But, as long as we’re both committed to working for it, happiness can be achieved and maintained and shared by both – and is all the sweeter for it.

I enjoyed a barbecue on the beach with friends.

Hiking to the lighthouse in Albir.

Hanging out with friends at a bar by the beach.

We Reach A Milestone

On February 27th, 2010, we officially opened the doors of AlteArte. I remember that day well. I remember how anxious I was to see what kind of day it would be. We hadn’t made any fuss over a grand opening, we barely knew anyone in Altea, we hoped that people would come but had no guarantee that they would. To our delight, that first day turned out to be a success as people filed in to unknowingly celebrate a day that we will never forget. I look back at pictures of that first night now and marvel at how those strangers have become our friends.

On February 27th, 2010, we didn’t know what our first day would be like let alone our first year. But this past Saturday, as we celebrated our 1st anniversary, in the company of some of our closest friends, we had the luxury of confidently and knowingly looking back over a year of events, moments, memories and experiences. I never could have imagined a year so rich with meaning. I also never could have predicted all that that first year would teach me. Before AlteArte, I thought that I had a good sense of who I was, I thought that, at 31, my personality was defined. Never could I have imagined all that I still had yet to learn about myself… about David…

It’s hard to see yourself in the eyes of others, but I think that people would describe me as introverted and reserved. I find it intimidating to enter a room of strangers. I’m more often the one to listen, not to talk. So, I suppose in some ways, these adjectives are accurate. However, ever since taking over AlteArte, a new me has taken precedence – a me who unites people, creates community, connects with people, talks to people easily – in both English and Spanish. I bring importance and punctuation to each encounter, I push myself to remember details and names, I make people feel welcome. AlteArte is my stage, and, unconsciously, when I walk through those doors, I switch into a different kind of me – a person who thrives on social interaction. People ask me, “Don’t you get tired of talking to people all day?” But my response is always the same. It’s actually the social aspect, the feeling that friends are coming to visit, the not knowing who’s going to walk in and from what part of the world that fills me with the energy needed to combat the physical aspect of long hours and being on my feet all day. I like the person that I become at AlteArte.

But just as AlteArte has defined customer relations and community building as my strengths, it has also highlighted my weaknesses. I don’t know what to do in an electrical shortage, I’m not strong enough to move heavy objects like the ice machine, I don’t understand how taxes work. And I get frustrated at the telephone company that takes nearly a year to correct our change of address, that tries to charge us for a year of service claiming that we never cancelled our contract from the time we lived in Torrevieja, and that charges us for a phone line at AlteArte that doesn’t work more often that it does. I’m also not a big picture person. I get so caught up in the daily tasks that I’m unable to set bigger goals.

Fortunately, I have a partner who is strong in everything that I’m not. David takes care of all of the above and more. He’s a graphic designer, a plumber, a chef, a bartender, a carpenter, and a computer technician. And he dreams big. He envisions additional lines of revenue and knows how to reach beyond the daily responsibilities to make AlteArte bigger and better.

And miraculously and unexpectedly, AlteArte has defined our strengths – and our weaknesses. And David and I have learned how to work together, and we’ve learned to appreciate what the other brings. After a year, I can confidently and knowingly say that AlteArte wouldn’t be what it has become if it wasn’t for both of us bringing our own special touch. We are each inherently crucial as we each play a fundamental role in making AlteArte AlteArte.

And, at some point during the course of the year, AlteArte ceased to be defined by its history of what it was like before us, of who owned it before us. And it started being our own. AlteArte is no longer about wifi or coffee or drinks. It is about David and me. We have become the faces and the soul of AlteArte.

But that’s not to say that this knowledge and the lessons learned have come easy. Discussions, arguments, explosive moments where each of us wondered if we could continue have painted this year different shades of greens, oranges and flaming reds. We’ve each had to argue our sides. We’ve each had to protect and stand up for what we felt was important. We’ve each had to learn to listen and trust the other. Fortunately, we had years of practice communicating to prepare us for our first year in business. Had we not had that solid base, I doubt we would have been strong enough to survive.

And I’ve learned that the only thing I can really expect is the unexpected. People told us that February would be one of the slowest months business-wise. Yet, it was in February that we enjoyed one of the busiest weekends since we opened. People told us that Spaniards don’t really drink tea. Yet, many times, we’ve had more tea sales than coffee. And before we officially decided to take over AlteArte, someone made the comment that AlteArte only works because Pepe, the owner at the time, is from Altea. After a year in business, we’ve proven that to be untrue. We’ve established ourselves. And we’re not going anywhere.

And for as much time, sweat, work and even tears that we’ve given to AlteArte over the past year, AlteArte has given back. And I never cease to be amazed. Just when I thought I had met everyone, a man walked in two weeks ago. It turns out that he’s originally from California and has lived in Altea for four years. And, best of all, he lives just around the corner from AlteArte. How could it have taken us nearly a year to meet each other??

On Saturday, we celebrated our 1st anniversary Spanish-style with a fiesta. I expected that AlteArte would be packed with only people that we knew. I expected that I would be able to look around the room and name each person. As expected, AlteArte was packed, but, surprisingly, as the people flooded in to the point that they overflowed on to the terrace, there were many people I had never seen before. And while I was glad that so many people had come, I felt a tinge of disappointment. I had wanted our one year anniversary to be a more intimate celebration among our regulars. I had wanted the slideshow of photos that we had created to be seen first by those who had supported us so faithfully over the last year. I had wanted the cake that my friend, Mariann, had made to only be enjoyed by our friends. I had wanted the keg that we were offering for free to be reserved for those who had given us so much over the last year. At first, I was disappointed to see so many faces I didn’t recognize. But I realize now that perhaps it’s a sign that our second year in business will be filled with new people who will soon become new friends.

And perhaps, a year from now, I will look at pictures of our 1st anniversary and recognize everyone in the pictures. I’ll know their names and I’ll be happy that they were there that day to celebrate with us.

Just as I couldn’t have imagined what our first year would be like on our opening day, the events, challenges and lessons that await us in our second year are equally beyond imagination. We may have seen a year full circle, we may have experienced the thrill of seeing tourists a second time around – like the french couple we first met shortly after we opened a year ago and who we just saw again during their annual trip to Altea – we may be familiar now with what each season brings, we may be a bit wiser about the hard work that’s to come this Summer. We may have experienced all of this. But even so, we can’t possibly know what’s to come in Year 2.

As we walked home at 6:30 in the morning on Sunday, the moon was still shining and the sea was breathtakingly still, and the houses of Altea stood elegantly in the foreground. And it didn’t matter what awaited in Year 2, for this picture-perfect setting held me in the present.

And I felt happiness.

Before the party started, we treated ourselves to pasta from La Forchetta, the restaurant just opposite us.

The party was just getting started.

Watching the Slideshow

Still watching the slideshow

We even got presents including a Scrabble board in Spanish for our Spanish Conversation days.

… we even got a tree!

The picture perfect setting that we encountered on our walk home (this photo doesn’t do it justice) brought me to the present and filled me with happiness.

This path home overlooks rooftops and the Mediterranean on the left and is lined with houses on the right.

Everything I Need to Know I Learned in High School

I hated high school. Had it been up to me, I would have happily skipped that phase altogether, for high school was one long, torturous, never-ending road for me. I hated the cliques, the labels, the arbitrarily selected definitions of who I was and the people I should hang out with. I rejected that aspect and, as a result, never really belonged to any one group. Whether that was for the better or the worse, who knows. All I wanted was to get through that trying period of self doubts and awkward adolescence when it was somehow in other people’s power to determine my own self-worth. And I hated the peer pressure to be something that I was not, especially when I was still simply just trying to figure out who I was. But as upsetting as it was, I knew that life was about much more than the trials and tribulations of high school so I eagerly looked forward to college where I could start with a clean slate. In college, I stopped caring whether I was liked by everyone. I would be me and those who liked me for who I was would be my friends. Period. It was that simple.

I never thought that that kind of uncertainty and anxiety over being liked that I experienced in high school would ever revisit me as an adult. But it did. When the hype of our reopening died down, business returned to its normal Winter pace – which, after the pace of summer and having been away for a month – was an eye opener. But it wasn’t just that. The recession was starting to directly impact Altea. More and more of our regulars were losing their jobs. Jaime, the 70 year old man who had befriended us when we first opened AlteArte, decided to call it quits and, after 25 years, officially closed the doors to his nearby restaurant, BellaAltea. And a Nepali guy who sold roses and who I knew only slightly spent one afternoon at AlteArte. But, instead of flowers, he held a beer in his hands as he told me about the days when he used to make 100 euros selling roses. Now, days before Christmas, he lamented about being far from his family and questioned how he was supposed to get through these trying times. I didn’t know how to help him, how to convince him that the sacrifice he was making of being far from his family was worth it, for I, myself, wasn’t even convinced of that. But I did know that spending all his money on beer wouldn’t help him at all and by his 6th, I refused to serve any more, encouraging him to spend his money on food instead. Was I in the position to decide such a thing? I don’t know, but my conscience couldn’t take it any longer.

But above and beyond the slow Winter pace and the dire effects of the recession, we suddenly found ourself in a battle against a new force: competition. A nearby bar was coming on strong, determined to win over all the customers by throwing special parties and featuring live bands every Thursday, the infamous night when all the students go out. They started opening morning, noon and night and advertised on their blackboard outside menu items that were collected from all the businesses around. It was obvious that they wanted to be the one stop shop in Altea. They were going for the masses and they got it. Once the craziest night for us, Thursdays became one of the quietest. The students no longer came, and we felt its impact saleswise.

And I felt the impact, ego-wise. After devoting so much time and energy, AlteArte had nearly become a representation of ourselves and I couldn’t help but somehow take the dip in business personally. Of course, I wasn’t completely cognizant of these feelings. It was more just a nagging negativity that was constantly at the back of my mind. Last Spring, business had come on its own. Effortlessly, we were the place to be. So our sudden fall from popularity’s grace was hard to swallow. And the feelings of vulnerability that came with it brought me back to the period of awkward adolescence when I was trying to define who I was and what was important.

And as Christmas approached, I dreaded spending it without my family. We considered closing and going to spend the holiday with David’s aunt and uncle, but when Maya, one of our most faithful regulars, informed us that we needed to be open because the Spaniards go out on Christmas Eve, we decided to stay in Altea and work, but we compromised and treated ourselves to Christmas dinner first at Tribus, one of our favorite restaurants in Altea.

Heading over to AlteArte at 11:00 p.m., I fervently hoped that we wouldn’t be alone that night. The only thing worse than not being with family on Christmas was being alone at AlteArte. But it didn’t look promising. The streets were dead. Altea was quiet. Everyone was tucked away behind closed doors, and I couldn’t imagine people leaving the comfort of their family and their home to go out that night.

Fortunately, I still have a lot to learn about Spanish culture. Open by 11:30, people started arriving at midnight, and as more and more people entered, my heart swelled, for it wasn’t just our regulars, it was the familiar faces of people who were home for the holidays and had come to spend the evening with us. And, for me, their presence alone spoke volumes. And a positive energy, so strong that it was nearly tangible, filled the air, and it enveloped me and nurtured me and comforted me and reassured me. And it was just what I needed to wipe out the unexplained sorrow that I had been burdened down with since my return to Altea.

And in the weeks since, small details have continued to emerge to remind us that we matter to people. A woman from Norway that we met briefly over the Summer while she was in Altea with her friend on vacation emailed me saying that they still think of us fondly and miss our mojitos. Nadia, a faithful customer and close friend, surprises us with tasty cupcakes that she makes at her house just around the corner and delivers to us on a platter. Salva, who often comes for a cortado in the afternoon, made a tiramisu for us. And Maya told me that when we don’t see her at AlteArte, it’s not because she’s somewhere else. It’s just because she didn’t go out. These reassurances come on their own and are soft, gentle reminders that we’re making an impact on people’s lives.

We don’t need the masses. What we need is quality relationships which is what we’re building slowly but surely. And as easy as it would be to hire the same flamenco group that has already performed at all the other bars in Altea, we need to stay focused on our own path and remain faithful to our vision for AlteArte. And while the other bar throws parties that run late into the early morning, we need to create activities that mean something. So we’re focusing on spreading the word about our conversation days to practice English and Spanish, we’re doing movie nights, and we’re continuing to devise ways to make AlteArte a platform where people can express themselves and connect with others.

I hated high school, but I know now that I had to endure it because it was a necessary rite of passage and I had an important lesson to learn. I learned in high school the importance of staying true to myself. I knew then deep down that life is much more than a popularity contest. For popularity is fleeting. Built on a shaky foundation, it can crumble at any second. Therefore, it’s not about knowing masses of people. Instead, it’s about connecting on a deeper level with the people we do know. In return, that will pay back over and over again. I learned to not succumb to peer pressure and, instead, to listen to what I knew and felt was the right thing to do. And I am proud of passing the test.

I already learned all that in high school. I just needed a reminder.

We treated ourselves to a Christmas Eve dinner at Tribus

The vibe in the air was fantastic on Christmas Eve.

With Maya on Christmas Eve.

Nadia and her cupcakes have given me a nice lift when I’m feeling down.

Nadia’s chocolate almond cupcakes. Her cupcakes are so delicious that I’m encouraging her to start a bakery!

Eyes Wide Shut

I don’t dream a lot. Or maybe I do, but I just don’t remember them. In any case, for me, dreams aren’t part of my reality. I rarely have to wonder what something in a dream symbolizes. I rarely am disturbed by how lifelike a dream was. I’m more often envious of those who dream a lot. I would like to dream more.

However, ever since I left Altea on November 2nd for a month of vacation, dreams – and the whole concept behind them – have entered into my consciousness much more than they have in a very long time. It started as soon as I boarded the overnight bus to Madrid. Strangely enough, as intense as my reality in Altea had been with the work schedule at AlteArte and our focused attention on building our own business, as soon as Altea’s little hill top church started to fade into the distance behind me so too did its apparent hold on me. It’s as if Altea’s power can only be felt within a certain radius, but break through the invisible barrier, and it starts becoming questionable whether Altea even really exists. The people who had colored my daily existence in Altea suddenly became muted shades of brilliance as the distance widened between us – and I wondered if they weren’t just storybook characters in a mystical land.

Crazy it may sound, but that’s how life in Altea feels: when you’re in it, it looms larger than life, and when you’re outside of it, it fades quietly in the background, making you truly wonder if your whole existence in Altea is nothing but a dream. Even leaving David behind for 2 weeks as he painted, added benches upstairs, added a big screen and a projector was not enough collateral. For when I left, I had to wonder whether Altea even existed.

But it didn’t stop there. Every night for about a week, I revisited Altea in my dreams. I hadn’t had dreams in so long, yet here they were coming in a flood! I dreamed that I was working at AlteArte after reopening but was thoroughly disoriented. I went to go grab a glass only to find that David had moved them from the shelf that they were on. I was obviously anxious about the changes that I knew David was making while I was gone, but what a weird expression of my anxiety!

After a month away, I returned to Altea on December 2nd. I was anxious to see what kind of impression it would make on me. Would I once again swoon over the cobbled streets or sweeping views as I had on my first visit more than a year ago? No, this time, the effect was completely different. David and a friend picked me up from the bus stop by car and we entered Altea but from the main road. There’s no views from the main road – only cars. And, even the next day, when I headed out for the opening day at AlteArte, the cobbled streets left little impression on me. It was as if I had gotten used to my surroundings – and brilliance had faded into the norm.

But that night, when AlteArte became packed with people welcoming us home and everywhere I looked, I saw friends, I fell in love all over again. And earlier that day, when our good friend, Warner, had sent me a text message saying, “Well, you did it! Altea is not the same without AlteArte!” it made me feel as though it was all still a dream, for it made me feel so happy that we had been so missed. And, just as my dream had foretold, I did feel disoriented and awkward after being away from AlteArte for so long, but it didn’t matter because the customers were our friends and patient as I got back into the swing of things. So, unlike my first trip to Altea, it wasn’t Altea that took my breath away. It was the people – our friends – who made my heart skip a beat and who made it all seem so dreamily perfect.

But in the days that followed, reality hit… hard. The physically demanding side of AlteArte began to take its toll on me. It’s funny how quickly I had fallen out of the routine of something that I had been doing for nearly a year. And within a week, I came down with the flu and proceeded to be sicker than I had been in a very long time. I was so weak that, for a week, David ran AlteArte alone while I stayed home in bed.

But worse yet, with a weak body came a weak mind and a wave of sadness swept over me. It was an indescribable tristesse – as if something foreign had taken a hold of me. And I couldn’t describe it to David, let alone myself. Perhaps it was fatigue from being in bed all week. Perhaps it was being far from my family while Christmas loomed just around the corner that induced me with a shot of homesickness that rivaled my summer camp days. Perhaps it was returning to Altea in December when winter has taken a firm hold and the streets are eerily quiet that contrasted too greatly with my exciting month off that left me in a state of depression. Whatever it was, it altered my vision of Altea as if I was looking through lens colored glasses that had suddenly changed a disturbing three shades darker. And I couldn’t shake it to the point that David, desperate, was ready to buy me a plane ticket home for Christmas.

And it took my words away so that I was unable to write even though I knew that I should. I was in such a weird funk that it nearly seemed that my series of dreams had turned into nightmares as I tried to shake off the terrible sadness but just couldn’t.

Something needed to change. I just didn’t know what.

In Living Color

It’s true that, after living here for nearly a year, Altea can feel small at times. It is a village, after all, with only 26,000 residents. And working within AlteArte’s four walls six days a week can feel confining at times. It is, after all, only just over 50 square meters (or about 500 square meters). But there’s also something magical about Altea that keeps life here perpetually interesting.

For starters, the people who live here aren’t just people. They’re colorfully eccentric, animated individuals many of whom are artists and each with such a distinct personality that it gives a whole new meaning to the word, “alive.” Take Carl, the artist, who lives just a stone’s throw away. He’s American but has lived in Europe the last 30 some odd years. “Sara Bird,” he’ll call down from his window as I’m putting out the terrace. At first, the voice in the sky never failed to startle me. But, now, I’ve become used to it and sometimes even glance above to see if he’s standing in the window. Occasionally, he’ll come down to rant and rave about the latest news that he picked up online (using our internet signal) or recall the adventures that he lived through in his youth, or complain about Anna, his next door neighbor. (I still have yet to figure out their relationship. Independently, they complain about the other, but, together, they snide and snicker back and forth as if they’re accomplices in something, rendering their interaction so interesting that it’s entertaining just to sit back and watch.)

There’s Kim, the philosopher, who’s convinced that the world will come to an end in 2012 (and who hopes and prays that he isn’t wrong in his conviction). There’s Pepe, our 70 year old hippie landlord, who’s so addicted to chess that he comes in regularly to play five minute games for hours online. We’ve gotten to know his gaming ways and are no longer dismayed when we hear him cursing upstairs. And there’s Pepa, the crazy ex wife of one of our customers. For the most part, we’ve managed to stay clear of her, but, one night, in a drunken state, she was determined to wreak havoc and lingered for hours, doing circles around AlteArte. At first, we tried to ignore her as she stood just to the side of the doorway, peering in to see if she could see her ex inside before drunkenly swaggering up the street. But when customers on the terrace called us out to show us how she had randomly moved all the chairs from one of the tables, a protective instinct awoke in me and I went outside to stand guard. Unfortunately, it was too late for she had already destroyed our small, potted tree at the top of the stairs. She had ripped it in two, breaking off several branches and forcing us to, since then, lay the poor thing to rest. The night ended with a call to the cops as it was the only way to physically remove her from the property. However, when she drifted past the door only 20 minutes later, we knew that it was far from a permanent fix. Fortunately, she hasn’t made trouble since, and we just hope that she doesn’t return.

And even though Altea is just a small dot on Spain’s Costa Blanca, I have discovered that we don’t need to venture out to see the world for the world actually seems to come to us. We’ve had customers from Australia, Ireland, Norway, France and Germany. We’ve also gotten the chance to meet people we never could have dreamed we ever could or would: Daryl Matthews, an American director currently living in Spain and working on a movie about gypsies (who showed us pictures of himself with Sandra Bullock – who he used to date – and shared stories of Patrick Swayze – who he used to be close friends with); Robert Stoltenberg, a very famous Norwegian comedian (who was so laid back and friendly that I never would have known that he was famous except that my Norwegian friend, Sissel, was there that night and eagerly whispered in my ear, “He’s a very famous Norwegian comedian!”); and the producer of Chef Gordon Ramsey’s shows in the UK (Ironically, I had just been talking to my friend about Ramsey. Little did I know that the customer sitting at the other end of the bar knew him personally). We’ve even met the Saudi Arabia-based Swedish Ambassador whose son came in daily during the week that they were in Altea to surf on the internet. And, best of all, we didn’t just cross paths with these people. We really got to meet them, for, in Spain, but especially in Altea, the pace of life slows down. And people will spend entire evenings at AlteArte. So we have the opportunity to actually talk to and get to know people – people who, in practically any other setting, probably wouldn’t even have the time to say hello.

And even though we’re in a village far from the major, international cities of Spain, we’ve been lucky to have a fairly constant stream of visitors since we arrived – my family who traveled from the West Coast of the U.S.; David’s mom who came from Paris, Melissa and Malcolm, friends from London, who came with their newborn son, Adrien; Ana and Halima, two of our friends who didn’t know each other but somehow managed to coordinate their visit from Paris at the same time; Olivier, the best man at our wedding, who currently lives in Singapore; and Jacqueline and Amy (and Amy’s boyfriend), two friends from college who, likewise, didn’t know each other but managed to overlap for a couple of days during their visit from Michigan and New York, respectively.

And then I walk outside and I look down the street, and I see a scene so breathtaking (so picture perfect, in fact, that we’ve had brides and grooms choose our terrace as the setting for some of their wedding photos) that I’m swept away, and I wonder if, indeed, this is all just a movie set and if I’m just a mere character in a movie about life. Because the setting, the characters, the experiences combined together make life here seem so surreal.

Even though Altea is only a small dot, it’s a microcosm of energy and life. And it’s a miniature world that David and I will be stepping outside of next month. For one of the decisions we made when we took over AlteArte was that we would also take time for ourselves. So we will close AlteArte for the month of November, the month that we’ve heard is one of the slowest business-wise in Altea, and while I will head to the States, David will stay for a couple of weeks longer to make repairs within AlteArte and then he will follow.

I am excited to see my family and friends but I wonder what it will feel like to be lost in the anonymity of Orange County, California. And I wonder what it will feel like to be, for a month, outside of AlteArte’s walls. And I wonder what it will feel like to step out of this magical place…

I am happy to be leaving… but I already know that I will be happy to return.

The crazy woman on one of her rounds around AlteArte

David trying to fix our tree… unfortunately, the damage had already been done.

Amazingly, the famous Norwegian comedian asked to take a photo with me!

During my family’s visit in April – right outside of AlteArte.

Our friends, Melissa and Malcolm, visited us from London with their 3 month old son, Adrien.

David’s mom came to visit us in August and was a huge help whenever things got busy.

My friends, Ana and Halima, coincidentally visited from Paris at the same time.

Jacqueline used precious vacation time to come visit from Michigan!

Amy and Dave came from New York City. Such a treat to see Amy again and meet Dave.

Olivier came all the way from Singapore with his friend, Tsulynn

This is the street right in front of AlteArte. On a night like this, with a full moon, the scene is breathtaking.

The setting is so picture perfect that a bride and groom even entered AlteArte to have wedding pictures taken upstairs!

A Reason to Celebrate

Maybe it’s because I’m not from Spain that I have trouble keeping it all straight, but, regardless, Spain’s fiestas can be a bit difficult to keep track of. In just the past several months alone, we celebrated L’Arbret in May, a special fiesta involving the carrying of a tree that’s entirely unique to Altea, Saint Joan in June with bonfires on the beach, El Castell de l’Olla in August which attracts thousands and uses up a couple tons of powder for fireworks, the Moros y Cristianos at the end of September which involves four days of fireworks, parades and practically non-stop partying, and we just enjoyed a day off on Tuesday to celebrate Christopher Columbus’s discovery of America.

Unfamiliar with all of the Spanish traditions, David and I try to gather as much information from the locals as possible in the days leading up to these fiestas in an effort to get an idea of what we should expect business-wise. The previous owners, Pepe and Amparo, tell us when it’s best to stay closed to the general public on the day of L’Arbret when drunken, half naked men will come into any open bar and ask for beer in support of their efforts to carry a tree to the center of the square. Our regulars tell us when to expect slow nights such as the night of “El Castell” when all of Altea was crowded together just up the coast a bit to admire one of the biggest and most impressive display of fireworks. Our neighbors and the surrounding business owners make sure that our terrace is in and out of the way when somehow we didn’t receive the notice from the city that we had to keep the street cleared for the parade that was preparing to pass through.

Next year, we’ll be better prepared for each of these special fiestas. We’ll know that the booming explosions that made us cower in sheer fear that AlteArte’s roof was caving in the first time we heard it is really just fireworks being set off for a fiesta or a wedding taking place in the square. We’ll know that we might as well close the night of Sant Juan because it’s dead in the old town since everyone heads down to the water to celebrate the beginning of Summer around beach bonfires. But, this year, we didn’t know what each celebration entailed so all we could do was wait and see.

And, fortunately, I have friends like Warner and Pepa who coaxed me out of AlteArte’s four walls to see the fiestas, like L’Arbret, with my own eyes. They told me where to go for the best viewing of the hundred of villagers – both men and women – as they arrived with a tree hoisted on their shoulders. These villagers had woken up early to chop down the tree and spent the day drinking and celebrating. So by the time they arrived in the old town, it was late in the afternoon, and they were half naked and drunk but determined, nonetheless, to successfully deliver the tree to the center of the main square at the very top of Altea. And in honor of their noble efforts to bring this tree to its designated destination, those who weren’t involved in the physical transportation were very much involved in the general festivities as they stood from their balconies and hoisted buckets of water on those below or came out with hoses to drench not only the tree carriers but spectators like myself who quickly learned to run whenever a hose was pointed menacingly in their direction. That day, I joined the hundreds of spectators to follow the hundreds of villagers and their tree down the final street leading to the square. And I watched as they hoisted it up and then proceeded to attempt to climb it one at a time, tying their shirts at the point at which they could climb no higher. L’Arbret was truly a celebration like no other – happening only in Altea – and I loved being a part of this random village celebration that originally started as a way for the village men to display their strength to the village women who would then choose the one that they wanted as their mate. And I was happy to recognize several of our customers among the crowd of tree carriers because it made me feel more than just a random spectator, but instead a member of the village.

And I broke away from AlteArte for an hour to run down to the main avenue to see the Moors parade that took place on the second day of the four day Moros y Cristianos celebration, and I was amazed at the amount of work and money that goes into this parade. And two days later, David and I took advantage of our day off to watch the entire 2 plus hours of the Christian parade which took place along the same avenue, and I lost myself in the elaborate costumes, floats and orchestrated performances. And I couldn’t believe that a village as small as Altea with only 26,000 residents put on such a major show every year. All year, they had been preparing for these festivities and, during the Moros y Cristianos celebration, they went all out. And after the parade ended at 10 pm, the parties continued at “las peñas” where different associations would throw parties out of their garages complete with food and drink. And these meals and parties, parades and fireworks continued for four days straight.

These days of festivities are not always the best for AlteArte. Oftentimes, the fireworks distract and the parties elsewhere lure our customers away, but they make life in Spain special. It’s on these days that everything stops (whether you like it or not) and the parties start. It’s on these days that even our grumpiest neighbor at AlteArte who barely acknowledges our presence proudly leads the marching band in the parade with his clarinet dancing on his lips and a happy twinkle in his eye. And during these festivities, anything can happen and you need to have your camera ready at all times for you never know when even the mayor might stop just in front of your door.

I’ve stopped trying to make sense of things, of trying to keep it all straight, and instead am just enjoying life. It’s Spain’s randomness, it’s its never ending festivities and its the charm of Altea’s community that makes life so colorful here in this village on the Mediterranean. And I’m so happy to call Altea my home.

Hundreds carried the tree through the streets of Altea, headed for the square

Breaks happened every couple of minutes. Needless to say, it took hours to get the tree from the bottom of the town to the square in the old town.

There was definitely no shortage of wine that day.

Residents stood on their balconies to drench the crowd below. Meanwhile, it was comforting to see a familiar face in the crowd.

The villagers carry the tree but they also sit on it during breaktime. They’re just about to reach the square.

When they finally arrived at the square packed with people, the tree carriers started to raise the tree.

The tree is up!

So the men start to climb…

During fiesta, a parade will come marching down the street when you’re least expecting it. (Our grumpy neighbor marches proudly in the band. He is the one on the left in the photo.)

Or the mayor will stop right in front of your door…

Parades happen during the day and night and weave through the small streets of Altea. (This is the next street over from AlteArte.)

They love setting off fireworks. This was the view from AlteArte.

The Moros y Cristianos parades were super elaborate.

The main avenue was lined with spectators.

David and I at the Cristianos parade.

Personal Investment

Sometimes, the hardest thing about running a business is not enduring the long hours when we’re open but rather staving off the feelings of guilt when we’re closed.

Since we officially opened AlteArte on February 27th, we have closed a total of 10 days. Three of those days, we closed to supposedly rest before the Summer got underway. I rested, but David didn’t. Instead, he spent the time reorganizing the placement of the machines in an effort to make operations run more smoothly in July and August. Another two of those days were for mechanical problems when the machines that had so carefully been arranged simply decided to give out. We tried limping along one of those days while dealing with a leaking dishwasher, fridges that weren’t cold enough and our small grill to make quesadillas and montadios that suddenly decided to stop heating but decided to call it a day when we seemed to be making more of a mess of things by being open. We took one day off near the end of August partly to deal with additional problems behind the bar but also to enjoy one evening with David’s mom before she returned to Paris. And, at the beginning of the month, David locked himself inside once more to tackle the gargantuan task of moving the beer machine up to the stock room. All summer long, the beer machine had been keeping the beer on tap cool but, in the process, had been generating so much heat that it had nearly made us physically sick to be behind the bar. Two days and 15 meters of piping later, the beer machine was out of sight and, happily, out of mind. We closed our first Saturday two weekends ago to attend David’s cousin’s wedding in Cox. And Monday we closed to rest. On that day, for the first time ever, David spent most of the day outside of AlteArte.

As a business owner in Altea, taking a day off can be difficult, especially in August. Closing for a day during the high season is totally unheard of and practically feels sinful; especially, when, while seated at Tribus, one of our favorite restaurants in Altea’s old town, with David’s mom, we saw crowds of people walking by. Not only did the crowds make us feel like there was good business to be had so we really should be working but, to make matters worse, scattered among the crowd were many people we knew who were surprised that we weren’t open as well as some of our regulars who were actually on their way to AlteArte – until they saw us having dinner.

Or this past Sunday when we informed customers that we would be closed on Monday only to find out that one of them had intended to have her birthday celebration at AlteArte.

However, because many of our customers have now become our friends, closed does not always mean that we’re actually closed. On one of the days that David was tackling moving the beer machine at AlteArte, I was at home. David called me asking me if I could come because Warner and Annika had stopped by. I rushed over to find that David had set up one of our tables on the terrace and Warner, Annika, and Karl – one of our neigbhors – were having a drink. Once I arrived, David resumed his work inside while I hung out and served drinks. And when Nadia, Marianne, Christophe and two more friends arrived, we added two more tables. And when Danny, a guitar-playing nomad who stops by whenever he’s in Altea, came by with his friend, I ran inside to get two beers. And when Sarah and Dexter came by after closing their shop with two of their customers that they had invited out for drinks, our small, impromptu, private party got bigger. And then to make the night perfect, Danny pulled out his guitar and gave us a beautiful private concert. And at that moment, I realized that, even though we’re the owners, the decision to close is not always one for us to make. Sometimes, the customers have the final say. And that’s what makes Altea – and our rapport with those who come to AlteArte – so special.

As business owners, a day off means no revenue for that day, and it’s hard to not feel like we should be working. But in order to bring freshness and energy and foster a positive atmosphere, rest is needed. And that’s what we’ve been lacking. During the summer, I depended on our regulars to keep me revitalized and I was grateful to them for providing me the energy that I needed, but now it’s time to give back. And in order to be fulfilled and happy, we need to find balance and equilibrium and we need to live outside of just AlteArte’s four walls. But, in order to do so, we need to schedule in free time. And so we have. During the low season, we will close on Mondays.

So, this past Monday was our first official, scheduled day off. And I tried to disregard those nagging feelings of guilt that were still at the back of my mind and probably will be for Mondays to come. But I also know that anything in extreme doses is bad. And I must admit that it felt good to go out to lunch without feeling pressured for time, and it felt like a luxury to join the Spaniards in a one hour siesta after lunch and it was nice to go out at night down to one of the chiringuitos along the water and sit for a moment and listen to the waves just feet away.

As guilty as I feel, I consciously know that we need to have a life outside of AlteArte in order to continue bringing life to AlteArte. And that, even though being closed means lost sales, we’re making an important – and necessary – investment in ourselves. Perhaps, AlteArte needed the constant nurturing in the very beginning. But I think we’ve reached a point that we can let go a bit and concentrate on us.

We’ve discovered that it’s not always up to us when we close.

To make our evening perfect, Danny gave us a private performance.

Sarah and Dexter joined the private party after they closed their store.