Erik's Blog

On Saturday, March 6, 2010, I attended the 517th annual Fest da Arribada (“Arrival Festival” in the Galician language) in Baiona, Galicia. In the port of that small town, 517 years ago, on March 1, 1493, a boat called La Pinta returned to Spain bringing news of a New World to the west, filled with bizarre mostly naked humans, corn, potatoes, peppers, tobacco, tequila and cowboys. It was the first of Christopher Columbus’ ships to return, and, should your childhood textbooks be believed (they absolutely should not!), the first proof that the Earth was not round. Normally Spaniards need little to no provocation to have a celebration, so there’s been no stopping this party for half a millennium!
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Yesterday, I was informed that Nora was expected to be at daycare at 9:00 this morning, dressed all in white, and with moisturizing cream applied to her face so that her face could be painted and she could be dressed as a snowball and paraded around the streets of town. It’s the annual Carnival parade, the time of year when Spanish kids, who have never had the Halloween costume tradition that American kids enjoy, get to dress up as various adorable things and parade around looking cute. Since I’m always a good sport about trying out traditions of my adopted country, I was there at 9:05 sharp with Nora dressed all in white, and my camera and video camera with empty memory cards and full batteries.
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The following is a document written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about a recent golfing excursion to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, USA.

On Monday Erik decided to fly to the States and join the fun known as the Myrtle Beach Classic. Betsy picked him up at the Charlotte airport Tuesday afternoon, and I fed them both tacos and Rioja when they arrived in Morganton. On Wednesday morning, Erik and Betsy went to Grace Ridge so Erik could visit with his Grandfather, and a little before noon on Wednesday, Erik and I climbed into the well-loaded van and headed for Myrtle Beach. On the way, we picked up Jeff in Hickory, along with his clubs, his suitcase, his guitar, his sleep machine, a case of beer, and his bongo drums. Jeff took his normal position in the van’s driver’s seat, I moved over to shotgun position, and with Erik in the back, we had a pleasant and uneventful trip to the ocean.
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Last Saturday night, two participants in the Myrtle Beach Classic 2010 went out on the town for a crazy night out. Have you ever woken up after a night of drinking and discovered photos on your camera that you didn’t remember taking? Or how about having a friend steal your camera from you and try to take the weirdest photos he can? Well, that’s what happened last Saturday. Ryan took Jacob’s camera and went a little crazy. I wasn’t present, but it’s fun to follow their evening from bar to bar through the photographs. Surprisingly, some of them are quite good photography, creative subjects and skilled framing.
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I wasn’t going to go on my annual golf outing this year for parenting reasons, mainly because I couldn’t leave Marga alone with the little primate beast for a full week. But then, at the last minute, my mother-in-law got sick; just the right amount of sick that she got time off work and was able to care for Nora. After double checking with my work and The Committee that hosts the event, I decided at the very last minute (16 hours before the flight) to go. Let me just say that it’s true what the psychologists say: Decision is the secret to unhappiness. There’s nothing like making a major decision (and this was only a week’s vacation, not moving to another country or anything) to make one miserable. However, once the decision was made, I immediately began to enjoy the trip. I was naively surprised to discover that me dumping Nora off on my in-laws was more of a favor than a burden. They were elated!
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Nora turned ten months old on Sunday. Her grandparents and aunt came to have lunch. After breaking the hamburger rhythm with her previous month birthday on Christmas Eve, I decided to make a hamburger pie (aka. Cottage Pie) instead. It was delicious, of course. Most importantly, we had cake!
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On Christmas Eve night in the Basque Country, the homes of little children are visited by an enormous, soot-stained, Basque gentleman in a beret who drops off presents. His name is Olentzero. The history of this tradition and its variations is quite fascinating. In fact, when people give gifts on Christmas, there is much less emphasis (than in my culture) on who the gift is from. It’s just, “Here’s your Olentzero”, where the name also is slang for the gift itself. Surprising no one, Nora was the biggest recipient of gifts from the big burly Basque this year.
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The following is a document written by my father, Paul Rasmussen, about his recent trip to visit us in December 2009.

Betsy and I had been looking forward to meeting our granddaughter in August. We would visit southern Spain, where Erik’s Spanish family vacations every summer, and meet our granddaughter then. As her birth approached, however, it seemed like too much would be missed if we didn’t see Nora before then, so in May we traveled to Colindres and stayed a week with Erik, Marga, and Nora. We had a great time, and another great time when we visited in August. In September, however, I felt uncomfortable not knowing when we would visit them again, so we made plans for a visit in May of 2010. In November, May seemed too far away, so we bought tickets for a trip to Colindres in December, returning to Morganton a week before Christmas. This time we flew from Charlotte to Atlanta to Paris, and from Paris to Bilbao. A week after arriving we would return through Paris, flying to Detroit and then Charlotte. Erik said that most if not all of his winter coats would fit me, and I might consider saving space by not bringing a coat, and that is what I did. We packed just two suit cases, one full of presents, and the other with clothes.
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At our house this year, we had Christmas morning on the evening of December 16th. This was mainly because it was the last night my parents were visiting and giving gifts is much better when you can see the look on the recipient’s face as they open their presents. Plus, the more the merrier. To begin the ceremony, my father announced the system our family has used for as long as I can remember to inform the three first-time participants, Marga, Belén, and Nora.

The youngest family member able to do so shall pull gifts from the tree one by one, announcing who each one is from and to, and deliver it to its recipient. The recipient shall thereby open the gift while everyone watches and thank the giver. Repeat until there are no more presents under the tree, whilst trying to alternate recipients as much as possible.

This year, the youngest able present distributor was Belén. It just so happened that we had a perfect hat for her to wear throughout the ceremony.
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Just when I had almost forgotten about the First Annual Tapa Week from last December, it rolled around again and we celebrated the Second Annual Tapa Week this past week in nearby Laredo, Spain. I must say that this is quickly becoming my favorite festival of the year. There is little better in this world than going from bar to bar with friends and enjoying a fine wine and an elaborately constructed snack with each wine.

And it’s not just that I’m a glutton for…er…gluttony. As I mentioned last year, there are several reasons why I am in favor of this festival as a general local citizen. It gets people out into local establishments, spending money and applying social lubricant, it provides a stage for local restaurateurs to showcase their craft, and it generally makes for a more contented populous. Triple win!
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