Paella with the Family Gea

Gea (pronounced "Hey-Ya" with a bit of Chutzpah at the beginning) made good on his promise and drove us to his parents house in Orihuela, which has about as many gorgeous cathedrals as inhabitants.

Gea's family does not speak English, and my American companions and I do not speak Spanish. Oh what an awkwardly silent lunch we must have had you say, but no.  In another example of how people can always find a way to communicate, the lunch was full of conversation. Gea would sometimes interpret from Italian to Spanish and vice-versa, or hand signals and smiles proved to be enough.  

Mother Gea bopped into the kitchen throughout the meal, constantly returning with heaping plates of Paella, seafood platters, bowls piled high with fruits that I have never seen before, cakes, and even champagne famous in five continents. She seemed constantly disappointed with her own brilliant food.  "Not enough meat in the Paella," she complained, shaking her head.  I did my best to make her feel better by eating as much as possible and butchering the Spanish language, "es buena, esta me gusta."

Mother Gea seemed less upset by the food as by the information we gave her.  When she learned that my American friends and I had walked fifteen minutes from the Valencia bus station to Gea's apartment she was concerned.  When she found out that we would eventually be taking a twelve hour bus ride from Granada to Barcelona she was not pleased.  She was visibly upset by the fact that I am only twenty years old and so far away from my family, and when we told her how much the average American education costs I thought she might faint.

Thankfully there was no reason to worry in an emergency as all of the Geas work in medicine, except Fernando.  Because he studies engineering, the oldest son is the subject of constant jokes and ridicule, but he takes in good stride.  "I don't like medicine, they do, but it's not for me," he told me proudly.

Mother Gea pointed around the table and informed us that Father Gea was a doctor, she helped at the hospital sometimes, the middle son was a nurse, and her youngest was studying to be a dentist.  When we raised our champagne glasses we toasted to, what else?  Salud: health.

When I had eaten more Paella and Spanish fruit than any hungover individual should, Gea took us on a small tour of pristine Orihuela, and even drove us to the train station and waited on the platform, completing his role as super-host.   Next time I raise my glass in Spain, it will surely be accompanied by a toast to engineering.