Monday 16 May 2011

Peregrinos y Mariscos

As I write, I can barely see the screen in front of me for the huge, bulbous, angry-looking stye that has taken up residence on the lower lid of my right eye. I’m exaggerating, of course; it hasn’t really affected my vision but I’m allowing myself a bit of artistic licence (and the right to be a drama queen) as this is, after all, the first time I’ve had a stye. And what a thrilling experience it is...! 

Santiago's famous cathedral, the destination of the
Camino de Santiago
Despite not wanting to leave the house for fear that the whole world will be staring, pointing and gasping at the puffy monstrosity that is taking over my face, at least I can say with conviction that it’s a sign that I’ve had a good time. As ever, I’ve been guilty of somewhat burning the candle at both ends and inevitably, the amount and quality of sleep I’ve been getting haven’t been as they should be. The latest and most extreme example of this – and probably the direct cause of my stye – was on Thursday night, when I could be found camping out on the cold floor of Madrid airport, sleeping bag and all. Strangely enough, this was by choice; I had an early flight to Santiago de Compostela to catch the next morning, and after considering my limited options (and equally limited finances) I decided kipping in the airport would be my best bet, due to unsuitable bus and train times meaning that I couldn’t have made the flight on time had I left on Friday morning. Add to that the lack of affordable accommodation (i.e. anything that’s not a Hilton) in the area surrounding the airport, and the fact that Madrid’s metro system doesn’t start until 6am, and it was a no-brainer. 

A view over Santiago
After telling almost everybody I know in Cuenca about my thrifty plan, a couple of kind souls took pity on me, one lending me a nice lightweight sleeping bag, the other an eye mask. Thanks to them, my night roughing it was a bit more bearable than it would otherwise have been, although I’d be fantasising if I said I actually managed to get anything resembling decent sleep. I did manage to snatch about 3 broken hours, but finally threw the towel in at around 4am, when the civilised people who had slept, washed and dressed started arriving – fresh as daisies in comparison to myself and my fellow dossers – for their equally early flights, and I became very conscious of looking like a tramp! At that point, I dragged myself through security, breakfasted on a scandalously priced orange juice and croissant, and stared into space some more until it was time to board my flight.

Luckily it was all worth it. When I arrived in Santiago, I only had to wait about half an hour in the arrivals lounge before Hugh turned up too, looking almost (but not quite) as dazed and dishevelled as myself. In spite of the whole world telling me that ‘in Galicia it rains more than England’, the sun was blazing in a cloudless blue sky, and I knew it was going to be a special weekend.

The main plaza in Santiago, taken from the cathedral steps
The capital of Galicia in the far northwest of the country, you’d be forgiven for thinking Santiago wasn’t part of Spain at all. In stark comparison to the beaches of the south coast and the dry terrain of inner regions like Castilla-La Mancha, Galicia is a very green part of the country. It looks more like parts of France or even Ireland than Spain, and even has its own language – Gallego – which resembles the language of its close neighbours in Portugal more than Spanish. In fact, by all accounts Gallegans would prefer not to be associated with the Spanish at all.

Having never been to the north of Spain, I was curious to see what all the fuss was about (I’ve been told many a time by my various Spanish sources that while the south of the country might be pretty, it’s the north that’s truly beautiful). Suffice to say, Santiago did not disappoint me. With its small stone streets, intimate plazas, terracotta rooftops and rugged green mountain backdrops, it has an almost fairytale-like feel to it.

The famous cathedral by night
Of course, I couldn’t visit Santiago without mentioning the one thing it’s most famous for: El Camino de Santiago (The Way of St. James), the famous pilgrimage route which Christians have been following for over a thousand years. According to legend, St. James’s remains were taken from Jerusalem to northern Spain by boat, where they were then buried on the site that is now Santiago de Compostela.

Even today, a steady stream of pilgrims from all over the world  - easily identifiable by their backpacks, hiking gear, leather-like skin with white sock marks and the faint smell of sweat which is left hanging in the air in their wake – can be spotted all over the city. Santiago’s impressive Baroque-Gothic cathedral in the heart of the city is the destination of the pilgrimage. This became immediately clear to Hugh and me when we slipped inside to have a look around, only to find ourselves in the middle of a pilgrim-packed, deeply religious service, surrounded by people dropping to their knees, crossing themselves, bowing their heads in prayer and in some cases, it seemed, even crying. Thankfully we weren’t the only non-pilgrims (or indeed, non-Catholics) there, and were able to go about our tour, tiptoeing respectfully around the hordes of hardcore worshippers, without feeling guilty for interrupting. Nevertheless, it was still quite an unnerving experience for two non-churchgoers such as ourselves, and I must admit we found it all a bit overwhelming. As beautiful as the cathedral’s interior was, I’d be lying if I said the overall combination of the elaborate decor (huge, glassy-eyed cherubs staring down at you from ceilings; that sort of thing) and the sombre atmosphere (complete with several confessionals, most of which were occupied) didn’t give me the creeps slightly.
The poor shellfish before meeting
their inevitable fate...

The perfect match: Ribeiro
white wine with octopus and
prawn brochettes. De-lish!
Aside from its pilgrimage, Santiago is probably most famous for its seafood, something which is much more familiar territory for me! The local dish, pulpo a la Feria (octopus cooked Gallegan style, with potatoes, olive oil, salt and paprika) did not disappoint, and nor did the rest of the fishy delights we sampled. Prawns, mussels, hake, sole, salmon, clams... it was all delectable and wonderfully fresh. The only slightly off-putting thing was seeing our potential dinner very much alive and proudly displayed in cruelly small tanks (crabs and lobsters were literally on top of each other, their poor little pincers entangled for lack of space to move) in the windows of almost every restaurant in town, but I suppose if you’re willing to eat it, you should be willing to be faced with where it comes from.
Hugh sipping wine from a
saucer, the typical Gallegan
way!



So, to summarise the rest of our trip without going into too much more detail, the weekend was blissfully spent wandering around the city’s charming streets, soaking up the sun in parks and tucking into various culinary treats. One evening we watched the sunset over the mountains from a park near our hotel, then went on to a bar to watch something altogether less classy – the Eurovision Song Contest – while getting suitably tanked up on the local white wine, Ribeiro, drunk in the authentic Galician way: out of saucers! Perfect.

The gorgeous Galician sunset
In other news, now that I’m into my second to last week of teaching and my second to last full week in Spain in general, it really is beginning to feel like things are coming to an end. Last Tuesday I had my last private class with Marta, the lady who I met in the bank when I opened my Spanish account at the very beginning of my stay. Over the past few months, we’ve become good friends and she’s been an invaluable contact for me if ever I’ve had any sort of problem. Our last meeting was spent amicably wandering around in the sunshine, having what we call one of our ‘shopping classes’, which involve a quick sweep around Cuenca’s modest selection of clothes shops – while speaking in English, of course – followed by a couple of drinks in a nearby bar. Both of us being shopping enthusiasts, this seemed a fitting way to round off eight months of gossip and laughter (never once has my class with her actually felt like a class). In her typically generous fashion, Marta insisted on buying me an early birthday present: a beautiful pair of sandals which I’d made the mistake of saying I liked as we passed by them in a shop window. Despite my protests, she dragged me into the shop, made me try them on and, when she could see I liked them, swiftly bought them for me before I could object. They cost €45 and I was simultaneously mortified and grateful. Nonetheless, that kind of gesture is typically Marta and every time I wear the sandals I’ll think of her, which can only be a good thing.

Jesús and me 
The following day, another of my private class students, Jesús, a dentist who is an art and photography fanatic in his spare time, took me to see his second home in a tiny village in the mountains of Cuenca. The village is called Buenache de la Sierra, and he’d originally bought an empty plot of land there on which he built a workshop to use for making and storing his sculptures. He’s an amazingly talented sculptor, and has made dozens of different ones, all from beautiful stone like marble. Most of them are in collections of 13, each collection sharing a theme. He’s had pieces displayed in art galleries as well as at least one exhibition dedicated to him. Having built the workshop, his friends and family began urging him to buy more land and build a house next to it, to make the most of the beautiful surroundings. So he did; the house and garden have been designed and built exactly to his taste, down to the very last brick and plant. It’s entirely built from locally sourced stone, wood and terracotta, and has been done to perfection, so that everywhere you look it’s plain to see that he has an artistic eye.

Me outside Jesús's beautiful country house (with one of his
many sculptures to my right)
Having spoken to me about it on various occasions – his eyes always lighting up as he did so – he wanted to take me there and I’m very glad he did. It really was beautiful, in an idyllic setting, overlooked by nobody and surrounded by rugged countryside. The only sounds to be heard were the birds chirping and the wind rustling through the trees. I could see why he loves the place so much, and how it must serve as a great source of artistic inspiration. Unfortunately, a while ago Jesús developed Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (a neurological disorder affecting the hands) and can no longer sculpt as a result. For this reason, seeing his workshop, full of so many lovingly created sculptures – some sadly unfinished – was both a pleasure and a sadness. Still, I enjoyed seeing him in what I imagine to be his ‘natural surroundings’, and I always appreciate visiting new places. 

And on that note, I’m going to wrap up this rather long, rambling post and go and attend to my stye. I shan’t complain anymore about it, though, as like I said it’s a sign that I’ve been living life to the full. After all, as I’m sure the pilgrims would agree, no pain no glory...

¡Hasta luego! 

Sunday 1 May 2011

Las Bodas, Las Turbas y Lluviosa Oliva

When I first arrived in Spain in September (by all accounts excited, though equally apprehensive and overwhelmed by what lay ahead of me) this day would’ve been difficult for me to picture. Even now, it’s not easy to fathom that here I am, on the first of May – the first day of the last month of my year abroad – with seven months of living and teaching in a foreign country behind me. I’d be lying if I said I’ve loved every minute of it (after all, who can honestly say that about any given period of their life?) but all things considered, it’s certainly right up there with the best experiences I’ve ever had.

The beautiful bride and groom
But enough pondering; now is the time to fill you in on the last three weeks. On April 14th, I headed back to England for the first time since the Christmas break. It felt strange to be going back, and it was a shame that I couldn’t have stretched my time to include a visit to Liverpool, but I was very excited about Dan and Erin’s wedding, the main purpose of my trip. It was lovely to see my whole family united for such a special occasion. We stayed two nights in a B&B on the seafront, with cooked English breakfasts (one of the things I’d been craving in Spain) each morning . I couldn’t have asked for a more English weekend!

Mary and me doing
touristy things in London
The wedding itself was a delight, in a picture-postcard church with the sun shining and everybody looking suitably bright and beautiful. The reception, in a nearby manor house, was equally picturesque, with more gratefully-received English food (lamb shanks followed by rhubarb crumble), comical dancing and plenty of booze flowing. As is often the way with weddings, it was all over in the blink of an eye and Hugh and I were on our way back to London on Sunday afternoon.

On Brighton beach with a
bottle of vino
The remaining three days of my little English break were also idyllic, although they too went by in a blur. On Monday, I met up with Mary (who was visiting London with some Spanish friends) for an Indian lunch followed by a spot of sightseeing. The sun was blazing and if it hadn’t been for Big Ben and the red phone boxes, I might’ve thought I was back in Spain!

Anna picnicking in Hyde Park
The summerlike weather continued into Tuesday and Wednesday, which were blissfully spent lazing around in the sunshine and catching up with my dear friend Anna. On Tuesday, we went for a picnic in Hyde Park followed by drinks at Camden Lock, and on Wednesday – after I spent a lovely morning with my aunt Kate and cousin Emily at the playground – we spontaneously decided to go to Brighton, somewhere I’d never been before. It was a perfect day and I don’t think I’ve ever seen an English beach so packed, especially in April! We ate fish and chips, paddled in the (admittedly icy) sea and got sunburnt while drinking wine and sitting in stripy deck chairs. Textbook stuff!


All too soon my visit had come to an end, and at an ungodly hour the next morning, Hugh and I began the long journey back to Cuenca. When we finally arrived in the late afternoon, it was clear that Cuenca was in the throes of Semana Santa, and gearing up for Good Friday, the biggest day of religious processions yet, which is called Las Turbas (The Crowds). Of course, as is the case with most religious celebrations, there are only really a handful of people who take part because of their strong religious beliefs, whilst the rest are just there to get drunk and have a good time. For this reason, the night before Las Turbas is widely known –though not in religious circles, as it’s seen by some as offensive – as Los Borrachos (The Drunks).

A paso of the Virgin Mary being carried by
several members of an hermandad
One of the delicate pasos covered in
plastic sheeting to protect it
from the rain
The processions begin at around 5 o’clock in the morning, so many people choose to do an all-nighter and stay out partying before stumbling into the processions at dawn. It’s one of the most famous Good Friday processions in Spain (and believe me, there are many) and draws thousands of people from all over the country and further afield. Each procession is organised by a different hermandad (brotherhood), in which there can be hundreds or thousands of members depending on how well-known and established they are. Every brotherhood has their own paso, which can only be described as a huge statue of a holy figure such as Saint John, the Virgin Mary or Jesus Christ, representing a scene from the Passion. These pasos are carried through the streets by around 25 members of the brotherhood (sometimes more, depending on the size and weight of the paso) and members pay up to thousands of euros for the honour of being one of those who carry it. Everyone who takes part in the processions is clad in matching robes (the colours of which correspond to their brotherhood) and their faces are entirely covered by long, pointed hoods, with just two small holes cut out for the eyes. For an outsider like myself, I’m sorry to say the costumes conjure up images of something the Ku Klux Klan might wear...

The crowds making crucifixes with their drumsticks
Anyway, Hugh and I decided not to stay up all night drinking (a sensible choice given the lack of sleep we’d had) and instead got up at around 8 o’clock on Friday morning to go up to the old town with one of my private students, Marta, her sister and her friend, who is somewhat of an expert on Las Turbas. It was thought the processions might be cancelled due to weather, but luckily they still went ahead (although some of the ancient, delicately painted pasos were draped with plastic sheeting to protect them from the rain, which rather took away from the overall image).

Typical costume of Las Turbas
in the traditional colours of 
that particular hermandad
Despite the damp weather, Cuenca was heaving with people and the atmosphere was almost tangible. As we watched the first couple of processions go by, with throngs of hooded people walking ahead of the pasos playing drums and trumpets (which I was reliably informed are deliberately mistuned, so as to sound more mocking and macabre than melodic) and others dressed as Roman soldiers solemnly bringing up the rear, I must admit I felt strangely emotional and drawn in by it all, though I still don’t profess to
 understand it all. Every so often, the crowds of drum-players would pause and turn round to face the paso, making crucifixes with their drumsticks raised high above their heads, and shouting to symbolise how the crowds mocked and jeered at Jesus as he carried his cross up the hill.  The hoods, incidentally, are apparently a deep-seated tradition and give reference to the fact that the Jews who mocked and threw stones at Jesus were ashamed to be seen by Jesus and thus covered their faces.


A windy walk on the beach in Oliva
After a couple of hours of watching all this, it was time for Hugh and me to go to Oliva, a small seaside town between Valencia and Alicante, where we were going to spend the Easter weekend staying in an apartment which belongs to a teacher at my school, Juan. Unfortunately, our plans to spend a relaxing weekend on the beach were marred by the uncooperative weather, and as there wasn’t much else to do (the downside to visiting a small town in Spain during Easter weekend is that more or less EVERYTHING is closed) we spent much of the time hibernating and watching DVDs. That said, we did venture out a few times to forage for food or walk around the old part of the town (pretty but again, like a ghost town) and once we even braved a brisk walk on the beach. Overall, although fairly uneventful, it was a much-needed restful weekend after a very busy week.
Hugh's birthday meal

That brings me to last week, which was my first week back at work after the Easter break. Hugh stuck around until Friday, which was great as having him around made it feel as if I was still on holiday, and we were able to spend his birthday on Thursday together. After I finished work, we caught the AVE to Madrid where I’d booked a 5* hotel as a birthday treat. We had a tasty meal in an Argentine-Italian restaurant to celebrate, and spent the next day wandering around Madrid before it was time for him to fly home.

I don’t suppose I can wrap up this post without mentioning the Royal Wedding, so I’ll tell you that against our better judgement, we were both sucked into the hype and eventually decided to stop pretending to be too cool to watch it, instead opting to have breakfast in a café which just happened to be showing it on TV. Unsurprisingly, the Spanish coverage was appalling – they went to an extremely long advert break right in the middle of the ceremony, when the hymns were being sung and seemed to be more interested in bitching about Princess Letizia of Asturias’ dress than anything else – but we didn’t feel able to ask the staff to switch over to the BBC! Anyway, we at least saw The Dress, the vows and that slightly awkward moment where it looked like William wasn’t going to be able to get the ring on Kate’s finger...

¡Hasta luego!