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!