Dearest Friends and Family, Sept 26, 2011
Greetings from
Valladolid, Spain. I’m high as a kite from a four day trek on El Camino
de Santiago and can’t wait to share. As usual, though, I’m behind on
updates, so first, here’s what was the latest three weeks ago. Truth is,
I thought I already sent this. Woops.
Travelogue # 15: The Same in Spain Stays Mainly in the Plain September 11, 2011
I find myself in Valladolid for the third time this year (the fifth
time in the last seven years). It’s not my habit to visit the same
foreign destination more than once, given that I travel precisely to
experience novelty. However, emotional motives have me stepping out of
my borders and thus I'm doing something different by "been there done
that" x7. This familiarity doesn’t mean I don’t still get lost every,
single day. To get a mental picture of the layout of the place, take a
hammer and whack a windshield. The epicenter is the Plaza Mayor and the
cracks spiderwebbing outward are the streets. Change the name of each
crack about every three inches and there you have a map of Valladolid.
Usually when visiting a new place, I like to get lost so I can interact
with the people, hear their accents, see things I hadn’t planned to,
etc., but I’m over it here. I just want to get where I’m going pronto.
Quite
frankly, I’m restless as a kid wanting cotton candy in the backseat of a
Cadillac on the way home from school in June. So, to keep the ants in
my pants fed and submissive, I’m looking at my stint here as an inward
visit to a new place within myself. There’s still plenty of me to get to
know and I still get very lost. Many mini-me’s stand on every corner to
ask directions and consult on the best way to get where I want to go.
It’s a question of patience--everything will be new in Uruguay.
Well,
I’m yet to slide the frosty mug of brew down the lacquered slab of pine
that I have romanticized about in previous missives. First, because
they don’t serve beer in mugs here and the ballerina of a glass reserved
for beer is likely to tip with the force of motion, tsunaming all in
its path. Though I’m sure I would learn some new curse words as a
result, I’d rather not cause such a ruckus. Not good for business. But
besides that there are legal matters. I don’t have a work permit and I’m
not covered under the insurance. Spaniards are so oxymoronic to
me--laid back in matters of time, cursing and socializing, but
excessively to the T with following rules. For example, the beer vendor
Marta works with gave her some big umbrellas for the patio, but the
police came by and said she had to take them down because they carry the
distributor’s name and advertising is not allowed on shade umbrellas,
or anything else stationary on the street. I’m a bit incredulous and
think the truth of the matter is that the other day when a gust of wind
come tunneling down the alley and blew one of the umbrellas over on an
elderly man, he pulled some strings. It knocked him flat down and was
about to drag him away. Some people don’t appreciate a Mary Poppins
amusement ride.
It has not been a quiet week here in Lake
Valladolid. I arrived smack dab in the middle of Mardi Gras al español.
Spainards are very social normally and spend as much time in the parks
and plazas as they do the house, but this week it’s out of control.
Supposedly this is a religious celebration of the virgin of San Lorenzo
or some such revered religious figure, but I do not see the connection
between the excessive debauchery and homage to a holy heroine. I hope
Sister Lorenzo did more than just protect her virginity to gain her
status. It not doubt takes much self-restraint to refrain from sex one’s
whole life, but that doesn’t mean I want to hang her from the rearview
mirror or light a candle to her when I need something. All of these
iconic virgins have a longing look in their eyes. It’s not a longing to
be with the Father, or for Jesus to resurrect. It’s a flatout plea to
please let them get laid, just once, and not in the manger. I’ve
digressed.
Today is the last day of the festival and I am glad.
Maybe I can sleep without earplugs for one night. Word is the masses
will be hungover for 3 days and Valladolid will become a ghost town
until they can stomach alcohol again. Bring on the tumbleweeds, I say,
so I can get some sleep.
So really, there isn’t much to report.
Marta works at the bar 12:30-4:30pm then again 7:30--some godawful hour
of the morning. We see each other during siesta and late morning. I’m
reading, writing, running and visiting with the homeless friends I made
when I was here at Christmas. (See previous travelogues) More exciting
stuff is sure to come.
Hope you all are well. Much love, Gigi
