Thursday night I went to the pub La Gramola, which is the place that the Galician musicians I met in Santa Cruz at a concert two months ago recommended to me. I told them I was going to Santiago de Compostela, and asked where musicians would be, and they told me about this place on Thursdays and Saturdays. They didn’t tell me, however, that it was the pub that THEY themselves all jammed in, so when I walked downstairs into the stone basement, the last thing I expected was their smiling faces. It was crazy! Sinead, the Irish girl who had given me her email, remembered me and so did the other guys. Half a world away, and I found people I knew! Didn’t bring my fiddle though, so I watched them play and talked to an older Spanish guy about where to see in Spain, the US, and random things. Drank a glass of DELICIOUS Rioja, and walked home so content.
Friday, September 24:
It’s strange, because Santiago de Compostela feels like a small sleepy town and a big city alternately, depending on where you walk. Yesterday I set out at ten in the morning with the intention of getting some almond milk and cereal for breakfast, and a phone card. Took me an hour to find almond milk, but I DID find almond milk, which was unexpected. I ended up asking around at four pharmacies to find a health food store eventually. Finally, after finding it, I ate breakfast and headed out again to walk around town. The phone was my next goal, which I eventually got at 8:00 pm. Seems like every time I set myself a specific thing to do here, my perceived plan gets derailed, but I can’t even bring myself to worry about it.
I ended up walking the periphery of the town, down along the medieval walls that surround the old quarter of the city, and took my time, stopping for views at almost every corner. The weather held out, with sporadic showers that passed quickly. It’s nice, makes everything feel really fresh, and never gets you too wet. Here are a few photos, notice all the lovely graffiti!
So, this is a Medieval granary that I randomly found in a park right next to a playground. The juxtaposition of old and new in this city is astounding. I tried to capture the playground in thephoto for the irony, but it didn't quite work. They're still using this thing to store stuff-- now it's full of hoses and gardening equipment, whereas six hundred years ago it probably stored a years; worth of food. Next, I headed to the Cathedral center, and there was a big happening. Across the plaza from the Cathedral is the Xunta, and the president and his colleagues were greeted with eight dancers. It was strange and kitcsh, I’ll be honest. There were two dancers who did “traditional” Indian dance, two that danced Galician, two did Flamenco,
and two belly danced.
But there were all Spaniards, so that was fun. I'll post a video of it later, because it's well worth seeing.
Meandered, bought an empanada for lunch (80 cents!) with Tuna, pepper and onion in a pastry crust, and headed to a park to eat. I randomly walked into the northern part of the Parque de Belvís, and walked up through some stone ruins. There were numbers on the stone floors of an old building, and I felt like Indiana Jones in “The Last Crusade.” Anyone get that reference? He has to spell out Iahova to get to the Holy Grail… Anyone? Ok, I’m a nerd.
ANYWAY: Enough about Indiana, here's the view from the park:
On my way back, with jet-lag setting in fully, I realized I was completely lost, and ended up getting my map out for the first time to decipher where I was. The only other person on the street, and older Galician man immediately asked me where I was trying to get, and kindly accompanied me to the street I was looking for. He was SO incredibly kind, introduced himself by name, and showed me a short cut.
Went back in the evening to La Gramola, with my fiddle this time, but there were no musicians!!! So Rachel and I walked around a bit, ran into a group of professors who were decked out in musical performance garb, all with instruments, and upon seeing my violin case they took us with them to a bar. (It was a friendly accost!) Returned to Gramola a little later, and found another fiddler, a Scottish man, who was shy like me, but wanted to play some tunes. We sat down together, and within two songs, random musicians were coming out of the woodwork. A Boudhran (Celtic drum) player joined, as did Sinead with mandolin, and her friend with pipe and flute. We ended up having a fully functioning jam sesh until 3 in the morning, which is early by Spanish standards. Just as I was good and ready to sleep, they invited me to yet another bar, where we stood around and chatted until 5 am. Turns out the Bodhran player actually lived in Soquel for an exchange in the States, and loved it. So, so far away from home, and I end up talking about the Santa Cruz mountains. I also got into a long conversation with one of the guys about the way the Galician language, Galego, is disappearing. Basically, the government (as tends to happen all over the world) is systematically eradicating Galego in an attempt to integrate the region more fully into Spain and the global society at large. There seems to be a very strong sense of Galician pride, however, and every day I see multiple people wearing Galego pride shirts, and run across a decent amount of nationalist graffiti. I’m looking forward to learning more about the political nuances of this place. Two months ago, I had never heard of Galicia, and after less than a week here, I can already feel it becoming my home.
Saturday morning (or afternoon rather), I walked the town, and on my way to the Contemporary Art Museum, came across a workers protest in the streets. They were loud, and toting black and red flags, so I decided to grab a paper, and join the crowd to find out what was going on. It turned out to be a protest by the laborers in the Forestry sector of Galicia, which as I understood it includes all the workers responsible for building and maintaining a good number of public works, and the natural environment. As is true everywhere unfortunately, they have no rights. As it was described to me, “Tío, sabes, que todo es una mierda! No tienen derechos, ni nada.” Translation being, “Man, you know, it’s all shit. They have no rights to anything.” So, since that was the only explanation I got, I got their website… which is all in galego:
http://cntforestal.blogaliza.org
I’m going to have to learn galego if I want to understand anything here!!! Random final thought for the day—I finally figured out why Galego is spelled Galego and Gallego. I’ve been trying for the life of me to figure out which is correct. Galego is the spelling in the language itself, and Gallego is the spelling in Catellano. So, the very spelling of the name of the language itself can be a political choice as well. I’ll be spelling it Galego. ☺
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