Tiny Towns and Torso-Binding

The past two weekends have been filled with pueblo-viewing. I've been to Madrid, Barcelona, Sevilla, and most of the other major touristy cities in Spain. I've seen the typical sites. Now's my time to take advantage of being in Extremadura, which is rather off the beaten track and home to a vast number of tiny villages in the midst of rolling hills and farmland, where everyone knows everyone, and neighbors spend weekends drinking cañas (beers) together in the plazas. Villages are very close-knit, as only recently have people started traveling and moving more around Spain. Each has its own, distinct accent and its own, distinct traditions. One of the teachers at my school, for instance, mentioned that in her pueblo, a springtime tradition is for people to chase each other, spraying each other with water. Like many of the people I've met, she lives in the city of Cáceres but also has a house in a pueblo in the province of Cáceres which she shares with her parents and siblings.

Two weekends ago, I went to a private student, Honorio's house in the village of Mirabel, where we had lunch with some of his friends. We feasted on cocido, a typical Spanish meal consisting of noodles in broth, cabbage, a delicious garbanzo stew with potatoes, and various meats. (The latter I politely declined). Stomachs (and, in my unfortunate case, bladder) full to the brim, we set out on a long hike amid fields of cork trees (they get stripped of their cork every ten years and must have been recently-stripped because they looked quite naked) eventually making it to El Padre Santo (the Father Saint), a massive, revered cork tree, money-maker through the ages. We also saw a castle from afar (there are so many random castles around Extremadura, no one gives them much of a second thought) but it was high up on a mountaintop, so we didn't give it a visit.

Last weekend, my roommate, Luisa, took me to her village, Villanueva de la Vera. On the way, we stopped at a neighboring village, Valverde de la Vera (population: 618), a tiny town with a tiny castle and streams of water running down the cobblestone streets. There, the tradition is for men to make deals with God. They'll say, for instance, "God, if you heal my cousin from his disease, I'll do empalao for the next three years." Empalao entails one's arms and torso getting tied extremely tightly to a wooden cross. Weights hang from the arms, and two swords are stuck behind the cross. Women who wish to participate simply bear wooden crosses on their backs but aren't tied up. There is one day a year when those who choose to subject themselves to this tortuous activity march for an hour around the streets of Valverde, bowing down to all the crosses in the village. Luisa and I went to a museum dedicated to this ritual, where a girl about my age walked us enthusiastically through every last detail. She clearly had plenty of time to spare, as it was probably a matter of days or maybe weeks until the next museum visitors would arrive. I found the whole matter rather gruesome, but later I met a friend of Luisa's who'd participated. He assured me it was deeply rewarding and the best kind of pain possible. To each his/her own...

Me & the Tiny Castle in Valverde

Luisa's village was very similar to Valverde, although slightly bigger (population: 2,163). We had a lunch of lentils and tortilla española (eggs and potatoes cooked together) with her parents, who'd both lived their whole lives in the village. We then embarked on a trek with Luisa's friends to see the gargantas ('garganta' means 'throat' but only in Northern Extremadura does it also mean 'stream flowing from the top of a mountain.' I like to imagine these streams are the throats of mountains). We saw the areas where the gargantas were waterfalls...quite spectacular! Dinner consisted of five small plates of unusual food combinations (lentils with avocado, for instance) in a new, hipster restaurant that seemed extremely out of place in this very traditional village. The following day was filled with sight-seeing (seeing colorful and charming but often dilapidated abodes) and of course, drinking cañas for hours in the plaza, where everyone gathered after mass, and where old men strummed guitars. By the time we finally had lunch, I was so hungry I no longer had an appetite, especially when others ordered calamari and it came out in huge, swishing, slimy chunks. I couldn't bear to eat my trucha (trout) which looked not quite dead on my plate, with its head still on, so I had to awkwardly ask for a doggy bag, something Spaniards hardly ever do. But other than that, it was a delightful experience seeing the more hidden (but probably more authentic) side of Spain.

The Villanueva Architecture

It was definitely a welcome distraction from current aggravations and grievances with teachers. (They've suddenly decided they can no longer allow me to carpool with them unless I pay, although it explicitly states in my contract that those in my position should never be expected to pay.) So I've been trying to get in touch with the government to see if they'll pay the teachers, but of course, the easiest thing for them to do is simply ignore me. So that's been quite fun and headache-inducing! But the kids continue to be cute, at least. One of them sends me a daily song on watsapp, another tries her hardest to pick me up every time I see her even though she's only in fourth grade and very small, two others have given me plastic bracelets they made (I don't know about America, but they're all the preteen rage in Spain), and another drew me a beautiful picture. (I chose to ignore the fact that she spent all class making it instead of doing her work.) And I had a lovely time on Monday night with Caroline, eating montaditos (mini sandwiches) and drinking chupitos (shots). Sometimes a few shots are necessary on a Monday night to get the week rolling, especially if there's a drunk woman by your side, caressing your arm and assuring you she'll do no harm. (Yes, this happened.) So minus the carpool woes, I'm having a marvelous time with my Spain bros.

Bones and Banks

I've been a bit less enthused with life overall in the past month than I usually am...I think everything is starting to become too routine, and I'm forgetting embrace the novelty of being here in Spain. So I'll use this blog post to remind myself of pleasant/bizarre/worthwhile occurrences that have happened in the past month since I last wrote. (I know... it's been a whole month--I've become absolutely horrid at being a devoted blogger.)

1. My friend, Cady and I wandered the meadows of Cáceres, ending up on a hill covered in soil that was so spongy I felt like my body barely weighed a thing and I was on the moon. We may as well have been on the moon being that out of nowhere, we came upon a vast array of ancient-looking ruins covered in graffiti of giant insects...there was also an abandoned toilet adorning the site (quite a mystery, as there was surely no plumbing in the ruins). And the cherry on the cake was a lone bone, splayed out in the midday sun, probably from the thigh of a cow. It was so old and sun-worn it had the texture of wood. Without a second thought, I brought it back to the apartment, scrubbed it off a bit, and left it on the terrace to dry. Of course, upon spotting it, my roommate and her friends thought I was insane, but the plus to being a foreigner is you can blame everything your culture. (I assured them it's very normal in America to bring interesting bones home.)

2. I was told to go see the Vostell museum in Malpartida, a neighboring town. Of course, I decided to go on a Monday, the one day it's closed. So I'll have to make another trip back. But luckily, Malpartida itself happens to be a delightful place. It's home to a glistening lake surrounded by wind-carved rocks and stray cows. So, my friend, Alberto and I had an enjoyable stroll and staring contest with the cows.

At the Lake in Malpartida!

 3. I was lucky enough to re-visit the dazzling Lisbon during a long weekend with dear Caroline. The highlight night revolved around Indian food and banks. We did try the traditional Portuguese cuisine, but when we saw there was an Indian restaurant a foot from our hostel, we just couldn't resist. (Spain is extremely lacking on the Indian restaurant front, so we'd been feeling rather deprived.) When we'd temporarily satiated our desire for Indian goodness (I say "temporarily" because we had to return the following night) we both had to find our respective banks to get out some cash, and despite it being a Friday night, even the main the streets were quite empty. There was something super freeing about meandering through the night with the streets to ourselves, coming upon a grand monument gleaming under streetlights every few blocks or so. We joke that that was our Indian food and banking night since that's all we really did...but in many ways I preferred it to a night of partying. It was a way to peacefully take in the city without dealing with the hustle and bustle of the day.

One of the 43 Comparsas

4. After our three nights in Portugal, Caroline and I set off for two nights in Badajoz to witness the famous carnival. The carnival lasts five days, and people even get school off for it because having fun is high on Spain's list of priorities. But we decided two days would be enough carnival for us. I wouldn't consider myself a carnival-type. Parades and costumes seem to excite others more than me. In fact, they tend to depress me because they usually entail having to be around loads of happy, giddy people...so then, of course, I wonder why I'm not as happy and giddy as everyone else... But this time I genuinely enjoyed the spectacle because it wasn't just fun and silliness that I can't relate to (being the extremely serious person I am). It was actually quite artistic, involving lots of "comparsas" or groups of percussionists and dancers decked out in homemade costumes that had been designed and crafted especially for the event. Comparsas apparently practice for years together, and it shows. The dancers are perfectly in-sync with each other and the music, and they move gracefully despite their huge, dazzling costumes. This parade in no way resembles the rhythm-less, commercially-motivated parades we're used to seeing in the U.S. where people with fake smiles smeared across their faces wear drooping Mickey Mouse costumes and trumpets blare the same three songs on repeat.

5. But nothing against trumpets, of course. I recently saw an excellent trumpet performance at my second Olivenza show. (Olivenza is the Extremaduran band that Caroline and I are obsessed with, which I mentioned in a previous post.) Olivenza, despite being a wonderful band in my opinion, isn't very well known, so Caroline and I enjoy singing their songs when we're out on the streets, knowing no one will recognize them. My favorite part to sing is the trumpet solo from their song "Antarctica." After singing it for a month in anticipation of their next concert, it was quite satisfying to hear the real thing last weekend.

Well, that's that. Time to defrost some freezer wonders and then head to bed!