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.