Sun off a beach? (Semana Santa, pt. 3)

Sunday

The difference, in English, between beach and bitch; uses of puta vs. whore; the amazingly versatile coño; the worldwide display of religious observance (from parades to hijab); favorite 80´s American television; Spaghetti Westerns and their Spanish shooting locations; American and European class distinctions, and class mobility...we worked it all out over 8 hours and maybe as many drinks, and countless tapas. And a pizza. We even had a game of Telephone, for the right touch of art imitates life, in a dive bar in San José.

But again, you´re taking my word for it.

Luisa, Jelen and I got out for a morning stroll around Almería, including the Port area, with a side trip to the wonderful Centro Andaluz de la Fotografía. We quietly stepped in and out of the Cathedral (it was Easter Sunday), and saw the tail end of the Semana Santa pageant.

Cristóbal volunteered to drive out a short distance to the beach at the beginning of Cabo de Gata, a national park. Actually the city itself has a beach, but just 15 or 20 minutes out, the surroundings get more sparse and more scenic. Though we didn't see any, the area is known for flamingos, as well as its desalination plants.

We settled into one patio bar, and were joined shortly afterwards by Juan, who I´d remembered meeting while out for drinks on Friday. The tapas (and the cigarettes) were running out by the time we ordered our second drink, so we moved on. No cigarettes to be had in the next place either, but we did get some tasty fried fish treats.

The day had that sparkle of fresh sea air and spring sunshine, and everyone's mood was up and bouncing. After a few tinto veranos, the usual comprehension elevation set in, and it felt like a day out with friends, hardly noticed the language barrier. We took another scenic drive up a nearby mountain to the beautiful lighthouse, which has a stunning view and just beyond, a really tight mountain road up to another scenic spot, with a trail for biking or walking. We took a short walk and had a nice quiet time sitting on the rocks, watching and listening.

Just about then, my camera battery ran out.
We made our way down the mountain and headed for the little, tourist-y but fun town of San José, and had (yes) more drinks and tapas, and a silly game of Telephone in both languages that didn´t really get far, but was good for a few laughs. Hey, at least they knew how I felt.

We finished the night with a pizza in San José, in a place owned by a Milanese guy, that Juan seemed to think had ¨connections¨. The pizza was certainly a step closer to familiar, and I was charmed by how pizza´s the default food here, when no one can agree on anything else.

In some ways, this was the most vacation-y day in the traditional sense, with the beach, the drinks, the all day chatting and ... the pizza.

Tomorrow: Granada!

My little donkey (Semana Santa, pt. 2)

Saturday

After waking up, having a bit of breakfast on the balcony, we were joined by Luisilla, and then piled into her van for a trip to the beach.

Luisilla's van is decorated throughout with small toys, photos of friends and family, Tibetan prayer flags, magic-markered quotes and sentiments, mirrors, pillows, scarves-as-curtains, jugs of water, plastic bins with on-the-road clothing neatly folded inside, and a combination flamenco doll/disco ball arrangement hanging from the rear view mirror. Plus her two sweet dogs Ari and Bacco. I kept thinking, what a great life for dogs, to always be comfortable at home while also always being "out". Southern Spain is very dog-friendly, they're everywhere and well accepted in the homes of others, and restaurants and bars.


As far as I understood, the plan was we'd spend a little while on the beach and then return home, and there was not any specific talk or decision about whether we'd go to the barbecue party later that day. Thing is though, I've got that language barrier thing, so either I got it wrong, or we were kidnapped, but the end result was after picking up another friend, and food for the beach, we ended up at the party site, without a detour to the beach. I wasn't really quite sure at any point what the plan was, that's clear, but the day was beautiful, and the houses and grounds where the party was being set up were interesting, to say the least. For one thing, there was a donkey, in a little stone pen right below the hill that the house and yard were on.

Check him out - our greeter for the hipi hee-haw:

So, the day proceeded without much event, really, we sat on our blankets in the sun and snacked on the foods we'd picked up at the super market, and later in the day, Luisa, Jelen and I took a walk to the beach, after Jelen consulted with some local people about how long it might take to walk there. The response was 30 minutes but, true to the way things go, after an hour of walking we still weren't there.

Just about when we were ready to bail, we encountered an old man standing at the side of the road, who confirmed that it was a bit further, and also made some kind of joke Luisa wouldn't repeat. We trodded on a bit longer, got a quick view of the sea, then headed back to make it to the party ranch (La Luna) before dark.

As we passed old funny man again, this time with a red-faced younger man, they both laughed at us and old man made another joke, this time Luisa semi-translated it as having something to do with how we should have taken an ass along for our three asses. Ok! Next time we'll keep that in mind.

Back at the party, just turning dusk, we headed up the small hill overlooking the backyard and stage, and waited while the band continued (as they'd been doing for maybe 5 hours) to tune up and fiddle with knobs. The hill was set up with numerous old sofas, beds and chairs, in a makeshift auditorium that gave a great view not just of the party, but also the sunset and hills. Earlier that day we'd had a photo of the four of us taken by another guest, and Luisa recognized its potential, and shopped it up like so:

Grecas?

We spent a little while longer on the hill before it got too cold, and after the band started playing, we hung out in the van for a bit to listen but also stay warm. We drove back in the dark, me stretched out on the bed in the back of the van, thinking about D. Boon and hoping for the best. It all worked out.

Got home, met Cristóbal for the first time (he´d been with family in the North until that night), and enjoyed some tasty, and definitely picante, delivered pizza. Tomorrow: The Beach.

OH, my GOD. (Semana Santa, pt. 1)

Evening Arrival

RyanAir had a 50Euro flight to Almería, in the south, in Andalusia. Jelen planned to visit friends there for an extra-long weekend during Semana Santa (Easter Week), and invited me along with her. Gus encouraged me to go for it; not only was it cheap as hell, but I'd have a place to stay. Plus, it was clearly time for us to have some time apart to do whatever it was we used to do, when apart. One big selling point for this venture was that I'd be fully immersed with other people speaking Spanish all the time, with the safety net of Jelen's really-not-bad-at-all English. OK, why not.

Easter in Spain is a very big deal in terms of religious observation. Um, we're talking Catholic, obviously. There are processions all over the country, Sevilla being perhaps the best known location for serious pageantry, but that's not to say that other places stint on dramatic displays of penitential pride. People compete to be included in the group that carries a massive float bearing religious statuary etc., with all the trimmings, on their collective backs in a crouched position, for eight hours. But the most eye twisting sight has got to be the Nazarenos, who, it must be said, are wearing the costume you'd most readily associate with the Klan, except also in sexier colors besides basic white. The long-peaked hooded robes are meant to signify hiding one's face in shame of one's sins. But really, there's no escaping the cross cultural button pushing they evoke.

We arrived in early evening, and headed for Luisa's apartment. She and her boyfriend Cristóbal have a balcony overlooking a square opposite a church - not the main cathedral, but a church on the parade route. We agreed that while we've got varying degrees of atheism and tolerance for religion, the eye candy aspect was pretty irresistible. The experience of watching the parade from the balcony was memorable, especially when a woman on another balcony was moved to express herself in song. Check out the three little old ladies cowering in the corner.


Just after sunset, we headed out to a nearby traditional bar, for some young wine and tapas. Luisa´s cousin Luisilla joined us after a few. She´s been traveling through Europe in her little funky van, with her two dogs. About here is where I had my first taste of total language breakdown. Those of you know me as a full time (oh, haha) speaker of only English also know that occasionally, I just don't hear you right the first time. My ears have tested fine, but something about my attention/listening/patience ratio is off, so I don't always get things right when there's a lot of crowd noise. This just creates another layer of comic possibilities in my Spanish-ish conversations. So when asked if I was vegetarian, I replied, "No, I don't speak Italian", which got a big laugh, and was just funny enough after a few drinks to make me feel silly, but accepted.

Onward through narrow, cobblestoned streets, we marched in search of more and more wine and tapas, with stunning success. The place that housed the peak of the evening was - oh hell, I have no idea where it was or what it was called. All I know is, the grill/tapas chef guy was hot, and he gave me an extra jamón croquette. Guapo! Some other friends of Luisa's showed up, Diego and Carmen, so we had a little posse building, and it was here that I found the sweet spot.

There´s a moment at which my alcohol consumption has shoved my anxiety and inhibition to a dark corner of my awareness, and my ears free up to follow the flow of Spanish conversation. Also, others are in about the same state, which makes them more amenable to filling me in on what I might have missed, in some really impressively detailed English for people who claim not to speak it. So, that shining moment was upon us as one among our party shared the tale of her sister having slept with a part time porn actor (and part time clown), who, when reaching his own sweet spot, would shout in English, "OH my GOD! OH my GOD!". I realize this isn't so funny in print, but please feel free to get loaded and read this again, because at the time, it was a sparkling good story, well told, and it provided the rest of the trip with: a catchphrase. For me, this was delightful, because it meant that as the trip unfolded, I could throw that in and be a participant in an 'in-joke', glory be.

Oh, the rest of the night devolved into more drinking and no more tapas, winding up in a few rock club type places, and finally, home to sleep. Big day tomorrow, we'd been invited to a barbecue that Luisilla had some hand in, taking place outside the city in a kind of - dare I say it - hippie outpost in the country. To be continued...