Pilgrim

I saw him sipping his morning coffee.  A fit, suntanned man, wearing a trimmed white beard, and neatly pressed travel-wear.  Behind him, the dramatic view of Muxia Bay marked the western edge of  the continent.  I picked up a cafe-con-leche at the bar and was about to carry it to my room when I heard him call.
"Would you care to join me?"
His eyes were as blue as the Ocean, and I could not refuse the friendliness in his voice.  I  spent the rest of the day with Jonathan.  This is his story.

You called me Peregrino?
I am not sure I would call myself a pilgrim.  I didn't do it for religious reasons.  I started in [St Jean-]Pied-de-Port, and walked five weeks to reach [Santiago De] Compostela.  I am waiting for my girlfriend to get here.  On the last day, descending to Compostela, my knees went out.  She was going to join me for the last leg, from Compostela to the Ocean.  She decided to do it alone.  I am bored here in Muxia.  Nothing to do.

I can't say that the Camino [The road to Compostela] was hard.  It's all in your mind.  When I started to walk, my mind was in a very bad shape.  I think I am ok now.  I did go to a few Vipassana [meditation] seminars.  It helped, but not enough.   Doing the Camino was the last resort.  Going over the Pyrenees to Pamplona may have been difficult.  It's a steep trail, sharp winds...  I can hardly remember any of it.  I was going crazy thinking about my girlfriend.  Mainly blaming myself for what happened.  We have been together for more than a year.  I love her very much, maybe too much.
You know how it is, when you really need someone?

I couldn't live without her.  I am sure she loves me too.  We had a wonderful relationship.  I didn't understand how she could break it up.  We had a catering business in Milwaukee, until she kicked me out.  It was actually her business, but I thought I was pulling my weight.  She said I hit her.  I don't know, maybe I did.  That night... the police came... it was ugly.  The next day, I collected my stuff, and moved in with my mother in San Diego.
Can you imagine a forty-six year old guy, living with his mother?

I stayed with my mom, because I couldn't function.  I was totally helpless.  I called Josie every night. She was annoyed.  Finally, she called me crazy, and told me not to call again.  I was crazy, I was sick.  Alcoholism is a disease, you know.  I drank a lot, I was dealing too.  I didn't notice as it got worse.

I do remember the Roman bridge at Puente del Reina.  It was early morning, the river was mirror-calm and the sun was just rising.  The round arches formed a perfect reflection in the water.  The two images joined to make the symbol for Infinity.  I realized that it's all a journey, nothing begins and nothing really ends.  I saw the holes the Romans built into the columns.  They allow the water to flow thorough without toppling the bridge.  I decided to make my mind the same way.
You are smiling?

That's ok.  It worked for me.

Over the following days, I gradually stopped obsessing about the past.  Instead, as I crossed the rolling hills and endless vineyards, I was obsessing on how to get Josie back.  Plans can drive you crazy too, but not as bad.

Talking about vineyards.  Did you visit the Irache Monastery?

I think that placing a fountain dispensing free wine, in front of an alcoholic, is a cruel joke.  Just kidding.

The alcohol thing was not easy.  They talk about the camaraderie of fellow travelers?  It develops at the hostels, over a glass of beer, or two.  A few times I almost broke down.  Eventually I learned to stay by myself.  In Burgoss, after visiting the gorgeous Cathedral, I called Josie.  She was calm, and was pleased to hear that I am doing the Camino.  She told me that if I get myself together, get a job, be able to support her, she will come and live with me by the beach.  She hates the cold in Milwaukee.  We decided that she would take a vacation, meet me in Compostela, and we will walk the last leg together.  After that, we'll see.

The road from Burgoss to Leon is flat, yellow, and hot.  Nothing to do or see.  No distractions.  To me it became like walking meditation.  I just focused on my steps.  I stopped obsessing about the past, I stopped worrying about the future.  I just walked.  When I reached the Leon Cathedral I was ready to absorb it.  The whole Cathedral enveloped in stained glass...  I was stunned.  First you feel the colors, than I walked around looking the images.  I sat under the incredibly tall arches, letting it sink in.  I don't know for how long.  At some point, I just knew that high above, there is someone looking after me.  A few days later, I reached the "Iron Cross".  At the start, like everyone else, I picked up a stone  and put it in my backpack.  Following tradition, I guess; nothing more.  Yet, as I tossed that stone on the large pile surrounding the cross, I felt that I got rid of my sickness.  I felt light, I was well.


The climb into Galicia felt easy.  I enjoyed the green hills and little hamlets.  Until that last hill.  My knees were so bad, I could hardly make it to the Cathedral.  I met Josie.  She was a bit formal, cool. I kind of expected it.  She decided to walk alone.  I am sure she is doing a lot of thinking, but I am not worried.  Whatever she decides, I know I will be fine.

I agreed with him.  He will be OK.

Leaving Spain

Our last (real) day in Spain was spent right here. (Picos de Europa)

Tomorrow, we fly to Rome.

For the complete Spain photo album, please click below.

https://picasaweb.google.com/isaac.ohel/Spain02

Circles

I met Yossi in Barcelona, and he was a Sardana dancer. Yossi, one of the best Israeli folk dancers in the Bay Area, was in the Cathedral square, taking part in the Sunday gathering.  (Click here  for the Wikipedia description of Sardana).  While the other dancers in his circle were serious and concentrated, Yossi smiled as he gracefully performed the intricate steps.  He was the 'Capitan'.  At appropriate times, he shouted out a command, and the circle switched to a new step sequence.  Taller than most, with sunglasses swung over his high forehead, he was aware of everything in his surrounding, especially the admiring women.  He saw me, I waved, and he nodded.

The band took a break.  He was chatting with friends as I approached.
"Hi Yossi,"  I said, "I have a question"
"Ola" he replied "What's up?"
Not wishing to exclude his friends, I continued with the Spanish, "Your group dances very well.  Is it choreographed?"
"No, no!" he answered with a mischievous, slightly arrogant smile, "We are just having fun."
His Spanish sounded strange.  I wondered whether I was hearing the Hebrew accent, or maybe he was speaking in Catalan.  I didn't have time to probe this further.  The band resumed playing, and Yossi entered the circle and joined hands.  They raised their arms in unison, and started dancing.

I wandered between the several circles in the large square.  I was impressed by a spandex-wearing young group, who danced high on their toes, their muscular calves, evidence of their training.  A beret-wearing catalunian standing next to me, explained that these are the current Sardana champions, and this is their practice session for tomorrow's competition.  At the command of their tall and pretty Capitan, their bouncy steps transformed into very high hops.  The jumping evoked a memory of Kobi, whose dance skill used to be on par with Yossi's.  At that time, he was my mentor as I attempted to learn Israeli folk dance.
"Just jump high", he used to say "and you'll be a good dancer."

I walked back to Yossi's group.  I noticed that the circle grew larger and the new members were mostly older.  Now they seemed content to repeat the same sequence throughout the dance.  Several of them were not even on tip-toes.
"You are an Israeli Folk dancer."  I heard Kobi say, "You can handle the Sardana"
I stood behind the circle and watched.  The steps were  similar to the Israeli dance 'She'avtem ma'im', except that the sequence was longer, and more complicated.  I started counting the steps, but when I reached ten, I gave up.
"Stop counting and start moving!", Kobi's voice commanded.
I obeyed.  I meekly parted the circle between two ladies, who though surprised at the sight of a foreigner joining this nationalistic event, extended their arms with a smile.  At the start, I kept my eyes on my neighbors' feet, but soon, my body grasped what my brain could not, and I just let the rhythm move me.
"You've got it", beamed Kobi.
Before I got too tired, the dance ended with a strong stamp of the foot, and a shout of "Viva".  Within a blink of the eye, Yossi was standing at my side.
"Nicely done."  He said raising his thumb in approval, then moved on, to demonstrate a fancy step to someone else.

On the next tune, the two sweet ladies, my dance partners, called me.  I did not hesitate.  With Yossi and Kobi present, it was just like the old days.  This time, probably as a challenge, Yossi called out several sequence changes.  I was able to follow without disrupting the circle too much.  When the sequence involved jumping, I remembered "Jump high!", and it worked.  A few more songs, and the event terminated.  I was proud and elated.  The dancers picked their 'El Corte Ingles' shopping bags from the center of the circle and departed.  I waved Goodbye to Yossi, who left in a hurry, accompanied by a pretty woman.  I didn't get the chance to ask him what was he was doing in Barcelona.

Pilgrim

On the date of my Birthday, I completed the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.  I must admit, that I did not experience a spiritual release.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that I accomplished the 800km journey from Pamplona, in three days, rather than the thirty days it takes most pilgrims.  My sins will not be erased.

Nonetheless, the Cathedral here is impressive, and it is interesting and inspiring to watch pilgrims of all ages, as they enter the Cathedral-square.  Most of them don't look too bad for wear.
How to tell the tourists from the pilgrims?  In this chilly town, the pilgrims are the ones wearing flip-flops.

Hero Vs Bandits 2:1

Round 1:  Hero
Hero wins the first round by landing a jab to the head.  Detailed description of the round can be found in my blog 'Instant Hero'.  http://isaacohel.blogspot.com/2011/05/instant-hero.html

Round 2:  Bandits
Hero enters the ring (Plaza Catalunia in Barcelona) slightly dazed from an early morning flight and a bus ride to town.  The Hero team stops moving for only a few short moments to consult their coach (Rick Steves).  Not finding good advice (for a lunch spot), they descend to the metro station.  In the train, I noticed that Adi's backpack is open.   Unfortunately, Adi packed all her important skin-care items into a pouch, and put it in the front pocket of her backpack.  That pocket was open, and the pouch was gone.  Adi was devastated.   She cried, she cursed, she called herself all sort of names (some of which I agreed with).  With all the pain, and all the shame, we had to admit that the Bandits won this round by a knockout.

The next day, we replaced most of the "irreplaceable" Korean products in 'El Corte Ingles', Spain's incredible department store.  However, for days afterward, Adi would remember yet another beloved possession that has gone with the pouch.

Round 3:  Hero
The arena (metro station) is packed with spectators.  The Bandits are waiting. Hero, wearing a day-pack, tries to board the crowded subway car.  His way is blocked by a fat young woman reading the route map which is posted over the door.  He senses other passengers crowding behind him.  He move right to sidestep the girl; she moves right.  He moves left; she moves left.  By that time, I realized that this is a set up for one of pickpocket's oldest tricks.  I roughly shoved the fat girl out of my way, and climbed inside.  The girl, followed by her teammates, calmly walked out of the closing door.  The other passengers just shook their head in resignation.  Win by points.

• Rick Steves saves his most emphatic warning about pickpockets, to Barcelona.
• A backpack to a thief is like red cape to a bull.
• Barcelona residents hold their bag, or purse, next to their body, with both arms.

Notes from Sevilla

1.  The Macarena, the hit song of the '90s, and the sexiest dance-step ever, was created by two singers from Sevilla.  The Macarena, the statute of Mary grieving for her dead son, is the most beloved image of Spain's most beloved Saint.  During Easter-week in Sevilla, thousands struggle to get close to her as she is paraded on top of a huge gold float..  Sitting near me in her church, worshipers cried, as they gazed at the crystal tears on her face.  A face with a delicate expression of both sorrow and love.  The song says; "Macarena, give your body joy.  Your body was made for joy, Macarena."
I like to travel because:  6.  Sometimes you learn the weirdest things.


2.  A grandfather to two Flamenco dancers, I came to Sevilla to taste this art in the city of its birth.  I had to choose among the variety of venues where Flamenco is performed.  The big theatrical venues were not presenting at this time, and I decided against "Los Gallos", the highly recommended, but touristy tablao (30 Euro).  Instead, I attended a more intimate performance in the patio of "La casa de la memoria", an old house decorated in Jewish and Gypsy motifs (15 Euro).  I was spellbound by the passion expressed by the guitar, the singing, and the dance.  I wanted more.  Away from the city center, I encountered "Pena Torres Macarena" an association devoted to Flamenco (5 Euro).  A young man, the first-prize winner of a youth competition, poured his soul in an energetic presentation.  The female singer and the guitarist, were also outstanding.  The local crowd and me, could not stop their applause.  I felt that I was getting closer to the roots of Flamenco, which are described as similar to the street roots of New Orleans Blues.   One step further in that direction, brought me to "T de Triana", a bar in our neighborhood (Zero Euros), where I attended several performances.  This is a hit and miss affair.   Sometime the singer (Israeli) is not so good, or the dancer (Thin and tall African-American) is not so passionate, but with luck, you get a Canadian Flamenco teacher who is just as good and exciting as the local professionals.  The crowd, a mix of Sevilla residents and Japanese Flamenco students, is always appreciative.

3.  Tucked besides a colorful indoor market, is the Museum of the Inquisition.  The complex is situated over the remains of a fort that served as the first operational branch of the Inquisition.  The visitor enters a darkened room, walks to a spot on the floor marked with an X, and stands under a bright spotlight.  The video screens around the room, project images of solitary men and women.  They are dressed in a white hospital-like tunic, and they too stand vulnerable under a bright spotlight.  Slowly, their defenseless expression, changes into bewilderment, than apprehension.  Their tunic is torn off their body, and the focus turns on one man, who is now stooped and naked.  We can sense his fear, which becomes our fear too.  Eventually, we see him in a fetal position, slowly tumbling in space.  In this shaken, paranoid, state of mind, I entered the museum-proper.  The museum is encased in a contemporary structure, whose floor consists of the remains of the original fort.  A twisting pathways follows the old walls, through the dimly lit hall, from one display to the next.   There are no exhibits of torture in the museum, but the cries of thousands of victims can be heard in the old stones.  In this environment, the dry account of the inquisition process becomes highly emotional.  The path ends near an opening in the wall overlooking the calm, green, river.  The last display, is a numbered list of human rights, and a reminder that honoring these rights is a personal choice.

Institutions

The Inquisition.  The mere mention of  this infamous institution, brings cold terror into my heart.  Even now, so many years after my liberation from another mind-bending institution, the Israel Ministry of Education and Culture, I can still feel the fear of a converted Jew in fifteenth-century Spain, hiding his faith from his neighbors.  It was only natural that during my travels in Spain, I would seek traces of its Jews, and of their archenemy, the Inquisition.

On my first day in Madrid, I strolled through Plaza Mayor.  The heavy bronze benches, interspersed within the Plaza, caught my attention, and I stopped for a closer look.  Plaza Mayor was the center of Madrid civic life during the seventeenth century.  Important ceremonies, bullfights, and executions by the Inquisition, took place here.  Today, the large, traffic- free square is home to outdoor restaurants and street performers.  Its benches are occupied by gentlemen quietly reading the paper, and matrons in animated discussions.  I waited till one man vacated his space and examined the carved bronze panel on the back-rest.  The scene on the panel was shocking, yet familiar.  It depicted a stack of logs on fire, a man tied to a stake inside the fire, and a crowd of onlookers around it.  I waited impatiently for a few more minutes before another man folded his paper and the next panel became viewable.  In this one, a man sat tied to a tall chair, the rope around his neck extended behind the chair where someone was pulling it tight.  Standing beside the man, a priest was reading from a thick book.    The third panel showed the victim in a large pot, a fire burning beneath it, and here again a priest and many onlookers present.  No inscriptions explained these scenes, but the situations were unmistakable.  I was looking at the various methods used by the Inquisition to execute converts to Christianity, accused of practicing their old religion.

Now, I can only regret, that I did not take the time to examine and photograph every bench in the square.  How could I realize this would be my first, and perhaps only, encounter with the Inquisition?  After several weeks in Spain I can conclude that while the omnipresent Spanish Tourism Office deserves many compliments on its excellent presentation of Spain's heritage, it is also just as efficient in suppressing controversial topics.  Another example, is the glaring absence of any monument or museum devoted to the civil war.

Plaza Mayor, the statute of the Rambam in Toledo, and other photos from Spain can be found online at:  https://picasaweb.google.com/isaac.ohel/Spain#

Instant hero

'What will I do if my pockets were picked?'

I pondered this question reading Rick Steves' guide to Madrid, where almost every page contains a warning about pickpockets.  The locals too, made sure to warn us about thieves and muggers.  I take precautions by placing my thin wallet in a semi-hidden zippered pocket, and then feel safe by dismissing the warnings with 'I am not an easy target!'

Boarding a bus in front of the Prado, one foot already on the step, I felt a rustle around the map pocket of my cargo pants.  I turned around to surprise the young man beside me.  Neither one of us expected what came next.  I landed a punch on his nose.  My sub-second hesitation while verifying that he is not too big, may have saved his nose from being broken, yet it was a solid hit.

"I did not steal!" he pleaded.

However, this factually true statement was rejected by the others in line.  I boarded the bus, which moved on, leaving a stunned man alone in the station.  The passengers who witnessed the event, congratulated me on my aim, "You hit his face.  Good!".  Adi was pleased and I, despite years of meditation practice, was rather proud of myself.

I can't even remember the last time I hit anyone.  It took the rest of the bus ride for my adrenalin level to come down.  I became very hungry.  An all-you-can-eat salad bar hit the spot.  I was ready for the next thief.

Madrid encounter

Converted Jews, caught by the Spanish Inquisition secretly practicing their Jewish religion, were burned alive in the Plaza Mayor.  Scenes of the executions are shown in bass relief on the bronze benches around the Plaza.  Only a few steps from the Plaza, a colorful notice, pasted on a door, caught my eyes.  "Meduzas (Jelly Fish)" will be screening tonight.  Starting time was to be in five minutes, and the location was this very place.  The door belongs to the Sepharadic-Israel house, and Etgar Keret, one of my favorite Israeli authors, and a co-director of the movie, was going to attend the screening.  Of course we went in.  At the end of the movie, I had a chance to ask Etgar a question or two in Spanish, which was translated for him into English.

After the movie, we concluded our first day in Spain by dancing Paso-Doble in a crowded meson, a cave like pub built under the foundations of the Plaza Mayor.  Laughs, who laughs last.