2. Spain: Madrid, Salamanca to Santiago de Compostela

Spain

“Africa begins at the Pyrenees”

 Madrid, Oct. 2, 1982

Dear Folks, (DAN)

I think that we can all agree that this trip is finally under way, and an orderly account is called for. Helena and I have agreed to alternate writing each day, which means that one day you will need a spelling manual, the next a magnifying glass, depending....

We hooked up successfully with Grandmother (Gm) at JFK Airport. She apparently had no trouble switching airports and walked right up to the proper exit (out of about 100).  It was the first time that any of us had ridden a Boeing 747. We did not get to “explore” upstairs as that is “another class.” They showed a movie - “Author, Author” - after supper.  I can safely say that it is the best movie I have ever seen -- without sound (earphones cost an additional $US 3.50).

But you wanted to hear about Africa.  Well, according to Hugo Montes[1], Africa starts at the Pyrenees. I shall begin with some of the native’s customs. It is nice to be in a city that is set up so that the majority uses public transportation.  We got a bus in front of the airport, put our bags in a roomy compartment underneath, and rode it all the way into the city to one of the central plazas, all for less than one dollar apiece.   This particular plaza is over an underground transportation center, where one can use the subway, bus, taxi, or the airport bus.

Hugo met us in the plaza and we took a taxi to his house. We had said that we intended to sleep in hostels but he and his mother, Doña Rosa, insisted we stay with them. Things are pretty tight with five of us in a one-bedroom apartment in a modern building.   Gm. and Doña Rosa will sleep in the bedroom and the three “youngsters” in the living room. The entire apartment I would estimate at 4 m by 8 m.   Mommy and Daddy, I can feel you cringing about now, but rather than appear imposed upon, they invited three more people and we all had a leisurely supper — at 11 p.m. Two of the people are an ex-priest from Spain who was active with the human rights group in La Paz, and his rather burgués wife, who are currently working for the revolution in Nicaragua.  I say she is a Burguesita because one of the things she lamented most about the situation in Bolivia is that the Creperie (?) had closed down.  The other crushee was a French ex-volunteer from Ambaná, who had just arrived from Bolivia with letters and a lot of news. He stayed till 2:00 a.m. talking.

You all will be glad to know I don’t intend writing this much every day of our trip, but as John Paul Jones almost said, I have just begun to write!

After brunch we took a bus uptown. I guess the first thing that hits one, and keeps hitting, is the clothing fashion, the degree, range, etc.  In view of the potential readership, I will control my enthusiasm over the, shall we say, lack of modesty that is evident. What is most evident is the exotic flavor.  Mini-skirts are in, bell-bottoms are out; pants are in, but only if they are either bright yellow or, the favorite, blinding pink. Ah yes, they cannot reach below the calf and must precisely fit the form --whatever it may be.  Gm and Helena opine that they are all unbecoming and, obviously, loud.   Even so, Price, some are Very Nice! Knickers (later known as Capri pants) (all colors and stripes) are common, but as matrons also wear them, they must be old hat. I forgot to mention the shoes, pointy, all bright colors; and plastic, baggy, white go-go boots are the uniform. Now you may think I’m overdoing this, but after a day of pounding the pavement, it sticks in my mind more than the medieval architecture.

Speaking of medieval, we passed a bar, or tavern, in the oldest part of the city, the date outside was in the 11th century, the music wafting (?) out was vintage Pac-Man.   Anyway, we walked the older part of the city (1200-l700 a.d.) until dusk.  We got a bite to eat and went out and watched the Saturday night crowd. There apparently is no real central plaza, and the people mob the streets instead.

Finally, the other thing that sticks in my mind is the strange schedule here in Spain. Apparently shops, etc. open at 10 a.m., close at 2 p.m., open again at 5 p.m., and close at 8 p.m. During the off-hours nothing can be accomplished (this has been proven to us since).

Madrid, Oct. 3, 1982

(HELENA) Since we got to bed so late, Sunday started mighty late.  We got up at 10:00, had breakfast at 11:00, were on the road by 11:45, and got to our destination at 12:10. Not so terrible, unless, as happened in our case, the museum closes at 14:00. Hugo had told us how wonderful “El Prado” was. I wasn’t too optimistic because El Prado is a painting museum, but we did enjoy it in spite of our ignorance. We saw a bit of several schools (we can’t even remember the names), but the main attraction was a very large collection of Goya’s paintings. Even we were able to distinguish between his different styles. One thing that really amazed us was some of the work done by “El Bosco”. He had some ideas that looked like some of today’s science fiction.

We were herded out of the museum very unceremoniously, so much so that we left behind the camera bag. (Mother, we are enjoying that and all of your handiwork very much and constantly.)[2] We got it back and started on an all-afternoon walking tour. We (this time Doña Rosa accompanied us) would walk a while, sit down in a park, and continue.  Aside from the styles Dan mentioned, Grandmother and I are amazed at the way all of the little children go around very dressed up. All of the little girls wear long dresses (below the knee).

A general impression we’ve had (I guess I’m not complaining, but it really does stand out) is that Madrid is trashy. There are little bits of paper all over the place. Even a decent restaurant has trash all over the floor. In the subways for example there were signs saying “Favor no botar la pipas”.  This is a request for people who are eating sunflower seeds not to spit the shells out onto the floor.  Most people seemed to be ignoring the request. The floor was littered deeply with sunflower seed shells.

After getting “home,” Dan, Hugo, and I went to the train station (one of the three main ones and several secondary ones) to see about schedules.  Chamartín is huge, modern, and so complete it even has a four star hotel by it. It’s like an airport. Fancy!  (DAN) Yes, but we had to stand in three different lines just like good old Bolivia.  Got to the front of one, “sorry, the next.” After 15 minutes, “Sorry, can’t you see the sign, we’re closing, etc.”

Madrid - Salamanca, Oct. 4, 1982

We had gone to the station to ask about a train to Salamanca; we got that easily, but we were not informed that the train leaves from another station! We were going to change money at the station bank that opened at 0900. At 0930 the bank had still not opened, and the train for Salamanca pulled out, somewhere, without us. What we did get was a milk-run train that first went north to Medina del Campo, and then west—southwest to Salamanca. As it was, we got to see different people and, I think, a greater variety of people than we would have on the express.

What strikes one leaving Madrid, or any of the other larger cities, is all of the con­struction that has been and is going on. All of it appears to be mid-height (about 10-15 stories) apartment buildings that are rising from near-slums or just plain countryside. They aren’t attractive, but I don’t think they could all be subsidized housing.  Pass­ing through the small towns, they did not appear more prosperous than rural Bolivia.  We did see a touch more John Deere tractors.

In Medina we changed trains and bought bread, milk and cheese. Our first train had been a comfortable 2nd class with seats facing each other, but without divisions. The second train was considerably older, had a narrow aisle, and sat 8 people to a compartment (by the way, just the three of us are taking the trip, Hugo did not come.), and the best we could do was one that already had four people. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but we were hungry, it was 4:30 p.m., no food since a continental breakfast at 0800, and the four people discreetly staring at us. Helena was for fasting, but I finally asked the man across from us if he did not mind our eating, that we had not had lunch. Fine! We had all noticed that he had a sweater with llamas on it, so I asked him where had gotten it -- Peru. He had a little cross on his lapel so I asked him if he were a religioso. It turns that he is a Carmelite father who has worked in Uruguay and Peru for the last 32 years, likes what he has heard of the Methodists, and has been to Oruro (Bolivia). We conversed between bites the rest of the way. He looked askance at our bottle of milk and politely pointed out that in Spain one drinks wine, not milk.

Entrance to Salamanca main plaza

We arrived in Salamanca just before dusk, so when a tiny aging couple told us of their wonderful little hostel close by for a moderate price, so we accepted. The Missus started trucking, and 20 minutes later we still had not arrived  (on foot)(backpacks, suitcase and cachibachis). Our destination turned out to be an aging two-story house with broken windows, and a definite musty smell. The geraniums in the window appeared to be surviving so we stayed. “Sorry there is no way to lock the doors,” but don’t worry, “you are in your house.” Actually, I think that we were in their house, or apartment. We shared a bathroom with them, and could hear their television. But we survived. Roughly $us 10.75 for the three of us.  But we are learning. Helena and I went out to see the town at night but came back to bed early.

                                                   

                                                    Salamanca - Santiago de Compostela, Oct. 5, 1982

(HELENA) In the first place, Hugo advised us to go to Salamanca because it is supposed to be the home of the oldest university on the European mainland (Oxford - 1167, Salamanca - 1215). As was the case with the paintings at the Prado, my description of the buildings in Salamanca will be a very ignorant one.

Helena and Gm in the main plaza in Salamanca

I guess the oldest thing we saw was the Roman bridge over the Tormes River (as in Lazarillo de Tormes). The rest was just churches and two cathedrals, the university, and convents, all made out of soft sand-stone. One word we came across constantly in the Michelin Guide was “Plateresque.” A good deal of what we saw was “Plateresque,” and one thing they all had in common was that the stone was very intricately carved and it was carved in every conceivable way. The doorway of a part of the university had some carvings of Spanish monarchs, some of the pope, and they were flanked by Hercules and Venus. Hm…

We mostly walked around the town and finally headed back to our grand (?) hotel.  We walked from there to the train station, had our bread, cheese, and fruit in a little park, and headed for here.

Salamanca Cathedral and street scene

(DAN) It was quite a train ride for scenery.   Salamanca is very much like the Bolivian altiplano, as it is Extremadura, that roughest part of Spain from where so many conquistadors came. Straight north of Salamanca the climate got progressively more humid. Continuous fields of dry land sunflowers and wheat (?) stubble gradually changed into vineyards until we got to the Duero River (Zamora). North of the Duero we began rising into broken country and things began to get dryer. As we got higher the evergreen trees became taller until we really got up in the mountains: a solid evergreen forest.  From there north there has been a lot of Celt (6th century B.C.) influence... I was saying that the Celts settled this north—west area of Galicia around the 6th century B.C. And the closer we got to this region of Galicia the more like (our idea of) Scotland it became.  By late afternoon the towns were of stone walls, some white-washed, with slate roofs instead of tile. The vegetation got very thick, a temperate humid type with a lot of ferns, and associated vegetation. The language here seems a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese and the place names and road signs really changed. (Example of Gallego sign: Museo do Pobo Galego.)

Our accommodations in Santiago were much better, and cheaper, so in all we had a good day.

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[1] A good friend of Dan´s from high school in La Paz who was living with his mother in Madrid and studying at the University.

[2] Mother had greatly enlarged Dan´s external frame backpack, including inventing a duffel bag top (that would later become a standard feature on most backpacks), that allowed for it to be padlocked.  She also made a camera bag designed to strap onto the top of Helena’s pack in case we needed all of our hands free.