The Fair of Fairs in Monterroso

The other day I declared San Froilán Galicia's favorite fall festival. (Truth!) Now as far as fairs go, the top pick is once again in the province of Lugo, this time in the town of Monterroso. On November 1st-- a public holiday in Spain for All Saints' Day-- the hordes descend upon this town of 3,000, in search of a plethora of wares. The fair has been a staple for centuries. Its origins date back to over 800 years ago. Not to mention it's been recognized as a Tourist Interest within Galicia for over a decade. That's why they call it A Feira das Feiras, the Fair of Fairs. 

This year I was finally able to check it out. And although I had never been (pre-Covid, that is), it seemed to me that it had made a real comeback. The place was packed! There were cars starting about a mile away from the action in the center of town. They even had cops directing traffic. We ended up parking in a little ¨parish¨ on the outskirts, a 10 minute walk. 

¨3-story¨ stall

Once we got close to the center, the place was buzzing. Everywhere you looked: stands, stalls, people. Throughout the town, the stands were mostly selling clothes, socks, and shoes. One such stand blew my mind: whereas most had one to two rows of tops/pajamas/what-have-you hanging, this place had three rows. It was comparable to a 3-story shopping center amongst 2-story shops (complete with high prices for a fair, in my opinion). And apparently, in these situations with so much competition, haggling is perfectly acceptable. Not for me, though. I asked how much a pair of pants was, since the seller was so eager to see me ¨interested.¨ In the end, I wasn't actually interested. So as I was walking away, he called after me, ¨Chica! Wait! We can make a deal!¨ I honestly wasn't interested, but I'll have to save that technique for next time I actually am, hehe. I did buy a pair of fuzzy socks, but after the other incident, wondered, ´Did I pay too much?´

You may be wondering: And what about food? Inside a circular building made expressly for fair exchanges were the food stands. T'is the season for chestnuts, walnuts, and honey. In Galicia, meat is always in season. Therefore, there were tons of vendors to choose from with their chourizos, salted pork, and even pig faces. A handful of bakeries were there, as well as some stands selling fruits and vegetables. And dried beans. So many options! Clearly we couldn't leave empty-handed. We bought some chourizos, honey, an empanada for lunch, along with corn bread, raisin nut bread, and regular bread. Phew! If I were the octopus-eating kind, we would have sat down at one of several tents selling Galician-style octopus. (Fun fact: the typical style of octopus served in Galicia is actually called á feira, fair-style. Makes sense!)

In a traditional sense, a fair wouldn't be a fair without the animals. We actually just happened upon it, as it was kind of apart from the rest of the hullabaloo. According to someone who has recently studied many laws related to animals and food safety, the sale of live animals in this type of setting is no longer legal. And it was kind of sad to see some chickens cooped up in cages little bigger than themselves. I'm not sure how much dealing was actually going on. It seemed more like people were just there to gawk at the variety of fowls. Ducks, geese, and all sorts of chickens. A few decades ago (or less!) this was the spot for Galicians to come sell their cows. Now, it's just a type of zoo, in addition to all the food and clothes available for sale. 

Nutty November

Now that October has come and gone, our current chestnut count is over 55 kg. That's almost my weight in chestnuts! And while the harvest season is coming to a close, this isn't even the final tally. There are still plenty more to be picked up. For example, we haven't had our annual Magosto with friends yet. Usually we have people over in the afternoon so they can collect some of their own chestnuts to take home before we get down to roasting them over the fire and feasting on them in good company. Our chestnut-collecting goal is 70 kg. I think we're on target.

Jackpot 3-for-one

I guess like many foods I've started eating in Galicia, chestnuts have grown on me. They're quite sweet, and when boiled can be eaten like cereal in warm milk. Or when made into a cream similar to apple butter, they're to die for! But what I most enjoy is the satisfaction of collecting my own food. Buying them from the grocery store just wouldn't be as appealing. By now we've staked out which tree gives the big ones (whoppers, as I call them), and which aren't really worth our time. Within each spiky bur grow 3 chestnuts. Usually the two on the ends are a decent size, but the one in the middle is so slim it's worthless. Other times, there's just a huge one in the middle, in between two useless flakes of chestnut. But every once in a while you hit the jackpot. That is, you find three good-sized chestnuts all in one burr. Now that's efficient!

This year aside from the usual bounty of chestnuts we've been collecting from the half-dozen trees in the yard, we've also collected tons of walnuts since mid-September. And they still keep coming! I don't think we've ever had so many in this yard. In the past, we got dirty unnecessarily, but now we've learned that it's possible to get walnuts without staining your hands black. The walnut shells grow in a green, leathery skin. Sometimes they fall with said green (or black, rotting) flesh. Other times they break loose and can be found on the ground in just the light brown shells we all recognize. In the past we would try to pick off the green skin, thereby dying our hands for days. No need, apparently. As they ripen, they loosen themselves from the green and are easy to collect that way. We've got a few dozen kilos drying, all from just two walnut trees.

Usually I go foraging with my canine companion. I've renamed him the Nutcracker. When there were only walnuts on the ground, he'd be by my side, crunching on the shells. At first I was concerned that he was eating them whole. But as it turns out, he knows what's up-- he cracks the walnuts open and spits them out to only get the meat inside. Wonder who he learned that from. Now that it's mostly just chestnuts, he's taken to doing the same. Except, I don't think chestnuts are good for him. He mostly spits them out whole. What a waste of a chestnut!

Galicia's Favorite Fall Fest

If fall in Galicia is synonymous with chestnuts, then based on the 40-some pounds of chestnuts we've collected only in the past 10 days, I can ascertain with confidence: it's fall, y'all!

 

I know, I know, it's been fall for over three weeks now. But around here it sure hasn't seemed like it. Lately the weather has been so warm and sunny, you'd swear we were permanently living in the end of summer. The lovely weather was probably one of the reasons San Froilán this year was an absolute success for the masses. I'm sure it also had to do with the fact that this year marked the return to normal in a post-COVID-19 Lugo. While in 2020 and 2021, the city council tried to keep the spirit alive by programming ¨safe¨ concerts, it just wasn't the same. You had to groove to the music seated, masked, and separated from other attendees. That's why this year was a splendid return to San Froilán's glory days, with hordes circulating in the streets, gathering around concerts, greeting acquaintances passing by. 

Pulpeira behind in red

To make up for lost time, this year we went out not once, but twice. And I wasn't even impressed with the concerts, which is normally what would draw me out to the fall festival fun. The first time was accidental, really. In Spanish terms, we were merely going to ¨tomar algo,¨ to grab a drink and check out the atmosphere. That was the night before San Froilán, a holiday only in the city of Lugo, so there were only locals around and about (except for some vacationing retirees, that is). We ended up saliendo, going out until the late hours. The other occasion was on Saturday when we met up with friends for lunch. Although we didn't make it down to the casetas (temporary restaurants specializing in octopus), octopus was still on the menu. A San Froilán without octopus is hard to fathom. And since the pandemic, restaurants have been allowed to hire a polbeira/pulpeira (almost always  female octopus chef) to set up her stand outside. The one outside our restaurant had orders coming from every direction.

This year I also enjoyed checking out the rides and carnival-style games set up, even though I didn't partake. The menfolk tried their hand and darts, and do you think they came back with a prize? Of course not. But someone I know rode the Ratón Vacilón (silly name of a rollercoaster) twice. I was encouraged to go on, too. But I prefer real rollercoasters that are permanently stuck to the ground. 

Thursday was the fair's final day, a ninth day rather than eight. That concludes the San Froilán experience. Cooling temperatures, chestnuts galore, and changing leaves. Magosto is upon us! In fact, some chestnuts roasting on an open fire are in order this weekend...

To the Ends of the Earth

This weekend our travels took us to Fisterra, on the Costa da Morte. Fisterra is named such because the Romans thought it was the end of the earth. Finis terrae. Obviously that is not the case, as we know there is a whole other set of continents in the distance, not to mention it's not even the westernest part of the continent. Nowadays Fisterra is the optional ending point for the Camiño de Santiago, the walk which officially ends in Santiago de Compostela to see the remains of the apostle St. James in the 800-year-old Cathedral. Some pilgrims choose to continue to Fisterra, and maybe burn their boots while they're at it. By the way, today is a holiday throughout Galicia: the feast day of St. James. 

You can't get to the ends of the Earth without stopping first in Corcubión. A small, historic town on the coast, I didn't expect much of it, since it's not usually mentioned when discussing cute little fishing villages in Galicia. So I was pleasantly surprised when we stopped there to get some fresh seafood. It just so happens that they were hosting the Medieval Market of the Costa da Morte. Serendipity! We had time to kill before getting to Fisterra so we walked around. Although I didn't buy anything, I was giddy about the variety of stands set up. Usually at fairs it's all the same. Several stalls of leather (belts, wallets, etc); a handful dedicated to cheap jewelry; maybe one of wooden toys, but the same style at every single fair. But this was different. There was a guy carving wood into decorative pieces. There was more than one stand with all sorts of Lego characters. Another with some handmade soaps. One full of spices/medicinal herbs for all sorts of ailments. An Arabic-themed tea stall with sitting area. A pig roast! There were actors roaming around in Medieval garb, including two dressed as ¨street sweepers¨ with big baskets to collect rubbish, and who also did balancing acts. If we ever go back, we'll have to bring our Medieval dress to fit in with the corcubioneses. 

Medieval entertainment in Corcubión

Festive in Fisterra?

Once at our final destination of Fisterra, I was charmed by the amount of small alleys above the port area. I had been before my first year in Galicia, but we had only really gone to the lighthouse and cape. Last time, I don't think we even visited the village. Our loss! It was nice to wander around the alleys which sometimes were dead ends. And although the town is a popular destination among foreigners and pilgrims, it wasn't packed either. Especially considering the date.  Guess everyone was in Santiago de Compostela celebrating.

As far as beaches go, on this occasion we visited two. The first was smaller and I enjoyed it because it had plenty of ever-increasing shade thanks to an adjacent pine forest. I didn't like the other one as much because there was absolutely no shade. The view might have been ¨better¨ though, as it was open to the sea, with nothing in front. On both occasions the water was frigid! Clearly I'm spoiled by warmer Galician and Mediterranean beaches! At the open-sea beach, swimming was prohibited due to undercurrents. 

Mediterranean vibes, Galicia

Menorcan Towns & Cities

May was an optimal time to go to the second largest Balearic island. The seasonal restaurants had mostly been open since Semana Santa. The weather was delightfully warm during the day, but cool at night. Nothing too aggressive. And there was practically no one around! Ok, so it's not like it was a no-man's land, but there were minimal to no crowds. I've got a lot to go over, so I'll be dividing and conquering. Let's start with Menorca's lovely cities and villages.

MAÓ/MAHÓN

Menorca's capital and our home base. I want to call it a city, but seeing as it has a population of less than 30,000 that might be an exaggeration. As we were driven in from the airport, we winded along the endless port area, with back-to-back restaurants of all sorts, their terrazas steps away from the water. Maó's port is one of the biggest natural ports in the Mediterranean. The city itself is higher up, with definite Mediterranean vibes. Just the color palette of warm shades was an obvious difference from Galicia. 

But my favorite place in Maó was technically not even in the city limits, but rather in the next town over, in their smaller harbor. Cales fonts! I swear I felt like I was either in a movie or a TV program about Europe. A European boardwalk. I think the quiet stroll over makes the sight all the more breathtaking. On the way over, we walked through a residential area that seemed mostly abandoned before summer. We crossed paths with perhaps two people. Then suddenly when you get to the dock you can spot lively Cales Fonts glowing in the distance. The wooden walkway over to it hugs the cliffs on the left, with boats rocking on your right. Cales Fonts is a harbor full of restaurants and their terrazas, with warm lighting reflecting off the water. Also, because it was May, finding a table wasn't a source of stress. In fact, we ended up having dinner here twice. I was enamored! 

Dinner with a view. Quintessential Mediterranean

CIUTADELLA

On the western tip of the island is Menorca's other major city: Ciutadella. Again, the feeling of we're not in Galicia anymore! Tan, yellow, and beige buildings everywhere. We really only were there for lunch and a quick walk around town before and afterwards. It was a sunny Sunday so there were plenty of people, perhaps locals, milling around. 

Warm: Menorca's weather and color scheme

BINIBÈQUER/BINIBECA

I don't care if this isn't an actually populated village, and is more of a tourist destination than anything else. I was absolutely enraptured! When we parked, my friend said ¨You're going to love this!¨ First we walked past an average terraza with a handful of people drinking in the shade. Nice, I guess. Then he ducked down some stairs which I thought led into the kitchen of the bar. ´Where the heck is he taking us?!´ I thought to myself. And then: all was revealed! We were surrounded by a labyrinth of white houses. Completely white. Just some dark mahogany beams to contrast every once in a while. It was glorious! Once again, coming in May we really nailed it. It might have even been just as nice in off-season. But to have to share those alleyways with a horde of others in summer months would have made it lose it's charm. There were a few other people walking among the white, past signs begging for ¨Silence, please.¨  At the end of our trip, when we were talking about our favorite parts/places in Menorca, my friend was right. Binibeca was certainly mine!

ES MIGJORN

As far as tourism goes, this sleepy town hasn't got much to offer. It's not right next to the coast, which is what the vast majority of people come to Menorca for. It isn't filled with bars and their cute patios (We stopped at what appeared to be the village's only bar). However, it is a real town (unlike Binibeca), with its own cute white houses. Also, I'm not sure if it was because the day we visited just happened to be the village flower festival, or if the place is always so adorable, but just about every single house had flowers outside in the (pedestrians only) street. And most of the flower pots were made from upcycled bottles and other items. Super! On the ¨main street¨ they also had colorful flags with (unknown to us) words strung along them. We were puzzled. Finally someone was able to explain that the town hall had collected specifically Menorcan words that were slowly disappearing. It was a way to remind passersby of them and be proud. The linguistics fans of the bunch were delighted. 

Mallorcan Noms

This year we got to visit not one but two Balearic Islands. The benefits of Galician emigration for me: friends and cuñados on Mediterranean isles. And because it's fresher in my mind: Mallorca! This was my third visit to the biggest Balearic Island. We went for an extended weekend in July, meaning our beach days coincided with some of the busiest days. But we got there early and didn't stick around for the afternoon. The temperature was ideal, too; not scorching hot, and the water was warm. The only thing we are not used to here in Galicia was the foot-burning sand. Everyone sought relief in the crystalline waters. 

One unexpected thing I love about Palma de Mallorca (a city of less than 500,000 people) is the food variety. As Americans, we are so used to having all sorts of ethnic cuisines at our fingertips! Here in Galicia (more specifically, Lugo), not so much. The extent of ¨international dining¨ aside from the Chinese restaurant and a handful of sushi places (a recent development in the past 5 years) is kebab, which is considered Turkish fast food and can be found all over Spain, and maybe all over Europe. So on our visit we took advantage of all the tastes Mallorca has to offer, both local and foreign. First night ramen in an authentic, cheap place in what could be called Asiatown. Another night sushi. Another night Indian. By ordering out we got to enjoy the marvelous terraza at my cuñado's place, lovely but unbearable during the day. On one beach day we also had a Mallorcan specialty: pa amb oli. The three words are said together as if one word, rhyming with stromboli. ¨Bread with oil,¨ it's available with innumerable topping combinations, kind of like a pizza. You can get them in specific bar/restaurants called pambolerías. Yummy and light, perfect for Mallorcan heat!

And when surrounded by so many guiris (foreigners, like myself) in a hot Spanish climate, nothing hits the spot like a sangría! I rarely have them here, but it just felt so right. So summery. So touristy. Our hosts also shared a pitcher with me, so it can't be only for tourists. At one place a white sangría (kind of an oxymoron, when you think about it, since sangría comes from sangre, because of its bloodred hue) did not disappoint! It was filled with festive fruits! Now that was a vacation drink!

Stay tuned for more Balearic travels...in Menorca! 

 

Back for Summer Vacation!

I'm back! Just in time for summer vacation. I didn't really go anywhere, just busy working my usual stint teaching English classes in addition to working on an international conference held here in Galicia. But more on that later. Now I'm officially on vacation and hope to catch up on the past few months' of blogging. Time to start churning out the entries!

To kick off summer vacation, like many good lugueses we went to Miño to hit the beach. Despite it being July, the temperature maxed out at 75ºF and there were lots of cloudy patches. Plus the wind on the beach made it hard to bear at times. Mini sandstorms! That probably explains why even on a Sunday there were few people on the beach. The others must have gotten the memo that nowadays early July is hardly beach weather. Regardless, there was just enough sun to dive in a few times throughout the weekend. At times it was more pleasant in the water than out of it. Plus we had plenty of room to spread out and play beach sports.

Almost too rich
when not accompanied
by churros.

But Sunday morning it was definitely too cloudy to haul our gear to the beach. So what is one to do in a beach town when the beach is out of the question? First we had a very vacation-y breakfast of chocolate con churros. Yummo! And as you may know, in Spain the typical hot chocolate is thickkk. I always get a kick out of resting the spoon on the surface, just to prove how thick it really is. Next stop: the weekly fair to buy underwear! Afterwards we went on a new sensory walking trail from one beach along the train tracks, through a forest, ending in a quiet residential area called Ponte do Porco. 

Ponte do Porco: the pig's bridge. Time for another Galician legend! In the 15th century lived a servant named Roxín Roxal. He fell in love with his master's daughter, Tareixa. The feeling was mutual, but clearly impossible, so the lord, Nuno Freire de Andrade--nicknamed ¨O Mao¨ (the bad), so imagine-- sent Roxín Roxal away. He gave him a golden dagger and a few coins to get by. Time passed, Roxín Roxal disappeared, Tareixa got married. Then a huge wild boar began to torment the lands of Nuno Freire de Andrade. Crops were ruined and even some peasants were killed by the treacherous boar. So Nuno organized a boar hunt, with his son-in-law and daughter Tareixa taking the lead. They had cornered the beast at the bridge. When suddenly, the animal lunged at them. The son-in-law-- instead of facing it with a spear-- jumped out of the way. So the boar went right for Tareixa, killing her instantly. Everyone went into mourning, especially the lord, ashamed of his yellow-bellied son-in-law. However, one morning the boar appeared dead next to the bridge with a golden dagger sticking out of it. It was then that the lord knew that he had made a mistake. His daughter would have been alive if she had married Roxín Roxal as she had wished. Social class doesn't buy bravery.

Now there is a cruceiro there, meant to look like the markers the Andrade family would have used to designate their lands. Apparently the cross over the boar represents the triumph of good over evil (boars often representing the devil in Medieval times). And fun fact: both John Adams passed through Ponte do Porco some time after the Revolutionary War.

(Blooming) O Bierzo

As I mentioned, this year I didn't experience any new Entroido traditions, but I couldn't just stay at home for five days in a row. So we took an express trip east to neighboring O Bierzo. Centuries ago, when Galicia was a kingdom (O Reino de Galiza), the region of O Bierzo was considered part of it. Nowadays, it's technically part of Castilla y León, even though there are some sections where they speak Galician. 

Pretty start

First stop: Corullón, a small village with specific hiking trails around their cherries. Since during the week before Entroido plenty of trees had been in bloom around town, I was hopeful. Cherry blossoms! Unfortunately, we are destined to not see cherry blossoms by the millions. This is the second time I have jumped the gun in terms of the spring visual treat. In the neat rows of around one hundred cherry trees, only ONE was blossoming. Thank you, early bloomer! I insisted I would go back later on this year, when cherry blossom season is in full swing. But now-- especially with the price of gas soaring-- I think it will once again have to wait til next year. We did spot a Romanesque church, however, so not all was lost in Corullón.

San Nicolás

Next stop: Villafranca del Bierzo. More of a town than a village, this was our home base for the night. At lunchtime it was sunny so first we got a drink in the main plaza which had a good amount of people. We sat at a terraza that seemed to be for the fashionable old ladies to socialize before going home to lunch. And here they also gave a hot tapa, garlic soup. For lunch we ate in a bar/restaurant decorated with dark wooden beams on the ceiling and a fire burning in the corner. Now that's what we call enxebre! But here's how you can tell O Bierzo is no longer in Galicia: when they serve a ¨spoon dish¨ such as soup or lentils, they don't leave the entire pot. This would be considered a crime in Galicia! I've heard of families who never return to a restaurant not because of poor service, high prices, or bad food, but because they didn't leave the stew pot for them to help themselves to seconds. It seemed weird to me that the waitress even brought the small serving pot of soup out. If she wasn't going to leave it, why not just bring out a bowl filled with soup? But I digress 😉

After that grave offense at lunch, we decided to get the coffee on the road. After a copious meal, we almost always stay to have a coffee and a shot of digestive liqueur. I myself don't usually partake in this tradition. On this occasion, getting our after-lunch drinks somewhere else encouraged us to walk around the rest of the town. Originally we had planned to explore in the late afternoon before dinner, but we saw just about everything in the hour after lunch. Aside from the aforementioned plaza, in Villafranca there is also a tree-lined avenue that seems to be the other area to get a drink on a terraza. For some reason, it was easy to imagine the town bustling in summer months. But at the end of February and on a Monday, it was pretty much dead. 

As far as sightseeing goes, Villafranca has two churches. It's on the camino to Santiago, and one of its churches is also called Santiago. It was a valid stopping point in case of injury. If someone had been walking for a spiritual debt, but got injured on the way, they could go to the puerta del perdón (door of forgiveness) in Villafranca del Bierzo and it would be considered forgiven. Then there's San Nicolás, an imposing building which has had a variety of uses including school, city hall, and church. There is also a round castle, but it's private so you can only observe it from afar. In general the town has lots of old architecture, and in some cases dilapidated. One cobblestone street is house after house with coats of arms, clearly the old wealthy road. 

Coat of Arms, Calle del Agua

The ¨Royal Road¨

The following morning, we continued east, past Ponferrada, just to see the town of Molinaseca. The place is listed as one of Spain's Most Beautiful Villages. The moniker and village did not disappoint. Despite the rain and near-emptiness of streets, it was still an absolutely lovely town for a quick stroll. I'm adding it to my own personal list of places that remind me that I'm in Europe. That would be due to the cobblestone streets and dark beams on buildings. Flashback to the Middle Ages! It seemed more well-kempt than Villafranca del Bierzo. You could tell they lived off tourism and the Camino de Santiago. Leading out of the village is a Roman bridge, and on the outskirts is Shrine to the Our Lady of Sorrows. The doors are coated in metal sheets because apparently all the pilgrims used to want to take a splinter from the door. The view from this church was the trip's grand finale-- a blooming tree framing the village's other church in the background. Finally, some blossoms in O Bierzo!

The Sweets & Meats of Entroido

Aside from last year when Carnival was cancelled due to Covid, 2022 must be the first time I haven't celebrated Carnival heartily since I got here! This year, the only mask I wore was an N95, haha. I guess I'm saving my Carnival spirit for next year, when supposedly it will be ¨back to normal.¨

Entroido ears

Despite neither dressing up nor going out, I did have a little taste of Entroido last weekend. A true taste of those salty and sweet dishes typically served here. Saturday we had a cocido at home. Thinking back, my first experience with cocido was when I studied abroad in Donostia ages ago. After participating in Carnvial, we were invited to dine at the gastronomic club. Steamed vegetables, garbanzos, and meats were on the menu. At the time, I didn't even realize that it was a specific dish. Now I've made the connection-- cocido is a winter (or more specifically, Carnivalesque) dish throughout Northern Spain. When I worked in Becerreá, I would stick around for the cocido with teachers on Entroido eve. After that, though, I lost the habit. Until now.

Cocido literally means boiled. The ingredients of this bountiful, boiled meal can vary according to the region. Even within Galicia, there are some differences, depending on what produce is readily available in each house. In Lugo, the prototype includes garbanzo beans, steamed cabbage and potatoes, along with various cuts of pork. But in Vigo, for example, you might have turnip tops rather than cabbage or fava beans instead of garbanzos if that's what your family has in their garden.

The rest of this entry is not for the faint of stomach/vegetarians

Galicia's Smallest Cemetery*

*Allegedly.

Cemiterio de Soutomerille

Last weekend we got back to hiking. We set off on a trail in Castroverde,  marked with poetically-written information panels. Away we trekked, past flat pastures of cows and little Celtic pigs, around a pair of churches from the pre-Romanesque to the last century, and through an enchanting forest with some enormously wide trees. The highlight for me, however, was the Cemetery of Soutomerille. Lost in the middle of the woods is this tiny enclosed cemetery. The moss covering it helps it blend in with its environment. The cemetery has only three vaults, less than a dozen ¨residents.¨ As far as I could tell with the tombstones, the oldest was buried in 1918. The stone edifices weren't as simple as modern-day mausoleums. Their shapes reminded me of hórreos, with two posts at either end. This could be attributed to stonemasonry being a typical trade long ago around these parts. 

On a different note, but related to Galician flora and fauna: the other day while driving home at dusk, I stopped just in time to observe a family of wild boar crossing the road! How exciting! It was the first time I had seen them in person, and from the safety of my car. There were two adults and three little piggies. In the past years, videos have circulated of wild boars running wild in the city streets at night. I think especially when we were confined back in spring 2020, they felt free to run the streets. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's the equivalent of seeing deer by the side of the roads back home. This is my first boar-sighting, whereas back home we see them so often it's almost no big deal. But according to my sources, I am equally lucky that they didn't storm my car. Apparently they can do as much damage as a deer would. 

A Candeloria: Galician Groundhog's Day

There's no emblematic groundhog here, but the idea is the same. A Candeloria--February 2nd-- is a day to predict the winter's end. Will it stay cold and rainy? (Actually, this year has been really abnormal and it hasn't rained since last year) Or will spring start soon with Entroido right around the corner? There are several proverbs about the day in Galician. Summed up, they all claim that if A Candeloria is rainy or windy, winter is just getting started. 

So sorry, Punxsutawney Phil, but I beg to differ! This year on Februrary 2nd it was a clear day with spring-like warmth at lunchtime. And since it didn't rain, that means spring is right around the corner! The forecast concurs. While the Midwest USA gets battered with snow, it's supposed to get up to 60ºF in the coming week. 

Another saying about February 2nd is, ¨Pola Candeloria casan os paxariños.¨ Apparently on this day, the birdies wed. How sweet! Maybe that makes it a combination of Valentine's Day as well as Groundhog's Day! Even with an ocean between them, both holidays might have the same origins. February 2nd is around the day of the Celtic festival of Imbolc, celebrated in between the winter solstice and spring equinox. Then it got Christianized with St. Brigid's Day and Candlemas. And while nowadays not everyone around here even knows what A Candeloria is, the tradition makes for a good Galician comparison for English students learning about Groundhog's Day in the USA.

Source

Spain: Destined to Lose Eurovision Once Again

Ah, Eurovision: the world's longest-running TV contest not solely for European countries. Recent participating countries include Australia and Israel. As an American, I just don't get what all the fuss is about for Europeans. One year I watched the international singing contest with my roommates. That was because I had no other plans, not because I was actively interested in seeing it. It also makes for a good topic to discuss the week after with some of my young students who are fans. We watch the best and worst performances and comment. 

While Eurovision itself is in late spring, the countries' internal competitions to choose a representative are well underway. In Spain, that task is relegated to the Benidorm Fest. Fourteen artists from around Spain were semifinalists, performing in the two concerts this past Wednesday and Thursday night. Way too early in the game for my interests to be piqued, but this year, like many other Galicians, the finals were personal. We were all rooting for our very own Tanxugueiras. 

As Tanxugueiras are a trio of Galician women who play the tambourine (traditional Galician instrument) as well as sing. Their music is a fusion of traditional folk and modern styles. Their song ¨Terra¨ got them to the semifinals and then finals in the contest to represent Spain. The hymn has a catchy ¨ai-la-la-la¨ refrain, typical in Galician music but usually not as epic as in this song. It's bewitching. Powerful. The message-- in addition to roots and feminism-- is, ¨Non hai fronteiras,¨ there are no borders. It would have been the first time ever that Spain sent a song in Galician to compete in Eurovision. Take a look at their performance and judge for yourself: 

While gathered around the TV, ready to support our ¨local team,¨ we also viewed the performances of the other seven finalists. Well, six, because one was confined with COVID. For me, the Tanxugueiras were fantastic, of course. The only other artist who stood out for me was Rigoberta Bandini with a catchy and yet somewhat radical tune, ¨Ay Mamá.¨ At that point, I had been bregrudgingly trying to accept defeat (said like a sports fan, who takes every team loss as a personal one) to her and her song. The crowd loved her --hey, they also loved the Tanxugueiras! And the song was good. In all fairness, both seemed like ideal options for Eurovision. Although once again, I am not a Eurovision professional. But most people agreed that these were the ¨only possible choices.¨ At no point did it cross my mind that the singer who ended up winning was even to be considered a potential rival. 

The system to determine who goes on to represent Spain in Eurovision works as follows: 

• 50% of the score was based on the so-called ¨professional jury.¨ This jury was made up of three Spanish women and two European men, all related to the world of showbiz.  
• 25% was based on viewer votes via texts messages and phone calls
• 25% was based on the opinion of a carefully-chosen group of Spaniards meant to represent all of the demographic groups

As they announced the scores on Saturday night, the jury gave a pathetic amount of points to the Tanxugueiras. Unfortunately, this wasn't a huge surprise. Days earlier, the Galician trio had only been able to move onto the finals thanks to the public's high opinion of them. Afterwards it had also been revealed that while the two European judges had given the Tanxugueiras high scores, the three Spanish judges were the ones who skewed the count. In the semifinal, when the judges' scores had been revealed, you could hear the audience booing them, so much so that the festival host had to intercede. Back in the finals, in both of the categories based on public opinion, the Tanxugueiras got the MAXIMUM number of points. The people have spoken! But all thanks to the jury, they will not move on to Eurovision. Instead, Spain will be sending a singer reminiscent of J.Lo or Beyoncé. How original! We've never seen anything like that before!

As you can imagine, following this incident, social media in Galicia and even Spain was filled with outrage. How very democratic: the people selected their favorites and a jury of five people denied the whole country its preferred representatives. Could they not stand to see a song in Galician represent Spain in such an international competition? If that's the case, their selection isn't much more Spanish. The song is in Spanish, sure, but with a bunch of random English thrown in to be nearly unintelligible. It has also come to light that the winner has had a working relationship with one of the jurors. So much for an unbiased jury! 

Twelve hours later, and I am still just as outraged and incredulous. ¨Non me entra na cabeza,¨ it does't fit in my head; I cannot possibly fathom how some ¨professionals¨ thought that a run-of-the-mill reggaeton song was the best choice for Eurovision. Some have expressed hopes that Portugal takes the Tanxugueiras as their own and goes on to win the whole competition. After all, Galician and Portuguese were once the same language. That'd be wonderful, but I won't get my hopes up. All I can say is at least I'll have plenty to talk about this week with my students.