Carnival Pt 1: Viva Pitões!

It's the most wonderful time of the year! As cold as Christmas, and everyone is likewise full of good cheer. Like in the rest of the north of the peninsula, Cádiz, and the Canary Islands, Galicia celebrates Carnival with costumes, traditions, merriment, and days off.

Robin Hood assessing the situation

For the first part of this year's celebrations, we went south of the border. Driving through the villages of Galicia, you know you're getting close to the invisible border when the car radio starts picking up mainly Portuguese-speaking stations. And the first stop beyond that invisible line is Pitões: population 200. On one side it has some rocky hills, and on the other miles of fields. Although the village is charming with red-roofed, stone houses, it's somewhat abandoned. There's a communal oven, a stone hut where they still make bread. It also has two bars in the ¨center¨ (re: a small plaza with said bars, and a multiuse building).

Some friends rented a house in quaint little Pitões, and we brought the festa with us. While in Galicia it's typical to dress up everyday for Carnival, in Portugal (or at least Pitões) not so much. The other visitors wore normal clothes, while our bunch was decked out. The day's festivities began with a handful of town elders in costume dancing and singing. Then came the band, who were Galicians too. They were dressed in traditional capes and animal hats. They kept the music going until the wee hours--and our group made sure there was always someone to accompany their playing with a muiñeira or paso doble. 

As night approached, we were in for a special treat. Gathered in the multiuse building (which during the day had held a small traditional food expo), were the same old ladies who had dressed up before and sold their homemade sausages and liqueurs. Except this time they were lined up, singing. Songs of yesteryear, I guess. Songs in Portuguese, but since Galician and Portuguese were once the same, some of our group knew the songs and could sing along. They taught us a very melancholic song, Viva Pitões! Then a few of the elders helped us dance in a round while they sung. Like Carnival ...circa 1920.

Vaia banda e vaia vistas!

Back by popular demand! And --Pardiñas

Long time no see! Thanks to encouragement from my loyal fans (lol) I'm getting back to blogging about mi vida galega. And since a dozen (or more) fascinating holidays/celebrations/trips have taken place since then, I'm aiming to churn out the entries this month. After all, I am on summer vacation! But between moving and family visits, I'm keeping myself occupied.

Let's start with the most recent: FESITVAL de PARDIÑAS
For the past 38 summers, Galician folkies, Celtic music fans, arts and crafts hunters, and anyone looking for a family-friendly fest have flocked to Pardiñas. It's one of the oldest music festivals in Galicia. And yet, music doesn't even begin to cover it. This year was my first time. The concerts start Saturday night, so I was surprised when we arrived by lunchtime. But plenty of others got there early too; the bar/tent sponsored by my bf's favorite social center was bumpin. Imagine a music festival, plus a bit of county fair with food stands, plus a few cafe/bar tents with food, plus dozens of craft stands in a field, plus tents of traditional Galician instruments, plus, plus, plus!

It's a good thing we arrived early in the afternoon, because Saturday they held a billarda tournament. While it looks like billiards in English, it's got nothing to do with it. Players in a field or court have a stick that's about 2 feet long. They hit a different, 6¨ stick lying on the ground so that it jumps up, and while it's in the air they swing at it. The goal is to hit it across the field, between two poles to score a point. It's an individual sport, and scoring...well I'm not 100% sure, but obviously whoever gets it in with the least amount of strokes wins. Anyways, the tournament was open to the public (I was too shy to try). Lo and behold, my boyfriend was the champion. Que enxebre, ese mozo! 

By the time billarda was over, the concerts began. It's not merely Galician folk music. There were also singers and bands from Canada, Mexico, Portugal, and Ireland. And at most rock concerts where there's a mosh pit, here there was a ¨muiñeira pit¨ where people danced to traditional Galician music. We, too, got our dance on--but mostly paso dobles and invented jigs. The music and festivities went on into the wee hours both Saturday and Sunday. But I can really only handle one night of fun, and even though my friends ¨came to visit¨ for the concerts Sunday night, I only lasted til about 1 AM. Oh well. Next year I will pace myself!

Island Getaway

Ah, the glorious bridges of Spain. And by bridges, I mean ¨puentes,¨ what they call long weekends in Spain, usually when the holiday falls on a Thursday or Tuesday, and they take off four days in a row to bridge the gap. Thanks to my already spectacular schedule, the week of the Immaculate Conception and Constitution day, I only worked one day: Wednesday. So we took advantage with a little trip to Mallorca. Roundtrip tickets to the Mediterranean island were cheaper (and quicker!) than a bus to Madrid--who could say no?

Sunning myself

The first thing in Palma's airport that caught my attention was that things were in 4 languages: Spanish and Catalan (obviously), English (also pretty typical), and German. People had told me there was a huge German population on the island. I thought they were exaggerating. But since it was winter, there was less tourism in general. Which in some cases, gave places a sad, ghost-town feeling.

Castell de Bellver

We spent our first two days in the capital. In Palma we took in the typical sites, including the Cathedral, which even from kilometers away is prominent. La Loncha is the old fisher's market. Now it's simply a huge, empty space you can enter and almost feels like a cathedral. Palma's harbor is home to hundreds of boats: from dinghies with chipped paint to grandiose yachts worth hundreds of thousands of euros. A short stroll from the harbor, away from the city, is Castell de Bellver. It's a circular castle on a wooded hilltop. The open architecture makes it feel like a monastery. We also visited the Arabian Baths ruins. Unlike the Roman baths of Galicia, they are no longer functioning, but still cool to imagine. And as far as nightlife goes, we found a great, open bar that was playing the Clash all night long. Woohoo! Also we encountered so many sushi restaurants it almost seemed like a typical Mallorcan dish. Yum.

Castell de Bellver

From Palma the Serra de Tramuntana beckoned us.We quickly realized that the island itself is quite small, and we easily could have stayed in one central location and traveled to all of the island (it's all within an hour). But constantly switching lodging allowed us to see a lot of unique places. Anyways, the sierra is a World Heritage Site. This beautiful collection of hillside towns reminded me of a blend of Picos de Europa + Northern Africa + Napoli. My favorite town was charming Valdemossa, where all of the shutters are green. We caught the Port de Soller just as the sun started to go down, giving it a pink glow. Last but not least was Fornalutx, dubbed ¨the most beautiful town in Spain.¨ It's true that it was nestled in a valley, had some lovely cobblestone streets, and on the outskirts we found hens sitting in orange trees. Unfortunately, we got there after dark. In some ways it lost beauty, but in other ways it gained it.

Valdemossa

Next we headed to the north of the island. Part of Pollença doesn't have coast, but it is between two mountains. We left early enough to check out the morning market--somebody wanted to bring back Mallorcan meat (sobrasada) and yet some how we forgot to buy the typical powdered sugar treat the size of a medium pizza (ensaimada)! From there, following the winding roads of Port de Pollença, we were rewarded with some spectacular views. Nothing but sea! And also because it was the off season, the resorts were closed and we had the beachy areas to ourselves. And since it's the Mediterranean and the temperature was decent, he even took a little dip. In December!

Oh little town of Alcúdia

That night we stayed in an old monastery outside the large town, Alcúdia. The monastery was at the end of a winding road, perched atop a hill, once again with wicked views of the sea. As we rounded one of the corners while returning at night, we came across a giant goat (horns and all) just sitting in the middle of the road. In the pitch dark. Just a few nights before Krampus was to come. Was this a close encounter with Satan himself?! We will never know.

Hoppin around in Pol·lentia

Alcúdia was a nice place to walk around, even though it was quite empty. It has some remains of an ancient wall and a Renaissance one. (But again, living Galicia has spoiled me, seeing as Lugo has a Roman wall in its entirety.)  The next day we walked around the remains of the Ancient Roman city of Pol·lentia (go figure, it's in Alcúdia and not present-day Pollença). Those ruins included 3 domus, the forum, and an amphitheater. An amphitheater which one guide book pointed out is the smallest in Spain. Now that's something to be proud of! I'm all about Roman ruins though, so it was cool.

From there we headed to the east coast to the Coves del Drach. If these caves aren't a World Heritage Site, they should be. I like caves in general, but in addition to the normal cave fun, Drach has a big lagoon inside it. They make the entry cost worth it, because the tour ends in an open amphitheater within the cave, in front of the lagoon. They turn out the lights, and slowly a candle-lit boat comes a-rowin' towards the crowd with a quartet playing (in our case Christmas carols). Marvelous! After the concert, the public is able to cross the lagoon in the rowboats built for about 20. What an experience.

Castañazo Rock

Castañazo Rock is a one-night rock fest in the town of Chantada which proves festivals aren't just for the summer. Really, that's their slogan. But actually with the weather the way it was, it felt like summer anyways. Castañazo isn't just a nighttime affair. Early in the afternoon, it starts off with a song contest, which unfortunately we missed. Eight groups go around to bars, singing traditional (drinking) songs, and basically getting people excited. The concerts themselves are held under the covering of the town fair pavilion. Which must be why at random points it smelled like cows. Also before the concerts were traditional games, which were really successful. You'd be surprised how entertaining simple games can be in this day and age. Then there was the magosto, aka free roasted chestnuts. Yum!

At Castañazo, we ran into many acquaintances. Well, for my boyfriend it wasn't surprising since all Galicians know all Galicians (that's my theory). Especially those on the alternative scene. But personally I was excited when I ran into some ex-students! ¨What are YOU doing here!?¨ They were perplexed because I guess they still think I don't understand Galician. We spoke in English. Fruits of my 2 years teaching them!

The concerts started off with Poetarras, who I've been listening to more and more often. Their songs are mostly to the beat of popular English and Spanish songs, but always with new lyrics and a social critique. There's a song dedicated to the governor of Galicia and to people who say things like ¨I'm not a racist, but...¨ Smaller crowd to start it off, but good fun. Then there was Familia Caamagno, a very dancy band with a 50s or 60s vibe. The next group seemed to be the one that drew the biggest crowd: La Raíz. I liked their mash-up of different music styles more than expected. Later was Esne Beltza, a cheerful Basque band, which was cool because I doubt many people in the crowd spoke Basque. There were more concerts after, but after standing for 7, I was ready for bed.

Camping was in a school gym. When we had pitched the tent, they told us to leave a path around the perimeter so that people could get to the tents in the back. But late arrivals must not have heard those instructions. The gym was packed with tents upon tents upon tents-- getting back was like traversing land minds. Ah, another fun tidbit: the sleeping area opened at 3 AM. But that weekend was the time change. So they really meant the old 3AM, the new 4AM. People had to wait in the cold outside in order to get to sleep. Some even got desperate and tried busting the lock. In the end we went in and fell asleep to the drunken lullabies of the other festivalgoers.

The Real Black Friday

¨Black Friday.¨ That was the reply I got when I asked my students this past week if they knew which American holiday was about to be celebrated. Yup, consumerism is the only concept that spread. Obviously they wouldn't celebrate Thanksgiving here, but our specific Black Friday wouldn't exist without Thanksgiving to kick off the family holiday season. Regardless, this year the consumer's Black Friday fell on a truly dark date, November 25th, International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women.

During the month of November, throughout Santiago and the rest of Galicia, there has been an anti-violence campaign. ¨Contra a violencia.¨ Storefronts outfitted in black, with signs against gender violence. Respect my decisions. No means no, yes means yes. I'm not your master. I'm not your prince charming. Shopkeepers and waiters all wearing the same black, anti-violence t-shirt.

This campaign culminated on Friday. In the morning in the main Praza do Obradoiro, people gathered and received a t-shirt or umbrella with the contra a violencia logo. The mayor also read some astounding facts about gender violence. Like 1 in 4 victims doesn't report it due to fear. Or 1 in 4 women aged 16-19 suffers psychological abuse/control by her significant other. That is only the beginning, as we know. This year in Spain, 40 women have been murdered by their (ex) significant others.

Later that evening, there was an alternative protest organized by feminist groups in Santiago. I am bad at estimating, but I'd say there were at least 500 people. We marched through the old town, often filling the pedestrian-only streets. People stopped to watch us pass, and others joined. Some of my favorite chants were:

Non estamos todas! / Faltan as mortas!
(Some of us our missing! / The dead aren't here! *shiver*)
A noite e a rúa tamén son nosas!
(The night and the street are ours too!)

I'm not sure whether in Spain these crimes get more press than in the USA, or if they are actually more prevalent here. What's clear though is that gender violence has to stop. And hopefully campaigns like this--awareness in general-- will be what sparks that change.

Ye Olde Sidra Making

Although in Spain alcoholic apple cider is associated with Asturias or the Basque Country, I spent a weekend with my most Galician friends making it like in the days of yore. It was an exhausting weekend-long affair. And it will take a few months before we are able to taste the fruits of our labors. But this month I've been making alcohol faster than I can drink it (wine harvest earlier this month)!

Friday morning we headed out to my boyfriend's country home. I should add that in Galicia, almost everybody has an ¨aldea,¨ a tiny village their family is from. In some cases their grandparents still live there, but in others the house is empty and used for weekend getaways. (In this case, the latter) Close to our destination, we stopped to pick up the apple equipment. We both got out of the car, but let the cassette keep playing. A few minutes later *click,* the car automatically locked. With the keys in the ignition! Nooooo! It felt like a scene from a movie, with Bob Dylan emanating from inside the locked vehicle. Luckily, a mechanic arrived within an hour. We continued on our way, with some delay.

Climbing trees

To make the sidra, B bought about 200 kg of apples from a neighboring farmer. That was just the beginning! The other guy brought another 200 kg from the trees in his yard. And we spent two hours Friday afternoon collecting more. I bet there were close to 1000 kg! My naivete betrayed me as we went to a neighbor's yard to start picking. They talked about who would climb the tree. I, of course, imagined like at home, one would climb the tree to hand pick the higher apples, while the other two of us would reach what we could from the ground. Wrong. He climbed the tree to shake it with all of his might. Dozens of apples fell down. One hit me, as I didn't realize what was happening, haha. We repeated the process over and over again. So the strain of apple-picking here is in constantly crouching down and bending over. Also in sidra, every apple counts. Bruised apples, cherry-sized apples. All in the sack! Afterwards, of course, we had to lug the giant 20kg bags back to the car. I consider myself strong for my size, but after this weekend I realized I am the weakest link. I'm more suited to 10 kg sacks.

Apples, apples everywhere

After collecting enough apples, we spent the evening cleaning the apples. In the beginning, I was very picky with which apples passed on to the next phase. I tried to cut out a lot of the bruises, but then as the ¨professionals¨ reminded me, even bruised apples are fine for cider. Not to mention the amount of apples we had to go through before the night's end. Another chica came to join the fun. Admittedly, she is stronger than I am. But she lives on a farm! After the sun had gone down, we divided into two teams and started the next phase: grinding. This had a machine, but you couldn't just dump a whole box of apples in it, because it would get stuck. You needed to toss about 8 in at a time, and the machine would spit them out into cut up pieces.There was so much that we moved it with a snow shovel. By the end of the night, our assembly line had washed and cut all but 50kg of apples. Hooray!

To the left: the machine that diced the apples. In the background: apple bits!

Note she is actually sitting on the press

Saturday morning, B ran out to catch the breadman driving by on his rounds. So for breakfast, we had fresh queique. I write the name because the pronunciation is so similar to cake, it can't be a coincidence! Day two was more washing/grinding, but also pressing. For this we used an old fashioned wooden press. In the early stages when the metal bar is loose, we would swing it around to each other merrily, like a game. But then as the lid lowers and comes into contact with apples, it becomes more difficult. Once it got to a certain point, the guys would have to pull it backward slowly, then push it forward to begin again, like rowing. Of course, they were putting a lot of force into it, so to counteract it the other three would hold it down with all of our weight so the press wouldn't go flying. The other chica would even sit on the press. And yet, sometimes it would still tip in the opposite direction. Superhuman strength! All the while we whistled (aka sang in Galician and Spanish) while we worked.

On Saturday we pressed all the apple bits for a first time, and on Sunday we did them all a second time. Every drop counts! Surprisingly, there was more juice to be had. Although, obviously on the second day there was less and it was harder to get out. During each pressing, we had to change the small tub collecting juice at the bottom. That juice went into big metal barrels to ferment. We ended with 360 liters!! And it only took us four people and 56 hours!

Sweet, sweet apple juice!