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| My friends, on top of the world in Spain |
Madrid day!
It's Easter weekend so Stella and I decide to leave the house at 6 for our 915am flight out of Heathrow. We're through security by 645a. To quote the security line info display: "Waits may be as long as 2 minutes."
Neither of us packed shorts or skirts to accommodate Madrid's summer temperatures so we shop for £400 summer dresses of Heathrow's de facto High Street while we wait to board. LOL, just kidding, we eat the whole time.
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| Clotted cream sighting! |
Because Stella is a genius at human nature, we score our row of seats to ourselves. Ahhhhh, vay-cay-shun...
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| Zombie-empty at baggage claim in Madrid |
We're staying with Stella's (now my!) friends Will, Maria & Dafne at their country home. Will picks us up from the airport and drives us to a tiny village at the base of a mountain called Ures.
The village has one main paved road that supports a handful of stone and dirt passages off it where everyone lives. There is a little plaza type area that serves as a community living room/playground where families convene in the evenings to visit. The kids, ranging from toddler to teenager, run around and play, skateboard, scooter, shoot hoops, play futbal together. I don't see a phone out anywhere. I feel like this could be hundreds of years ago but for the clothes and the toys.
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| All of Ures |
Lunch is outside by their creek and a lovely spread of meats, cheeses and salad. I listen to my new favorite "Love at first sight" epic, told in different parts by Will, Maria, Dafne and Maria's brother Luis, and we laugh our way through the meal.
After, we go on a hike to the summit of the mountain we're under. The hike is a spectacular climb, sometimes Spider-Man style, through moss and lichen covered rocks and trees. At the top, we celebrate with a pound of chocolate we share.
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| Gorgeous Spanish mountain view |
One of the things I love about hanging out with our new family is the stories. Will, Maria & Dafne are superb story tellers and you can tell they love where they live because they know it well enough to pepper conversation with stories about history, the community, the culture and the legends.
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| post-beer, Good Friday procession |
Because it's Good Friday, there have been processions all day marking the phases of Christ's death. We drive into nearby Sigüenza for the evening procession which includes bringing Christ's body down from the cross and marching it through town for burial. We grab a beer in the plaza during the sermon (I know, I know) and join the town at the church exit to watch the procession.
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| if this makes you super uncomfortable, you're not the only one |
What's with the Klan hoods? That is, obviously, the first question you ask when you notice that it looks like the KKK is leading the procession. I do some research: The second iteration of the Ku Klux Klan that began in 1915 was specifically anti-Catholic. It's believed they bastardized the Catholic garb as a tee-hee-funny nod to restrictions made against Catholic Mardi Gras celebrations in the 1800s. Bonus: the hood hides their hateful faces so they can play domestic terrorist anonymously and continue to live their worthless lives while they threaten and kill people who frighten them with their religious beliefs and skin color! Fuck the KKK, then and now.
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| Mary always follows Jesus in the procession. I love that. |
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| Church of San Vicente, Siguenza |
Now why do Catholics use a hood because, KKK disgusting association notwithstanding, wearing a hood immediately makes me feel like you're hiding something. The Catholic hood serves to cover the face in penitence and grief at Christ's death on Good Friday. On Sunday, hoods are raised to reveal faces of jubilation at Christ's resurrection. There is a bunch more history about the hood that goes into the Spanish Inquisition and all that, so if you're interested Google away.
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| Dafne, Maria & Stella stroll to dinner |
The procession moves me like anything organized and even remotely candle lit moves me. I was raised Catholic, but I am consciously not religious, however this reminds me of my childhood and my family so I have a little moment with the energy of the event and do the sign of the cross.
After the procession we have dinner. So, my Spanish is rusty. It's not rusted shut, but it's sticky. Before I got to Spain, I'd have told you I can understand 70% and speak 10%. At dinner, my percentages lower significantly. I'm a little heart broken to need Will to read the menu to me. My ego is forcing me to disclose, a tortilla in Spain is not the same as a tortilla in Mexico, so even words I know, I can't understand. (Spanish tortilla is an omelette. Shocking!!)
Dinner is rich (I was stuffed after my starter) and desert is richer. It's rice pudding, but like a creme brûlée rice pudding. It leaves me speechless. And. So. Full.
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| Dafne waits for us to catch up as per usual |
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| The plaza in Siguenza |
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| picture worthy rice pudding |
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