Martiago

It is around 2:00 AM (Monday, September 7), and I have just finished what I believe to be the most authentic Spanish weekend I will possibly ever experience. My host family took me to Martiago, their pueblito, or small town, approximately an hour away from the city of Salamanca. The province of Salamanca is dotted with these little towns, from which many of the city dwellers have their roots. Many people return to these towns during the summer in order to avoid the heat and the “hectic” city bustle.

We left early Saturday afternoon before lunch. Once we left the city limits and merged onto the highway, we were surrounded by rolling farmland full of sunflower fields and las esthrellas, trees native especially to this area of northern Spain. I planned to put in my ipod, but I thought my American music might detract from experiencing the Spanish scenery; little did I know that the Black Eyed Peas’ “Boom Boom Pow,” Coldplay’s “Clocks,” and Katy Perry’s “Hot and Cold” would all come on the Spanish radio. I could not help but smile when my whole family sang all the words to most of the songs. My madre asked me to translate, “Tonight’s Gonna be a Good Night” (by the Black Eyed Peas) since it was her favorite song…

The contemporary songs soon lost signal as we approached the hills and a higher altitude. Martiago is nestled in the beautiful mountains that surround Salamanca. We drove through the winding roads the carved through the rocks, weaving in and out of the most breathtaking valleys. One valley in particular had a river running through it. There were two bridges that connected the two mountains: The taller and modern bridge for cars, and the much lower, ancient stone bridge where people used to walk and herd their cattle. Of course it is not in use anymore because of its age, but I do not think I have seen an older bridge than that one.

As we drove into the small town of Martiago, we approached the family’s summer house: They have a green gate surrounded by blackberry bushes, an old stone well, a stone wall which surrounds their land, and sitting in the middle was a quaint little yellow house with a flagstone patio and red roof tiles. My first impression of the house was that it was fairly new; my madre explained that it has been built for a year, and that her and her husband were able to design and pick out every element of it. Although it was new, I could tell that they picked Spanish elements that added to the charm of the house and made it seem like it belonged to this old, old town. From the woden, ceiling beams, chiminea, the tile border in the kitchen, the tile flooring, and even the light fixtures that looked like street lamps, this house was adorable! I think it is much nicer than their apartment in the city, but I guess they had more freedom.

We immediately started preparing a late lunch. Apparently we were going to have ham bocadillos, or sandwiches made with a baguette. To my surprise, my padre pulled out a cured ham leg, or pata, that had been sitting on the kitchen counter and started slicing thin pieces. The leg was turned upside down and was on some contraption that stabled it… Needless to say, the ham was smokey, sweet, but not too strong… I couldn’t resist one, but had two bocadillos :)

Raul was itching to go for a swim, so we drove a kilometer or so outside of the town to a park. Under the trees were small tables, and large outdoor ovens where people can cook or BBQ Spanish style. There was also a restaurant which served food and refreshment. In the back of the park were two swimming pools: one of them was small and about a foot deep, obviously for little kids and babies. The other was large and pretty deep. Raul immediately ran to the larger pool, jumping in and out without any hesitance. Here I met Nestor, the family’s twelve-year old son, who is staying at this abuela’s house in Martiago until he starts classes. Nestor is very nice and not quite as hyper as Raul; like his mom, he is very good at explaining things I fail to understand, which makes me feel all the more comfortable. There were many people sunbathing, which included the elderly of the town. I could feel the difference between the relaxing countryside atmosphere and the more chaotic city; I did not feel like swimming, so my madre and I just sat at one of the tables and talked while the boys swam. She bought me a Napoleonita, which is basically a large chocolate filled croissant… I was more than enthusiastic!

Right after we left the pool, we drove up to the farm where my padre grew up. The acres of land was owned by his grandparents, passed down to his parents, and is now maintained by his brother. To my surprise, there was a herd of cattle roaming around everywhere… There were probably over a hundred cows, most of them with the most beautiful red/auburn coat, others were tan and a few were black. My padre tried to scare me by telling me that the three toros they had were the aggressive type used in bull fights, but then my madre scolded him and told me they were gentle bulls only used for reproducing. While we made our way toward the house and the stable, my padre stopped so that I could get a picture with one of the toros in the background amdist the sea of moo-ing cattle. Although they were supposed to be gentle, the slight fear in my forced smile can still be detected… these animals are about three times my size and have horns.

We finally reached the small stone house with clay roof tiles, the stable, and silo; everything looked like it belonged in a story book. My padre’s great grandparents built everything with their bare hands; the type of stonework is more like artwork: none of the stones were put together with mud or cement! Every stone was perfectly locked into place, and the house is still standing after centuries of both human and natural weathering. The house itself was small with a loft that led to the rooftop. My madre wanted to take pictures of me everywhere, by the house, in the stable, on the roof, in the wooden loft next to the little window… etc. However, her enthusiasm made the experience more worthwhile. In return, I offered to take pictures of her and the family. The roof overlooked the open stable, which housed all of the calves, most of them about 17 months. They were absolutely adorable, but yet for 17 months, they were already gigantic. I watched as my padre’s brother took his tractor and moved the huge bushels of hay into their troughs, which consequently caused chaos and shoving amongst the calves. We spent about two hours on the farm, and there was not a minute that I was bored. I have never taken so many pictures of cows, Spanish cows!

By the time we arrived at the house, I was so hungry for dinner. My madre gave me bread, two over-easy eggs, more of the to-die-for ham, and a salad with fresh tomatoes, green olives, mini pickles and onions all covered in a home-made vinaigrette… and finally a peach for dessert. I was stuffed! After dinner, the family went out to the plaza to have café, or coffee, but I passed since I needed to finish reading the rest of my Spanish novel for class. However, my madre came rushing back with Raul soon afterwards. Apparently there was a fire on the farm and my padre went to help his brother . My madre brought my little brother back so I could babysit him while she went to get the firemen. It was rather intense, but I tried to occupy Raul’s time with games on my cell phone. Thank goodness everything turned out fine with no damage done to the farm. I went to sleep that night listening to the church bells. In Martiago, they ring every hour to tell people the time… even in the early morning. Luckily I am a pretty heavy sleeper, so of course I was able to sleep through most of it.

The next morning I went to misa, or mass, with my family at the small church in town. It was quaint, and antique, with elaborate wooden carvings and altars, broad roman arches and a high ceiling. I tried to listen and decipher the homily as best as I could… the other parts of the mass were familiar, even in Spanish :) After it was over, my padres introduced me to the priest. Apparently he was the priest that married them in that very church. I can only imagine the close knit service and town fiesta that occurred.

Usually on Sundays, everyone goes bar hopping for pinchos, or tapas. My family did the same, and I tried so much new food. There were croquets, fried pork lips, blood-sausage on bread, meatballs with sauce (probably from the cows on the farm), torta or potato pancakes, and pig’s ear with a pepper sauce. Everything was really delicious, except for the pig’s ear… I could not get past the gelatinous texture… blech!! Although some of it may sound strange and even disgusting, my upbringing and exposure to international foods from an early age has taught me not to be picky, and has turned out to be a great advantage. With all of these pinchos, my padres bought me non-alcoholic wine. The color of it was golden like beer, but it tasted sweet like lemon and honey… apparently it is “wine for the children” and it complimented the food well. I also played some foosball, or “fútbol” with my brothers at one of the bars.

What I enjoyed most about tapa hopping was observing the interaction between the people, most of them elderly. I could tell that they had all grown up together and still have that neighborly bond that is rare in modern, technological, and career-driven societies today. I came to the conclusion that culture does not define a group of people, but instead people create their culture by how they live their daily lives… whether they have diverged into the mainstream “McWorld,” maintained the same customs over centuries, or meshed the two together… culture, whether in Spain, Asia, or America, is never stagnant, always alive, and always crossing paths, just as people’s lives are affected by the actions of others.

Believe it or not, all this food was not enough for my family… the Spanish still want to eat a meal for lunch! I opted for a small cup of soup while they all had the usual two courses. Full and exhausted, I took the longest siesta ever, but it was worth it.

I assumed we would be leaving right after dinner around 10:00 so that we could get back to Salamanca at a reasonable time. However, my parents wanted to go out for café as is the custom… the traditional Spanish time-schedule is still somewhat surprising. We all had some café con leche, and then they gave me a small cup of coffee with baileys while socialzing with the other people that were out. My madre also bought me one of the Martiago shirts that have a drawing of the church on the back: apparently she is the artist behind the drawing! People were also playing music on the traditional instruments of the Salamanca province: drums, guitar, and a wooden recorder. It was different, but pleasurable; it really made the town seem more lively and historical. Before we left, we stopped by the abuela’s house to drop off Nestor since his school will not start until two weeks from now.

It was 12:20 AM by the time we left Martiago… I was sooooooooooooo tired. However, while we drove through the valley, my padre stopped the car on one of the cliffs. It would have been extremely dark, except the sky was dotted with millions of stars and a full moon. All I can say is that the view was breathtaking, there really no other words to describe the tranquility and purity of these mountains. I must have fallen asleep in the car since the next thing I remember was riding the elevator up to our apartment… and thus we have made a full circle of this very, very, did I mention very… long post.