13. Semana Santa

The next week was was equally as enjoyable. The Monday after the Burgos trip a few of us who live in Madrid chaperoned a few students who had been to Burgos, but didn’t live here, around. We took them to Sol, Plaza Mayor and Retiro. In Plaza Mayor we met a group of English students who were on tour here. We offered to show them around too. They had about half an hour, so we decided to take them to Mercado de San Miguel and show them some of the tastes Madrid had to offer.

Later we went to Retiro and simply walked around (that’s really the best thing to do there) and took photos. Joe joined us later and suggested that we hire a bike to ride around with in Retiro, to add another dimension to the exploring.

We walked to the store and when we got there I realized what Joe had meant – with “one bike”. One bike for four people. He convinced us that it was a very good idea. We were five, so we could get one bike for four and he would get his own one. We all hesitantly agreed, but it turned out to be great fun in the end. The bike consisted our of the two people in the back both pedalling and one of them steering. Then the two in the front could enjoy the view.

At first it was slow going, Ryen and Other Joe struggling to gain control over the bulky bike (more like car) and they let us know

that it wasn’t as easy as it looked. Joe, on the other hand had gotten himself some kind of go kart and he drove circles around us, showing off his skill with his sleek and smart sports bike. After a while we switched places and it was me and Raghav’s turn to pedal.
I nearly died.
We were the worst pair to put together, each one less fit than the other. Five minutes into my shift my jacket, jersey and scarf was off, stuffed into Ryen’s hands with orders to hold it until I was done. I was struggling and probably sweating like a pig. But I didn’t care. I was having endless fun and half the time I was laughing so hard I couldn’t pedal as hard as I had to to get us up the slight hill.

Thankfully Raghav and Other Joe switched places, so we had a bit more power going up. Joe continued riding ahead and then coming back, seemingly taunting us with his speed and ease, but it was harmless teasing and we endured it, laughing all the way. And the looks we got from some people with us in the park only made us laugh louder, which only caused more people to look our way. Some even laughed with us (or maybe at?).

After and hour we returned the bikes and set out for lunch. Someone suggested Steak ‘n Shakes. I had never heard of this and was informed that it was a genuine American franchise, specialising in burgers and milkshakes. Hm, who would have guessed.

After I ordered and received my meal I didn’t feel even a little guilty of all the calories it was bound to contain. That ride in the park justified it. I ate with relish.

We said goodbye to everyone who had to go back to where they had come from and said we all hoped to meet up again before the homeward journeys started for the Northern Hemispheries in June-July.

My day had a very big anti climax as I moved in behind my books to study for a Geography exam I had the next day.

But all that soon changed when I received a WhatsApp from my cousin who’s an airhostess with Etihad, living in Abu Dhabi. She was going to be in Madrid on a lay over for two days! I was ecstatic and immediately began making plans. Where could we go, what could we do? Eeepp!

This is how things worked out:
The Wednesday afternoon we met up in Plaza Mayor and I had lunch with her and her colleagues. When I spotted her in Plaza Mayor we ran to hug each other, two South Africans way to far from home. As she is an airhostess and I haven’t been living at home for the past five years, any time she came to Cape Town on a flight, we missed each other. As it was, we hadn’t seen each other in a year and five months! It was absolute bliss, speaking Afrikaans again and having my blood sit next to me. My head couldn’t get around that one, to be honest.

I must admit, it must have been quite comical, the two us speaking Afrikaans to each other, switching to English

whenever speaking to the other hostesses and then me speaking my limited Spanish whenever trying to communicate to the waiters or other people we were buying things from.

The next morning we got on an early train to Toledo for the day, just the two of us. As always, when visiting a new town, I suffered from sensory overload. But I wasn’t suffering, I was hundred percent in my element. We ascended the hill the old city was built on and came across many old, narrow streets, small churches and synagogues, small plazas, views of the surrounding countryside and so much more.

Toledo is a beautiful city with so much history, it’s dizzying. I wish I had had time to walk down every street twice.

We ended the day on a rooftop bar back in Madrid, overlooking the city. I was sorry to say goodbye to Toledo, but nothing came close to the sadness that swept over me when Nitha and I had to part ways in the Opera metro station. Two days spent in her company was a lot, in the beginning, but standing here, now, needing to say goodbye, I realized it had flown past much to fast and that I didn’t want her to go. But that was the challenge, that was what my year abroad was about. As I hugged her one last time I accepted this truth that weighed much to heavy on my heart.

After the Burgos weekend and seeing Toledo with my cousin, I thought the fun was over. Besides, I had a week and a half of Easter Holidays coming up, or as we call it in Spain, Semana Santa (Holy week). I had discovered a new book series and was determined to finish it over the holidays. Most of Friday was spent that way – wrapped up in a blanket with my laptop in my lap, reading the ebook I had downloaded. Until my sister came upstairs and told me that I had to pack – we were going away for the week.
“What?” I asked her, dumbfounded.
“Yes, we’re going. Probably to Murcia, we have a house there. We leave when my parents get home, after lunch.” She looked just as surprised as I did.
I looked at the time. “But I want to reeaad.” I whined to myself, getting up.
So, I got to packing, checking what the temperatures would be in Murcia for the coming week and trying to pack accordingly. Queca and Marcos came home and we had lunch. Afterwards they sat us down in the living room, uneasy expressions on their faces.
“There’s something we need to tell you.”
I looked at my sisters and saw they were just an confused as I was.
“Mama, what is it?” Maria asked.
Queca looked at Marcos. “Should I tell them, or do you want to?”
“No, I think you should,” he said.
“Are you sure? I think it would be better if you did.”
They both turned to us.
“We’re going skiing!”

…
…
…

Maria and Christina jumped up and whooped with joy, but I was totally taken by surprise. Skiing? That sounded… AMAZING! But how, when ,where?
My family quickly assured me to not worry, they had everything under control. The resort was in Sierra Nevada and a group of their friends from Montecarmelo were already there and we would be spending the whole weekend there. Afterwards we’d go on to Murcia. Pretty soon I was just as optimistic. They had even organized for me to borrow a ski suit from a friend of theirs. I went upstairs again to slightly modify what I had packed to include proper clothes for the cold mountains.
And then I waited.
And waited.
(and waited some more.)

Finally, around six or seven o’clock we set out in the car, packed to the brim.
And that is how possibly the worst week of my year so far, started.

We only stopped once, for a quick use of the WC on the way, but other than that we drove for five hours straight. We ate sandwiches Queca had made at home, and seeing as it was already night, I settled for reading my ebook on my phone, with some sleeping in between. My batteries died before we got to the hotel, so then I had to choose between sleeping and staring out the window into black nothingness.

We arrived at the hotel around 11 or 12 in the night and were welcomed by all of Queca’s and Marcos’ friends who were still in the dining room, waiting up for us. And of course, a horde of children, ranging from ages five to fifteen. I wasn’t hungry, so I decided to go to bed, only to find that we’d all be sharing one room. That wasn’t such a big problem as the children running up and down the hallway outside the room, screaming their heads off, preventing sleep to come to me.
Had I really been like that only ten years ago?

The next morning we woke up with a heavy cloud of mist clouding the whole valley and most probably the skiing resort too. More bad news came through; there wasn’t a ski instructor available to teach me today. Queca recommended that I sit out today. She felt that bad weather + no instructor wouldn’t be ideal circumstances for me. I agreed, but I was quite upset. I wanted to ski!

A friend then suggested that I go with them to Granada for the day. Granada is the city down in the valley. I agreed, wanting to do something other than sitting around on the ski slopes, being miserable. As the whole group of friends and their children set out for the resort higher up in the mountains, three of us went in the other direction. I thought we’d move out from under the cloud, but, just as luck would have it, it was raining and miserable down in the valley too. Could this day get any worse?

When we got back to the hotel later that afternoon, there was no one in the room, so I settled down to read and wait for them to return. When they did, it was with bad news – Marcos had broken his wrist when he slipped on on the slopes. There was a chance we’d have to go back to Madrid if the injury was very serious.

Later that night Queca and Marcos returned from the hospital in Granada with good-ish news; it wasn’t a break, rather, just a stress fracture – a crack, not a break. But it was in both bones of the wrist. I asked what was going to happen now and they told me they’d think about it and tell us later.

The next morning we woke up to a beautiful day. I was immediately excited. Even if there still wasn’t an instructor available for me, at least now I would be able to see in front of me.
But, skiing was not to be, as we were told that we were going to Murcia earlier – that very morning.

Wasn’t that just splendid. That meant another four hours by car. So, we set out and by lunch time had arrived. They told me the house was small, but I didn’t realise how serious they were. Plus, there wasn’t enough beds for everyone, so Maria had to sleep on the one couch in the living room each night… until our bunk bed in the room kind of broke and we got someone in to look at it to see if it could be fixed. Luckily they could, but they also told us that because the bed is bolted to the wall (for saving space) it’s only supposed to carry a child’s weight at night. That meant I had to move to the couch for the remainder of the week.

Also, the weather for the first part of the week was bleak and cold and not at all what I thought by first experience of the Mediterranean would be.

We stayed a week, leaving the following Sunday.

And that my friends, was the most difficult thing I’ve had to write thus far in my exchange – the pessimistic point of view. How you’ll end up looking at things if you aren’t careful. I did it to show you that yes, there are definitely bad times when not everything goes your way, but it doesn’t have to define your exchange. I left out so many nice things (which I’ll talk about soon), because I decided to just focus on the negative. Well, I’m glad that’s over now. Let’s start again, this time, highlighting all the good that happened amid the little bad.

Even though it was soon dark and I couldn’t appreciate the new views I knew were flying past the window, I still enjoyed the car ride – I had my book I could read! When we arrived at the hotel, everyone was very happy to have us and I was introduced to everyone and their children. I went to bed early and although it took a while before I could sleep, I must say, the bed was very comfortable.

The next morning we woke up to a beautiful sight – over night mist has come into the valley and shrouded everything in mystery. And much cooler temperatures of course! As I drove down the valley with two of Queca and Marcos’ friends to have a sight seeing day in Granada, I hoped we would drive out under the mist cloud, but we weren’t so lucky. Arriving in Granada, it lightly rained, but luckily I had a warm coat with a

hood. Instead of exploring Granada on foot, we bought tickets for the Hop on/Hop off tour bus, which provided a dry, guided tour. It took us around the whole city and we could get off and explore in more detail whenever the weather let up. In the end we had lunch and then went back to the hotel, where I spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled up in my bed reading.

Marcos unfortunately breaking his arm was the only thing anyone talked about at dinner that night (at least, I think so. At that point my Spanish comprehension skills were still a bit lacking.) But, when he and Queca showed up much later that night, his arm in a sling, they put all our fears to rest.

Even though we left the next morning and I never got the chance to ski, I didn’t feel like I’d missed out that much. I was here until next January and winter would come around again.

The drive to Murcia was absolutely beautiful, with snowy mountains at first and then just the open, flat landscapes as we drove east. Arriving in the afternoon, we were in time to have lunch with some of their friends. Which I later found out, had a house next to ours in Santiago de Ribera, which is on Mar Minor, in the Autonomous Community of Murcia.

We stayed there for a full week. On Monday, Marcos went to the hospital in Murcia (the capital city of the community) for further scans and tests, to make sure of his arm. We were expecting the worse – an operation or some such – so Queca made us pack an overnight bag to stay with their friends, if that were to happen. Which, very luckily, it didn’t. Marcos was sent home with a cast and strict instructions of no driving or any heavy stress on the arm and wrist.

Although the weather only cleared up around Tuesday, we still had a splendid time. I tried to go for a walk along the seemingly endless promenade each day, which took me into another town to the north, or the air force base/airport to the south. Afterwards we would all have breakfast on the balcony of our little flat, a block away from the boardwalk. For the rest of the day I would read, go to the yacht club with my sisters or walk around with them. Sometimes we had lunch with other family friends.

One day we drove through to Alicante where Queca’s parents were also holidaying. They had an apartment in a block of flats right on the beach and that was my first real encounter of the Mediterranean Sea. They explained to me that because Mar Menor was more a lagoon, it wasn’t classified as part of the Mediterranean. After lunch we went down to the beach, I took my boots off and rolled my pants up (the weather was still a bit on the cool side) and ran straight into the waves, desperately eager to be part of the ocean again. I had gone almost three months without seeing the infinite stretch of ocean all the way to the horizon, three months without smelling the sea foam on the morning breeze, three months of not hearing a seagull’s squawk. And when I was finally in the water up to my mid calves, having lost feeling in my legs the moment they got wet, I could almost just imagine that I was on the edge of another continent, and that the waters of another ocean was gently coming and going before me.

As we drove back that night, I could have sworn I was more at ease and less tense than before.

Friday – Good Friday – we went to Crevillente. It is in the province of Alicante, which is part of the Autonomous Community of Valencia. Queca’s mother grew up there and we were going to go watch the annual Easter processions. Almost every town and city in Spain has Easter processions, as it a Catholic tradition. But, because it is our abuela’s hometown, the family made the trip every year.

The day consisted out of two parts – day and night processions. The procession itself is a portrayal of Good Friday as told in the Bible, in the five Gospels. There are several floats that are carried through the streets, in chronological order. The floats, each depicting a scene of a certain event of that day, are made of wood and are usually quite old, belonging to the church of the town. The route they walk is from one church to another one, through the old centre of the town. In between each float there could be marching children, handing out little sweets, a marching band, or groups of people with staves in their hands, dressed as the Klu Klux Klan. That last part is just a joke. I think I should say that the Klu Klux Klan resemble them, because this tradition is much older than that organisation.

I did some research and as always, Google and Wikipedia delivered. Here is an explanation of what you will see in the photos,
“A capirote is a pointed hat of conical form that is used in Spain. It is part of the uniform of some brotherhoods including the Nazarenos and Fariseos during Easter observances and reenactments in some areas during Holy Week in Spain. The pointed hat was worn by clowns and jugglers who wanted to portray clumsiness or stupidity during medieval times. Because of this, pointed hats were used when vexing criminals. The criminals were forced to wear pointed hats and walk through the streets, while people threw rotten vegetables at them, spat on them, and insulted them.
Later, during the celebration of the Holy Week/Easter in Mediterranean countries, penitentes (people doing penance for their sins) would walk through streets with pointed hats. It was a way of self-injury; however, they covered their faces so they would not be recognized.”

The night procession is the same in that it still portrays the events of Good Friday, but these floats depict what happened as Jesus’ disciples took him down from the cross. The atmosphere is much more solemn, no longer with marching bands and children, but choirs singing in minor tones as they walk through the streets and men and women, dressed in mourning black, holding candles as they make their way on the route.

Saturday was our last full day and we enjoyed it as fully as we could. We had lunch at the yacht club and stayed outside the rest of the day. When the sun set over the hills in the distance and painted the sky over Mar Menor first in yellows and oranges, then reds and pinks and later violets that turned into indigos, I was sad to have to leave, but realised that I enjoyed this week tremendously. I had seen more of Spain and had gotten a feel of its culture. I had met new people and now had more stories to tell.

Hope you liked this one!