SPAIN 11: History, Earthquakes, & Bodyshakes

"No one is in control of your happiness but you; therefore, you have the power to change anything about yourself or your life that you want to change." ~Barbara DeAngelis

It was my last day in Cartajima, and after saying my final farewell to the beautiful mountains of the Serrania de Ronda; it was off to the airport.  As we drove through the country side, we passed a lonely, evocative, hilltop fort in Teba; where Di, my host, proceeded to tell me its story:

In 1330, during crusading times, a knight called Sir James Douglas was on his way from Scotland to the Holy Land with the heart of Robert the Bruce in a silver casket hung around his neck. He was fulfilling Bruce’s last wish to have his heart in Jerusalem. He was of course travelling by horse and accompanied by a band of knights.

En route, Black Douglas strayed into Andalucia to lend a hand with another crusade, the reconquest of Spain from the Moorish invaders of 711. He arrived in Teba just in time for a battle against the Sultan of Granada.

Things were not going too well for the Christians, so, hurling the silver casket into the fray, he yelled to the faltering troops: “Follow me, men!”  They did and they all died that day. The heart was later recovered and returned to Scotland, as were the remains of the knights.

The romantic in me wishes to live in such a time when valor coursed through your blood, honor was worn with pride, and your word was iron clad.  Then again, I really like hot showers, indoor plumbing, and living without the stench and fear of disease.

During my flight, a devastating earthquake hit the city of Lorca; two and a half hours from where I would be staying.  I was unaware of these events while flying safely thousands of miles above.  The next morning the newspapers displayed graphic pictures of faces distorted in intense grief.  As anguish wreaked havoc on their bodies and threatened to cause them to collapse under the heartache; they were held up by friends while in the background their husband, children or wife lay amongst the rubble clearly departed from this world.  It put an immense perspective on my life, and any troubles that I may have now seem insignificant. 10 dead, 60 injured, and hundreds displaced, and what am I concerned about? The game of love, and whether or not it should be played.  Here I sit in distressed contemplation while there are people lying dead in the streets.  Talk about needing to add some valor and honor to my life.

My head cocked to one side, ears perked, I wait in anticipation as though a dog sitting at its master’s table waiting for the smallest morsels to fall.  Devouring every crumb that comes my way; trying to piece together the sentences of the two Spanish women I am following.  I’m sure anyone watching this picture unfold before them could see the starvation in my eyes.  I am hungry.  Although my stomach isn’t growling, and I ate only a short time ago, I haven’t had enough cultural interactions to feed my desire to immerse myself.  I am now more than half way through my trip, and to no fault but my own, I still can hardly communicate in Spanish, or tell you from experience how truly wonderful the Andalucians are in southern Spain.  I leave for Italy in 3 days, and will be there for two and a half weeks before coming back to Spain.  I am beginning to feel a bit anxious that my time is slipping away, and I have yet to absorb enough culture.  I believe that I will have the experiences I so long for while I am here; as I will return to Puzol once I am through working in Italy.  I still have my list to accomplish: 1. See a Flamenco Dance  2. Witness a Bull Fight (or Run),  3. Fall in Love.  4.  Be able to communicate in Spanish. .  . the list goes on. 

As I look forward to my future, and the completion of my list - I am reminded to stay in the present.

My lack of sleep causes my head to throb, and I feel as though I am out of my body.  I decide to walk with another woman in the group; the fresh air will do me good.  The scent of freshly baked waffle cones wafts through the bustling city, and I can hardly get my mind to focus.  Puzol, 15,000 people strong, is so much larger compared to the 100 people in the mountain village of Cartajima that I just left behind.  The change is exciting and a bit overwhelming; instantly I miss my near daily retreat into the hills.  The buildings block any views of the surrounding terrain, and I feel a bit out my element.   

We sit down at a café and order a tostada.  It is the first thing that I have eaten today, and it is nearly one.  A tall, lanky man walks in and orders a beer.  He greets us while kissing our cheeks.  He knows the woman I am with, and he invites us to join him at his table.  Without waiting for our response, he picks up are plates and carries them outside.  We follow, and sit down.  He doesn’t speak one word of English, and our Spanish is more than lacking.  My head feels as though it will explode as I try desperately to translate anything that he is saying.  I curse the night I had, and try to pull myself together.  He rattles on, and I sit silent.  The scene around me begins to spin as though I am on the tea-cups; we sit still while our surroundings whirl around us.  I want off this ride! My body begins to tremble and I grip my skirt searching for any sense of reality.  ‘Comprende?’ he asks me.  ‘Que (what)?’ I reply.  His voice helps to pull me back into reality, and out of desperation I order a coffee.  It does the trick! Two hours later, I am speaking Spanish.  Broken as it may be, my confidence is mounting while I begin to form sentences that I didn’t realize I knew. A few more interactions like this, and I will be able to check one more ‘to do’ off my list.