Having spent a couple of good days in Santiago, I decided to check out some relatives. I have a few sets of cousins, aunts, and uncles in the region but this family is one that my mother keeps in contact with so I decided they would be the ones lucky enough to see me. I decided to take the cheapest route, the bus. The bus company around here is called Castromil and their seats are quite comfortable. I took an hour bus ride south to Vigo, a port city of about 250,000 people. I’ll have to check it out at some point. From Vigo I got on another bus to Gondomar, a town about 25 minutes away. They lived near this town but for the sake of privacy I won’t give away the address. The house was a few kilometers from town and the terrain looked nice so I decided to walk, their address marked on a map I bought, I didn’t think it would be a problem.
I understand that it’s not polite to show up at someone’s home unannounced, especially if you are going to expect lodging but on the other hand is it really that big of a deal. I know they aren’t poor, that much I have gathered from my mother. They are getting a break in monotony, a long lost relative from the magical land of America. On top of that he is affable and fun, a great guest, a lively guest. If they weren’t too happy about me, I’d be able to pick up on it and I would polite invent an excuse to leave.
Anyway the trek was short and bucolic, very pleasant. They don’t have suburbs here; they have homes in the country side but close together enough to form these sorts of hamlets. Finally I walked up to the correct address. The house looks new and it’s on a hill, the trouble is that there is a locked gate between myself and the first door. It seems I will have to ingratiate myself via an intercom. I ring the buzzer and wait. The house is big but its no a mansion, most homes here have gates but they don’t ostentatiously symbolize wealth. They are simple aluminum surrounded by concrete walls.
“Who is it?” he asks in Spanish of course.
I give my name and then my two last names. In Spain they use both parents’ last names on identification and paperwork. My second surname, my mother’s, coincides with his first surname, his father’s. He sounds young so I assume he is my cousin and risk saying “It’s your cousin and I’m here to see you.”
No response comes back and I stand there for a moment staring at a ridges aluminum gate and waiting like an idiot. Suddenly a small door within the gate opened up, and a young guy came out and looked at me. “Cousin from America?”
“That’s me.” I responded.
He gestured for me to come in. I walked up the driveway, both towards the home and uphill. So for the first time I have met extended family. I have always wondered what it is like. Being closely related but living in the same home, it’s strange..
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