Returning from the Village

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My Boyfriend comes from a very small village outside of Salamanca. Its a very tiny village (and I do mean tiny) that has about 250 people living there throughout the winter and maybe 300 plus there in the summer. It is an interesting place in the same way a small tribe of forrest dwellers in the amazon would be interesting. As in maybe from an anthropological point of view, but not any place you want to spend a considerable amount of time.

This holds exceptionally true if you are a forigener. Being the only one in the village does lend itself to some memorable moments. I remember last year at the festival of San Miguel (which is held in the village once every year around the last weekend in September), I was there with my boyfriend and my housemate Mariela from Bolivia. Suddenly a random woman grabbed me and said "are you her?!" It took me a moment to gather myself and say "excuse me?" To which the woman replied: "My husband and I have a bet, he says that other girl with you is Miguel's girlfriend and I say its you. So what's the story?" After a slight pause I managed to eek out "ummmm....that would be me, yes I'm Miguel's girlfriend" a second later "Hey! Paco! You owe me a coffee!!!!!" rang out.

Of course I was not the only one left slightly surprised by the habits of the villagers (a name which gains more significance for me with each passing day). Mariela was obliged to explain on at least 3 seperate occasions while there that she speaks Spanish as well as she does because it is in fact her native langauge and no she does not have Spanish parents thank you very much. You see it all started with a man named Columbus and the Catholic monarchs.....

Anyway, based on such experiences from the previous year I went to the festival of San Miguel this year feeling a bit of trepidation. I want to stress that I do not dislike the village, it is simply a case of not liking the village festival.

This is because Miguel helps out at the city hall by organizing a large part of the festival. This means that unlike most of our friends who just go to the village in the evening to booze it up and laugh until 5am or later, we have to be there all day. We have to get up at 9 am and go to the mass, then there is a procession with a statue of the patron saint to the main square (keep in mind the main square appears to be a small clearing behing some houses with a bit of pavement). Then there are drinks at the local bar, this is followed by lunch (about 8 courses), then coffee, talking with everyone there including Miguel's fourth cousins whom he met once when he was 12, then dinner (a few more courses piled on there) and finally we have to go out for the evening and partake of the revelary. All in all an exhausting experience for your average non-party girl.

Needless to say it is a long process punctuated by many fascinating moments. The best this time around was probably when we brought my friend Lisa to the village. Lisa has just arrived in salamanca and is doing a spanish course for the year. She had another friend, Brian visiting for the weekend, Brian I must add is about 6ft 4 and amoungst the villagers the tallest of them is probably 5 ft 8. So upon meeting Brian, Miguel's mother promptly jumped a foot off the ground. She is literaly half Brian's size.

All in all another village festival down. Now I just have to decide if next year I find myself a cheap ticket to England during the festival or continue my research into the lives of Spain's ever dwindling small town. Maybe I can find myself a grant somewhere. hmmmm...tempting.

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