A happy birthday (Muxia, Spain)

I am a changed woman! A few days ago I was 21 and young, ignorant of the cruel ways of the world, flitting about like a carefree butterfly – but as of July 28 I am 22, and you may address me as Wise Grown-Up Irene (like “Queen Irene” sans royal blood) (you can call me Queen Irene, too), because I am wise and grown-up. Not so wise that I’ve stopped binging on chocolate, though. I just had most of a 150-gram bar and I’m hoping that my stomach won’t notice until after I go for a walk, lest I explode before getting a chance to appreciate the Costa de Muerte. And not so grown-up that I will start calling myself a “woman” instead of a “girl” – I’m still wondering when that will happen. (The first sentence of this paragraph doesn’t count.)

The past few days have been lovely. Asmus and I spent many an hour exploring Cambados and the area immediately surrounding it, developing our nose tans (why don’t faces burn evenly?) and making Temporary Friends. Asmus mentioned that “the people really are very sweet,” and we were lucky to run into more people who, in addition to their very sweet natures, had a bit of time on their hands. On Monday afternoon, as we were setting off to explore Cambados, an exercise outfit-clad man almost bumped into us on the sidewalk and said, “Excuse me!” I took the opportunity to say “Wait, wait -- excuse me” back as he was passing by, and asked him how to reach the ruins of the Church of Santa Marinha. He thought for a moment, then said, “No, you won’t start with that. Come with me. I’ll show you something.”

He led us a few blocks to a nearby pazo, a mansion for the nobility of days past (and rich people of days present), said to the woman at the desk, “I’m just going to show them around quickly!” and to us, “I know her – she’ll let us in,” and gave us a tour of the grounds. He explained that the horreas, the stone grain storage units found in the yard of almost every rural house, were anti-rodent by construction and a show of wealth; that the grape vines were grew horizontal to the ground because it kept them well aired in this humid climate; how the wine was made; how the garden was watered; and more! It was his favorite pazo – very nice, very nice. He then led us a few blocks farther to the church, which is now mostly walls and ceiling arches, as it was ransacked for valuables and stones (a century ago? two? Wise Grown-Up Irene is still not Historian Irene) after a government declaration that expropriated a lot of church land and property. Our tour guide never told us his name, but it was probably something ending in “the Generous.” Jorge the Generous. Something like that.

The next day we took a bus to O Grove, a much larger city to the south of Cambados, and walked around the island of La Toja and through brambly forest paths to the Mirador de Siradella. We got a bit lost towards the top of the mountain, and ended up losing a battle against these awful prickly plants that seem to follow me everywhere (Asmus had shorts on, but he didn’t complain, so I, in long pants, was forced to become the designated whiner – I am really good at it!!). We did make it to the top of the mountain, though, and feasted our eyes on the surrounding landscape (very nice, very nice) before starting to head down the road. Enter next round of very sweet people! Having had a successful semi-hitchhiking experience in Santiago, Asmus and I decided to try and hitchhike for real back to the city. I held my thumb up at the first car that passed, and a man with a little boy in the backseat stopped! The little boy was suspicious of us (rightly so, I thought – we were hitchhikers), but his father was not, and he dropped us off close to the bus station. How kind!

That evening, Asmus invited me to the Restaurante Martinez (minimum 4-star rating for its name), and we had a delicious birthday dinner. We ate pimientos de padron, roasted peppers that are exciting to eat because occasionally you get a really spicy one (I did!!), raxo con patatas, and a type of fish called rodaballo. I also had an obligatory sip of albarinho wine from Asmus’s cup – but my taste buds still aren’t sophisticated enough to appreciate any kind of fermented beverage. The fancy night out was the perfect ending to my day of instant wisdom and grown-up-hood, and we went to bed stuffed in the best possible way and exhausted.

So far I’ve only written about what Asmus and I did together, but I also spent two early mornings and part of an afternoon at the docks alone, and I was happy to see more women than I had seen at any of the other docks! On Monday afternoon, after watching the mollusk auction and speaking for a long time with Carmen, who purifies and sells clams and mussels, I went to another building where I saw two women working on darning nets. They noticed that I was interested in what they were doing, waved me in, and then explained to me that they had been in the net business since they were children, like their mother before them. The nine-year-old daughter of one of the women was also in the room, already learning how to make nets! I was so excited about the idea that the women of the family had been doing the same thing for generations that they pulled out a number of frames full of old black-and-white photographs of the docks at Cambados! They pointed at the pictures and said, “That’s our mother at our age. That’s our mother when she was a girl. Did you see the woman darning nets just outside this building? This little girl is her. She’s 67 now. This is our father. This is my father-in-law, bringing a boat in from the countryside, where it was constructed. Look how the fish are kept in the boat – they didn’t have those boxes back then. This is me when I was little.” It was wonderful! When I left, they gave me a little booklet on Cambados fishing history and a net needle “to show my parents.”

I also saw women on boats in fisherman suits the next day after the morning fish auction – an absolute first for me. They were working on the mussel-boats, and I approached one to say, “Wow! Women on boats!” (In more words.) She explained that it wasn’t uncommon here for women to work with their husbands at the bateas if it was the sole source of income. Most fishermen, she said, offered their labor at other people’s bateas to make extra money, but were first and foremost fishermen. When families owned bateas and did nothing else, everyone helped out.

Yesterday, Wednesday, Asmus and I left Cambados in the morning and spent a few hours in Villagarcia and Carril (which my tour book does not deem worthy of even a single descriptive sentence, but both of which I liked a lot) before hopping on a train to Santiago, where we had plans to spend the night at Marcos’s house so that Asmus could leave Spain early this morning. We had also made plans to meet up with Sylvia, Juan and their daughter Giulia, my friends from La Corunha, whom I was so happy to see! We sat at a café together and then walked around in Santiago’s infamous fine drizzle – Sylvia and Juan practiced their English on Asmus, and Asmus worked more on his Spanish comprehension skills, which have progressed considerably since last week. I’ll see the family again in a few weeks, when I pass through La Corunha again, and we’ll probably go to the Playa de las Catedrales, the thought of which makes me bouncy. After dropping Sylvia, Juan and Giulia off at the train station, Asmus and I went back to Marcos’s house, where we met a cycling pal of his and ate. Friends!

Now I am in Muxia, but I will only spend one night here. The first thing I did when I arrived was go to the docks to ask when the fish auction would be – and there is none! The lonja is closed, and there are few boats in the harbor. The man I asked told me that all of the fishermen were going to other ports to sell their fish, and suggested that I move on to Camarinhas, which I will do tomorrow. But I’ve been on so many buses the past few days, and have unpacked and packed so many times, that I am looking forward to a quiet evening by the sea (after a walk to use some of the chocolate energy). I’ll find an internet café to post this . . . hike up a big hill . . . watch the sun set . . . and conk out.