♫ CORTE! - Hay un niño atrapado dentro de una máquina ♫
La Meseta
Since November, I exist on the north sub-plateau, in the northern part of the central Iberian meseta. La Mesa is "the table" - you see the connection. It's got a mediterranean climate with continental features: cold winters and hot summers. Pine, oak and juniper trees all thrive here. A massive region of Castile y León is called the La Tierra de Las Pinares "The Land Of Pine Trees") Because pines drop plenty of acidic needles, the soil is prevented from growing any sort of underbrush. Add to that the high altitude, the sprawling fields of dry cereals, various vegetables, legumes, and the verdejo orchards (which have only ever been stripped of green in my time so far), you have a sparse, and a kind empty landscape. It often gives me the same feeling as Giorgio de Chirico paintings do, or the feeling of walking around your own school at night. Sometimes I haven't been able to shake the question of, well, where did everybody go? Le falta algo? Is something missing?
When I look upon a rural Australian landscape - that is, a real desert, let's say - it's likely arid and unpopulated. It's likely even less worked than the Spanish land. And yet no part of me feels the same solitude, isolation as on the meseta plain. I could be distorting my image of these places back home, and my greater intimacy with the flora gives me greater familiarity. And yet, I know that an Australian grassland contains all manner of things. These things are usually venomous, to be honest. But I don't feel wrong at all for it.
It's a beautiful kind of desolation, a barren, enchanting land.
El Espiritu de la Colmeda, 1973
Medina del campo
Blaring flamenco from a patio. A group of cats, a little hungry. A man throws away trash at the end of a road that just runs into an embankment. On the other side a scruffy mule is goaded along. Kids run after it, their parents smoke next to a run down holden commodore.
I take you now to the small towns at the end of winter. Naeem and I took a random regional bus (free) to the first one that was going. Fate took us to Medina del campo, which kind of means "city of the field", and it lives up to its name. The day is overcast, but the sun is warm that day. On our way in, we passed several smaller pueblecitos, and the main colours we see today are going to be the red of the walled clay brick, and the grey of the concrete, or the darker grey of the stone walls with more depth. We first set our sights on the castle on the hill. We went birdwatching, found a european goldfinch (Toma!) but denied entry to the top of the castle. A kind man tell us he once saw a mochuelo around here, which we find out minutes later isn't a bad smell, "(mal huele)" but he means a kind of small owl.
We took a nap in the plaza mayor, I think I napped again in a bar's outdoor garden, and walked sleepily around a very sleepy town. The most thrilling part of our day the town had to offer (apart from the goldfinch) was the museo de las ferias. We were told about las mercancÃas, which were old market days that used to fill the square of the town, centuries ago. The museum was filled with old merchandise, depictions of the golden era of the town. Back then, people from surrounding villages would gather here to sell trades from all over the region, and from places further. They were days of excess, indulgence, hectic transactional displays. Crying babies and heaving oxen donkey carts, I suppose. Now it is absolute melancholy quietude.
At the end of the day, Naeem and I had an hour to kill before the bus. We wandered off to the literal edge of town, where the lines of houses hits farmland. Along with every sight and sound mentioned at the start of this section, we met with a little hostility. It's possible we were walking on somebody's onions, but we did our best to stick by the paths. A group of very enthusiastic dogs barked us off the property as two men watched on, absolutely careless. Real fuck off kind of barks from the big dog. Naeem and I were dressed in city clothes, waltzing around a grassland we knew nothing about. We got what we deserved.
A Cemetery to Live For
Woah back up, why we going here? Because it's going to be beautiful. And it was. Except the most detailed sculpture is of a guy called "General Martinez Anido." Freedom fighter? Hero of the people? Here is his entire Wikipedia biography, verbatim:
Severiano MartÃnez Anido (21 May 1862 – 24 December 1938) was a Spanish general who served in a number of government posts in Spain during the Primo de Rivera and Francoist dictatorships.[1][2] He became known for the violent repression of the labor movement in Barcelona during the years of pistolerismo.[3]
His incredible tomb is not 100 metres away from a metal memorial, a listless list of names, dedicated to the victims killed by Franco's repression during the dictatorship years. This is a perfect example of Spain's relationship with its own history.
(from left to right) Jesus, the virgin mary, A European serin, baby jesus
emma took this and i like its composition a lot
Patrick Lee
There is only so long I can go without chicken crimpy, baked not fried. He already had it, but Señor Patrick Lee has bought himself a coupon for life from me. He shipped over the entire Coles snack section. We need not describe pricing for shipping or importation - just enjoy. I love this man.
dos cumples
