tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80914868443951174212024-02-21T07:51:47.882+01:00Pilgrimage to HeresyTracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.comBlogger207125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-65365546183826083382016-05-08T17:22:00.000+02:002016-05-08T17:24:17.278+02:00Desert Post<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxstaAgRjOjJhhNZID4eGNU5FjEREkTT75NMGVZCvk-06bMgHimP_C6skEE7K3yj7UyGlDQRT3hD2nZHE4wSDMO8NM7NvM680p1FDF2-3LqNYY5ADABHI3RAi1I9SeYPtuxO1ELDuyNs/s1600/20160210_071253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxstaAgRjOjJhhNZID4eGNU5FjEREkTT75NMGVZCvk-06bMgHimP_C6skEE7K3yj7UyGlDQRT3hD2nZHE4wSDMO8NM7NvM680p1FDF2-3LqNYY5ADABHI3RAi1I9SeYPtuxO1ELDuyNs/s1600/20160210_071253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxstaAgRjOjJhhNZID4eGNU5FjEREkTT75NMGVZCvk-06bMgHimP_C6skEE7K3yj7UyGlDQRT3hD2nZHE4wSDMO8NM7NvM680p1FDF2-3LqNYY5ADABHI3RAi1I9SeYPtuxO1ELDuyNs/s320/20160210_071253.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The sign
said "The Indian Army Wishes You a Safe Journey". It was an interesting way to
enter the desert city of Jaisalmer but we had been witnessing military presence
all morning. The distance between Jaisalmer and the Pakistani border is a shade
under 350 klms but it was clear that India was taking no chances.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Having
spent a rock and roll night on the train (I did finally get to sleep but dreamed
I was covered in bubble wrap!) we got into the train station at eight in the
morning. Just as in New Delhi station, there were whole families camped out on
the platforms. Sunny told me they were waiting for trains that may not arrive
for two or three days. The scene reminded me of the one in Dr. Zhivago where
Yuri and his family are waiting to travel to the mountains.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">One thing
which happened which I will report here was that Roberta had some difficulty keeping
up with the rest of the group which – and not for the first time – had gone on
ahead at a rapid pace with Sunny. I could see them over people’s heads but I
found the experience really quite disconcerting and when I turned around I
couldn't see Bobbie anywhere. I only had a few seconds to wait when she came
limping into view, and gasping for breath she said: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Where is
the group? Where have they gone? There were so many people; I couldn’t get by!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I commiserated (my own hip was complaining
from the night on the train) but reassured her that I was certain Sunny wouldn’t
leave us behind. “I´ll just go on ahead and ask him to wait. You follow me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The group
had indeed stopped to wait but just outside the station.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Roberta thought she had lost you,” I said. “She
has been very ill recently: had whooping cough.” She had told me this the night
before through a coughing fit no doubt not improved by her smoking habit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sunny was
bypassed. Tina spoke up:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well she
shouldn’t have come then. She’ll just have to keep up, that’s all.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The younger
ones looked a bit uncomfortable but nothing was said and just then Bobbie hove
into view visibly showing signs of exhaustion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sunny reassured her as I had. “I’ve never lost anyone before,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Anyway,
here we were approaching Jaisalmer in an odd bus in which the driver had a sort
of box to himself, with a small bed and a dashboard which reminded me of a
kitchen counter. The driver had a military moustache and a way of standing most
upright and I nicknamed him “The Major”. Sunny translated and the man beamed at
me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Our hotel
lay inside the old city walls, which was just a treat. I didn’t realise until
later that this would mean a fair bit of up/down walking as the tuk-tuks
deposited us just metres from the tiny street. My room had an extraordinary view
of the desert landscape below, but unfortunately the winds were wafting in sand
and the smell of human excrement. I closed the window, but that only made the
room stuffy. Seeing me do so, Sunny offered his room: “I don’t need all this,”
he said and escorted me to an inner room with no view but a gigantic bed
covered in tapestries, dark paneled walls carved with little flourishes here
and there and a window looking out to a pigeon-filled courtyard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The other
thing I particularly liked was that – although I had expected to share – we were
an odd number and I was told that meant I would have a room to myself for the
twenty one days of the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Nice.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The luggage
had really been thrown around all day so I wasn’t surprised to see that the zip
connecting the bigger backpack to the day pack had been broken. But between
Sunny and I we managed to patch it up. I realized that although packing wisely
in one way I had given into taking more clothes than I was likely to need and
that those I had bought were almost all brought from home but labelled Made in
India. I knew I would be paying for my sins later on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">To the
gentle sound of pigeons cooing to one another, I lay down on the big bed and
caught up with the night’s lost sleep. </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The hotel
had a rooftop restaurant and given that it was on top of a hill inside the fort
it was a long way up. My vertigo kicked in immediately, but after a while I
found I could just about manage although standing was scary. Dinner was the
first time any of us had really had to get to know each other. Four were
travelling together: Frobisher, (“call me Freddy”), Susie, Tom and Melanie, all
in their early twenties. There was also Paolo from Portugal who was lining in
Belgium and spoke perfect English; it was hard to guess his age: early forties I thought and I was right. We didn’t really get much out of Paolo
because most of the time he was buried in his book. Flora and Rudy were a
married couple from Austria. He was soft spoken, only said something when there
was something to say and anyway, Flora talked enough for both of them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olivia and Rachel were friends from grade
school. Finally there was Molly and Nancy, Roberta, Diane, Tina, and me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the age differences it was a good mix
and I thought the group would bond early. This was our third full day together.
Plenty of time to see if my prediction was right…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Next: Rocket the Independent Camel.</div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-92033833176844859312016-04-29T14:19:00.001+02:002016-05-08T17:10:46.319+02:00Night Train to Jaisalmer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpilvvDQddtFzWNdLpRaFQNPhRQjsZb53kJqvyscXSuQQXna1pWcoI-pFYKEENu_hzPWocqtJXPFaiG-yX0a9L-cI457HwM-_lWZi70MUUNAD1TxUnD7wuq84cG7mWYcviEZBC5GVzD4/s1600/20160206_111258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjpilvvDQddtFzWNdLpRaFQNPhRQjsZb53kJqvyscXSuQQXna1pWcoI-pFYKEENu_hzPWocqtJXPFaiG-yX0a9L-cI457HwM-_lWZi70MUUNAD1TxUnD7wuq84cG7mWYcviEZBC5GVzD4/s320/20160206_111258.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
We were due at the station at seven o'clock in the evening which left us just enough time to do some exploring. Megan, Lauren and I (with two sets of happy feet out of three) had met Tina the night before and she had already done her fair share of checking out New Delhi: "I rode in a tuk-tuk, took the subway, I even danced with the groom in a wedding procession!" she said, which left the rest of us in awe. Tina was an ex-model, a year older than me and looking very good for it ("No husband; no children," she said) she wasted no time in showing us her photos in some major fashion magazines in various stages of undress, including a topless shot. I thought it was an interesting way of introducing yourself to 19 year olds and I do prefer the business card sort of approach, but to each his own. Maybe I was a bit envious of that slim figure which she had retained so well.<br />
Our guide's name was Sunil, but he insisted we call him Sunny ("like the movie"). His English was very good but his accent so thick I had to lean forward and close my eyes to understand him. He told us to ask questions but when I did, he seemed a bit annoyed and said I should listen more carefully.<br />
Okay ...<br />
The subway was very cheap: only 17 rupees which was about 25 cents. I expected something very crowded but it was perfectly normal except that we had to pass through security loading our bags into the ex-ray trays. This procedure made me nervous especially since people in front of me were being body searched just as I saw my bag exit the tunnel. Honestly, anyone could have taken it at any minute and I doubt I would have got it back. We rode in the "women's car" at the front of the train. <br />
Our first stop was a temple in full celebration. I bought a marigold chain and left it at the door as I didn't want to lose the group by going in. Shortly after, we went to a Sikh temple and this one had a very different feel to it. First of all, bags were left at the office, as were our shoes. We had to walk 100 metres up the filthy (it really was) street in our bare feet and then "cleanse" them by stepping in a trough of already pretty dirty water. I had a couple of nicks on one foot from the pedicure and was a bit concerned about it, but ...<br />
When in Rome.<br />
At the top of the steps there were about 20 people shelling peas. Now the very act of pea shelling just happens to be one of my favourite activities ("Mine too," said Roberta from Scotland). I was very tempted just to sit down beside them and shell a few myself when Sunny said: "People come here every day to help prepare the meal. There may be hundreds coming to eat later. Anyone can come - even the richest man in Delhi". Inside, the prayers were being offered and shared on sizable video screens, in Hindi, Punjabi and English. I was to see this on a grand scale a month later in Amritsar.<br />
Back through the dirty water - "You don't have to do it on the way out," said Sunny, stepping deftly around the trough.<br />
The spice market was close by and Tina, who by now had elected herself Sunny's deputy, said she would show us where as she had already been there the day before.<em> </em>I suppose I should have seen a pattern emerging, but I blew it away, only too happy to have someone with us with a sense of adventure. The market, however, was just one long street with stall after stall, and after a while it made Diane, our only English member, sneeze. She seemed to me rather an ingenue, frail almost, perfectly worn blonde hair without a kink in it, and I was amazed when she told me she was on a year-long round the world tour. Amazed and not a bit jealous may I add. One should not judge on first impressions!<br />
Walking back to the subway station we passed a number of people who had set up camp beside the road. Not only was the garbage excessive here, but so were the smells, the origin of one I am sorry to say I could trace immediately. Children in shredded kurtas and torn trousers were playing "ball" with a plastic container, and in their bare feet they were oblivious to the squalor and rubbish piled up around them. Women bent double were cooking rice over tiny fires. They could have been any age as they held their sari out of harnms way by gripping it with their teeth. This was the India I expected, yet oddly I never saw anything to equal it again even though I did see some slum dwellings. This pile of humanity was chaotic, where a trace of organisation, even sharing of what little resources they had, might have made a difference. I thought of my own grandchildren and thanked whatever god was listening that their karma had presumably been better from their previous lives. Mine too.<br />
Last chai at the Hotel Perfect, and the sixteen of us split up between four taxis. I ended up with Diane and Tina. We didn't get too far though: we found ourselves hopeless ensnarled in the traffic jam to end all snarl-ups. We were on our way to the train station and we were late. New Delhi has a unique way of moving from one direction to the other, banned in most countries: you do a U-turn, in mid-flow, only in this case our manoueuvre was effectively blocked by a large white cow pulling a cart and I found myself face to face with a huge pair of nostrils and a tongue to match. The situation was so droll that Diane, in the back with me and only slightly farther away from this unexpected sight, started to laugh hysterically when I said: "I wonder how you say 'what's your cow's name' in Hindi?" "Diane's having an opo," explained Tina in perfect strine to the bunch in the taxi stuck beside us.<br />
I knew that this tour was Intrepid's Basic package, so I wasn't surprised when we located our berths and they were piled three high: 3AC. (I thought this had to be the lowest class until I went for a walk later. In Sleeper Class people were piled high some on bunks but most on top of their baggage or on the floor. There were heavy bars on the windows but no glass. I went back to my bunk feeling quite rich.) There were sheets, blankets and a pillow on each of these, freshly laundered but I wasn't yet at a stage to trust them so I rolled out my sleeping bag instead. We were somewhat spread out over two carriages and just as we were about to leave, a family came on and blocked every bit of floor space with boxes and luggage. Sunny was summoned by one of us, and between him and one of the many guards, the boxes were picked up and removed as quickly as they came with much muttering by the older man with the group. This left us cramped but at least not prisoners of Indian Railways. Out came chocolate bars, bags of chips and something called Masala Munch which I became steadily addicted too. Gradually the excited conversation died down to a few muffled "Good night"s and we all fell happily asleep rocked by the gentle movement of the train.<br />
Except me. I was too excited to even close my eyes...<br />
Next: Desert PostTracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-2588406201949694302016-04-23T17:24:00.000+02:002016-04-23T17:24:11.757+02:00Hotel Perfect<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHh8BAdoQHmHDHaV2_SHuyRXkri82B0XM-x8DB5kHajzJdZSyuocSheG1JkVJMTl1z9ZbcpUDXPReDFFgGUNweJGYu5NCh2mZKXwadrK2jW98gwhechSxfnZD_fG4CWgumG3015O-E3MQ/s1600/20160205_121717.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHh8BAdoQHmHDHaV2_SHuyRXkri82B0XM-x8DB5kHajzJdZSyuocSheG1JkVJMTl1z9ZbcpUDXPReDFFgGUNweJGYu5NCh2mZKXwadrK2jW98gwhechSxfnZD_fG4CWgumG3015O-E3MQ/s320/20160205_121717.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
The Hotel Perfect was adequate, although had I come to India only for colour I would have been a bit disappointed: my room was brown and cream, but a good size and pretty clean for the most part. Narrow like most commercial establishments and almost missable as we had just found out. Just before I dismissed my last "What am I doing now?" self-question and turned in for the night I took a quick peak through the curtains. The street remained in complete silence - something very rare for India at any time of the day. Directly across the street was an alleyway with a grating and inside was a huge pile of garbage being thoroughly investigated by three or four dogs. I decided to leave any speculation on this til the morning and having played with the "nozzle" in the bathroom, (I couldn't see the toilet paper) decided to leave that til the morning too.<br />
<br />
The garbage in the alleyway didn't look any more pleasant come morning so I thought to postpone any advances into Delhi's streets and went to find breakfast. The Hotel Perfect has a delightful rooftop terrace, I sat happily in the sun (weather was just as perfect) and wolfed down an "Indian Breakfast" of roti and daal and chai: my tastebuds have never been so happy first thing in the morning. Shortly after that two young women joined me and we learned we were travelling with the same tour group.<br />
"Let's go to the market!" said Megan after a while.<br />
"Do you mind if I come along?" <br />
Not at all, said Lauren her friend. Megan had a face full of fun, a pretty girl with a killer laugh; Lauren wore her hair with a topknot, a sort of "blip" on the top of her head secured by a scrunchy. Both were from Australia and because I have a special afinity for Aussies, and I learned that most of us were from Oz I knew this was going to be a fun group.<br />
<br />
Now I have to admit that the idea of just staying on the terrace did occur to me. Not that I was afraid of going out in New Delhi's streets with nothing to protect except two engaging nineteen year olds you understand. But just as they mentioned it, I suddenly realised that that was exactly what I wanted to do.<br />
So off we went.<br />
It hadn't been my exhausted imagination the night before, the streets were simply strewn with garbage in some places up to a metre high. I learned there was a municipal workers strike; this was its tenth day. We had no choice but to skirt it or cross over it just like everybody else. I saw no cows; not yet anyway. The streets were crowded but I have seen worse at the Saturday market in Puerto Banus. The Karol Bagh market is one of New Delhi's busiest. I expected perhaps a separate area, maybe covered but in fact it was no different from the one in my local town: stalls along the length of the street, regular shops behind.<br />
One of the things I had been most nervous about was being approached by beggars, being touched, even grabbed, or worse robbed: against that eventuality I wore a small cotton bag around my neck which made me look four months pregnant (as the same did to everyone else within the group, even the men!). But except for some very prolonged stares we were barely notice at all. In fact I didn't mind this at all because it allowed me to stare back. Shoes were cheap, clothes were cheap, scarves were dirt cheap. I saw many women in western dress (many more here in the capital than in other cities I was to visit). One store I passed was a wedding suit shop for men. Outside there was a model of a rather western-looking maharajah type flanked by two tiny childlike mannequins: one in a kurta, a hip-length collarless shirt, this one highly decorated, and the other in what the Spanish call a "smoking". Other shops we passed had whole families seated on the floor surrounded by shelves and shelves of bolts of material: the bride and all of the women who had already taken over the rest of her life. <br />
A little girl with a beauty queen's smile highlighting her pretty and dirt-creased face and supporting very ragged clothes was picking over the garbage for pieces of cardboard. She flashed me a grin that was as much eyes as teeth. We did not speak. On the way back down the road (past the two "dusty trees") I saw her again, still stuffing paper into her bag. We were beside a shoe shop. I beckoned. She came. We went into the shop: "I would like some shoes for her please," I said as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The shopkeeper looked quite surprised and asked me to repeat. "Some shoes. What size are you sweetie?" We all looked down at the oversized, very much scuffed and worn pair of navy blue school shoes. The shopkeeper went off and brought back a pair very similar and at least two sizes smaller. But I had another idea:<br />
"No. Not those. These." I held up a pair of glistening gold sandals with rhinestones and a small heel. Clearly the shopkeeper now confirmed his suspicion of my madness but off he went and back he came. Little Smile tried them on, all the time looking at me as though I could vanish at any time. <br />
"How much are they?" Two hundred and seventy rupees: just over three euros.<br />
I handed the money over and somehow wished they had been more expensive.<br />
With that, she fled and I did not see her again. Whether I should have bought something more sensible I don't know but what is the point of buying school shoes for someone who never goes to school? A yellow-haired goddess had emerged from some distant fantasy land and bought her the shoes of her dreams and that was that. Whether she got to keep them or her mother found some way to sell them, I don't know and I don't care. The thing is it made me just as happy as it made her. Few things in life are so equally balanced. To celebrate I bought myself a scarf: 60 rupees.<br />
Meg and Lauren got their hands hennaed. It was a much more delicate process than I had envisioned so I declined. I had noticed a hair salon across the road from the Perfect so suggested a pedicure and Megan took me up on it immediately while Lauren went to rest.<br />
I confess I have never before had my toes pedicured. They do a very reasonable job of stopping my legs from fraying at the end and for that I am thankful, but other than washing and occasionally oiling them, we sort of go about our own business.<br />
So it was a bit of a shock when, having sat down next to Meg, a man appeared - two actually - to attend to our toesies. Wash and scrape, nip tuck and clip, and joy of joys a thorough leg massage and I was being offered a dizzying number of colours to choose from. I chose turmuric yellow. Hey...why not? (Incidentally, this colour lasted through my six weeks in India and then some.)<br />
The sign next door to the Perfect said: <br />
EXTRAORDINARY IS ADDING A LITTLE EXTRA TO THE ORDINARY. <br />
Let the adventure begin ... I'm ready for it!<br />
Next: Night train to the desert.<br />
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-67297747498865989832016-04-13T16:16:00.000+02:002016-04-13T16:36:21.823+02:00Snow-Capped Mountains from the Sky<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsZAbFnAqzxzTGTPxI2CwyN4H34J_W66_GGuASCUrKokY1EEHkpKqE-R-32vD47yWo12fsluih4JPh1wcAJVkoAVEMKVGAmk70JmGfTZD63LEO1Exkneo0mZM7RzoUcvy5xSVqC8f05A/s1600/Snow-Capped-Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsZAbFnAqzxzTGTPxI2CwyN4H34J_W66_GGuASCUrKokY1EEHkpKqE-R-32vD47yWo12fsluih4JPh1wcAJVkoAVEMKVGAmk70JmGfTZD63LEO1Exkneo0mZM7RzoUcvy5xSVqC8f05A/s1600/Snow-Capped-Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGsZAbFnAqzxzTGTPxI2CwyN4H34J_W66_GGuASCUrKokY1EEHkpKqE-R-32vD47yWo12fsluih4JPh1wcAJVkoAVEMKVGAmk70JmGfTZD63LEO1Exkneo0mZM7RzoUcvy5xSVqC8f05A/s320/Snow-Capped-Mountains.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I should have
paid more attention to Murphy’s Law because I almost didn’t make it! Out of
character, I arranged my vaccinations (yellow fever, typhoid) well ahead of
time and Googled for the best insurance prices. All that was left was my visa.
I had been told, and assumed (never assume!) that I could get an on-line visa,
and it’s true; you can. But what I discovered and almost too late was that this
tourist Visa is for 30 days only, and my trip, the one I had booked and paid
for, was for 40 days. So I phoned the Embassy in Madrid. This was 11 days before
my departure. The woman I spoke to suddenly took on a “hmmm” tone of voice: “It
usually takes 10 or 11 days” she said. “That’s OK,” I said optimistically, “I’ll
courier it to you.” “That is using a courier,” was the answer.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Oh-Oh…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">For the
next few days I waited and fretted. Clearly I needed divine help!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While reading through one of my stack of
books on India, I learned that Ganesh, the elephant-headed god, was called upon
to use his little ax when there are obstacles along the path. “Dear Ganesha,” I implored,
“when I get to India I will make a special pilgrimage to you, but please, first
of all you have got to get me there.” I was due to leave on the 4th February.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">On February
3rd, the courier arrived with my visa, passport and all, and I had to restrain
myself from kissing him!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">From Malaga
to Paris and Paris to Delhi, I felt like I was in a dream. I dare say the
French wine helped. At one point I looked out of the window when everyone was
asleep and below me were snowy mountains: miles and miles of glistening white
one peak after another. Somewhere over Pakistan, I fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Exiting an
airport is always disorienting. I learned from my guidebook that the best way
to hire a taxi was to get a pre-paid ticket, which I dutifully did, but I still
didn’t know quite how it all worked. “How do I know which one is mine?” I
asked. “Just take any one that is black and yellow.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Well, there
were black and yellow ones, and yellow and black ones, and some mostly yellow
and some mostly black, and immediately I exited I was surrounded by taxi
drivers and touts. My first instinct was to take the first one in line, but
before I knew it a young man was convincing me that that one was not the one I
wanted and was wheeling my backpack case off towards the back of the line to a
much newer taxi. The driver asked me for my ticket. Now, I had been told to
hang on to the ticket until we reached my destination, but this driver was
insisting that I give it to him straightaway, so just as fast as they were loading up
my case, I was unloading it! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the end,
I took the oldest and most rickety open taxi (a sort-of bloated tuk-tuk) I could find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ceiling was lined with a cork sheet,
sagging in most places so that it touched the top of my head. Most
uncomfortable. The seats were upholstered in curtain fabric. There was a
luminous, multi-coloured plastic god on the dashboard, not one that I recognized.
The driver’s clothes looked like they had been deliberately wrinkled after
washing and on his head he wore a lurid green baseball hat with the word “Happy”
written on it. And little hearts. Happy …? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ecstatic! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was
actually in India, avoiding midnight cows at top speed, holding on for dear life and loving every second. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">On the back
of the taxi was written HORN PLEASE in big yellow letters. I soon found out
why. There were so many cars on the road that it was hard to believe that it
was past midnight. Almost every commercial vehicle had the same Horn Please
written on the back and as my taxi dodged the traffic like an old lady with a
shopping bag, my driver and every other one was using the horn constantly, not
out of aggression, but as a way to let others know that we were passing. In
fact, the way horns have always been meant to be used.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">The air was
so polluted that I had to wrap my scarf around my mouth, but I must have got
used to it very quickly because this was the only occasion I felt it necessary
to protect myself. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">From the
cacophony of New Delhi’s highways, we found ourselves in Karol Bagh where my
hotel was. I assumed that all I had to do was give the hotel’s address to my
driver; unfortunately I had not taken into account the very size of the city
(14,000,000 population) and the number of hotels. Not only that but the Karol
Bagh area appeared to have been deserted: there were piles of rubbish
everywhere, and dogs, but no people to ask. So we just sat in silence, waiting.
In the end the driver went off to another hotel to enquire there. Meanwhile I
sat in the taxi, with case, feeling … well, a bit vulnerable to tell the truth!
But not scared. Not one bit. I was preparing to have the time of my life …</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Next: Hotel Perfect </span></span></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-24899567166235502362016-04-07T21:31:00.000+02:002016-04-07T21:31:17.128+02:00Bucket List and Choices
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span> </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SSC6tSIH1rWtfvI2ZAJBgVtic0QPqIwQqicUv09MYVeD_fIxZjEPb8BJMvpmn03TihKyd4KS0HfNe4UlbnLEUa7IGsWm8J4WbL2DicS3zs0XsPwgmOdZj5LgYFDqCf7c7fERkpE0Fok/s1600/My+Bucket+List.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SSC6tSIH1rWtfvI2ZAJBgVtic0QPqIwQqicUv09MYVeD_fIxZjEPb8BJMvpmn03TihKyd4KS0HfNe4UlbnLEUa7IGsWm8J4WbL2DicS3zs0XsPwgmOdZj5LgYFDqCf7c7fERkpE0Fok/s200/My+Bucket+List.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They call
it a Bucket List, after the film of the same name. Mine had for 32 years been topped
by India, but every time I thought about travelling, India got pushed down in
favour of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Canada – where my family and
friends are – Cuba, Costa Rica, Belize,Tunisia, Greece, Italy, Ireland, the UK - even a 800 klm pilgrimage walking across the top of Spain ... all of which
seemed so much safer and achievable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">India,
however, would rise back to the top immediately after I came home. I had
studied Indian philosophy, religions and art at university, and I had read
everything about it I could get my hands on ever since. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I had to admit I
was afraid of India. Why? Well for one thing I don’t deal well with poverty,
and perhaps most of all I had been given to understand that Indians were just
people that you couldn’t trust. They would tell you what they thought you
wanted to hear and then ask you for money, or take you to their brother’s
pashmina shop. I also wondered how I would manage the beggars, of whom I was
told there were many. Could I really ignore their imploring faces and walk on? So
India got side stepped time after time for reasons which remained vague fears.
As it turned out I couldn’t have been more wrong!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Many people
have decided to walk the Camino de Santiago because of Martin Sheen’s film The
Way. Others have gone to Italy, India, Bali on the strength of Liz Gilbert’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eat, Pray, Love. I had already “done” the
Camino, and honestly the idea of sitting <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>chanting “<em>Om mane padme hum</em>” with a bunch of
middle aged bleached blonde American ladies my age in an ashram didn’t appeal (actually the very thought would send me
screaming for the exit doors) and I had no money to go to Bali, even if it did
mean meeting Javier Bardem <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>whose “It’s
time” is the sexiest seduction line I have ever heard. I did enjoy Slumdog
Millionaire though, and perhaps it was there that the idea of India, once more
on top of the bucket list, began to make many pushy-pushy noises in my brain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the end
it was the two Marigold Hotels films that made me say: “That’s it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today’s the day,"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>not that I expected to
find such a squeaky clean environment as portrayed in the films, nor streets virtually
people free. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Neither was I looking for
romance. I just wanted to experience Being There; I wanted a chance to find out
if the hospitality this film advertises really existed. I certainly didn’t
expect to find myself in charge at a havelli guest house although it almost did
happen, (and still might).</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I went
to India, despite all the setbacks, holdups and downright frustrating things
which happened just before I was due to go and threatened to derail the whole
thing. As you will learn...<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went to
India. And I hope that you will join me on my journey through fear to delight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next:
Snow-Capped Mountains from the Air.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-6968188019216870162014-02-07T18:56:00.002+01:002014-02-07T19:03:37.883+01:00Manfred of Camelle: The calm between the storms<h1 class="fbPhotoAlbumTitle">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwuUoZSctpgQ7KGYT1Tt78rYWhLGTPUpe6KrN5rg3Tddt2xeSWWFiDf4VinQQEtTgdEzZB2eJr0ADM6B5F-b42GwCYxCnVONbNe5q7OZxTQvZb-a5Pq28smBaZT5cW_8zRUab2unyBGJ8/s1600/Mans+Museum....jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwuUoZSctpgQ7KGYT1Tt78rYWhLGTPUpe6KrN5rg3Tddt2xeSWWFiDf4VinQQEtTgdEzZB2eJr0ADM6B5F-b42GwCYxCnVONbNe5q7OZxTQvZb-a5Pq28smBaZT5cW_8zRUab2unyBGJ8/s1600/Mans+Museum....jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a></h1>
<h1 class="fbPhotoAlbumTitle">
So very sad...</h1>
<div class="fbPhotoAlbumTitle" style="text-align: justify;">
On Christmas morning 2013, lightning struck the Sanctuario in Muxia, and within hours the roof and interior had been gutted. Had it been any other day fishermen would have alerted the firefighters in Cee, and maybe, just maybe they would have got to the fire faster. Too late now. Add to that the devastating seas which almost made a true boat of this most enigmatic of churches, and the damage is complete. The walls remain, the towers, and irony of irony, the futile and heartless lightning rods remain,<br />
along with the crosses that shadow them.<br />
</div>
<div class="fbPhotoCaption fbPhotoAlbumHeaderText" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText">I was away at the time, down south with my family. I saw the news, open-mouthed and crying. It took me over a month to visit the Sanctuario de la Virgin de la Barca in Muxia. I did it today. It reminded me of a hole where something used to be. I was sad. I watched the shuttered window swing to and fro; in my mind’s eye, I saw the Sanctuary drift out to sea…like a ship, unmoored, unanchored, adrift for lack of real hindsight and maybe too many lies. The tiller held in a dead hand with little treasure left to salvage...</span></div>
<div class="fbPhotoCaption fbPhotoAlbumHeaderText" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText">It all seemed to be pre-destined: a sanctuary built on pagan rocks. Time takes on a different meaning from the point of view of Stones</span><br />
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText"></span> </div>
<div class="fbPhotoCaption fbPhotoAlbumHeaderText" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText">I left and drove to Camelle</span><br />
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText"><br />What I was even less prepared for, was the despair I experienced when I saw what the most recent “Temporal” (Cyclone Petra) had done to what was left of Manfred Gnädinger’s “museum” near <a href="http://www.thelittlefoxhouse.com/">The Little Fox House</a>, my pilgrim retreat: his garden in stone is all but destroyed. His iconic round tower is a heap of perfect stones, reducing in circumference. His testimony to the broadcasting age: gone. The tarpaulin was already in shreds, torn in the storms of New Year. I have here in my house a jar for donations to replace it: photos, pleas…* But what is there left to reconstruct now?<br />"Man" died in 2002. They said he was the only human victim of an environmental crisis caused by 70,000 metric tons of highly toxic oil. The fate of the Prestige is not so much about money but honesty, even – given the conundrum of Margoules the captain – loyalty, and fear: fear of growing old and useless.<br /> Manfred didn´t have that chance. But in his will (which I have seen) he makes it clear that his Museo – built with literal sweat and tears – should be left entrusted to the Estado de España. Oh, along with what is said to be 120,000 euros too, which no one, subsequently, wants to explain the disappearance (of).<br /> Man, I cried for you today. I stood on that unsafe wharf you protested so vehemently and wept. Your work may be lost forever. I am an optimist by nature, but even I would not know where to start. Perhaps (and I hope so) you legacy rests on the natural force which eventually destroyed the loving art that the oil from the Prestige could only tarnish. Maybe you knew all along that the unleashed power of the sea was greater than the exploits of man, and even you, “Man”.<br />Will those two little black redstarts be there the next time I visit? I have noticed then often and haven´t seen them anywhere else. Will your spirit inhabit this place, not in what was there, but in what lies on harmony with nature. Until she closes the book.<br /> Your body was exhumed; you were cremated, supposedly according to your wishes. Ask most people now: where is Manfred and they will look confused, or somehow have to leave. Wherever you are – and I have a feeling I have glimpsed you once or twice - RIP: Manfred. </span><br />
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText"></span><br />
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText">You will always be in my heart.</span><br />
<br />
(*See<a href="http://pilgrimagetoheresy.blogspot.com.es/2012/01/story-of-man-manfred-gnadinger.html">The Story of Man</a>: blog post 08/01/2012 for background on Man's story)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwuUoZSctpgQ7KGYT1Tt78rYWhLGTPUpe6KrN5rg3Tddt2xeSWWFiDf4VinQQEtTgdEzZB2eJr0ADM6B5F-b42GwCYxCnVONbNe5q7OZxTQvZb-a5Pq28smBaZT5cW_8zRUab2unyBGJ8/s1600/Mans+Museum....jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </span></div>
<span class="fbPhotoCaptionText">Extraordinary photo by Marcos Rodríguez</span></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-42030624792259582712013-08-09T00:14:00.000+02:002013-08-09T00:19:50.216+02:00Festival de Carballeira, Zas....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAHfgy6la673kuYzN2FNI7FphzuG7jp_SJmMVik40JZBON3ufaeFt5nBJOXqcCaGgu0f6l56zthEAsDq1C7AdM_xD6eZwLzOW-X4XdYl9If_uPNmffWsjsprh2qphNIi85pAfBCsXHRg/s1600/Carballeira.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAHfgy6la673kuYzN2FNI7FphzuG7jp_SJmMVik40JZBON3ufaeFt5nBJOXqcCaGgu0f6l56zthEAsDq1C7AdM_xD6eZwLzOW-X4XdYl9If_uPNmffWsjsprh2qphNIi85pAfBCsXHRg/s1600/Carballeira.jpg" /></a></div>
The poster was brilliantly designed, the location perfect. The musical line up promised a magical night of Celtic music. I missed it in 2012. I missed the folk festival of Ortiguera too. But the Carballeira was on my doorstep and I had looked forward to it all year. I was even more excited when I found that one of my favourite folk groups, Berrogüetto was to play along with three others including what I can only call the folk punk band Lurte from Aragon.<br />
I had two pilgrims staying at The Little Fox House and having saturated them with Galician music for two days I knew they were ready for the excursion into the amazing world of music that is Festival Galicia in the summertime.<br />
All started very well. We were lucky enough to find a bar called O Gaitero (the piper) in Zas and treated to an impromptu concert by a group of friends from Santiago. It was wonderful: "I´ve never heard anything like this!" said Patricia from New Zealand. Ten o´clock rolled around and we lined up at the entrance to the Festival. Bags were being searched for glass bottles and I saw a few (a very few) which had been confiscated. There was a small admission charge (which entitled us to a CD with two of the songs of each of the bands playing). We were duly hand-stamped and sent on our way.<br />
The concerts began late, but this is Spain. Carballeira, true to its name (carballo is the Galego word for oak tree) is set in a sylvan paradise. We found a tree suitable for our backs and backsides and prepared for a great evening of folk music.<br />
The first band were from the Basque country: some brilliant accordian playing. But by now, the "<em>muy poquiño</em>" number of people was growing by the minute. Five men took a sizeable spot behind us and set up "camp". This included one very large plastic cooler and no less than five 5 litre plastic jugs of wine plus God knows what they had doctored into it. Within half an hour they were hollering into our ears. <br />
Berrogüetto played. Beautifully. But shouts from those behind of "<em>maricon!"</em> at the band made me want to strangle someone. By this time they were literally falling down the hill and into us. One woman who could barely stand stamped most forcefully on my sandalled foot and clearly didn´t even notice it. Patricia had had enough and excused herself to go and sleep in the car (by now it was one o´clock but by Spanish standards nothing had even really started yet!).<br />
The remaining two of us moved, several times, away from young men who needed two of their buddies in order to be able to stand, young men who were throwing up around us, young women whose glassy eyes told the story of what they had done to poison themselves. Those five litre bottles were everywhere. Two partygoers had to be carried out on stretchers and the ambulances lit up the night.<br />
The band Lurte was to play last. They are brilliant musicians one and all and I was really looking forward to hearing them, but their appearance is - well, let´s say more Sex Pistols meets Ozzy Osborne than Peter, Paul and Mary, and after they installed their drum and draped the skeleton around the amplifier the atmosphere took on more and more of the sense of personal threat. Three men, clinging together in some bizarre form of dance came crashing into me and I had stationed myself close to the stage and the member of the Protección Civil guard in the hopes that some order might be found. The policeman didn´t bat an eyelid. I think he was as terrified as I was.<br />
I never heard Lurte. I left before they came on, simply disgusted.<br />
With whom?<br />
I said to one pilgrim early on: "A lot of young people having fun, right?" She agreed. "Now try imagining that at last 40% of them have no work, never have had and have little hope of getting a job in the near future".<br />
But does that excuse the mass drunkenness I saw last Saturday?<br />
There were concessions there. The drinks were a little more than could be purchased in the local bar, but not a lot. It was the sheer volume of alcohol per person which had been allowed into the Festival area which astounded me. The First Aid truck seemed not to lack customers.<br />
"Buy our T-shirts", the president of the Carballeira organisation pleaded with the festival goers. "Help us to keep this great festival going another 30 years!" But the concessions didn´t seem to be doing a lot of business. Why bother when you have five litres of booze of your own, brought in with the total approval of the Guardia Civil of Galicia?<br />
As I said, I didn´t stay. I had been very careful myself not to drink as I was the designated driver and had been stopped on the way home following a recent local festival. I knew that <em>"Traffico"</em> would be out in force.<br />
I was wrong. I didn´t see a single spot check or police car.<br />
No doubt Lurte stirred their totally wasted audience into a folk frenzy. No doubt the drinking continued until 7 in the morning.<br />
And then they all drove home. Those that could still stand that is....<br />
I have written to the organisers. I have written to the mayor of Zas (population - well not much). I doubt it will do any good and by doing it I feel a bit like "Outraged of Tunbridge Wells". I don´t think I objected because I am getting old. I know how to have fun and I can dance ´til dawn still if I have a mind to it (and did at the recent Asalto a O Castelo in Vimianzo where I saw none of this even without an admission check). I think I did it because I am sad. Sad that the enjoyment of many who would have liked to enjoy the music was so ruined by the behaviour of so many drunks, some probably not yet 15 and who were poisoning themselves with the permission, even approval of the organisers of the Carballeira Festival.<br />
We won´t even discuss the cost to an already overburdened medical system...<br />
I doubt very much that I will ever go again. And two pilgrims will be taking a story back to their countries of a Spain that I would have preferred them (and I) not to see.<br />
Signed: Disgusted of Carantoña.<br />
,Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-81691313930926402032013-07-11T17:40:00.000+02:002013-07-11T17:44:35.568+02:00The Peasants are Revolting: Asalto a O Castelo 2013<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqV4qG7qXtukrJmqxfk3gdoMNMK8mL59zDIxvBxJZQbfqyro8wJJA3porLkQOOvw7JiDItGHVNmcAZ3L1-uiZTfnqkAfh2vjFyUKEvoLzknbhXzaGh78dZEvCaQXCm6xW57slZJhEyCA/s1600/IMG_1104+-+copia+-+copia+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqV4qG7qXtukrJmqxfk3gdoMNMK8mL59zDIxvBxJZQbfqyro8wJJA3porLkQOOvw7JiDItGHVNmcAZ3L1-uiZTfnqkAfh2vjFyUKEvoLzknbhXzaGh78dZEvCaQXCm6xW57slZJhEyCA/s320/IMG_1104+-+copia+-+copia+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The year is 1467. The economic pressures on
the peasants exceeds their ability to provide. The abuses of such feudal lords
as the Moscosos, the Counts of Altamira become unbearable. The king, Henry IV
is blind to the pleas of his subjects. There isn´t even cake to eat! It is no
surprise that finally, the Irmandiños form a band and plot to overthrow their
masters. Supported by some of the clergy and even some minor squires (the
hidalgos, which means literally sons of some substance), it is estimated that
perhaps 80,000 rose in Galicia against the establishment between 1467 and 1469.
They succesfully attacked 130 forts, amongst them the castle in Vimianzo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">However, despite the rapid success of the
Irmandiños, their victory was short lived. As is so often the case, competing
interests and lack of control within the brotherhoods led to their downfall.
When the situation came to the notice of the king, he sent his support to the
nobles. The strength of the rebels at that time simply wasn´t enough. Vimianzo
was now not in the hands of the Moscosos, but Alonso II, the archbishop of
Santiago. The leaders of the rebellion were hanged; others were forced to
rebuild what they had destroyed. The end result is the castle we see today, which, by the way, is on <a href="http://www.thelittlefoxhouse.com/">The Little Fox House History and Mystery Tour</a> if you are a pilgrim at the end of your Camino and lucky enough to be able to pay Foxy a visit for a couple of nights or three. (see <a href="http://www.thelittlefoxhouse.com/">www.thelittlefoxhouse.com</a> )</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Fast forward to 2013.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Irmandiños and nobles eat and drink side by
side, that is until Luar na Lubre stops playing and the cry goes up: “Lume!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Three slaves walk onto the stage, their
plight quite clear. The queen shows no mercy (the countess actually but the
facts here ruin the story!). The peasants begin to hurl abuse as the baddies
demonstrate their power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The queen is a
dipshit!” catcalls the normally restrained (so he says) Reverand Stewart of
Saskatoon, one of the three pilgrims who stormed the castle with me this year.
These words will stay with me, <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">Tracy Saunders</a>, for the rest of my life!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">“LUME!” The torches are lit, the drums
begin as we follow the Irmandiños toward the object of their discontent.
Someone takes up the cry:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Asalto a O Castelo!
Asalto a O Castelo!!". The castle hoves into site.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The story continues on the battlements and we
Irmandiños are repulsed by water balloons, but only for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The slaves reappear, a hand-to-hand battle is
fought and the Viscount gets the worse of it. “LIBERTAD!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Down go the gates under the merciless
thrust of those manning (and womaning) the battering ram.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">“LIBERTAD!!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">And so the castle is ours once again, for a whole year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">I am not usually one for festivals, but I have my little
<a href="http://www.headstartcentres.org/">school in Vimianzo</a>, and The Little Fox</span><span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> house is within its “Concello”. I hung a
banner out of the school window (OK so it's St Mark from Venice. I am a foreigner!) and we all dressed up very Medievally and
danced til 3 in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">And I can´t wait for next year.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">“LUME!”</span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mpQ5dWn6Lyc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mpQ5dWn6Lyc</a></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-42597061280029661432013-06-09T13:27:00.000+02:002013-06-09T19:42:14.768+02:00Walking the Camino: Six Ways to Santiago<div style="border: currentColor;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_qxpfsYBGEvV5yLz5OFgzJ2iqi0cHfv_ZEVk3GkYrkzi-E0EC7239biU8GUEhicoTg-n2xENanlYUGnw12dBpzbeOIceRbHWSSPfqOTGTowTlsLs3l2f_Ri7WEtBdJDNKuEMLfYzOHg/s1600/Camino+Documentary+Wayne.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_qxpfsYBGEvV5yLz5OFgzJ2iqi0cHfv_ZEVk3GkYrkzi-E0EC7239biU8GUEhicoTg-n2xENanlYUGnw12dBpzbeOIceRbHWSSPfqOTGTowTlsLs3l2f_Ri7WEtBdJDNKuEMLfYzOHg/s320/Camino+Documentary+Wayne.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="http://www.caminodocumentary.org/">Walking the Camino</a> (in Spanish, Buen Camino) follows six pilgrims on their way to Santiago. Each one of them carries more than just their backpack. They carry their sorrows, their doubts, their hopes and dreams for the future. Brazillian, Sam, for example says: “They said I would find the answer and then I realised: I didn’t know the question”. Tatiana pushes a baby stroller with her son, Cyrian. She struggles with not only the rocky terrain, but also her ambivalence towards her brother. They have always fought, she says at the beginning of the film: “Now, no fighting.” All that is to change, however, as she gradually realises that while she is on the Camino to talk to God, Alexis is out for a good time, and she finds that her inner struggles become focussed on trying to come to terms with their differences. Wayne, the Canadian, is still suffering from the sadness of losing his wife some time before. Annie wrestles with tendinitis and walks through her pain determined not to stop. Others pass her with their poles: tuk, tuk, tuk. “A bad day for the ego is a good day for the soul,” she reflects. Misa and William find themselves drawn to each other in ways that neither of them ever anticipated, the age difference fading into meaninglessness when they find they are only ever separated when one or the other goes to the bathroom.</div>
<br />
<br />
In short, your pilgrimage. Perhaps everybody’s pilgrimage.<br />
<br />
And therein is the true strength of this film.<br />
<br />
Not only are the characters superbly drawn, but the film is cinematographically beautiful. Long shots, short shots, wide shots. Not that this writer knows anything about the technical terms, but when the raindrops on the blades of grass glisten, and when the clouds are scudding across the Meseta, then you begin to understand the magic of the Camino. A snail moves along the pathway; a jet speeds above the cathedral: the metaphors are not lost. This is the Camino de Santiago. Time takes on a different meaning.<br />
<br />
I predict that everyone who sees this film will come away feeling as I did: humbled and connected to the lives of these people. Perhaps you, like me will “adopt” a pilgrim and feel something of their joy as they finally make it to the Plaza de Obradoiro. And maybe, like me, you will cry.<br />
<br />
Truly a wonderful film.<br />
<br />
.Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-68704207231760487022013-05-28T23:41:00.000+02:002013-05-29T22:33:36.293+02:00Galicia is Not For Sale!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhEcNC80PYwLHPtFPQZChBEI2huMrKZldDmJyO5inyLqJ61WoGxNx9b3XLsQA7KdDeixeM_M9a219BC40blnp0LLJ5WPZ5IkGMIWmKInUrIFP2VJzikd4q3cbJsem1VrtT56D0iqTLns/s1600/IMG_0627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOhEcNC80PYwLHPtFPQZChBEI2huMrKZldDmJyO5inyLqJ61WoGxNx9b3XLsQA7KdDeixeM_M9a219BC40blnp0LLJ5WPZ5IkGMIWmKInUrIFP2VJzikd4q3cbJsem1VrtT56D0iqTLns/s400/IMG_0627.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Last Sunday I
decided to go for a walk. This is not an unusual thing for a Sunday, but this
walk was around an area which, if the provincial government of Galicia and a
Canadian gold mining company get their way, will soon no longer exist. At least
not as a place in which you would want to take a walk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The area in
question is in <a href="https://www.facebook.com/contraminaccion">Corcoesto</a> in the Costa da Morte, no more than 8 kilometers from
a pristine wetland area which hosts many species of wildlife. The river Anillons
then flows in the Ria de Ponteceso and on into the sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a place of silence and very rare beauty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I drove through
Corcoesto twice without ever realizing it was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a typical Galician “aldea”: a tiny
gathering of granite cottages, corn cribs and barns with cows chewing the
cud.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Donkeys are still widely used in
place of tractors and some carts still have wooden wheels. The population is
aged. The women wear black or the ubiquitous blue apron seen all over Galicia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is well known
that Spain is undergoing a serious recession. The unemployment rate is in excess
of 25% and considerably higher amongst people under 25. Few stay in the
countryside or continue the family tradition of farming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">So you would
imagine perhaps, that a mining initiative might be just the ticket to revitalize
the economy in this community. You would think that the majority of the people
here would welcome the mine and certainly certain interested parties would tell
you that this is indeed the case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It is not.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The sign in the photo above reads, in Galician: "A Pyramid of Greed".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I went to
Corcoesto to join a walk of 12 kilometers around the proposed site .We walked
along crystal rivers and tracks fringed with foxgloves, through oak and pine and
eucalyptus. There was no sound except our hushed voices and the sounds of our
boots on the gravel. I tried to envisage the site as it would be with its
plant, its open pit, its mine workings, its waste dump, its heavy construction
vehicles. I tried to imagine the noise of dynamite and the rumble of trucks as
the gold was taken away. I tried to imagine the smell of dust not <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gorse and wild roses. I couldn’t do it for too
long. It made me want to cry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The old man on
the horse told me that his blood pressure has shot up since December just
wondering if the axe was going to fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The woman told me she would have joined the walk but her arthritis was
too bad. She was afraid. The young girls told me that the environmental cost to
this area would be devastating and that the mine would be in operation for eight
years only. The man in the T-shirt wondered just how much of the wealth their
ancestral land would yield would trickle down to the community; how many high
end jobs would be given to outsiders. We agreed it was not an optimistic
thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The Romans came
to Galicia for gold. The city of Ourense receives its name from the precious
metal. Oro is the Spanish word for gold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even today in Corcoesto above the river there are
the remains of a mine shaft dating from 1895 through to 1910 and various
exploitations have been carried out during the earlier part of the 20<sup>th</sup>
century. As gold prices fell, the mine workings became unprofitable and were
abandoned, However, with today’s premium price for gold, eyes have returned to
Galicia’s potential, and believe me there is still a fair bit of it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How much? Well, it depends on who you talk to. The
Corcoesto load runs right through the Costa da Morte from Malpica in the north,
and stretches to the Portuguese border at Tui almost 200 kilometers away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The problem is, that despite the firms marketing strategies, it is not easily available: what there is left is only in tiny microparticles. In order to release it, the rocks have to be pulverised and cyanide used. Arsenic is also then released into the air as a result of the explosions. In such a rainy climate this means leaching of highly toxic waste into the groundwater.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The precedent for this mine should not be
lost on anyone who fears for the total environmental destruction of this very
beautiful and green province.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">How serious is
the environmental impact?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I hope I won’t
be infringing on anyone’s intellectual property if I quote the contents of a
letter sent to the European Parliament. I have yet to find whether the
questions which follow it have been answered:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;"><em>“The Galician government has adopted a law regulating industrial policy in
Galicia with the aim of boosting investment in Galicia's industrial fabric. Its
objectives include the development of strategic industrial projects involving
proposed investments in industrial plants that are expected to result in a
significant expansion of Galicia's industrial fabric. A series of conditions
are laid down. Projects must lead to the creation of at least 250 jobs, and
proposals must be backed by an undertaking (including partnerships) which will
make the required investment.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>
</em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;"><em>Under this legislation, a Canadian company has proposed to open an
open-cast gold mine in the district of Corcoesto (A Coruña). The environmental
impact of this project is beyond doubt, since the extraction of 30 000 kg
of gold will produce 6 million tonnes of waste. A residents' association
set up to oppose the project estimates that the mine will be operational for
10 years. The company itself envisages a 20-year lifespan.<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>
</em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;"><em>Moreover, the mining methods used may have a serious impact on the natural
environment, in particular water, since they involve a cyanide-based extraction
process. The European Parliament resolution of 5 May 2010 on a
general ban on the use of cyanide mining technologies in the European Union
called for these methods to be banned by the end of 2011. The citizens' action
group against the mine has also complained that the correct procedures for
informing the public were not complied with and that no economic guarantee or
commitment has been given to offset the inevitable impact that the mine will
have”<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>
</em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;"><em>1. Is the Commission aware of this situation?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>
</em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;"><em>2. Given that it involves a cyanide-based extraction process, does the
Commission believe that this project complies with Community regulations?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>
</em></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;"><em>3. What steps will the
Commission take to ensure that this goldmine project complies with the
procedures guaranteeing public information and transparency that are required
under Community regulations?<o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;">The man in the expensive white
car near the church didn’t want to comment that much was clear. I asked if he
thought it would impact on the life of the people in Corcoesto: “It’ll be a bit
noisier”, he said. Did he think that most people were for or against it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“About equally based.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;">The video from the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/contraminaccion">Canadian Edgewater Exploration</a> company on the environmental impact of the site goes
further: in a poll of 2012 “80% of neighbouring municipalities welcome the
project”. Neighbouring Municipalities, note; not people. The politicians want
it, but the people don’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;">The video also states quite
specifically that the life expectancy of the mine is 9 years. This is at odds
with the 20 years also claimed by the mining company elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;">In nearby Carballo, a town
virtually created from wolfram mining through the 1950’s, a recent demonstration
drew well over a thousand demonstrators from this tiny community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This Sunday a much bigger <a href="https://www.facebook.com/contraminaccion">"manifestación"</a> is
planned for Santiago de Compostela.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;">I’ll be with them. Some things
simply must be beyond money even in a country desperate for it. The price of
gold can never equal the cost of what would be lost in Galicia forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: ES;">“Soy contraminante!”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzZC07RzhIKH4xhNS48hDXlsXYIjQ_RDJ7QrBpKLg-qHmbMwi0ARuL69TqvZ6epHgiBgxx8YL_AJR5EkvKC2QKRdUJXKiJ2b_sIh2Rf4bChFe_gXnYzfEq3K0xEBPylanwflJ_9F09F0/s1600/IMG_0626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzZC07RzhIKH4xhNS48hDXlsXYIjQ_RDJ7QrBpKLg-qHmbMwi0ARuL69TqvZ6epHgiBgxx8YL_AJR5EkvKC2QKRdUJXKiJ2b_sIh2Rf4bChFe_gXnYzfEq3K0xEBPylanwflJ_9F09F0/s400/IMG_0626.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL57LXZhmXLlAo3LIB0iLKW61ZgriilRpGmDvZnfBnXVU8VlRsZc5VQ6B1_AQjLgmbHGpUSTuCqp3830XspzZMNgkDp05ITrT4DFrxZzoSYGBVoJvEDTJxFrqwTN5NjPbDAFyG-DhR2Eo/s1600/IMG_0630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL57LXZhmXLlAo3LIB0iLKW61ZgriilRpGmDvZnfBnXVU8VlRsZc5VQ6B1_AQjLgmbHGpUSTuCqp3830XspzZMNgkDp05ITrT4DFrxZzoSYGBVoJvEDTJxFrqwTN5NjPbDAFyG-DhR2Eo/s200/IMG_0630.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Gcbix4kDMFlAgBzlxmsoZZ7k0UmhNGKA7tFTD4KaQBcY0ZOxvstP7aBzYuwLuMhOLP5ao8Ygd4WTqV4anznKUTMYZA-xaIjsu3w1vHNDadylwek0B7DQP8SLXG6653YzozIJPE_x_lU/s1600/corta-atalaya-huelva.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Gcbix4kDMFlAgBzlxmsoZZ7k0UmhNGKA7tFTD4KaQBcY0ZOxvstP7aBzYuwLuMhOLP5ao8Ygd4WTqV4anznKUTMYZA-xaIjsu3w1vHNDadylwek0B7DQP8SLXG6653YzozIJPE_x_lU/s320/corta-atalaya-huelva.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-53717255787474240782013-03-10T21:11:00.000+01:002013-03-10T21:11:26.433+01:00All Good Things Must Come to an End...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYAJaKK-7kZyN6FbdAKAAgn6QcrAqyTrQNxHzNaZo2Fo6GezmTMvknhY40qytzBbd_jb7MwotiFaFF4WqsTci2hi683FRXaQ94JL0cCZqFL3V4yyt8MaENduWt3zyUGpJ4S1hWrEPqM0/s1600/Catholic+Signpost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYAJaKK-7kZyN6FbdAKAAgn6QcrAqyTrQNxHzNaZo2Fo6GezmTMvknhY40qytzBbd_jb7MwotiFaFF4WqsTci2hi683FRXaQ94JL0cCZqFL3V4yyt8MaENduWt3zyUGpJ4S1hWrEPqM0/s1600/Catholic+Signpost.jpg" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEYAJaKK-7kZyN6FbdAKAAgn6QcrAqyTrQNxHzNaZo2Fo6GezmTMvknhY40qytzBbd_jb7MwotiFaFF4WqsTci2hi683FRXaQ94JL0cCZqFL3V4yyt8MaENduWt3zyUGpJ4S1hWrEPqM0/s1600/Catholic+Signpost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The title of this blog may be actually misleading. What comes to an end is always translated into a new beginning.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have left this blog for far too long, writing instead mostly on Forums and Facebook. But it is a "thing of beauty" in its own way and I have decided that with a bit of reworking The Happy Heretic (that´s me) can continue to entertain and enlighten you every couple of weeks or so.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A LOT of water under bridges: the launch of the Spanish translation of <a href="http://www.stjamesrooster.com/">St James Rooster</a> (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLr5oWNfQic">El Baculo de Santiago, Boveda, Nov. 2012</a>)(Click for You Tube Book Trailer); the wonderful year we have had with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheLittleFoxHouse">The Little Fox House</a>...86 pilgrims from 23 countries; a year for me now in Galicia following my dream of 13 years to open a Post-Camino Retreat near Muxia. 2012 was a year of promises, fear and sheer joy!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So where from here? Well, I am working right now on several projects: Foxy House for sure, plus ongoing research into The Dove and the Yellow Cross the third volume in <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">The Camino Chronicles</a> Series. I am also continuing my research into what I hope will be a non-fiction book about a man you might only meet in fiction: Manfred Gnädinger, the hermit of Camelle. I have a language school to mother and occasionally kiss better.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One thing you can be sure of is that what I write will not make everybody happy: the teacher of Plato was the "Gadfly" of Athens. He made people think and question their own presuppositions. He didn't do it by making everybody happy. Ultimately he died for it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hope you will be kinder to me that the citizens of Athens were to poor old Socrates.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
More soon...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
PS I can´t say I like this "new " Blogger. Can anyone tell me how I can "wrap" my text around the photo as I have always done???</div>
<br />Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-56292005473765763922012-11-26T16:31:00.002+01:002012-11-26T16:33:25.819+01:00St. James´Rooster Chapter 2 continues...<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3w9OrkQbLcbNlJyDScnEHTECZZqS8y5o1iMesBxu-Y_ttziHbl0rkgpPqkTQjcAPJZapLpGwprtGcKVBKNP7EFiOj3Xg3i9XYX5uRUdBusltzPEHpeFqs4Z178xm7ZL8kY2pZjRxRmJE/s1600/tulips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3w9OrkQbLcbNlJyDScnEHTECZZqS8y5o1iMesBxu-Y_ttziHbl0rkgpPqkTQjcAPJZapLpGwprtGcKVBKNP7EFiOj3Xg3i9XYX5uRUdBusltzPEHpeFqs4Z178xm7ZL8kY2pZjRxRmJE/s320/tulips.jpg" width="216" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Felix, unfortunately, wasn’t in
any mood to commiserate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura had stopped in at the
market to pick up some tulips to brighten up<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">her mood. They stood,
relentlessly proud in their jam jar on the oak table<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">in the late afternoon sunshine.
No-one, however, was in any mood to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">comment on them. In fact, given
the animosity in the room it as a wonder<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">they didn’t droop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“They promised me Proficiency!
Ha! All afternoon I’ve been teaching<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">kindergarten English. I hate
this, Laura. The little brats are dropped off at<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">four o’clock and their mothers
don’t pick them up till five thirty. During<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">that time I have to keep them
from tearing the posters off the wall. As<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">if that wasn’t enough, they don’t
want to learn English. They don’t want<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">to learn anything. One of them
even peed on the floor! Señora Whatsit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">didn’t even seem to care. ‘Just
keep them happy, all the time’. That’s what<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">she told me. Can you even believe
it? It’s all about making money and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">that’s it. If I could I’d quit
right now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Then quit,” said Laura who was
fighting the tears from her own eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Yeah? Then how are we going to
pay this exorbitant rent?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“I don’t know. I don’t care.
Leave me alone,” she said and fled to the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">bathroom locking the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">What the hell is going on? </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">thought
Felix as he threw his raincoat around<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">his shoulders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">The Parque Santa Susana was
almost deserted. Felix ignored the children<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">and the old men as he walked
along the pathways. He ignored the views<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">of the cathedral. He ignored the
sunset.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">Something is not right</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">, he
thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">But what? And why?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura’s tutorial was cancelled. There
was no explanation. Just the yellow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">post-it note which said: “Sorry.
Something has come up”. She spent the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">afternoon distractedly doing
research in the library, but couldn’t help but<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">feeling that there was something
else calling her attention. But she couldn’t<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">think what that might be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">As the light was fading she
stopped into the Hostal Suso for some<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<i><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">chiperrone</span></i><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">s
and </span><i><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">pimientos de Padron</span></i><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">. </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">She made them last, watching the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">tourists and the pilgrims pass
by, some of them with maps in their hands<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">from the nearby tourist office.
One or two came in the door of the hostal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">Life used to be simple, </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">she thought.
Was it really less than a year since she<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">and Felix had made love here for
the first time at the end of their Camino,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">knowing that next door Kieran and
Miranda were doing the same?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Rather than go straight home,
which was only a few metres away, she<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">stopped into Encontros Bookshop.
But the vast majority of the books<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">were in Castellano and once more
she felt totally overwhelmed at the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">task before her. Everything she
needed for her research was in a language<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">which seemed so alien to her that
she wondered how on earth she was<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">going to learn to read it, let
alone come up with an original thesis. Modern<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Santiago loved its unapologetic
bishop even if his contemporaries had not,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">and she was an interloper, and a
foreign one at that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Who am I to take on one of
Spain’s great Churchmen?” she thought, or<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">did she say it out loud to the
weighty copy of the Spanish biography in her<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">hands. Question unanswered, she
left just as the doors were being closed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“</span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">Buenas noches</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura was still reluctant to go
home. Instead she propped herself up on<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">a pillar beside the tourist
office and closed her eyes. </span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">What’s happening to<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">me? </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">She thought. This had been her
dream and the scholarship had made<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">it a reality: go to Santiago,
study at the university there, produce some<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">brilliant mind opening work.
Finding Dr. Callaghan here was just the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">icing on the cake. Now all she
could do was to try to keep the tears from<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">It was just after 9:15 according
to the cathedral bells. There was no-one<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">about. There was a certain peace
to the city after all had locked up and<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">gone home, and Laura despite her
internal confusion allowed herself to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">feel those ancient streets wash
over her. The spring night was still cooler<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">and as she walked towards her
apartment door besides the closed gift shop<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">it became colder still. Then, as
though a switch had been somewhere<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">thrown, the peace vanished,
vacuumed into the drains below. Laura had<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">to stop herself from giving in to
an impulse to ward off the chill, brush off<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">the clammy feeling which was
growing like mould on her skin. She fought<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">off a sudden loss of breath as
though having exhaled she was unable to<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">inhale again, putting her hand,
fingers stretched wide open, in front of her<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">to ward off unseen danger. The
other she clasped to her chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">And then she heard a voice. An
insistent voice. A strident voice. One she<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">could not ignore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">It said: “Run! Run before it’s
too late!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Felix was unable to open the
door. There was a weight against it on the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">inside, propping it closed. A
heavy shove and the weight gave way falling<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">against the handrail of the
stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Laura, sweetheart! Whatever is
the matter? Laura talk to me, for God’s<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">sake: you OK?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“They’re trying to kill him! I
saw him run.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“What? Who? Laura. Talk sense.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The bishop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“What? Which bishop? Do you mean
the Archbishop of the Diocese . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">of Santiago?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“No! Diego Gelmirez!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-87166723760891701592012-11-03T21:06:00.000+01:002012-11-03T21:06:36.803+01:00Chapter 2 St James´Rooster
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAD4YmqPO0_x5bWJ6sEwgXSfAhhwDM9ezU7dDbp_JP6ZZRh5gAaM5Mrst1MyFCIETrHwDJYqRf3DrSWAIF5soAdrnooP6F-E_ukFglrZUkbUnIIBE3PDYtM85PeBNU0excfiZAfxc6m8/s1600/Alonso_III_de_Fonseca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAD4YmqPO0_x5bWJ6sEwgXSfAhhwDM9ezU7dDbp_JP6ZZRh5gAaM5Mrst1MyFCIETrHwDJYqRf3DrSWAIF5soAdrnooP6F-E_ukFglrZUkbUnIIBE3PDYtM85PeBNU0excfiZAfxc6m8/s320/Alonso_III_de_Fonseca.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Bold","serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Bold;">“Feudal Galicia, hmm . . . </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Bold","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Bold;">What
do you know about<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<b><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Bold","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Bold;">Diego
Gelmirez?”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Peter
Callaghan was sitting upon the desk, not behind it, and that at least </span><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">gave
Laura some measure of confidence. But the question invited a huge </span><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">discursion.
So many things. Where to start?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">They
were in the old university beside the Market. The building alone </span><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">intimidated
Laura but she knew she had to get over it. Here for a year or </span><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">more
was to be her home, despite her paucity of Spanish, and even though </span><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">she
was taking classes in Gallego, she knew that she was very much the<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">outsider
here. Peter, despite his Irish background, spoke both fluently, and<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Portuguese
too. Laura had not even passed the point where she could tell<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">where
Portuguese ended and Gallego began, excepting that the latter had<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">a
softer sound. Not that that matters when you can’t really understand<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">either
very well.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">This
discussion luckily was in English, thank God.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Well,
I know that he was not born into the aristocracy, that his father<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">was
Gelmirio, which is where he gets his patronymic, and that Gelmirio<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">was
the administrator of the castle of Torres del Rio, just south of Padron<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">where
the legends state that St. James was brought ashore.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura
looked at her advisor for encouragement but found none. Callaghan’s<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">work
was one of the main reasons she had made this decision: to come<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">back
to Santiago and add a Ph.D. to a list of already impressive credentials.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Some
of her advisors were impressed with her knowledge. But clearly Dr.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Callaghan
was not amongst them. She had read some of his books: Feudal<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Galicia
was his best known. She realised that what she had said, in hope<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">of
some sort of encouragement, was not enough. Obviously more was<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">expected.
The silence was too long.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Um
. . . I know that he was educated at the school near the cathedral,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">or
. . . was it a just a church then?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">A
non-committal nod prompted her to go on.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“I
believe he then went on to finish his education at the court of the king<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">in
Leon . . . Alfonso VI?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Mmhm.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“And
then he returned to Santiago. The king’s son-in-law, Raymond chose<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">him
to be his secretary in, I think, about 1093 or so.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura
looked around the office. There was a window overlooking the<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">valley
of the River Sar in the distance<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">she
could see the Seminario Mayor on the other side of the valley: now a<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">pilgrims’
hospice. The group had stayed there last year for a while. Felix<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">had
proposed to Laura on the front steps late one chilly autumn evening,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">and
she had accepted without giving it a second thought. It had seemed as<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">though
their meeting on the Camino was meant to be.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Who
was Raymond?” He brought her back to the discussion at hand.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“He
was related to Constance of Burgundy who became Alfonso’s queen.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Alfonso
rewarded him with a sort of “dukeship” of Galicia. Anyway he<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">was
very powerful in the north west of Alfonso’s kingdom and somehow<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Diego
Gelmirez seemed the right man for the job, first as secretary then<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">as
bishop of Compostela.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Diego
Gelmirez,” mused her tutor. “Now this is the man we have to talk<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">about,
I think.” The Irish brogue came out. But not the Irish smile she<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">had
hoped for.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura
was losing her nerve. Diego Gelmirez. What she was saying sounded<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">so
basic. Her tutor had seemed very approachable around her dinner table<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">last
night and now she just felt a bit of a fool. She wished he would give<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">her
some sort of feedback. Instead he said:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Go
on.”</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Well,
Alfonso knew of Bishop Diego Peláez, of course, because the bishop<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">was
consecrated by his brother, Sancho. But Alfonso overthrew Sancho<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">because
he wanted to become lord of Galicia as well as Castilla and Leon.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">He,
Diego, that is . . .”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Which
Diego?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Italic","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Italic;">You know bloody well which Diego</span></i><span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">, she thought, but added:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Diego
Peláez was the bishop of Compostela from about 1075 through to<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">1088.
He began the cathedral. Lots of people think it was Diego Gelmirez<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">who
built it . . .” She caught Callaghan’s eye for interruption, but it didn’t<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">come,
“but it wasn’t. He only picked up where Diego Peláez left off, and<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">many
years after. The first Diego was accused of treason and thrown into<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">prison.
The Historia Compostelana doesn’t say much about him, but they<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">do
hint that there may have been some sort of plot along with Count<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Diego
Ovéquiez to hand Galicia over to the Normans.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Anyone
in particular?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura
was feeling faint. It was said that Diego Peláez wanted to treat with<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">the
Normans. She knew that the evidence of Diego Peláez so-called treason<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">was
slim, but she also knew that she only had the Historia Compostelana<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">to
draw upon and she said as much.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Why
would a Spanish bishop want to treat with the Normans?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">She
knew she was on shaky ground. There was even a story that a daughter<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">of
William the Conqueror may have once been betrothed to the Spanish<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">king
Alfonso the Sixth; even that she may have had some sort of prior<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">understanding
with his brother Sancho, or even Garcia the youngest<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">who
was once King of Galicia, but later Garcia had fled his country and<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">taken
refuge in Sevilla which was under Moorish occupation. When he<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">tried
to make peace with his brother Alfonso, the latter had him arrested</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">and
he spent the rest of his days locked up in one of Alfonso’s castles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Sancho
was murdered probably on the king’s orders. It all made no sense,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">especially
as the daughter had died en route to her marriage with Alfonso<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">the
brother . . . what was her name? How could this have affected the fate<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">of
Galicia? She didn’t know and the only thing to do was admit as much.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“I
don’t know,” she said meekly.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“No-one
knows,” said Peter Callaghan, “but it’s a grand story don’t you<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">think?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Somehow
Laura didn’t know if she had triumphed or failed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Laura
looked around at the office and its cedar panelling. It was clearly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">of
the 18th century and lined with books. But how many belonged to<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">her tutor? She thought probably
not many but that didn’t decrease the<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">intimidation factor.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“The problem is Lara . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Laura.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“The problem, Laura, is that we
have a lot of information about Diego<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Gelmirez but it’s all from the
Historia Compostelana which was his “spin”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">if you like. He commissioned it.
There are three possible authors. But<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">when it comes right down to it,
they wrote it to glorify Diego Gelmirez<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">and the things he did, which were
not insubstantial by any means. Laura,<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">the man was a monster, but he was
a genial monster with a shrine to<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">protect and a city to build, and
in that he was bloody good at his job.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">Once you start to research him
further, you may have the same grudging<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">respect for him as I do.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“We have an appointment tomorrow
afternoon, am I right?”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">“Yes,” said Laura wondering what
time was the first flight back to Bristol<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;">from Lavacolla, Santiago’s
airport.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "AGaramondPro-Regular","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: AGaramondPro-Regular;"><o:p>.</o:p></span></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-74869302252652784432012-10-10T01:03:00.000+02:002012-11-03T20:45:43.886+01:00St James Rooster continues...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJiJbG4FwckJTLIwYzG0d4PoCAAAECbRtowMyc2Npud1Myvkv6ti8tlspJh0E4S1LF2RZS0MayywarlURVYpja6ozuBZFX9s85IwliYZf9uFeUd01ZhgdREvK7HHyBkOKehh6alJ4xTg/s1600/Untitled+1TEMP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJiJbG4FwckJTLIwYzG0d4PoCAAAECbRtowMyc2Npud1Myvkv6ti8tlspJh0E4S1LF2RZS0MayywarlURVYpja6ozuBZFX9s85IwliYZf9uFeUd01ZhgdREvK7HHyBkOKehh6alJ4xTg/s1600/Untitled+1TEMP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzJiJbG4FwckJTLIwYzG0d4PoCAAAECbRtowMyc2Npud1Myvkv6ti8tlspJh0E4S1LF2RZS0MayywarlURVYpja6ozuBZFX9s85IwliYZf9uFeUd01ZhgdREvK7HHyBkOKehh6alJ4xTg/s200/Untitled+1TEMP.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Felix
didn’t look forward to the dinner party. It wasn’t that he was shy (far from
it). It wasn’t even that he doubted his abilities in Spanish (he did). It was
more the fact that all six invited were Laura’s fellow graduate students and
professors from the university and here he felt a bit at a loss. A lot at a
loss.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
“What am I going to talk to them about?” he said.</div>
</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Oh Felix,” said Laura as she planted a kiss on his
ginger beard (did she see the grey hairs appearing?)“No-one expects you to talk
“medieval”. What would Miranda say? ‘Be Yourself!”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><u1:p></u1:p>Miranda and
Kieran had walked with them last year along the Camino.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">When they started he had known Kieran for many years
and he had seen their love grow (almost eclipsed by his own) in the last 100 or
so kilometres. Now Miranda was about to give birth at any time and despite the
remission of Kieran’s leukaemia, he knew that they must sometimes think of
their time together as somewhat borrowed. He reminded himself of that now.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You’re right. That old Felix charm. I’m sure it’s in
there somewhere.”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But the look on her face told him that both were
really wondering at this point.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Well, whatever,” Laura said vaguely. “Good food to be
had though!”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">That at least increased Felix’s spirits considerably.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* * *</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“The thing is,” said Peter
Callaghan, after the main fish course had beenenjoyed by all, “that despite all
the hype about the Camino, Compostelas and stuff, that none of it has any basis
in history. In fact, prior to the 7th</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">century, anyone who was anyone claimed that if James
preached here at all, he had virtually no converts and anyway he went back to
Jerusalem where he was beheaded and his body thrown outside the city walls. End
of St. James. Sorry,” he said, looking around to see if he offended anyone’s
religious sensibilities.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Ah, but you forget,” said one of the Spanish
professors (what’s his name? thought Felix) </span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Stone boat, winds of providence, miracles . . .”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Everyone around the table laughed. Felix topped up the
wine glasses, and Dr. Callaghan of Dublin continued.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Nice story! Why interfere with it? You can be sure
the Cathedral won’t!”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Nor the Xunta de Galicia,” said someone else.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Of course not.” Felix was surprised to hear that the
voice was Laura’s.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">He was delighted to see that she was issuing forth
from the kitchen with some sort of yummy-looking dessert. “With thousands, tens
of thousands of people, tourists coming here every year, why interfere with a
profitable</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">myth . . . ?”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“That’s the sad part,” said someone else (was it the
same someone else?</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Felix had to remind himself that the Ribeiro and
Albariño wines were strong—especially in their cheap state which was all they
could afford).</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Do you mean to say,” said another someone else, “that
the Xunta knowingly encourages tourism on the basis of St. James even though
they know it is a lie?”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Now, hold on now . . .” said yet another someone else.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Coffee anyone?” said Felix.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* * *</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“You didn’t add much to the
conversation last night,” Laura said to Felix as he prepared for his English
class that day.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">No,” said Felix.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">* * *</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Felix. Felix! Look at this!
Just in from Miranda and Keiran.”</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
<u1:p></u1:p>
</span></div>
<div style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Laura was in front of the laptop, Internet established
only that day (blasted Telefónica!).</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Grabbing Felix’s elbow with the force of a vice grip
she pulled him so close to the screen that he could hardly see the picture:
Miranda heavily pregnant and Kieran grinning, sporting a fine fuzz of hair
after his chemotherapy, his hand on Miranda’s bump. In his other hand there was
a copy of his book Pilgrimage to Heresy, finally accepted by a small but
influential Irish publisher.</span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><o:p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 11.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“Typical!” said Felix, “Trust the boyo to get both
things right at once.” But </span><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">there was
great affection in his voice.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></div>
</span><div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-37897616865359875602012-09-22T14:51:00.000+02:002012-09-23T20:53:54.036+02:00St James' Rooster: Prologue The First<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZz2mGt0OBfutpqrHoOc6pUtV1tME62dilggEvrX6MBuvw6vGk3WqpPW4myboqpBoFdBWEGOnvoiTm1q33ydJ9O-jJ-2JzCJB6mAXfRHibpINnAYf01XT3GhC_oBDiQguPiCgNjzp_sWY/s1600/SJR_Cover_complete_20520835_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZz2mGt0OBfutpqrHoOc6pUtV1tME62dilggEvrX6MBuvw6vGk3WqpPW4myboqpBoFdBWEGOnvoiTm1q33ydJ9O-jJ-2JzCJB6mAXfRHibpINnAYf01XT3GhC_oBDiQguPiCgNjzp_sWY/s200/SJR_Cover_complete_20520835_std.jpg" width="141" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Click image to enlarge</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As promised, here is the first part of my new novel St James' Rooster the second of The Camino Chronicles. I shall be serialising this over the next couple of weeks or so so if you like it you might want to order a copy from Amazon or the publishers. If you don't, well at least I have saved you some money.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But you will like it ...trust me, I'm a hypnotist...</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i><a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">ST. JAMES’ ROOSTER</a> </i></b><a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/" style="text-align: justify;">A Novel of the Camino</a></div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">
</a>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Prologue: The First<br />
<b></b></b><br />
<b><br /></b></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“From this moment you will hear nothing outside of yourself except the sound of my voice.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I hear him and yet not. There is no more present, only the glow of the past which draws me like a lover’s smile. I am drowning in it, pleasantly. It pulls me down, deeper, and deeper down. .I am at peace as he says. I am at home. I have returned…I am both myself, and not myself</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
…six…five…four……</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“What are you wearing?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I’m not sure. It’s soft: cotton perhaps. Linen? No, soft wool. My feet? They’re bare. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am with my people. The lights flicker and toss, caught up with human movement: they are pressing on me in the dance of shadows and fire; it’s all around me. Yes, my feet are bare on packed earth. I feel raised up to the sky: no. Not the sky. I don’t know… there seem to be arms above me…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Arms? Human arms?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“No, no. Although they are there too. Trees! They’re the branches of trees. They’re so close above and yet no, not so close beside me. There are others around me…they are chanting, wait, no, they’re singing. Oh, what a song! What singers! What voices from heaven could sing so sweetly and yet so sadly? The angels must be weeping in envy. Wait a minute. Wait… I know this…I know this!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wait, wait…yes. Yes! Of course… “I am your door, Lord. Open me and let me come home. ”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Of course I know this! It is the song of <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">Priscillian</a>. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<i>Dear Lord of our longing<br />
Let me remove and let me be removed<br />
Let me save and let me be saved<br />
I want to sing; sing with me<br />
I want to cry; cry with me<br />
Adorn me, I crave you<br />
I am a lamp for you,<br />
You who have eyes to see me<br />
I am a door for you, who brings his spirit home…<br /><br />
</i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i>We are few now, his followers, where once we were thousands. These singers and dancers around my outstretched arms, they are my brothers, my sisters. The lovers of Priscillian who lies buried in our midst. And I feel the supporting souls of those long gone, their bodies arranged around this hill, this copse, this house of the granite of dear Galicia, this tomb of marble from Alexandria, hidden from unfriendly and uncomprehending eyes.</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i><br />The ceremony is over now. I cradle the Sacred Book in its leather wrappings. I place it back in its box in the stone from whence I have taken it, this time, and before, following in the ritual of those who have done so since the day our Master was brought to this place by Galla, his daughter and his faithful followers who lie sleeping beside him here too. The night of loving prayer is drawing to a close, the torches extinguished; the songs too are packed away in secret. We would not dare to sing them openly now.</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i><br />Wait…. What is this disturbance? I know this girl, the daughter of Hilderic. They are bringing her to me. Their faces are drawn with anxiety. They are gesturing outside the wood with frantic hands and eyes. She is speaking too fast.</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i>“She has passed the hut of Pelayo the shepherd, close by to here, not moments ago.”</i></i></div>
<i>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“Pelayo? The hermit? He will not harm us; he is too afraid of the ghosts. He keeps away.”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“Not Pelayo!” </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>The girl is speaking, her breath almost spent for running. “The riders! Bishop’s or King’s men. I know not which. Two of them perhaps three. He brings them. They are coming! Quickly! You must all fly! There is no time to waste. Our secret is a secret no longer...”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</i><br />
“Five…<br />
Four…<br />
Three…<br />
Two…<br />
One.<br />
Come to!”<br />
<br />
<br />Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-42491043970426432712012-09-21T17:22:00.000+02:002012-09-23T20:35:36.533+02:00St James' Rooster: Prologue The Second...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKA7qL1tvmn1g_S32Fkrv_2ai1ClVyvp3JqJ6uckFRn3UfnIWoleT6gp4vegHWq3Oam_e7ahi1W80s_3_kpyC0RpIB_aADNcNNsg32QVP346FSx8jKfGFGN6GQFlcyVQXijH36D9Aq8v0/s1600/AlMansur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKA7qL1tvmn1g_S32Fkrv_2ai1ClVyvp3JqJ6uckFRn3UfnIWoleT6gp4vegHWq3Oam_e7ahi1W80s_3_kpyC0RpIB_aADNcNNsg32QVP346FSx8jKfGFGN6GQFlcyVQXijH36D9Aq8v0/s320/AlMansur.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I am alone. Cloth. I feel shrouded in it. It covers me from head to foot. No, not coarse, but not soft either. It’s a simple robe of sorts, made of common homespun, but clean. How could I know that? I don’t know. No, not a coffin. I’m on my knees. Wait a minute: coffin? Casket? It is cold to the touch. Yes. No…it is a tomb of some sort, there are walls around me and, I don’t know; walls again, beyond. I am enclosed in some sort of building, a church perhaps? It is not a peasant’s habit. Habit? Yes, that is exactly what it is. It is a monks’ habit, and I am a monk. My feet are encased in felt and leather strips. The air though the wool is cold, my knees are stiff, painful. But I will not move.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>I will not move from here. They say he is fearful and terrible. They say he towers to the sky. They say his very breath will petrify, or scorch, like the dragons of old. I cannot say I do not fear him, for I fear for my life as would any mortal man. But I will stay by my Master. It is my sacred duty, not the duty the brothers believe I carry. This is different. A secret known only to me, passed on through the ages from one chosen to another. Now there are very few who even know of its existence.</i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i>The walls of the church around this mausoleum are etched in flame, it arches up; it grasps the sky pulling it down so hard that I do not remember if it is day on night. It has no doubt reduced the small settlement of Compostela to nothing. The townspeople and even my own monks expected nothing less from “Almanzor”: Al Mansur, the Conqueror of Córdoba. We knew he would come. We knew he was coming. Those who had possessions to save fled days ago when we first received the news. Those who had none stayed long enough to loot what was left, even chickens, tattered garments from the hedgerow left behind in the flashfire of terror of the Moor and his army. I doubt my monks were any less innocent than the others. They were after all, not the last ones to leave. What was left of their faith? It is not for me to judge them. This fear is that of the devil in whom, in my own way, I do believe.</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Now there are two of us left. One is alive so far, though not likely to be for much longer. The other has been dead for six hundred years.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>There is flame overhead. The rest of the roof has caught. Within the marble of this sanctuary I am safe, but not from the smoke: that surely will overcome me soon.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>He comes. He is riding his horse through the door of the church heedless of the inferno above and around. He stops at the head of the chancel; he moves aside to allow his massive warhorse to drink from the holy water of the baptismal font. O sacrilege! But it matters not for it was blessed in the name of the Apostle James, and his spirit is not here. It is many leagues away in Jerusalem where they took his life so very long ago. He has never been here no matter what has been said in the name of victory and power.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Almanzor comes. It is too late. I am lost. I have one hope only…</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Dear Lord of the Truth, please, save me and the earthly remains of your servant, Priscillian.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“Begone!” I say, feinting a courage I do not feel. “These are not the bones of whom you seek.”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“What nonsense is this?” </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>He is not as tall as a mountain. But even though he is on horseback I can see he is taller than I by a head or more. His eyes are not those of a man crazed by bloodlust; they are calculating, cold; they are of a man who knows that he has achieved what he set out to do. Almost. Only I stand in his way. And stand I do, rising stiffly from my vigil in front of the sarcophagus, breaking my staggering only with one hand on the pale pink marble. I face him, simply Pedro, Bishop of the Shrine of Santiago de Compostela:</i></div>
</i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“If thou wilt be observant and vigilant, thou wilt see at every moment</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
the response to thy action. Be observant if thou wouldst have a pure</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
heart, for something is born to thee in consequence of every action.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>He stops. He is transfixed. From his towering place atop his horse he says:</i></div>
<i></i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><i>“You know the songs of the Blackbird?”</i></i></div>
<i>
</i>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<i>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“Abdul Hassan Ali Ibn Naf: Al Ziryab. Of course. My master Priscillian called upon us to read the sacred scriptures of all worlds. Naturally I would teach myself of the great poets of Islam also. Did not the teachings of my master come from the East, and perhaps from the same place as your own ancestors? Certainly, his great words and ideas were not so dissimilar to your own. Nor are they.”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“Who is this master of yours?” </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Almanzor had manoeuvred himself and his horse between where I stood shakily and the sarcophagus. “I will meet him. Bring him to me before this day is over.”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“Ah that I could, great one,” I said. “But your horse is currently leaning upon his body.”</i></div>
</i><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Five…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Four…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Three…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No! No…wait! There is more. I must stay… NO!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
COME TO!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-2455559710399206612012-09-15T19:00:00.001+02:002012-09-23T20:25:40.405+02:00St James´Rooster: Chapter 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCiO3vcImX1qM9l6E-nMrGiD3zND9Y_SD2a1joq4eNCLF6RZJYMZ3LlVzW6qhbOEv3u5KDC1w-a8PouuPCXzJKNG8QcEPgdfD0Fl2c5aojx6IYuevT7umUne_OZHM72SqOgX_FL1hhjM/s1600/CalleSantiago.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCiO3vcImX1qM9l6E-nMrGiD3zND9Y_SD2a1joq4eNCLF6RZJYMZ3LlVzW6qhbOEv3u5KDC1w-a8PouuPCXzJKNG8QcEPgdfD0Fl2c5aojx6IYuevT7umUne_OZHM72SqOgX_FL1hhjM/s320/CalleSantiago.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
Chapter 1 Felix and Laura <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyone who thought that Laura was quiet and submissive had never taken a good look at her chin. So thought Felix as he watched his bride of six weeks move her way around the apartment, and stand, as she did now, in front of the window with its view of the old city and a glimpse of the cathedral. The old town of Santiago lay beneath and around and for once, it wasn’t raining.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Do say yes,” she said.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It wasn’t the first they had seen that day. In Felix’s opinion, not the best either. To his mind it was poorly furnished, dark, pokey, and expensive. But it was slap in the middle of the historic centre, and he knew better than argue too much.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“What about the one close to the new university? It was almost half the price and twice the size.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Laura’s response told him he might as well forget it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, but it lacked atmosphere!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She had him there. This one had “atmósfera” in plenty despite its dark precincts, and ridiculous price tag. Santiago with its pilgrims passing daily, with its strange accents and ancient, poignant charm lay under the window she was leaning out of.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Felix knew he was beaten. Her smile told him that.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And that smile . . . that angelic, quiet determination, that often hidden intelligence had seduced him in its many quiet ways less than a year ago.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On “The Camino de Santiago”. Felix was so taken aback by its unexpected depth and charm that he had proposed almost as soon as they reached Santiago. He had walked 750 kilometres, well almost—there were a few still excused bus rides to be accounted for. She had walked less than 200 but none of that mattered. Once he had thought that love would pass him by forever, especially after Jessie his fiancée had been killed in a car accident. But now he knew it was time to live again, and Laura had taught him how. By being Laura. By being ultimately lovable.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“OK,” he said.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The real estate agent knew his stuff. He had taken them to this place earlier in the day. Even criticised it in some ways: small, expensive, no parking, but just look at that view!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Felix still thought of himself as a bit of a freeloader. After all, they were there because Laura was pursuing her doctorate at the University of Santiago in Medieval History and Felix, though a psychology grad, had only teaching English to offer. But Laura had somehow (was it those long lashes, those big brown eyes?) secured a very desirable scholarship, and, well, after six weeks of marriage, here they were. Back once more in Santiago de Compostela in the wettest part of Spain.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It wasn’t raining today which was a rare condition in itself. As they left the centuries-old building on the Rua do Vilar, the agent said: “Well?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“When can we move in?” Felix said, accepting defeat with good grace and receiving his wife’s radiant grin as a reward.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“As soon as you wish,” the agent said. “As I told you, the owners live overseas, and it has been, well, somewhat unoccupied for quite a while.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you want to come over to my office this afternoon, I will draw up the lease. You will be able to give me a month’s deposit today, yes? We keep that until the time you move out as a security against anything being . . .</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
um . . . missing?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As if anyone would want it, thought Felix, but he said nothing.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Laura brushed her long brown hair out of her eyes. She was animated.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ready for action.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Right, I’ll go back to the Hostal Alameda and tell Antonio that we will be leaving this weekend. Will that be alright?” It was the agent she spoke to, not Felix.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Perfect,” he said, “and if there is anything else I can do for you . . . .”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Felix was thinking towels, bedding, pots, pans, plates, but decided to leave that for Laura.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In fact, Felix wouldn’t have cared where they lived just so long as they were together. He was standing outside the real estate agent’s office. It was just five o’clock and a sudden downpour had just swept through and passed on, as rain always seemed to do in Santiago. Felix liked rain. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He especially liked the smell of the streets after a storm and he was inhaling deeply and thinking deep delighted thoughts. When Laura appeared with their cases—few enough: the Camino had taught them to travel light—he couldn’t quite suppress a smile of complete besottedness just at the sight of her.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“What?” Laura said, seeing his face.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Nothing,” said Felix knowing that his giddiness in love gave him away.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The paperwork was easy, the fees were handed over, and Felix suddenly found a key in his hand, a big key, an old-fashioned key. He expressed his concerns.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh don’t worry about that. We are an old city. We have old values. Crime is minimal. You two will be safe inside your four walls.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Had he said “lovenest” Felix wouldn’t have been surprised. Romanticism was imbedded in the fabric of Compostela.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The simply beautiful and atmospheric painting is by Paco Quirri. I looked for a web address to ask for permission to use it but couldn´t find any reference, so Paco, I hope you don´t have any objection... </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-63210457924319639072012-09-14T23:59:00.000+02:002012-09-23T20:31:12.403+02:00St James´ Rooster Chapter One continues...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7bvaApUi90dc1lz-zQIrokfRJzvwJ2JkrIjaa5wdk1S3bzcpd8DPJaN88e04ji64yRK6GGHvo-dPXEXO2aRwnMVgvoNAdicXZt7C1uYNmbYBbWYQrknAOp-6oHLso1p4ZMTrKgD_6tg/s1600/teaching-English.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7bvaApUi90dc1lz-zQIrokfRJzvwJ2JkrIjaa5wdk1S3bzcpd8DPJaN88e04ji64yRK6GGHvo-dPXEXO2aRwnMVgvoNAdicXZt7C1uYNmbYBbWYQrknAOp-6oHLso1p4ZMTrKgD_6tg/s200/teaching-English.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In fact, Felix wouldn’t have cared where they lived just so long as they were together. He was standing outside the real estate agent’s office. It was just five o’clock and a sudden downpour had just swept through and passed on, as rain always seemed to do in Santiago. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Felix liked rain. He especially liked the smell of the streets after a storm and he was inhaling deeply and thinking deep delighted thoughts. When Laura appeared with their cases—few enough: the Camino had taught them to travel light—he couldn’t quite suppress a smile of complete besottedness just at the sight of her.</div>
<br />
“What?” Laura said, seeing his face.<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Nothing,” said Felix knowing that his giddiness in love gave him away.The paperwork was easy, the fees were handed over, and Felix suddenly found a key in his hand, a big key, an old-fashioned key. He expressed his concerns.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh don’t worry about that. We are an old city. We have old values. Crime is minimal. You two will be safe inside your four walls.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Had he said “lovenest” Felix wouldn’t have been surprised. Romanticism was imbedded in the fabric of Compostela.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
“So you don’t actually have a CELTA certificate?”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The woman on the other side of the desk loaded with CV’s was looking like she had no intention of offering Felix the teaching job.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“No, as I told you, I have a Degree in Teaching English as a Second Language. It sort of trumps a CELTA.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Trumps” was not a word in the señora’s vocabulary. That much was evident. “We are looking for someone with either a CELTA or a DELTA certificate.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Felix was at a loss to explain that a CELTA certificate took six weeks whereas his own degree was a full year’s enterprise. It was the second time that day. The third time that week. He thought, not for the first time, about private teaching.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“We’ll be . . . in touch,” she ended.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Outside at the restaurant next door, Felix looked into his café sombra.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Shit!” he said.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Once he had been under qualified. Now he was “Over Qualified”. If I had known when I was qualified I would have quit school, he thought.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Laura, however had good news.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Guess what!” she said as he threw his portfolio and rain jacket on the rickety (and unsitable on) chair by the door.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He put his arms around her. He felt her littleness against himself. She was of average height but to his six foot two always seemed small when her head met his chest. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Tell me,” he said. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Well, and this won’t mean much to you . . .”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Try me . . .</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Peter Callaghan is going to be one of my thesis advisors!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Um, yes . . . ?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Felix! He’s a genius. A medieval scholar from Trinity College . . . that’s Dublin!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yes, I’ve heard of Trinity College.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“He’s here on Sabbatical, and when he heard I was writing about feudal Galicia he offered to tutor me. Isn’t that great? What’s wrong?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Felix wondered when exactly after he met Laura his poker face had vanished.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Of course it is. That’s fantastic,” he said. “The job interview: Don’t mind me. Another ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you.’”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Laura smothered his response with kisses. “Don’t worry. They just don’t appreciate your greatness,” she said.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yep, Felix the Great, he thought with some regret for the past. But not much.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“We have to celebrate! Come on, the best meal Casa Manolo has to offer is on me.” He said and for a moment he reminded himself that nothing could go wrong with this incredible life he had found, or his relationship with this incredible woman he had married.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Do you love me?” Laura asked, after they had finished lovemaking in the narrow bed that night.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If I could ever love anything or anyone again, I love you, he thought.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Don’t be daft,” he said.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Dear Mr. Stephenson: (The letter said . . .)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We are pleased to be able to offer you the position of English teacher. Your classes will be predominantly First Certificate and Proficiency although we are hoping you will be able to fill in one period weekly for the children’s English teacher who is on Maternity Leave until September.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yours Sincerely,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
CollegeEnglish.es</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Laura! I’m in!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Felix didn’t look forward to the dinner party. It wasn’t that he was shy (far from it). It wasn’t even that he doubted his abilities in Spanish (he did). It was more the fact that all six invited were Laura’s fellow graduate students and professors from the university and here he felt a bit at a loss. A lot at a loss.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“What am I going to talk to them about?” he said.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh Felix,” said Laura as she planted a kiss on his ginger beard (did she see the grey hairs appearing?) “No-one expects you to talk “medieval”. What would Miranda say? ‘Be Yourself!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Miranda and Kieran had walked with them last year along the Camino.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When they started he had known Kieran for many years and he had seen their love grow (almost eclipsed by his own) in the last 100 or so kilometres. Now Miranda was about to give birth at any time and despite the remission of Kieran’s leukaemia, he knew that they must sometimes think of their time together as somewhat borrowed. He reminded himself of that now.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“You’re right. That old Felix charm. I’m sure it’s in there somewhere.” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But the look on her face told him that both were really wondering at this point.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Well, whatever,” Laura said vaguely. “Good food to be had though!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That at least increased Felix’s spirits considerably.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-59985105286253248272012-08-30T05:44:00.003+02:002012-09-23T20:45:05.723+02:00St James´Rooster crows this morning...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00pwxQKSwj_DSS6UweHgxVnAdPR6tqwYHQBIa2VYY0WARLB4HHypNSaKHGgLkBbFgC8HD5xw45qy_gPvFA1nJsvClQj5lhixZ18FUdEIYpeFrFhvWg0m6DE7ZMWkATFzDHtSmC0qDlzM/s1600/SJR_Cover_complete.20520835_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00pwxQKSwj_DSS6UweHgxVnAdPR6tqwYHQBIa2VYY0WARLB4HHypNSaKHGgLkBbFgC8HD5xw45qy_gPvFA1nJsvClQj5lhixZ18FUdEIYpeFrFhvWg0m6DE7ZMWkATFzDHtSmC0qDlzM/s200/SJR_Cover_complete.20520835_std.jpg" width="141" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Click image to enlarge</b> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It is ridiculously late (or early depending on your perspective) and I have finally gotten around to posting the announcement of my new book entitled St James´Rooster. I am a night owl. It's when I write.
Who, what, where, when and why?
Without Archbishop Diego Gelmirez de Compostela your Camino most likely would have not taken place, neither would you be planning it: Rome, maybe. Jerusalem, perhaps. Or maybe you would be headed out to hike in the foothills of the Himalayas or the Appalacian Way, or the Bruce Trail, or ... well the world is a big one.
But this curious, almost "secular" "pilgrimage" we call El Camino de Santiago? No, without Diego Gelmirez, that would have been lost in the mists of antiquity and obscurity for want of "proof". You would never have heard of it.
There isn't any, proof that is, you see. Between the time of James´execution in Jerusalem and the so-called "discovery" of "his tomb" (the Spanish word is "<i>inventio") </i>not one single historian or churchman spoke of any possibility of his having been buried in Spain and a few not un-notables said he had never preached here at all! And when you think about it, why would the body of a saint who - if indeed he was ever here (and formerly in the Greek it was thought to be St Paul who might have visited Spain) - made at most nine converts then went back to Jerusalem where he met his ultimate fate.
Stone boat etc.? Why bring his body back to a Pagan land? The burials around the tomb are 4th century - the time of Priscillian - not first!
Anyway to the 12th century: Diego and his "spin doctors", the authors of the Historia Compostelana gave us that proof. And fascinating reading it is too. But not a word is true.
Much has been made of the theft last year of the Codex Calixtinus and its recovery (thank Heaven and the Guardia Civil) this year. What is little known though is that this also was written at the behest of Diego Gelmirez and was (falsely) called after Pope Calixtinus who would never have set eyes on it as he died well before it was begun. Likewise, the Historia Compostelana was written to secure a name in history for St James, Compostela and perhaps not least for Diego himself who brought this little known town into international fame as the "final resting place of the remains of St. James". The rest of it - lacking written evidence - he had made up! It took more than 20 years of persuasion to get the Pope to admit that an apostle of Jesus may have been buried there (to gain what was termed Apostolic Status, something no Pope in more than 200 year had been prepared to do) and even then (in 1122) needed a Pope who was kin to the king's son-in-law who just happened to have been Diego´s benefactor but hey: this was the Middle Ages!
And the Matamoros story? Historians doubt that this battle ever too place but if it did it was King Ordoño and not Ramiro who fought it and that several years later. The spin doctors got this one quite wrong, but I am sure it served well enough when the Moors were at the gate, and they were not far off.
St James´Rooster is the story of this man: Bishop, then with much persuasion, Archbishop Diego Gelmirez, a monster, a genius, a misunderstood reformer but one who always turned up on the winning side, somehow. And perhaps the self-intended architect of an obvious fraud. We don´t know. Does it matter? Maybe not... But his story has been all but lost in English and it deserves to be retold. I started researching him with the idea that I woud dislike him intensely and I ended up with a sincere respect for the man.
What remains a puzzle is what happened to him after he died? What happened to the last two years of the Historia Compostelana? This is MUCH more interesting that the Codex Calixtinus...lost or found! How come, ater 40 years as bishop and even more as the most powerful man in the kingdom, could he have just...disappeared...PPFFFF!
Like Kaiser Sjose? (You HAVE seen The Usual Suspects???)
Where is he buried?
Nobody knows...
If you are a fan of Pilgrimage to Heresy (or if you have yet to discover the real person whose remains lie in the cathedral in Compostela) you will welcome the return of Felix and his lady, Laura in this mew book.Laura returns to do her doctorate at the University of Santiago but all is not well. Felix finds himself on the Camino again - this time the Portuguese.
Armchair pilgrim or planning, about to walk or walking, or an "alumnus"of the Camino: Believe me... this is not like your Brierly, but it is a story you won´t forget.
PS: Just for you...first few chapters will be serialised starting September 1st.
.</div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-44886806484070171672012-08-21T16:29:00.001+02:002012-09-23T20:13:49.010+02:00Mea Culpa...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0DDd7zwhz56jfUhBcqOIdBe8O3lTO7kfF6uQBrHc-p5Xywx3cNBLM_9C5J4kinj-PBeNC1yYTYGrjM5hpeWVx33OHvRyETd9FY6iDHINso8-FRWATC0KhAPxhQsuDQ3OMBizds4lvys/s1600/Budi%25C3%25B1o+concert+Front+row+centre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0DDd7zwhz56jfUhBcqOIdBe8O3lTO7kfF6uQBrHc-p5Xywx3cNBLM_9C5J4kinj-PBeNC1yYTYGrjM5hpeWVx33OHvRyETd9FY6iDHINso8-FRWATC0KhAPxhQsuDQ3OMBizds4lvys/s200/Budi%25C3%25B1o+concert+Front+row+centre.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My most sincere apologies, and most especially to those of you who are followers: I have been neglectful in my blogging duties. Por mi gran culpa...It has been four months since my last confession...er, blogpost!
But if you had been around here at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheLittleFoxHouse?ref=hl">The Little Fox House</a> in Carantoña you would surely offer me your full forgiveness. Yesterday was the first day since early May that I have not been sharing my life and home with pilgrims from the Camino de Santiago post Fisterra or Muxia (and occasionally straight from Sangtiago de Compostela itself).
My what a lot of fun this has been...and not over yet by any means.
I have hosted pilgrims from countries as far apart as Columbia and India, Croatia and Canada and all have enriched my life immeasurably in their own individual ways. We have had yoga sessions at the church, sound healing, many discussions and gardening sessions (we are restoring the church gardens which were even more negected than my blog!), some hypnosis where needed, and some great History and Mystery Tours to castles and castros, churches and lighthouses, and some wonderful trips to the most beautiful beaches imaginable.
For myself, I have been working hard to establish my language school in Vimianzo: <a href="http://www.headstartcentres.org/">Headstart Centro de Idiomas</a>. And in the last week I can finally announce the publication of both of my new books: the long awaited <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">St James´Rooster </a>(about more tomorrow) and my long out-of-print autobiographical <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">The Indalo Quest</a> which tells the story of how this writer left the jungles of Costa Rica and set up a new life in Granada, Spain. About this too, much later.
September approaches. In the eight and a half months since I left Marbella to move here to Galicia so much has happened: I am meeting new people, all fired with the same enthusiasm for the Camino as I am. I am just beginning to pick up a bit of Gallego and am even thinking about learning to play the gaita (Galician bagpipes) in the fall if I have an evening spare! ("Can you play the flute" said the man in the music shop when I bought my guitar. "Yes", I said, meaning the recorder, as he was. "Then you can play the gaita", he replied.)
Such a good life...
More very soon...
Promise.
PS: The photo is taken from one of the highlights of my summer so far: Xose Manuel Budiño and Kepa Junquera ("Jai Galai") concert at the Plaza Quintana beside the cathedral in S de C in July: that's me, the token blonde, front row just a bit to the right. I clapped my hands so hard that I had a bruise beside my ring finger for days! I´ve never before been to a concert where the "star" took a photo of the audience! Genial..!
.
</div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-77386813260744385582012-04-26T12:06:00.000+02:002012-09-23T20:40:14.533+02:00The Joy of Blog<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4o8zmKR-Y0WtgbXyBriOcwnNmvxcFx7eb2Y4qG1ZRCrS7OR19t4mQKnWNOQTVTLBd_LR0B4HUuzBDxyNhus5s6WbjiRPkngv9SfsSFlwdQiTgQuxBoOvJRbgRIjdQzG53qhrq-REhEfc/s1600/Stats+april+26.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4o8zmKR-Y0WtgbXyBriOcwnNmvxcFx7eb2Y4qG1ZRCrS7OR19t4mQKnWNOQTVTLBd_LR0B4HUuzBDxyNhus5s6WbjiRPkngv9SfsSFlwdQiTgQuxBoOvJRbgRIjdQzG53qhrq-REhEfc/s200/Stats+april+26.bmp" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Click image to enlarge</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
One of things about this Blogging thing I find most gratifying is the extraordinary number of nationalities of my visitors. Not all are drawn because of the <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">Camino de Santiago </a>connections either although my post on <b>The Scallop Shell of Love</b> is probably one of the most popular. Another one is <b>Trasna: The Crossing Place</b>, a beautiful poem by Sister Rafael Considine. I was at a local flea market once and noticed a painting on canvas of a simple wooden bridge and a path leading onwards around trhe corner and into the trees. "That's Trasna!" I said. It put me in mind of the ancient bridge you encounter by the shrine just heading out of Tui on the Camino Portuguese. I bought it of course, and now it is on the stairs just as you enter the pilgrim loft at <a href="http://http//www.pilgrimagetoheresy.blogspot.com.es/p/casa-do-raposito-little-fox-house.html">The Little Fox House</a>.
My series of LIVE blogs from the Camino Portuguese also attract a fair number of visitors. I have walked the Frances, the Aragones, and a goodly stretch from Le Puy and I can never repeat my first Camino experience,(although I did relive it writing Miranda's story in <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">Pilgrimage to Heresy</a>) but I still recommend the Portuguese as a good first Camino. The albergues are never crowded, the terrain is gentle, the food is good (and the beer is cheap!) and the people are very helpful. It was on the Camnino Portuguese that I met my friend <b>Fernanda</b> who opens her home and her heart to pilgrims every day of the year just 22 klms from Barcelos. I have been back several times to see her and always am welcomed as one of the family. So very special!
In fact, it has been folks like Fernanda, Jacinto and Mariana their dancing daughter, and Rebekah Scott and Paddy at Moratinos on the Camino Frances who inspired me to move to the Camino de Muxia and open my own home to pilgrims despues (after) they have finished their Camino. A Casa do Raposito (The House of the Little Fox) is my attempt to "give back" to what the Camino has taught me. The idea of opening a <a href="http://http//www.pilgrimagetoheresy.blogspot.com.es/p/casa-do-raposito-little-fox-house.html">"Post-Camino Sanctuary"</a> has been in my mind for 13 years now, but I needed to see how to do it - i.e. not as an albergue but as a form of "homestay" before I could make my decision to pull up (very shallow) roots in Marbella and dig a deep hole here in Carantona. I love it!
So back to my stats: there are 21 countries represented today. Twenty One! And that doesn't include the "unknowns" or the others who have visited before: Korea, Russia, Japan, other countries in Africa and S.E. Asia and S. America. I’ve had visitors from India and Saudi Arabia and even a few from The Vatican! At times the Canadian number is much higher, and at one time I was getting a full 25% visitors from Australia. It is a seasonal thing. Americans remain the highest with a generally high proportion of visitors from the UK. Believe me, I think about each visitor and picture your surroundings as you enter my world. You are all very much appreciated; all 11,000 plus of you in two and a half years. I hope one day to meet you at The Little Fox House, but please don't all come at once. There are only 14 people in the whole village!
I am currently putting the final touches to the manuscripts of two books, <a href="http://www.pilgrimagetoheresy.com/">St James' Rooster</a> - my novel which concerns first archbishop of Santiago, Diego Gelmirez - and The Indalo Quest. Both of these will be available in English in June and as <a href="http://www.http//www.editorialboveda.es/wp1/?p=178">El Gallo de Santiago</a>, "Rooster" will be published in Spanish in September. I hope you will join me on those journeys too.
I shall be continuing to blog about the History and Mystery Tours in the Costa da Morte, something I hope to be offering to those of you who can pass my way. There is so much of natural beauty, culture and history here I just have to share. The next one will be about Castros: those vestiges of a Celtic past which can be found all over Galicia and particularly here on the Costa da Morte.
In the meantime, please do keep coming. And remember to leave a comment as feedback is every writer's reward. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-38924798326505089062012-04-08T21:40:00.009+02:002012-09-23T20:41:09.834+02:00The Madwoman of Carantoña, or how Camelia's Babies Found Homes...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUCC3MwLGl7dYmLZS6rUahUKyvEOAZWj-VQPiJCjfELIA50xnvAI7vpcQBx97IEjOQVNsrZpfn8PG2dM_Jp-tkD_mREzmpOzVnZmxPXQQ8nUysI0zpcrxM1KCRqgLVTFzj32i2LkWDbY/s1600/Carantona+790.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="152" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5729118013528256882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUCC3MwLGl7dYmLZS6rUahUKyvEOAZWj-VQPiJCjfELIA50xnvAI7vpcQBx97IEjOQVNsrZpfn8PG2dM_Jp-tkD_mREzmpOzVnZmxPXQQ8nUysI0zpcrxM1KCRqgLVTFzj32i2LkWDbY/s200/Carantona+790.jpg" style="float: left; height: 260px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 340px;" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Where to start?</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I left Marbella, I had to find a home for Ruby, my lop-eared rabbit, with whom I had frequently learned humility (rabbits are the most misunderstood animals in the world)and frequently cursed for over four years, especially after the last of my ADSL cables got chewed in half! </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I missed her.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In addition to the donkey next door at A Caso do Raposito in Carantona, there appeared some hens and five rabbits. Then four rabbits, then three ... well you get the idea. Rabbit is a delicacy here in Galicia. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Finally we were down to one white rabbit with skew-wop ears and pink eyes who had become my special friend. I went away to Malaga.I said to my daughter: “If she is still there when I get back I am going to ask Alberto if I can buy her and maybe keep her where she is, with the hens.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Well, guess what? I approached Alberto: “Don’t laugh,” I said (he did; totally cracked up), “but I would like to buy this rabbit, as a pet.” When he had straightened up, he said: <em>“Ay mujer. Es un regalo!” </em>(She’s a gift.) Camelia – for her pink eyes: the flor de Galicia - became mine.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
All well and good until three days later she began to tear out chunks of fur: “She is making a nest,” said Alberto: “I think she is pregnant”.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Sure enough, on St.Paddy’s Day there is not one rabbit there are .... many squirmy little things under the fur and hay nest.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I approached Alberto with certain concerns, he shrugged his shoulders: “They’re yours now,” he said.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What can I say? Like a proud Grandmommarabbit , I waited for them to look less like foetuses and more like rabbits (mice actually); I couldn’t wait for them to open their eyes! And when “Harris”, my favourite, (a little brown and white guy with great markings and an adventurous spirit – I like that in a rabbit) was the first to put his head out of the nesting box – you can imagine how my heart beat with pride.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the last week, they have become a bit a nuisance to Camelia who clearly is a Feminist rabbit. They have started to eat “<em>grelos</em>” (Galician cabbages, which is a good thing because here we grow little else) and my nightly carrots and apple are a big hit. So, Mama is no longer necessary and waiting for a reprieve.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I think it is time for them to have new homes,” I said to Balbina, Alberto’s mom, yesterday.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Now, first I have to explain: as far as Alberto was concerned they were no concern of his. But, Balbina is a Gallego widow. She dresses in Black. And (forgive me but I must) she knows the value of a buck.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I should have seen it coming: “The mother is yours, of course,” she said, “but the babies are mine. Soon we will take them from her and fatten them up with corn.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“To eat?” I said. It was probably rhetorical. It was certainly pre-hysterical.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“<em>Si</em>!” said Balbina, rubbing her substantial tummy. “<em>Y muy ricos!”</em>They were going to take my babies and ......<em>ay que no puede ser...!</em>“</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I want to buy them,” I said trying to keep the tears from my eyes. OK, so it was a bit impulsive.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“<em>Pues...” </em>said Balbina suddenly turning into Shylock: “they are worth 6 euros a kilo when they are grown.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
A kilo ... oh my! Pass me the smelling salts!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I’ll give you 10 euros each,” I said. “Eighty euros for all of them.” Meanwhile my other self was saying: “Are you MAD!!!?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I’ll have to talk to Alberto,” was the reply and sure enough, a half an hour later I had legal ownership of all eight of the rabbits I had formerly worried about finding homes for!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Today, I took the whole rabbit kit and caboodle to Santiago de Compostela. They stayed in the car park while I went to mass, but then I skrewed up my courage and retrieved them. “Where shall we go?” I asked them.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By that time, the cathedral steps were almost empty. I walked for a time realising that people were attracted to the sign but that no-body had` tried to wrest the cat carrier full of conejitos from my grasp. I chose a space where the two main streets divide in the old town. I sat....</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For two minutes! I attracted a crowd. “<em>Ayyyy! Que bonitos son...” </em>and she took Harris, my favourite; the only male and the only one I had named.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
WELL! If I could only do a book signing with this success. At one time there were two women arguing over which white ones to take. “<em>Ayyyyyy. Que preciosa!,” </em>she looked at her husband/partner. “<em>Podemos...?”“Si te quieres.....”</em>Finally, there was one white one left. The rest had `gone in under 30 minutes complete with my favourite shoes’ boxes (my beautiful and expensive Georges Reichs are now <em>desnudo</em> in the closet). One lovely gay waiter finally gave in: “I had to wait for my break,” he said. <em>“Ayyyyyyy, que preciosa!” </em>He gave me my only donation: Five euros .(I didn’t really press the point).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
40 minutes, no mas!!! I had made the reverse of an investment by 5 euros. And I could not have been happier if I tried!!! Eight baby rabbits with homes; eight people really happy with their new pets. If there was money in this I might throw over the writing game and...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
People were SO grateful when I wanted to be so grateful to them, for restoring my faith in humanity and reminding me that not EVERYONE licks their lips when they see rabbits. The horror on their faces when I pointed out the part on the sign which said: <em>“No somos para comer”</em> (we are not for eating) reminded me that some creatures – maybe just the cute ones, I don’t know – are just untouchable when it comes to butchering and eating.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What a great way to spend Easter Sunday!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But Camelia’s sex life is OVER!!!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is now a pig next door... I have given him a name too. It is “Roast”.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>Nunca Mais!!!</em> Galego por: Never Again!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-65961452334879010062012-03-17T19:32:00.007+01:002012-09-23T20:29:06.886+02:00Santiago Pilgrims: Are you ready to go home yet?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEx060fSc8jJHhaCgP411JT-cimaqoOywfio2ckAFRJMv61YLBvzdls2dGp4Nb960zZCwp6oxbyUIKW25Rq9wt_1jjtw330ThdgvDgbJQ0JBN6be-lo263xVhiRTBlDTuw2yjy4v0_vY/s1600/Carantona+105.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720945189385178946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEx060fSc8jJHhaCgP411JT-cimaqoOywfio2ckAFRJMv61YLBvzdls2dGp4Nb960zZCwp6oxbyUIKW25Rq9wt_1jjtw330ThdgvDgbJQ0JBN6be-lo263xVhiRTBlDTuw2yjy4v0_vY/s320/Carantona+105.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you look over to the right, you will see that I have added a new page for A Casa do Raposito (orange link and underlined), a Post-Camino pilgrim retreat near Muxia and as far as I know the only one of its kind. Just click on the link to learn more. It has been my dream for many years to be able to offer a place such as this: a place to rest, to read or write, to walk without having to get up at 5:00 a.m., to relax and to discuss with others your experiences, or to remain silent: we won't bother you. Maybe you might even like to go fishing? That too can be arranged!</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I shall be working on a web page shortly and Foxy will also have his own Facebook page very soon...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am also offering to take guests on "History and Mystery" tours to places you would never find alone, even with a car. All is on a "Donativo" (donation) basis and includes meals. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Wouldn't you like to stay for just a little longer...?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.</div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-73039266536097634802012-03-17T19:11:00.005+01:002012-09-23T20:29:35.350+02:00The ship that never should have been...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9kj11wB-LRP7sFxuONgovM-rb8yv6liOHPyenf8zZGFYa_Pn21ta67h7-pAQJAFUJT2RQ595vC8KD8GPjNsMjII7tGvq4z2eWj4GBfqkf1e_8N7RvPe2I5atSqfDQ-wXO7JSrp1_e0A/s1600/the+HMS+Captain.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5720930849795867714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF9kj11wB-LRP7sFxuONgovM-rb8yv6liOHPyenf8zZGFYa_Pn21ta67h7-pAQJAFUJT2RQ595vC8KD8GPjNsMjII7tGvq4z2eWj4GBfqkf1e_8N7RvPe2I5atSqfDQ-wXO7JSrp1_e0A/s320/the+HMS+Captain.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you just did a double take at the odd design of this ship maybe you might like to ask yourself why. Yes, that is a separate deck below and those odd –looking round things are actually gun turrets. The HMS Captain was a ship designed to revolutionize battle at sea. Within months she would lay on the bottom of the ocean off Cape Finisterre. This is her story. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unlike the Prestige or even the Serpent, I doubt you will have ever have heard it before. Yet she took almost 500 human souls – including that of her inventor's – to a watery grave off the Costa da Morte.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The HMS Captain should never have been built; but she was, though not without controversy. In fact, she became the result of a highly public dispute between Captain Cowper Coles, her designer who invented her revolving turrets, and the director of naval construction, Edward Reed, who insisted she was unstable and potentially dangerous. Coles had discovered the possibilities of floating rafts with shielded guns on a turntable during the Crimean War, but had remained on half-pay since then, promoting his inventions to Parliament and the press. Coles was ambitious and he was determined. Despite Reed's resistance, and the fact that Coles had already built a rigged ship with similar turrets – the HMS Monarch, which was of a different size and design entirely - Coles had enough clout with the Admiralty and with the public to get the chance to build a masted turret ship to suit his own fancy. With enormous public pressure and the backing of Parliament, the project got the nod in 1867. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
From the outset, the construction of the ship was problematic. Coles was ill during much of the construction and supervision was lax at best. Once completed, she was 740tons over her designed weight and so sat much lower in the water than her design allowed for. In fact, the main deck was often awash even in light seas. The Captain had a high centre of gravity due to her towering rig which was attached to the upper deck, thus justifying Reed's concern about her stability.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At first, it appeared that Coles was right in his claims that this was the ship of the future. She made a couple of successful short round trips to Vigo before joining the Channel fleet. But later, the commanding admiral who visited the ship during a voyage of the often treacherous Bay of Biscay remarked that the turret deck appeared to be perpetually awash (which if you look again at the picture is hardly surprising). </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the night of Sept. 6, 1870, while sailing off Cape Finisterre in a freshening gale, the Captain abruptly capsized and sank like a stone. She took with her 473 of her crew, including her captain, and Coles, who was on board as an observer on the voyage. Perhaps we should add, thankfully, as he did not survive to see what his stubbornness had done. There were only 18 survivors of the disaster, all of whom made it to a boat which which had pulled free of the sinking ship. They were rescued late the following day.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Captain affair became a long-lived naval controversy, and immediate steps were taken to improve the stability of warships built for the Royal Navy. Within decades, sail became a thing of the past though not before several equally strange looking vessels were brought before the Admiralty.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you go to St. Paul’s Cathedral you will see the Captain remembered in two side-by-side memorial plaques. The list of names seems to go on and on…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Arthur Hawkey, author of <em>HMS Captain</em> remarks on the book's cover: </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"On 30 April, 1870, when HMS Captain was commissioned, the ensign was accidentally hoisted upside down. Never has an omen been more tragically of swiftly fulfilled.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Eternal Father, strong to save,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave, </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Its own appointed limits keep;</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For those in peril on the sea!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Next castles and castros…</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8091486844395117421.post-826300844104741732012-03-04T02:16:00.006+01:002012-09-23T20:29:58.053+02:00Nunca Mais: The Prestige Oil Disaster<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_a8ZsLP3Yks9AOQy-X_VhdrE5e9_PxzzMBVE3-0XLH2Htgqip0QWVFpAugJIbJyiyzndi2pOJyvjF1L0UqroaX8juWVeXAiFhpM43T6-udqflPvBQEuG9cbu34BsczM2uq8vhUz7VTE/s1600/prestige_sinking_2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715845811605520418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_a8ZsLP3Yks9AOQy-X_VhdrE5e9_PxzzMBVE3-0XLH2Htgqip0QWVFpAugJIbJyiyzndi2pOJyvjF1L0UqroaX8juWVeXAiFhpM43T6-udqflPvBQEuG9cbu34BsczM2uq8vhUz7VTE/s320/prestige_sinking_2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 180px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 280px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It’s a windy night here in Galicia. The wind makes me think of those “in peril on the sea” as we used to sing in assembly when such things were not blighted by political correctness. It also serves to remind me that sometime back I began a series on shipwrecks of the Costa da Morte. There are literally hundreds, recently put together in an excellent book by my friend Rafael Lema. The most famous, or rather infamous, is probably the Prestige. In terms of loss of human life it cannot rank with The Serpent or the HMS Captain as mercifully no one lost their life as a direct fresult(the HMS Captain went down with 480 souls and about which later), but as an environmental and ecological disaster it is probably without equal.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The tanker Prestige was a Greek operated single-hulled ship which, by all accounts, should never have been on the high seas.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On the voyage in question in November 2002, it was carrying 77,000 metric tons of heavy oil when one of its tanks burst off the Galician Costa da Morte. The captain contacted the authorities with the news expecting that the ship would be brought into harbour. Captain Mangouras sought refuge for his seriously damaged vessel in a Spanish port: a request of which has deep historic roots. However, instead the ship was turned away not only from the Spanish coast but also the Portuguese where the naval authorities forced the vessel to once again change its course and head northwards. French opposition to having the ship in its ports left the Prestige with nowhere to go. On November 19th, having lost a substantial amount of its cargo, the ship split in half some 150 miles from the Galicia coastline.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
An earlier oil slick had already reached the coast. The Greek captain of the Prestige, Apostolos Mangouras, was taken into custody, accused of not co-operating with salvage crews and of harming the environment. After the sinking, the wreck continued leaking oil. It leaked approximately 125 tons of oil a day, which polluted the sea bed and contaminated the coastline, especially along the Costa da Morte of Galicia.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Initially, the government announced that 17,000 tons of oil had been lost, and that the remaining 60,000 tons would freeze and not leak from the sunken tanker. However, by early 2003, it was claimed that half of the oil had been lost. In subsequent investigations that figure has risen considerably to almost 90% of the Prestige’s cargo.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The immediate damage to those who depended upon the sea for their livelihood, and to habitats and wildlife was incalculable. While the governments of Galicia and Spain pondered what to do, thousands of volunteers were organized to help clean the affected coastline. As teams of volunteers cleared one thick coat of fuel from the sand another black wave would wash in.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In a region renowned for an abundance of fine fish and seafood, fishermen faced the though of complete ruin. Almost 26,000 people depend on the sea in Galicia for their livelihood, but as the slick spread all fishing was banned.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The massive cleaning campaign was a success, however, recovering most portions of coastline not only from the effects of the oil spill but also from the accumulated usual contamination, although even today, patches of oil and oil-covered rocks are still a common enough site on many beaches.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But according to recent BBC news story, a scientific study suggests clean-up workers may have been exposed unnecessarily to harm. Genotoxic analysis detected increased "damage values" in volunteers exposed to the oil over several months, suggesting a higher risk of certain illnesses, including cancer.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Although the oil covered 100's of miles of coastline, the environmental damage caused by the Prestige was most severe in the coast of Galicia, where local activists founded the environmental movement Nunca Máis (Galician for Never Again), to denounce the passiveness of the conservative government regarding the disaster. The cost of the clean-up to the Galician coast alone has been estimated at €2.5 billion. The clean-up of the Exxon Valdez cost US$3 billion. Because of the colder temperature of the waters off the Canadian west coast, the oil from the Exxon Valdez was said to be easier to contain. In the immediate aftermath of the Prestige incident, rescue teams found more than 22,000 dead birds. It is thought that was a fraction of the total number killed. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Unlike the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, where BP is having to foot a huge bill for compensation, the complexities of international shipping meant Spain only recovered a small percentage of the estimated 660m euros ($832m; £541m) worth of damage caused by the Prestige.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
For most Galicians, the trial of the tanker's captain and crew - and the director of Merchant Shipping in Madrid - is about getting answers, not money. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They want to know who was responsible, and they demand reassurance such an accident could never be repeated. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
.</div>
Tracy Saunders.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02784830597296006066noreply@blogger.com0