Pamplona

So, here's the story about Pamplona.


When I graduated from Marblehead High, Class of '69, I was directionless and had pretty crappy grades. The guidance counselor told me my only choice was to go to a junior college somewhere to try to get the grades acceptable for a 4 year college down the road, but really, why bother when I would probably just get married anyway? It was bleak. Since I had received great training in typing and shorthand from Mrs. Homan at MHS, I ended up working as a Kelly Girl (a temp agency from back in the day -- do they still exist?) and as a waitress (the "worst waitress in the whole world" according to the chef). After a year of this nonsense, my father found out about a course for foreigners offered at the Universidad de Navarra in Pamplona, Spain. I was a naive 18 year old who thought it would be "fun." I had had two years of Spanish, getting an A the first year and a D the second. Imagine how much Spanish I spoke. Basically, nada.

I spent the first semester in a dorm run by Mexican nuns with a 10 PM curfew. I remember trying to register for class and being asked to bring in 4 ID photos and I burst into tears! Where and how was I supposed to get those?? I cried myself to sleep for the first two months -- it was so hard to be in a foreign country where I couldn't do ANYTHING most American college kids were doing!!

One of the things people do a lot in Spain is barhop. When I'd go out with a group of kids, I'd order Coke because I didn't know anything about the little shot-glasses of wine the Spanish kids drank. After several of these outings, one of the guys took me aside and got me to understand that my ordering Cokes was killing them -- the Coke cost about a dollar and the little wines cost only five cents!! Who knew?

Of course the 10 PM curfew was killing me. One afternoon I noticed a door with a key in it, so later that night another girl and I snuck out. This wasn't easy, because the dorm was about 2 miles from town, surrounded by nothing but tilled fields of mud. We managed to find my friend's boyfriend, who promptly drove us back to the dorm! The next morning we were asked to move out. So there I was, 18 and never having looked for an apartment, trying to find one by speaking ridiculous broken Spanish!

Fast forward a couple of years. I became so fluent in Spanish that, when people on the street stopped me to ask directions, they would note a slight lilt to my speech and ask me if I were Basque! I lived for 5 years under the dictator Generalisimo Francisco Franco, and then another 4 years as that beautiful country found its way to social democracy.

More stories to follow, as they come to me.

Europe 2009 final week

Because I go back to Spain so often, I never seem to take photos anymore. This is the view of Greenland we got on the flight home. Funny to be flying over Greenland.

Spain is my home away from home. When I was 18 I went to college there, and although I didn't finish at that time, I remained in Pamplona for 9 years. One of the things I find most important is to nurture friendships, so I still to this day have great friends who feed me and house me when I go back. There is something terribly important to me about being with people who knew me when I was young and adventurous, long hair streaming, hitch-hiking to Morocco or Germany on a whim. Those friends are such a joy to be around, because in my mind we are all still in our twenties. Just because our faces don't match, doesn't mean we aren't the same "kids" we always were! I love to see how smart and successful they are, and that they have wonderful and good lives. We are all so very very lucky.

When I got to Madrid, I had to spend one night in a pension because my friends were out of town and I was seeing them on my way home. The pension I found was right next to Atocha train station, because I was catching a 7:30 AM train to Pamplona. Oh man, this pension was a riot! Of course it was in the old section of Madrid (well, it's ALL old over there, but you know what I mean), cobblestone streets, lots of bars and restaurants and street activity, the pension up one floor. My suitcase was huge (for me), but I got it up the flight, registered, and was shown to my room. The door to my room was so narrow that both my suitcase and I had to turn sideways to get in! It couldn't have been more than six feet square, with a bed crammed between two walls, a miniature shower and ridiculously tiny sink. The toilet was down the hall. This room cost me $55, and all I could picture was the fairly nice Holiday Inn room I could get in Denver for $49.95. The doll-sized TV was perched atop the armoire (oh yes, an armoire AND a nightstand were crammed in there!) It was hilarious.

A week in Pamplona followed, where I was treated like a queen as always. I got to see several old friends, ate all my favorite foods (including bleu cream cheese, locally made chorizo, and the best chocolate in the world). The food of northern Spain is so delicious, and I try to replicate it but can never get it just right. Tapas have become elaborate mini-meals, and are irresistible. I spent most of the time walking around my neighborhood, which is the oldest part of Pamplona and where the bulls run every July. Pamplona's old town is being renovated beautifully, with all the facades of the ancient buildings getting fresh faces and new, safe balconies for bull-watching. The Cathedral, too, is getting a facelift and all the bells are being refurbished, so there was a bell concert on the last day they were there before being removed. I lived no farther than 500 yards from that Cathedral for 7 of my 9 years there, so as I listened to those bells I felt as though I was truly home again. Next time I go to Pamplona, they will be back inside a beautifully restored Cathedral. I can't wait!