April 19 2015

April 19, 2015

The saying goes, "I slept like a log." Oddly enough, it's the same expression in Spanish. The other one which is older,  but not so common is; "I slept like a top." Anyway you put it, after a full day of walking on the Witty Walk,  my Saturday night finished with exhilaration and a very sound sleep. 

The plan for Sunday was for Marta, Jordi and me to meet up at the Tram stop near Marta's house. She was going to drive her car, the little red wagon, to Verges.  The village where Jordi's mother, Montse (short for Montserrat) lives.  We were delivering an elephant that lives in the room of today's elderly. 

This elephant was one of those things designed to assist invalids. It was a seat on wheels, complete with a built-in chamber pot, just in case.  Jordi had gotten it for his father. He had built a curb-less shower for his wheel bound father and this seat was how he went about getting him from his wheelchair and into the shower. After his father passed away, he loaned it to Marta, who's father was in a similar situation.  Marta's father  passed away in March, so it was time to return the seat, making it available for Jordi's mother. She didn't need it yet, but her spring chicken days were well behind her. 

I've been watching people get old, but not just old, very old. The thing that strikes me the most is how ill prepared they are for it. They may have their finances and bequeathments in order, but they seem genuinely surprised at the degree their bodies and minds will betray them. This surprise is often coupled with a denial of the reality that will befall them. 

I have talked at length with other children of elderly parents and the consensus is the same. Our parents were not prepared or accepting of the inevitable. Throw  some foolish pride into this mix and you have elderly people who seem hell bent on making old age as difficult and dreary as possible.  Once you dig into the why of why they act the way they do, you see it has more to do with generational juxtaposition than anything else. 

Their generation didn't experience the affects that extreme old age brings about, because people died much younger then, so there were not many old children taking care of elderly parents. Then there is pride. Pride is a component of ego, but it shouldn't be a dominate force. In previous generations ego was pride and pride was ego. Pride has a place in one's ego, but once it takes control of it, then sensibility suffers.   

Marta & Jordi

When we delivered the seat to the house, it was very important to Jordi, that his mother not see it. She would freak out, he said. Why I wondered to myself. Jordi knew why.  He was bringing the elephant into the house and his mother, like his father,  was not of the generation who could accept it. 

Me & Marta

Marta and I had each been to the house in Verges before, but we had never been to the roof top terrace, so today was the day.  It's a small space with a nice view out over the rooftops. Jordi is working on putting up a safety rail, so he needn't worry about people taking that big wrong step. Our tour finished, we all got in the car and headed off to lunch in a neighboring village. 

After lunch we stopped at one of Montse's favorite stops in the area.  A local farm that raises ostriches along with a wide variety of other creatures. While Jordi and Marta talked to the

owner about all things ostrich,  I wandered around getting mud on my shoes and looking at all the animals. He didn't have a lot of any one type, but he had the ones his customers wanted.  According to him, Muslims prefer to buy the male of the animal species they want to eat, so he raises a lot of male animals for the Muslim butchers. A little fun filled fact I hadn't heard of. Of course,  there would be no end to the off color jokes derived from eating Rams, Bulls and Roosters, but apparently that group of people don't laugh much and certainly not at themselves. 

Our little farm tour complete, we went back to the house and said goodby to Montse.  Now we were off on our drive. We had intended to go to the seaside and maybe even have a swim, but an overcast sky was threatening more rain. Hopefully it wouldn't hail again, like it had on the way to Verges.  The rain and hail held off, but the beach was not the place to go. 

We headed into the El Daró River Valley, to a restored castle, that has been transformed into a hotel, restaurant and the place you go for that very special occasion. In particular, weddings. To our good fortune, there wasn't a wedding there, and the place was almost empty, so we could roam it's immaculate grounds and public spaces, at will.   If you have always wanted to stay in a lovely room in a castle tower, they have a few. Unlike the Tower of London though, you get to keep your head. Your money is a different matter all together. 

El Daró River Valley

The Dragon from beyond

Like most castles in Spain, it was built on the top of a hill that could command a view of the valley as well as provide additional defense. The view out over the valley was magnificent. That area has been compared with The Tuscany region of Italy.  There was one last bit of trivia that we learned on our way out. The logo for the castle is a dragon, which came from the days when if people didn't know what lie beyond their geographical knowledge, it was assumed to be inhabited by dragons. 

Jordi guided us down the little dirt road to our next destination. The  village of Peratallada.  

This medieval village was built on the site is a bedrock outcropping that had served as a quarry for centuries. The mote carved out of solid stone served as a testament to man's perseverance. Especially in light of the rather primitive tools available at the time.  As we entered through the great wall that once encircled the village, the wagon ruts in solid stone reminded me of the wagon ruts I saw in Wyoming last summer.  

The pink hunchback of Peratallada

Peratallada is now a tourist destination and so it has prospered and been able to put itself in good order. Evening was coming on and it was getting chilly. Jordi left Verges without a coat, so he ended up with the spare blanket from Marta's car. His impromptu cloak fit in rather well with the ambiance of the village.  As we walked around the outside the wall, we came across a dilapidated old farm and house just outside one of the village gates.  We wandered around it enjoying its rustic charm. There was a for sale sign on it, so of course that set up the notion, "what if."  It's a good thing notions are

Rustic Charm

just a different form of fantasy and not a compulsion. Given its current state of disrepair, it would be my life's work. Oh wait! I've seen that movie and I know how it ends! 

We reentered the village and wandered into the courtyard of a  little restaurant. Marta and friends had found themselves there last summer, after spending a day at a nearby beach, so she was filled with that delightful memory,  as we walked around.  It is an eclectically charming little place set into the stone with a tree shrouded terrace. With an adjoining hotel, it made an interesting counterpoint to the castle we had just come from.  It was here that I was fortunate enough to have a chance to speak with one of the more provocative regulars to this little garden of Eden. 

Speaking the same language

The daylight was going fast and with it, our day in the countryside,  in the Province of Girona.   Time now for a Spanish social studies class. In Spain you have Communities, which would equate to states in the U.S.  Within a Community you have Provinces, which would be counties in the U.S.  I live in the Province of Barcelona. The city of Barcelona is the capital of the Province of Barcelona and also the Community of Catalunya. Much like Denver is the county seat of Denver and the capital of Colorado.                         

This drive in the country had taken us into the Province of Girona, which lies northish of

Barcelona. Our drive back into Barcelona brought  Jordi back to the Barrio Gotic, where he lives, and to the Barrio Born where I live.  Now it was time for Marta to turn her little red wagon toward Sant Joan Despi, where she lives and put a beautiful day into our memory banks.