Posts Tagged ‘leon’

Día soleado en San Isidro
Originally uploaded by Marcos Dopico.

“Fancy going skiing some time?” Asked Pompeyo on last week’s walk.

“Why not” We answered, fresh from the week in the Alps.

The phone rang on Thursday:

“The forecast is okay for Saturday, how about it?”

So we went. And it didn’t rain, and it only snowed a little bit. The snow was a bit heavy (alright, on the lower slopes it was papa (as they say here, mashed potato consistency) but higher up it was fine).

We set off at 8, sure in the knowledge that the majority of Spaniards would not be rising early to ski. Well some of them did but not too many.

A half day pass for San Isidro (in León) is €16, boot and pole hire for Liz another €11. Pompeyo lent me his carving skis, he skied on his ancient long thin skis. Liz used Carmen’s short skis, which she enjoyed, and we just tootled up and down the reds (which were easier than many blues in Courchevel).

We ate on the way home in Felechosa, pote then trout and now we’re home, digesting and getting ready to head out to the opera. It’s a hard life…

So, there were the Spanish soldiers, there, fighting against the French, and they sat down to dinner, had their soup and all of a sudden the alarm is sounded and off they go to defend the town, hungry. The same thing happens a couple of times more and then some bright spark decides he’s had enough of this so the next time he sits down to dinner he gets them to give him his meat course first, then chickpeas, finally the soup. This revolutionary idea meets with the approval of the hungry soldiers in his neck of the woods and so is born a regional speciality called cocido maragato.

We had a non-walking trip with the walking group to Astorga, a pretty little city high on the plain in León. It’s cold there in winter, blazing hot in summer, but it’s famous for its buttery cakes and pastries and this backwards menu. We wandered, looked at Roman ruins, had a glass of wine and generally ambled around. Then we got on the bus to head to a village called Castrillo de los Polvazares, all red sandstone and cobbled streets.

The first dish was then meat (basically all your boiled meats… beef, ribs, lamb, salty ham and the gelatinous stuff… ) then chickpeas with cabbage and finally soup, although I was a bit disappointed that the old Spanish soldiers didn’t go the whole hog and start with coffee and a spirit.

I have now digested the meat… although it did take a couple of days.

Queimada Flames 5 Originally uploaded by hegarty_david.

So there we were, in the Atapuerca hotel (described accurately as ‘for truck drivers’) an isolated place with a couple of villages close by, but too far to walk to after a long day outside.

After dinner Ignacio said we’d be having the Queimada. Then, seeing the blank looks on our faces they proceeded to explain.

You take a litre or two of orujo (preferably home made, with a high alcohol content), chop orange peel, apples, lemon peel and add them and coffee beans, and a ton of sugar. All this goes into a ceramic cauldron.

Then you light the thing and stir it with a ladle (hopefully not made of wood). When the flames go completely blue, you put them out and serve it.

It’s warm, sweet and quite strong (even after the burning off process).

While it’s being burned you’re meant to recite a conjuro (a spell) which is a call to the earth, wind, sea and fire to purify the drink and share it with souls of absent family and friends. So of course we did this, fifty or so people, much to the amusement of the few additional guests in the bar.

Yes, all this was done in the hotel bar. A health and safety nightmare!

Last year’s leaves left. Originally uploaded by itsjustanalias.

And they were right.

For the May holiday (no wussing out and moving it to a Monday here, the first of May is the day of the workers and is traditionally accompanied by demonstrations and union leaders shaking their fists while orating… at least this year they were angry in a focussed way) we went away to Castilla y León with the walking group.

Winter has been a bit long here (I had my first snow day on the fourth of October last year and we had a snowy weekend in León… ) eight months in fact. The news shows were saying that this year’s ski season has been the longest for a good while, at the same time as showing skiers in Granada.

So: we went south, to the other side of the mountains, where the nights are cold and the days are colder (until summer when the days are unbearable). We were in the Sierra de la Demanda, somewhere I’d never heard of before, but it was beautiful countryside, and on Saturday’s walk we had stunning views of snow capped mountains far far to the south and way off to the west.

As we came back over the mountains into Asturias you could see the cloud spilling over from the north. We emerged from the tunnel separating León and Asturias (called el negron (the really black one)) into murky grey cloud and the bus filled with happy murmurs of glad to be home.

Later it rained.

Despite all of the religious processions and the solemnity of the Easter week happenings in León, what attracts many people there, according to our students, is the San Genarín parade. This is rather the opposite of the hooded penitents.

According to wikipedia  In 1929 on Maundy Thursday night, a poor alcoholic called Genaro Blanco was run over by the first rubbish truck in León. The procession consists of a march through the city bearing Orujo at the head of the procession; at the spot by the face of the city walls where the man was run over…

The procession has three main figures, el Genarín himself, in the photo, followed by death and finally a prostitute. After them comes a crowd of drunks piling round the city following the old feller’s example (I din’t see any rubbish trucks though). I took this shot at 12:40 or so, the cathedral square was packed, despite the showers, and the drinking continued in the old part of the city until the bars closed at five.

We had been thinking of going to León to see the processions for Easter, but lethargy and basic lack of will meant that when we looked at the buses and trains, they were all full for the days we wanted to travel. “No problem,” said one of Liz’s students, “We’re off to León, we’ll give you a lift.” That left one little problem.

No hotel, and a lift there on Thursday, back on Friday.

The processions at Easter are a really big deal, more in the South than the North, but the processions in León are classed as ‘of international touristic importance’ or some such. The ones in Oviedo are rather smaller (Asturias is a bit less religious than Castilla y León).

Never mind, we thought, we’ll just stay in bars, the last procession starts at midnight so that’ll be no problem (the verb for that in Spanish is the title of this post).

So that’s what we did. León is a lovely little city, lots of bars and restaurants, and we spent a day wandering and having the odd corto (a very small beer, between 15cl and 20cl) with which they always give you a tapa (according to one friend, people never eat at home in León).

We saw the processions. There are dozens over the Easter week, different brotherhoods of penitents, each dressed in different robes carry big tableaux (up to 70 people carrying the bigger ones, called pasos, which show scenes from the passion). The hoods originated in the middle ages, when people needed to do penance but didn’t want to be recognised (oooh look, there’s that Juan Fernando Ramirez Rodriguez again, what’s he done this time).

By 6am we were reduced to waiting for the chocolate shop to open so we could get warm, with chocolate and churros for brekkie, then off to find a good spot to watch the early morning Good Friday procession. We overheard one lady saying that she had been at the corner we eventually parked ourselves at for fifty years running. It was a good spot, facing a narrow street that the pasos only just fitted in. The procession went past us for almost two hours (thanks to my catholic upbringing, and the stations of the cross as an altar boy (monaguillo in Spanish) I could identify all of the scenes. The pasos are huge, incredibly ornate and gothically concerned with protraying anguish and suffering. I’ll be posting a few images on flickr over the next few days.

The robes do, however, put me in mind of various things ranging from Fremen (see the original covers of Dune), Ming’s troops in Flash Gordon, the klan (who stole the designs from Spain) and wizards. And makes me wonder, how come Ireland, which was pretty darn catholic, doesn’t have this sort of thing?