Pilgrimage To The Top Of The World

We have just concluded a five day holiday stretch. The type of holiday here that alters everything from regular business hours and the day to day activities that leads to complete village shutdown. The said holiday falls near a weekend and somehow the previous Friday and the following Monday is considered part of the weekend. This year it also included a Tuesday.

It was May Day, also known as Labor Day, Beltane and the many Holy Catholic Saint days celebrated on or around the first of May in little towns across Spain.

Saint Isidore the Laborer to be celebrated on the 15th of May for us who work the land is not celebrated on Labor Day. In Madrid, Saint Isidore is celebrated with dandies trying to woo the ladies dancing their Chotis, nothing to do with work. It muddles the mind.

There are several Marias. Saint Madeline, Sophie, Barat. Saint Philip, Neri. Saint Joan of Arc. I am sure to have missed several.

Many people in the area have their personal devotion to their patron saint either chosen or appointed to them and here I am living in Galicia for almost ten years trying to make sense of it all.

Sunday, 07 May, Mothers day in Spain. Since I have lived in Spain the day marked for a tribute to us mothers goes unnoticed in many homes. A saint always takes precedence and she steals our thunder.

Santa Cruz

My usual solitary escape to the top of the world where I go to see my world in a different perspective would be invaded...

A friend here having a deep rooted history to the chapel through her great grandfather, I needed and wanted to be a spectator of this ceremony. The pilgrimage many of the octogenarian residents in the area have spoken to me about with fond memories always starting their narrative with "cando era picaro", when I was young. The detailed recollection of how things were igniting and brightening the spirit in their eyes that sadly appear dimmer with each passing day lately. Most no longer have the ability to walk up the steep hill to be part of the alter placing of the statue and floral tribute to Santa Cruz. They now sit in the shade at the entrance to their home for second hand accounts of how it went if no one offered to drive them up.

The Chapel

An 1805 structure that has its history for sea faring fishermen asking for blessings in bounty when casting their nets and protection before setting sail against the raging sea. They would have ritualistic offerings for a safe return to dry land at an alter where the original entrance once stood. It was also a place of solace for the widows of those lost at sea to lament their loss and accept it. Sitting atop a mountain, simple, the white stuccoed walls stand out gloriously against the green of the wooded backdrop.

The original portico removed long ago. The alteration of the entry that once faced the meadow now faces west to the river and sea. The dismantling and disappearance of the original mantel piece and missing relics- robberies by clergy and occasional vandalism.

But there it stands as the guardian of all below.

Its simplicity always drew me to her to be met with locked doors.

Today I would be able to go inside.

Ove, Ribadeo. Lugo

This celebration for the praise and the transport of a statue from a small ancient hamlet embraced by the river banks and is currently being eaten up by the villa´s urbanisation plans is falling into the forgotten.

Being A Spectator

Mothers day with my girl and three of my dearest friends here in Ribadeo and we head to the meadow atop the mountain leading to Santa Cruz with a picnic prepared to take part of the celebration.

A canopy of old chestnut trees cover us from the sun that battled and defeated the dark rain clouds that hovered during the morning.

We arrive and the crowd is thin. The tent for live music is assembled but empty. The pop up bar fully stocked, there is no one to quench their thirst nor liven their spirit. An inflatable bouncy structure is set up. There are no children around to beg for tokens to bounce. No sounds of screeching and screaming children with a mix of excitement and fear usually accompanied with these installations was heard.

The lone rustic restaurant with its family staff of three for today. The clatter of set up is happening. In between setting the tables the husband and son surprise the matriarchal with a bouquet of fragrant lilies, she pauses for a minute, does not know how to react. A quick wiff of the blooms, she smiles, hugs them both and hurries back into the kitchen. It was the last time I saw her when up at Santa Cruz.

The other two resume to setting tables for the one- o- clock rush of my unknown neighbours that will shortly arrive in waves to consume the paprika sprinkled boiled octopus and seasonal crustaceans they are accustomed to having when eating out during events like today.

Crossing The Threshold

Before entering the chapel we head to the vantage point of Santa Cruz, below- Ove, to the left The Villa and the Cantabric Sea. Straight ahead, the River Eo and Asturias. Rockets are being launched and exploding in the air with echoing booms.The procession has started.

The few who accompanied us for the arrival of the saint looking down expectantly to get a glimpse of something.

The chapel was empty, my time to go in...

There was silence, a coolness greeting me with a warm glow that reflected from the stone slates I stepped upon, two small window openings placed high on the walls. In its simplicity the few things that filled in the space set it apart from abandon.

Above me weathered chestnut timber and beams form the gabled roof with two imposing hand hammered chandeliers too old for people to remember when they were first hung. Contemporary oak pews were lined against the mouldy walls and one very old dusty Prie-dieu stood out amongst them. There were no painted frescos on the walls, crosses were hammered onto them instead, each with a roman numeral. Immediately I thought perhaps twelve apostles, but no, there were fifteen and not in sequence.

The alter, a relic, the hollowed openings of where reredos once framed by the retable now a fixture for flower vases and a minute statues that look out of place. One painting on an easel for temporary display. The chapel keeper will lock it away again till next year once the ceremony has concluded.

The Procession

Rockets go off again and clacking is heard from the distance. Stepping out, silence and a rhythmic sound approaches. There was no priest, no one burning frankincense and myrrh, no alter boys. No bagpipes! No hymns sung or whispered prayers, just the clacking of the iron rods.

The image of the saint bobbing up and down with every synchronised step by the four float bearers up the hill.

The older folks who waited patiently in the shade near the church entrance join the continued procession thrice around the chapel.

One: The Father

Two: The Son

Three: The Holy Spirit

All is quiet with the exception of one woman who made an attempt to break into song but struggled with remembering the words and as quickly as her burst to break the silence she hushed and lamented her endeavour. There is no penitence as those I saw in Andalusia years ago. No one wore a tunic.

All hurried into the chapel, the statue is placed near the alter, a floral arrangement of purple celosia bloom and babies breathe. Boldness and courage with everlasting love. Perfection for such humility.

The floral offering is made, two of the four iron rods are placed in the foreground form crossed into an X... protection? All who made the pilgrimage are lined up to ask for blessings. A prayer is murmured and as quickly as they entered they exited.

The chapel once again empty.

Santa Cruz returned home.

Somehow the small crowd livens up. Older folks hugging the children with hope of continuity with a "Nena, hai tempo que non te vexo", sweetheart, I have not seen you in so long with a "gústache" , did you like it? They then head to their respective homes or designated spots to feast.

There is an artistry to this ceremony. It is simple and unassuming like that of the chapel. It is very symbolic, from the floral arrangements to the gold embroidered cloak placed on the image of the saint. It brings people together for one day, unworried about their private and public goings on. Some go to say hello to many they can not stop to talk to during most the year and see the almost forgotten ones whom have aged.

It is a day to give praise and devotion that now few hold on to.

They want to believe in something and now they want to believe it will continue to mean something.

What Just Happened?

We headed to the meadow, the picnic area with small crowds having lunch. Music and singing can be heard from beyond.

We sit there, trying to make sense of it all. None of us having a particular dogma to live by.

What does it all mean?

We came to the conclusion that if it weren't for the curiosity for today, we would not have had a picnic. If it weren't for the pilgrimage of today we would only see each other in passing like most who live here with our busy season creeping up on us. They too do the same.

So we started own ritual: Ribeiro Wine representing the mystery of God and apple slices celebrating the beauty and sweetness of our friendships with hope of prosperity for the future.

Once heading down to centre village to end the day with a stroll. I stopped at a home where a woman was sitting in the shade by her door- alone. She asked, if we were up in Santa Cruz "Yes"... she started cando era picara, we asked to sit next to her and listened to her narrate her memories.

©2020-2023 NYC Artist In The Woods. All Rights Reserved.

Ollo do Mar

Our home is in the woods, when we emerge from the the lush green a panoramic sea greets us. A mountain safeguards us from Noreastern winds and storms throughout the year. The sound of the crashing 7 to 9 meter high waves on the seas cliffs can be heard during storms and a tainted scent of the salted sea water reaches us when the wind gushes just right towards us.

My beloved Galicia, a magical corner on sacred catholic soil. We are the Northen gateway for the Way of St. James after the river crossing from Asturias. The solemn pilgrims and large groups walk following the markers along side the paths and roads. I have had several strays knocking on my doors or startling me when on the grounds when caught off guard since I decided to call Galicia home and having The Way of St. James 300 meters from my front door. "Buen Camino" is my forever goodbye to these strangers after giving directions or pointing towards the Way. Some seem to be on a race to the finish line while others linger around for company, ultimately offering a narrative of their reasoning, causes and promises to walk the Way of Saint James. I sometimes think those who were eager to share their story may have needed validation for their journey when knowing some of the roughest terrain would lie ahead.

We also live in the lands of Meigas, witches. A land of story telling, rituals, beliefs and protection, the evil eye and many amulets to protect us.

114km of beaches, cliffs, As Catedrais and hidden coves full of legends, magic and Meigas.

The Magic...

Image: AtlasOscura

As Catedrais also referred to as Praia de Agua Santa, Beach of the Holy Water, there once was a natural spring leading to sea believed to be medicinal. Listed as one of the seven natural wonders of Spain, its large thirty meter high stone archways, hidden caves and cliffs seem supernatural. Geologists suspect the openings and the archways were naturally developed by sea currents, while some scholars are arguing it may have been a Roman gold mine.

It is believed there is a moment during the day by the sun, or night by the moon, when the largest arch glows of gold and you will be able to see into your future or visit your past, but never both.

This remarkable natural wonder is 12 km (7 miles) from home but we do not visit.

Rabbit Hole

Instead we head west then down a rabbit hole and we arrive to our hidden place, where only those who live here know how to access and seasonal visitors wonder and frantically look for the entrance way when not seeing a small sign from the road above. A rocky path that leads us to a beach where the sand feels like silk on the bare soles of our feet, the sun warms us on cold days and cool cliff shadows shelter us from direct sun during the summer heat. It disappears during high tide and during the receding low tide random pools of water are left behind. Colonies of Tomate de Mar, (beadlet anemone), on rocks can be found in tones of reds and orange, symbol of valour against the often raging Cantabric Sea. In the winter beach glass is found and when we are lucky an Ollo do Mar will find her way to us.

Ollo do Mar...

Ollo do Mar, The Eye of Shiva, The Eye of Santa Lucia or Orejita de Zahara are a few of the many names for this special talisman. In Galicia it is Ollo Do Mar, the Eye Of the Sea.

A conch with a flat white side with a swirl and the the other side orange resembling the shape of an ear... many believe it hears your wishes, La Orejita de Zahara, (Zahara´s little ear).

The possessor of one can share their deepest desires to it. Whoever finds one assigns their own value on it and wishes have been known to be granted. Placed in a coin purse to attract money, kept to cure an ailment of one who has fallen ill. Worn on a chain to attract love when referred to Venus´ Navel. Held in a tight fist when thinking of your deepest desires. It is believed they are the eyes of Santa Lucia that were pulled out and thrown into sea, when one is found on Italian coasts, the keeper will have a clearer view of their life and will be protected from coming danger.

In Galicia if found on days leading to the new year, one will be granted a new year of peace, love, joy and protection- El Ollo Do Mar.

Ollo do Mar: February 2017

Several years ago I found one at the beach and did not put much thought into it, it seemed unusual. Amelia, then 71 years old, who is no longer amongst us, told me I have been blessed by the sea. The sea gifted me an "ollomao", as she pronounced it, to ward off evil spirits (the evil eye) and fill my life with love, it is the seer of my good fortune. All narrated over coffee with excitement for my find when she perceived I needed it most.

When I found it I just thought it was pretty.

With the unseasonably warm weather and calm winds we are fortunate enough to be offered during this time of year after the harsh late autumn storms, the desolate beach in the winter belongs to just me and my girl. Every visit with hope an Ollo Do Mar will find her way to us.

Tomate de Mar

Combing the beach for seashells, beach glass and mother of pearl, Candela found one, or as she corrected me, The Ollo do Mar found her. "We will continue to be happy in the New Year" was what she said.

Candela´s Beach treasures 30 December 2021

... and yes, we will be happy.

crossing the rabbit hole to head back home...

May the new year be full of happiness, health and wonder. Our wish to you all.

©2020-2023 NYC Artist In The Woods. All Rights Reserved.

A Saint, Gigantes and Cabezudos... OH MY!

In the United States we have pretty basic holidays. The 4th of July, Thanksgiving Day and Christmas are pretty big holidays. There is Memorial Day and Labor Day and we have holidays I call "floaters", the holidays we know exist but forget and we are reminded of them from the evening news the night before said holiday because the dates change every year or they come and go without a lot of commotion.

The number of holidays here in Spain do not surprise me as much as they did, but they still creep up on me without warning, They usually appear disguised as Patron Saints ordering the village shops shutdown. Everyone dressed in his or her best are given a reason to be merry and celebrate, many with foes they do not speak to the rest of the year, during the verbena, one big party in centre village at sundown. Dancing, singing, a modest Carnaval setting, Galician bagpipes, drums and tambourines and wine... lots of wine.

Local bands on makeshift stages sing covers from the current top 40 list with poor sound checks that usually have echoes ricochet in the surrounding mountains. Smoke billows from tents- the BBQ for the evenings usually overpriced churrasco, a platter of chorizo, white sausage and ribs. Steam from 20 liter pots of boiling water cooking up octopi non-stop throughout the night, half a dozen at a time, makes the usually chilly air balmy. Inflated castles with current popular cartoon characters never fail their installation. They lure the kids in herds and the buzzing plea to their parents, grandparents or just about anyone ,sounds like a mantra, for a token for 15 minutes of endless jumping in a cage-like setting.

Santa Maria del Campo, Our Lady Of The Fields, the Patron Saint Festival of Ribadeo. This year we did not have the Pregon, the pyrotechnic announcement that lights up the Villa at night and has the River Eo glow with the reflection of the firework display in the sky for almost an hour on the eve of our celebration. We do not have the evening verbena, no food tents nor the Carnaval for the kids; but A Saint, Gigantes and the Cabezudos made their Pasacalles as they always have since 1868.

A Saint:

Santa Maria del Campo, Our lady of the Fields, is the patron Saint of the Villas Parish, St. Francis. The church was once a Franciscan Convent abandoned in 1835.

Reminiscent of the image of the Virgin Mary, Santa Maria del Campo depicts a rural image holding golden sheaves of dry wheat. To date, I have not been able to get a concise narrative of who is Santa Maria del Campo and what she represents. Many say she blesses the fields and the crops, but I thought that was Saint Isidore the Labourer, May 15th here. Others say it is the blessing for no one to go hungry in the winter, I think that may be Saint Nicholas. Whatever the reason why Santa Maria del Campo is the Patron Saint of Ribadeo, one thing is true, she is adored by young and old. During her procession, after a morning mass, there is respectful silence. She is placed atop fresh clippings of seasonal flora on an ornate golden platform and is paraded through the streets on the shoulders of her most devoted. The older folk whisper prayers I don't understand and children are wide-eyed, not for the Saint but for everything that immediately follows.

Gigantes, The Cocos:

The Gigantes, or best known here as Coco and Coca, two hollow, metal doll structures over 3.5 meters tall. They represent the residential archetypes during the Belle Epoque in Ribadeo. They are placed in front of Saint Roques chapel throughout the year, as if they are guarding the once grand street and stately homes that line the Rua, but during the fiesta they come alive. They dance, they twirl like Sufis in suspended animation with their contagious joyful, playful display of energy to all who encounter them on the streets and plazas of the villa. Dressed in period clothing, Coco in black tie adorned with a Medal of Order, Coca elegant in fine lace and embroidered silks, wearing her best jewels. This year with a new accessory, a face mask.

Cabezudos:

Cabezudos were introduced to our local fiesta in 1898, they are human scale with a large heads, usually made of papier-mâché. Early in the tradition of the Villa they represented Coco and Cocas children. In folkloric text they are eternal, immortal, intelligent, processing great charisma. Their mission is to spread joy although sadness tortures their heart. They will chase after people pranking them, or to simply have them smile, however they know when to stop and comfort a frightened child.

It is also said the Cabezudos represent the Cocos illegitimate children, reason why Coco has curls framing his forehead, making reference of being a Cornudo, his wife, Coca, having multiple infidelities. The characters have been altered throughout the years, the originals were O "Pataquiero, someone who will be emigrating to the Americas in search of his fortune, A Vella, the old lady, some say the Meiga, a witch, The Rat representing the cheater, The stereotypical poor villager, representing class divide, The Clown representing the fool, and The Policeman representing public authority.

Originally the Cabezudos would incite children to shout " Morreu Papa, Morreu Mama", father has died, mother has died towards the end of the Pasacalles as a signal. The Cocos will have to be toppled over so those making them alive would be able to crawl out of them. They will once again become lifeless.

When WW1 broke out in Europe soon after the Spanish Civil War the tradition of the Gigantes and Cabezudos ceased by the oppression caused by a post war.

It was recuperated and slowly reintroduce in the 1960s. New characters were added; Popeye, Laurel and Hardy and it has evolved into a more contemporary festival since, but one thing never changes, A Saint, Gigantes and Cabezudos offer faith, security and spread joy despite having sadness in their hearts.

©2020-2023 NYC Artist In The Woods. All Rights Reserved.