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One day's life in Zaragoza...
The other day I finally was able to get a phone card to call my Mom, Kathleen, in Grass Valley California. Since she's very hard of hearing and, at this point in her life, a bit suspicious of callers, I have to walk a gauntlet of sorts, shouting out shared memories, her equivalent of birth dates and social security numbers, all just to assure her that it is indeed "her Dan."
Finally she asked,
“Dan,...where is this Zaragoza place? Is it near Sacamento or is it in Texas?"
“Mom, Zaragoza is on the other side of the world!” I told her.
That's as good a description as any other, for a modern European city with history going back to Jesus' time (historical name is Caesar Augustus) with it's great co-cathedral devoted to Mary, Mother of Jesus, who, soon after the Resurrection, appeared on a pillar (Santa Maria del Pilar) to encourage the failing apostle Santiago (James), the area's first Cristian evangelizer. Santiago stayed, of course, and what was once a Roman outpost has been a Christian bulwark for 2,000 years. Zaragoza unquestionably is booming these days with new high rises and public transporation projects abounding, thanks to (too many?) European Union loans; but it still has plenty of Old World charm.
It’s been two weeks and two days since flying from Los Angeles to this northern part of Spain and, well… “I’m liking it!” In part it's because all is still new to me and in part because I’m betting that I can learn something worthwhile over the coming months here. More important is that I'm here to live rather than to pass through like some tourist. Perhaps I'm reacting a bit to eight years of travel for meetings and other Vincentian business - admittedly all important matters, of course! But I had reached a point of traveler's ennui, finding myself just after arriving at, let’s say, Rome or Paris or Calcutta or (even) New York spending half the time unpacking for the business at hand and the other half packing to be ready for the next place. I was living in a bubble. No way to travel, really, and certainly no way to live; indeed, most of it seems a blur to me now.
Here, situated for a few months at 9 Las Misiones (the street), Casa Blanca (the neighborhood), Zaragoza (the town), Aragon (the region), España (the country), I wanted to be in no rush learning how just to live – and more important – to live as a Vincentian missioner, with other Vincentian missoners. I suppose that, while writing up my sabbatical proposal, my hope was to rediscover some Vincentian-thing in my life or to metamorphase into a mature (read “wise, aging”) Vincentian – I’m not sure. I clearly felt that this was my golden opportunity for some kind of push in terms of language and culture. In any case the Provincial House in Zaragoza is a great place to sort out and explore such matters: the men are glad to welcome and include me…as well as to leave me alone when that seems right! And while I’m re-learning how to live, I wanted to improve my Spanish “without getting perfectionist about it…” For this there’s my confreres here, particularly Juan Julián C, the provincial superior (a first-rate educator and avid student of cultures), and other colleagues here who have suggestions. So far so good. I’m finding that there are plenty of people who are happy to help me, if I ask and… if I know what to ask for.
Back to living here. Let me describe it.
Typically I wake up at 530 am, with or without the alarm clock. Just being awake when it’s still dark outside is surreal enough for me but I’m finding that I need ninety minutes or so just to get going these days! A cup of fresh espresso (yes – the CMs have a machine here!) does wonders. Then, I head outside to start up Juan Julián’s aging and diminutive VW diesel coche and drive through mostly empty streets to the Tres Casitas, one of a dozen Daughters of Charity houses here in Zaragoza, where we celebrate mass and have breakfast. After our prayer together, it’s hard to get away after the requisite lengthy breakfast (mostly light fare: coffee, toast and jam) which is mostly a setting for morning conversation. It is great fun too, with all of them talking (sometimes shouting) at the same time; a common practice in Spain! It’s all I can do to keep up. Of course, besides the local gossip, there’s the weather to complain about and food to yearn for: I’m learning recipes and many, many colloquialisms, the latter most likely useless outside of Spain!
I’m back at the house by 115 pm or so just in time to sort things out before our big meal (la comida) at 145 pm. The midday Comida is the heavy meal throughout Spain; more importantly, it’s family time and many workers return to work only in the evening, to complete the day. Our comida here always offers soup, salad, lots of vegetables, potatoes or rice or pasta, one or more selections of meat (pork, chicken, lamb are most common) and always some fish. As men often do, I suppose, we wolf all this down in 30 minutes or less, leaving conversation to the end. Then we all head up to the Community Room to watch the news, read newspapers, and drink espressos or tea…for about 40 minutes.
After three hours of this with two short pausas (breaks) we all rush out of the building into a pitch black and quiet outside. I hike back to our house (20 minutes or so of very brisk walking, each direction) just in time for our 900 pm supper (la Cena) which usually consists of salad, soup, leftovers from the Comida (and, almost always some form of fish), followed by our evening Community Room recreation with coffee/tea and brandy afterwards. This time is usually good for an hour since the most popular comedy programs are on! By 1030 or so it’s been a long day, and I’ve yet to have any problems falling asleep!
¡hasta mañana!
