#7 -- Rick's troubled (and bruised) saga with Spanish police (and related hoodlums). Part 1

It all started one night in maybe December when Rick, Anacelia, and I decided to go out and experience the watered-down-faded-neon that is Badajoz nightlife.  Walking back from Valdepasillas, we passed the police station and Rick accidentally knocked over one of their barricades (read: drunkenly roundhouse kicked it clanging to the ground).  Then he did a couple of celebratory heel clicks and let loose a Viking victory shout.

Well, the police watching us from the station 20 feet away weren't very pleased, so they came over to have a chat.  Rick, though, thinks that they are just disgruntled neighbors, so he flees, raptor-sprinting away through the Badajoz jungle.  Naturally, Spanish police don't take it as a very kind gesture when you run from them, so they pursued like yelping dogs in an English fox hunt  (except in this hunt, the dogs have 2 police cars and 6 officers on foot speeding after the fox who is stumbling over curbs and bushes and garbage containers).

So they caught him.  But it also didn't help that Rick was carrying a hunting knife in his pocket.  Bowie style, sheath and all.  He did the smart thing at the time, telling the police that "I have a knife in my pocket" -- which, in hindsight, is probably not a smart thing at all to do (imagine being a policeman and hearing that from a foreigner at 3 a.m.).  So they decided to get a little rowdy, pulled out their nightsticks, a gave him a good whack or two on the leg to make sure he was properly subdued and handcuffed.

Confusion ensued for about an hour until they let me go into the police station to see how Rick was doing.  He seemed comfortable, the only criminal in the place, surrounded by 5 or 6 very serious Spanish police.  They needed his passport for some paperwork, so I went back to his apartment to retrieve it (he wasn't allowed to leave the station).  After lengthy amounts of  apologizing and talking about respecting authority and calling people señor, Rick was let off without any charges, only the warning that if he ever got into trouble again they would banish his ass from Spain.  I know I learned my lesson -- the police must be feared and obeyed, because if any thing upsets their perfect skeleton facade, giving them an excuse to exercise power, they will aprovechar it to the full extent.  I'm only surprised that they didn't take out the search helicopter.

#6 -- If this is pueblo life, I'm leaving the city.

Today I went to Alonso's pueblo, Dehesilla de Calamon.  Like usual, his mom made us delicious food (pata negra pork, patatas fritas, ensalada, pan, cerveza, bizcocho, pizza, and cafe), we ate outside in the beautiful weather, and talked about  how different life in Spain is from the rest of Europe.  Then we played with his crazy-protective-lion dog Pio, washed his car, played some chess, and had a chupito taste-test (manzanilla, menta, jerez, limoncello).  Interactions with his parents are easy and comfortable -- the key to everything is just friendliness and smiles.  But my favorite part of the day was when we went for a walk at dusk in the countryside.  I looked for flowers for Melky, (all the flowers grow thorns to protect their fruit from the animals in summer), everything disappeared from the horizon and there was just the sky, then you see the seams holding the heavy clouds straining and breaking and suddenly it is pouring thick drops of rain and we are sprinting home.  Then the rain stops and we see both ends of a rainbow, his house is in the middle, and we know that it is the right place to go to and then leave from.

#5 -- Spanish Processions -- what it was like before they used cars in parades.

Looking at the processions today on Easter Sunday, the clapping seems out of place for a mintue or two.  Then you realize that this kind of clapping is more fitting than the cheering of a soccer game -- pure celebration, congratulation, and encouragement for those toiling to make the processions perfect.  The saints are on humongous wooden gilded platforms carried by about 20 people.  They slog across town from church to church, accompanied by a band behind and spectators gawking from both sides of the street.  These last for about a week, with different saints leaving each day.

Today we saw Jesus finding Mary.  At one point in the procession, he bows down on his knees to her and flowers fall from the sky.  After, they go into the main square and do a sort of parlay dance -- back and forth, back and forth.  Then Jesus kneels again to Mary, Mary to Jesus, and doves were realeased out from under the platforms, flying over the square filled with hundreds of people.  I think this is the climax of Easter Sunday -- afterwards, everyone is happy and fulfilled and goes to the cafes to drink a couple of non-alcoholic beers.

#4 -- In Memory of my mouse Melky

Walking back home from an 8 day vaction in Mallorca, my German roomate Laila let me into the house.  Then she told me that my  pet mouse Melquiades had died.  A pet rat dying isn't really a life-changing circumstance, but it still kind of shook me.  I had only taken care of him for 2 months, but it was still good to know that life was always existing in my room.  Running around on a wheel, sniffing, gnawing, blinking and exploring -- this is a reminder of constant activity.  Life not reflecting upon itself but just being and expanding is a good thing to see.  And now all I am left with is the fading footprint of a rat that  barely passed through my life, bringing mostly amusement and happiness and a smelly room.

(the only surviving picture of Melky) (Lolo is in the picture too)

#3 -- Could Mallorca get any more peaceful? Yes, yes it can.

The 8 days in Mallorca visiting Eicher brought a lot of new openings and adventures.  One day we visited the town where he teaches, Alcudia.  Two of his teachers (co-workers) let us stay at their house, and it is really difficult for me to think of a more lucid, clear-eyed, and healthy couple.  Alicia (like Alice in wonderland [she really did have some kind of magical aura around her]) and Santi (an ex-clinical psychologist who now teaches history, has a ponytail, and rides a motorcycle) cooked us meals and gave us the house keys. Their house is beautiful, with a view of the ocean, an open terrace, and a massage table. At night I played chess with Santi, who speaks thoughtfully and talks about how in Castilla they don't use any herbs or spices.  They just have the pure taste of the lamb.  Alicia seems like a great teacher -- she has that exuberance of complete control over herself and her environment.  She lived in the USA for 5 years, spending one year in Florida learning how to be a massage therapist.  Only a little strange was her adoration for her 3-legged bilingual cat Mona, whose full-frame picture lives above the fireplace.  Being in that house for 24 hours, I always felt surrounded by openess and communication.  I'm only jealous because Eicher got to ride on Santi's motorcycle to work.  The next day, we explored Roman towers, abandoned houses, and forest grottoes.

#2 -- Rock Hopping in Mallorca

We spent the first 2 days and nights in Mallorca hiking the 'Ruta de Pedra en Sec'.  Eicher, Rick, Kyle and I stayed in refugios -- bunk bed hostels that cost 11 Euros a night where you are surrounded by people in expensive hiking gear and screaming children.  But they were both in amazing locations; the first one up high in the mountains but overlooking everything as it slides down and spreads to the ocean below.  The second refugio sat next to a lighthouse on a cliff, a kind of daunting edifice when you gaze at it from Puerto Soller.  The hiking was the best part -- we went 18 miles the second day (probably half downhill on stone stairs).  We went around dams and did night hiking above the clouds.  Aqueduct and terraces everywhere, weird ahistorical evidences that seemed to exist forever, demanding constant inhuman amounts of work.  Almost every single path that we walked on was a part of a terrace, and I could not get one question out of my mind -- why are these here and where are the people that built them?

 Everything exists in strange groups in this island.  We walked through the middle of a race, hundreds of spandexed and highsocked people running and drudging and dragging through the entire 180 kilometers of the trail in 24 hours.  In 1 hour we passed maybe 50 oil painters, all sitting with matching easels and brushes, everyone trying to mimic the impossible patterns of stone.  At the end of the hike, we made it to the beach.  We drank boxed wine with lemon soda; ate bread, tomatoes, anchovies and oranges; played paddleball and juggled; and created Burmese Tiger Traps in the sand.  My word for this trip would be recharging.  In the exhaustion and openess of the mountains you empty yourself and make it easier to stretch and grow.