We’re that ahead of our time we were in Zamora yesterday…. (A wee joke for those who speak Scots and know that Z in Spanish is pronounced ‘th’.)
Our last blog was a light-hearted one. But it was about memory.
What is remembered, and how we decipher and use our stories, is central to what we’re doing here. In Spain, a country we love and which continues to astonish and challenge us, memories and what’s done with them is of continuing importance. Our chance encounters in the city of Zamora were both happy and revealing. Listen to how we met the lovely Visi….
Not long after, we met other new friends. With different but equally revealing stories to tell. The setting couldn’t have been more fitting:
The day we met Angel and his wife Maria was by chance the day Perez Rubalcaba, the ex-president of the Spanish Socialist Party was being buried. Maria and Rubalcaba had been students of chemistry together in Madrid. The two of them had fought, and won, for the rights and payment of early academics. Her old friend was very much on her mind all evening.
Here’s the poem. A lyrical verse on reviving love at each meeting (If, when I’m with you you don’t see me / if my love cannot reach you / if the weight of my presence is too much to carry / then let’s pretend to ignore one another….)
An extraordinary day, after a cycle of memorable beauty – drifting easily down from the hills into a sea of wheat fields and cloudy meadows.
An equally gorgeous cycle took us to our next stop, Tordesillas. If, Faulkner is right, that ‘the past is never dead, it’s not even past’, then what happened 500 years ago in Tordesillas might just as well have been yesterday. Or Za-mora.