Manolo

Soon after I returned to Espinosa, Manolo decided to take me to Salamanca. A month ago, when I was in Espinosa for the Christening, I´d said I might visit that city after the the Camino, but I long ago changed my mind. However, I got to see it after all, through the further and still impressive generosity of Manolo.

I keep being surprised by how close together everything is in Spain; turns out that Salamanca is just sixty miles southwest of Vallodolid. An hour in the car and we were into the busy center of the city, and parked in an underground garage. We walked first to the famous Plaza Mayor, a neat square surrounded by pale-gold stone buildings, with arcades and shops all around the ground-level. The edges of the open plaza are filled with tables spilling out from cafes. Along the inside facades, just above the arcade arches, are frieze busts of Spanish leaders from across the centuries, each head set in an oval medallion. In one corner is Franco, which for me was a bit of a surprise--in my travels I´ve seen little to honor or even note the man who ruled Spain for four decades of the twentieth century. Later we would visit the Archivo de Guerra Civil, and the story told there was thoroughly pro-Republican and anti-Nationalist/Fascist.

We also did the cathedral, which impressed me despite my qualms. How can you not be moved by so much stone and and space and accomplishment, despite the familiar scenes of mayhem covering the walls and filling the side chapels. We also walked down to the Rio Tormes to see a roman bridge. We walked out to the middle, and I thought, yep, a roman bridge; Manolo waited till I was ready, and then we walked back the way we´d come and back up into the old city.

All the buildings in Salamanca are built from the same pale-gold stone, quarried locally. It´s this uniformity that apparently accounts for the city´s reputation for beauty (well, that and the size and grace of the buldings themselves too, I suppose). But for me the sameness made Salamanca a little less interesting than other cities. On the other hand, I only walked around for two hours. Manolo was perfectly accomodating, but I could tell I was being humored. At the end of the two hours I suggested we look for some place for "la comida" (the midday meal), thinking that such a respite might revive my companion´s flagging interest. But Manolo already had a restaurant in mind, one ten miles south of the city. Though he tried to keep his voice neutral, the hopeful tone was unmistakable when he asked me if I was finished with Salamanca. He gestured at the map I held as if to indicate that we´d seen everything already. I hesitated just a moment, and then agreed, yes, we had; let´s get out of here.

We ate at my first roadside restaurant in Spain, the Meson Viejo del Jamon. Manolo had first learned of the place from a truck driver friend, and he´d had eaten there twice before. He told me, with great anticipation, that the jamon was particularly toothsome.

We passed through the bar, where huge hamhocks hung in a close row over the drinkers´ heads, and into the smoky dining room. Soon a plate of thinly sliced jamon was on our table. Yes, indeed, very good, but expensive at ten euros for six or seven slices. Once the jamon was disposed of we ordered the menu; for me, ensalada patata (quite good), then chuletas (so-so), and finally natillas (I´m still not tired of this pleasure). A huge jug of wine too, which meant I slept most of the ride home.

Back in Vallodolid I had the afternoon to myself for walking and writing and sitting on park benches. I returned to the piso for dinner, which was huevous guisado. Simple but nice.

Even at this late date I often don´t understand what Montse says to me, which happened as usual when we were having dinner and she quizzed me on my plans for the next days. This is a bit mortifying. I also have a hard time with Sergio, which is disappointing because he seems to really want to talk with me, and I want to talk more with him too. In these moments of difficulty, though, Manolo always steps in. I will look blank at some remark, the speaker will look to Manolo, I will turn to him too--and then he will pause, smile, say, "ah, si," then my name--"Copp-air"--and proceed to explain the matter at hand in words and at a speed that I can understand.

After dinner we all went over to Maite and Sergio´s apartment so I could say goodbye. Maite bounced a fussy Sara in her stroller, Montse loomed close to her, and we men watched a standoff then shootout on a Spanish tv program akin to The Sopranos. Maite´s last words were about Naomi and the boys: abrazos and besos for them all.

I thought I was done for the night, but Manolo said, how about a drink, and we walked to a nearby mall, up to a bar-ice cream shop with a terrace overlooking the far flung suburbs. Manolo had a J & B, while he ordered me a large ice cream sundae. Why not. We had passed the Restuarante Asiatico on the way, and I asked how he liked "Asian" food. He said he didn´t know, he´d never tried it; Montse "no quiere."

We sat on the terrace in companionable silence, while a young couple two tables over made out with considerable passion. Manolo was unphased so I decided to be too. Instead I asked about his immediate plans. Next week the harvest begins, he told me. First the barley, then the oats, finally the wheat. It´ll take about two weeks of long days, working with his brother-in-law Femo, to get it all in. Once the grains are finished he´ll start cutting and baling hay again, though less this year than last. He leaned forward and put a hand on his back and grimaced. Towards the end of August the work will slacken; but then he´ll begin work on the merendero, and on the roof for the bodega. "Siempre mas," he laughed.

We sat for a long time, my sundae done, while he nursed his drink and we faced the view side by side.

This morning he drove me to the train station and insisted on accompanying me inside and out onto the platform. He asked when I would return, and I asked when he would come to Minnesota. Finally, I tried to express my gratitude, but he waved it off. He said that Naomi and the boys and I were his "otra familia," and I choked up and told him he and his were the same for me. We shook hands several times.

Now I am in Madrid, and tonight I fly to London.