I’ve been in Spain for about a week. Most of that time has been spent in the province of Asturias, in the lovely city of Gijón. The first time I visited Asturias I thought we had driven into France while I had been sleeping. It’s green and lush and mountainous and nothing at all like the orange meseta of Castilla. I had the same sensation this last time as I drowsily looked out the window at the hot, flat land that constitutes my image of España– Dry, yellow and orange, fields of sunflowers here and there, square bales of hay, random ruins among the Encinas, which are short and green and fluffy and much smaller than our American counterpart, the stately oak.
And then, without any warning at all, suddenly you’re in the mountains and the temperature drops 10 degrees. El rio Luna running beside the highway.
Gijon was full of family. My daughter’s family, and I suppose they are mine as well, despite my decisions, of which I’ll save my thoughts. Isabel loved meeting her new cousin Pablo, loved running around and being loved by all her tia abuelas, loved having her older cousins chase her and tickle her. Her goma (Isabel couldn’t say Begoña, her abuela’s name when she was younger, so she’s goma) and her Tia Ana bought her flamenco shoes, red with black polka dots. She called them her shoes of baile and wore them any chance she got.
And then today, we drove to the airport where I hugged her so tightly and didn’t want to let go. She walked calmly and happily through the security gate with her father. She’s off to spend 10 days in Lanzarote with her father and abuelos, without me. Mixed emotions are an understatement.
After leaving them, I took the cercanias back to the center of Madrid, my second home. It’s hot and airless and August. I had some errands to run before my walk, some things to buy. My feet led the way as I retraced steps I used to take so so often. The city is the same, and yet different- isn’t that always the way– it sounds so trite, frankly.
On my second night in Madrid, I went to see an old friend play music and wound up having dinner with the band because of course the gig doesn’t start at 10. I was overjoyed to find they had ordered all my favorites, loved chatting in Spanish over boquerones en vinagre y acetunas y cañas. I left feeling alive and like myself.
After too long, I feel like me again.
Tomorrow I will start my second Camino. My first was full of questions and doubts and my overwhelming desire for a child. I’m not quite sure what I’m looking for this second time. As I said, I’m feeling like myself, confident and sane.
Of course my desire for love remains. But for now, I’ll be happy to love myself.
Self care. Self love. I’m such a freaking hippy.
Tomorrow I’ll cross the the Pyrenees.
Home is Here 