Category: Living in Valencia

Our housekeeper, Chus, comes every Thursday to clean. She stays for three hours and cleans every surface. She even does windows.

Chus and I were never chatty. She speaks mostly Gallego. And I speak Spanglish. Here in our area they do not call it Spanish, they say Castellano. I think there is a sense that it’s another regional language masquerading as the language of the country. An interesting perspective.

In the terrible winter this year that continues until today, I don’t like putting Fergus out in his dog run. It’s cold and wet. So when Chus comes I keep him in our bedroom with me to keep him out of her hair. If I put him in the dog run it defeats the purpose of having her clean. He will come inside afterwards wet and muddy. So I greet her when she comes and see her when she goes. For a long time this meant we spoke very little. But then something shifted.

One day, Chus texted me to ask me if I wanted to go for a walk with her. I knew Chus liked to walk because I would see her with her Tio (uncle) walking with her stick. She would wave but that was it. Until her invitation.

I’ll admit, I was nervous about it. How would we communicate? I don’t know Gallego and most people here only speak Gallego. Over the last three years I have had many discussions with people who have told me that it is difficult for them to speak Castellano. And Castellano is all I know. But I accepted her invite. All I could do was try.

Chus lives on the other side of OCoto, the next village down from us. We made arrangements to meet in the middle at a crossroads in front of our other neighbors. I was early. I had my stick, rocking back and forth waiting for her to appear from up the road. I looked back towards our house when I saw a small figure approach. I know that lady. She works at the dairy farm and walks past my house twice a day, never smiling no matter how much I try. I greeted her for the thousandth time. She said something to me in Gallego but I had no idea what it was and I was frozen to the spot. I’m pretty sure she thought I was stupid for not answering her.

Just then, out of the corner of my eye I saw Chus trucking down from OCoto to meet me. She waved at the unsmiling woman from the dairy farm. They had some words, then the woman did the unthinkable – she smiled at me, grabbed my hand and kissed me on both cheeks. It turns out she is none other than Chus’s sister. Holy moly!

After that, Chus and I set off on our walk – the first of many. She is very interested to know why we live here. Who we are. Basically, what’s the deal? Why do I have windows in my chicken coop and clear panels on the roof.

‘Not good for chickens.’

I explained that the chicken coop is my painting and writing space. I need natural light. And I told her I was surprised she noticed it since it is so far back on our property and you can’t see it from the house.

‘Everybody noticed. My cousin is the next farm.’

‘Ah.’ Was all I could think of to say. And that is not her only cousin.

Chus is one of seven children. On our walk, nearly every house, farm, or strip of land is owned by a relative. And if it is not she knows the history of who owned what when and sold it to whom. Fascinating. I am gripped by her every word.

On our walks, Chus decides the route. Our conversations have become increasingly detailed. She isn’t afraid to tell me she doesn’t understand me or give me her opinion. I ask her a lot of questions in my baby talk. My verb conjugation isn’t perfect but she is patient with me.

‘What do you call that tree?’ I will ask. Then she gives me the name in Castellano and Gallego. I practice them both out loud as she waits patiently. Then, she tries to test me so I remember.

Chus is not a gossip. She knows everyone and everything. If she knows something about someone she doesn’t come out and say it, but she will tell me ‘Be careful there.’ If she wants me to look out for or be wary of a particular person or circumstance.

Over the course of our walks we have shared our stories. How she met her husband. Walking two kilometers uphill to catch the school bus as a kid. Her health battles and her gratitude for the health she now enjoys. I won’t say more because I don’t want to breach her confidence. I have told her many things, myself, in my stinted español. But she doesn’t require me to talk too much, which I like. The scenery is so beautiful I like to take it in quietly. Chus is the same.

Sometimes, before our 7km walks each afternoon I get nervous. I might be tired and I know my brain will not keep up with the conversation. I will trip over my words and fail to be a good conversational walking companion. But Chus doesn’t seem to care. She accepts things in ways I struggle to. She lives her life less than 3 kilometers from where she was born. She doesn’t wish to be anywhere but here, surrounded by family and friends in this beautiful place. And Chus has become my friend. How lucky am I?

Since the time I learned to put pen to paper I have been a writer. My early scribbles morphed into type-written paragraphs, which became full chapters. And, eventually, a book. Readers of this blog know how excited I was to see it in print, holding my book in my hands was a seminal moment. But that was just the beginning.

Writing is nothing without readers. Otherwise, it’s just screaming into the void. The best days are when I hear from readers about how my storytelling impacted them. And then, there are days when one particular reader’s feedback packs a real punch. Last week, there was just such a day.

As everyone here knows, I stamp passports and sell my book at our gate every morning – every dry hour between Galician rain squalls. These days, a thousand people a day walk past, and the numbers are climbing each week. More and more people buy the book. And we get student groups that stop for a stamp, as well. I rarely sell books to high schoolers so I remember the ones I do. And our conversations. So, you can imagine my delight when I received this email from a high schooler in Spain. I’ll let you read it for yourself

Sometimes, it is easy to get discouraged in the dark Galician winter. Writing is a solitary pursuit. There are days it feels like my characters are the only ones keeping me company. But this email makes it all worthwhile. A young person read what I wrote and it made a difference to them. It touched her heart, and her note touched mine. 🥹 I teared up reading it aloud to Jeff.

More to Come

Spanish Pilgrims have been asking for it, so it is on its way! I have received so much pilgrim and local support for the Spanish translation of The Grief of Goodbye that it will launch June 1st. A friend here has arranged to have my launch party at the Museo da Terra de Melide – our local cultural museum in the old town housed in a building built in 1502 CE. And they are supporting me by promoting the book at local book events and with booksellers in Galicia this summer. I’m excited to hear what Spanish speakers think of the story in español.

The second book, The Weight of Fearsome Things, Book 2 in The Camino Family Trilogy will launch later this year, as well. Psst… 🤫a sneak peek of the cover is coming soon. I think you’ll be surprised by the unexpected twists and turns, as John and Javier navigate walking their Camino for Tess. Grief, healing, and family secrets collide, and some characters you think you know aren’t quite who you thought. 🤔

When I hear from readers it impacts my writing. Their opinions carry weight. I hear the voices of the characters through their eyes. After Maria’s email I am rereading my manuscript, so happy a reader in high school enjoyed the first story so much. I think she’ll be pleased with the next installment, and something tells me she will be sure to let me know.

Houston, we’ve got a problem! It’s no joke and I’ve been right in the thick of it. If you love the Camino de Santiago, are a Pilgrim, and/or a member of a Pilgrim organization throughout the globe, you will want to read this. Let me lay it out for you.

Recently, it came to the attention of our local community in Palas de Rei, Melide and surrounding towns and villages that the Xunta de Galicia approved – pending an environmental study – the construction of a celulose manufacturing facility nearby. If you are unaware, this is basically a pulp plant that extracts pulp and fiber from all the eucalyptus trees in Galicia (an invasive species now banned by Portugal). It is a devastating process and toxic for plants, animals, and people. And, ironically, for Altri, the Portuguese company, the country of Portugal will not allow them to build it there. To get around their carpet-bagger stench, Altri formed a new subsidiary in Vigo and literally tried to green-wash it, calling it Greenfiber. We all know that putting the word ‘green’ in anything makes it totally safe and eco-friendly. Ha! They also throw the word ‘bio’ around a lot in their literature, as if biological substances and their waste can’t kill you. Asbestos is naturally occurring, too.

Our valley is up in arms. Protests are breaking out in every town and village. Neighbors on my walk yesterday sported protest pins and discussed their worries for miles. And banners are flying from balconies in every town and village, with ALTRI NON spray painted on every surface. Pilgrims cannot miss these signs on their Caminos. People are terrified as this company will use 46 million liters of water EVERY DAY from the little Ulla river, destroying fish and wildlife and their habitats. When that is dry in summer they will pump down our reservoir 12 kms away. And a smoke stack will spill toxins into the air of this pristine natural environment.

All this in support of Fast Fashion, one of the most polluting industries on the planet!

But, there is more.

So what?

By now, you are probably wondering why this might matter to Pilgrims. Based on the latest figures, if this facility is built and operating as designed, Pilgrims will be walking through, sleeping and eating in this toxic air for up to 80 kms of their Camino walking from Sarria to Santiago. The busiest route of all Caminos. This will also include the Primitivo, and Norte as they all join up with the Frances in Melide and Arzua.

What Have We Done So Far?

Of course, we have staged protests. And we have engaged with local political parties to help navigate this labyrinth. But, we have also sent members to the European Parliament to engage in dialogue with those who will issue grants for corporations like these massive €500 mm projects. The promise of up to 500 jobs at the sacrifice of the environment- our air and water in the midst of climate change – isn’t a gamble we are willing to take. And we will continue to shine a light on this extremely important issue with political leaders and environmental groups. Only half of the Galician forestry industry has endorsed this project. Dairy farmers, cheese makers and nearly every other group are vehemently opposed.

What This Community Needs From You

Pilgrims, and Pilgrim organizations, have tremendous power in Galicia. And Pilgrim organizations in the US have particular pull. Right now these communities all along the Camino Frances need your voice to help us stop this corporation from destroying the environment of this area. You can help us more than you know by getting the word out to fellow Pilgrims and Camino groups, and by writing emails and letters from your home countries to those in power here, expressing your concerns about the environment surrounding our beloved Camino. It costs you nothing but a few minutes of your time, yet it can make a huge difference in our fight for keeping this area clean and pristine.

The Camino isn’t just a Unesco World Heritage site, it’s a treasure to those who walk it. A place of peace, community, and transformation. And it is everything to those of us who live all along it. If you are a member of your local Camino chapter in your country and would like members of this Camino community to talk to your members at one of your monthly meetings, via Zoom, I know we would be happy to wake up in the middle of the night to speak with you and get the word out. Or if you have a Camino podcast we would be grateful to have a chance to talk about it.

These are the links where you can express your concern. You can write in your native language or use Google Translate and cut and paste.

Politicians:

secretaria.presidente@xunta.gal

cartaservicios@presidencia.gob.es

Lugocentro@bng.gal

https://www.ppdelugo.es/contacto/

https://www.psdeg-psoe.com/participa

https://www.lamoncloa.gob.es/presidente/escribiralpresidente/en-GB/Formulario/Registro

Local newspapers

galicia@lavoz.es

redaccion@galiciae.com

The citizens of this area are worried about all those who live, work, and walk here. If we work together – Pilgrims and locals – we can save this place for future generations. I hope you will consider joining us by adding your voice to ours. Together, we can do this. And we Thank You 🙏

In our community of Melide and Palas de Rei, there is always something going on. These people are busy folks with a vast array of interests. I am lazy and asleep compared to them.

As a result of this, if I am invited to do anything I say a resounding Yes! Blacksmithing and shoeing horses? Yes! Baking bread in a community oven for a fiesta? I’m so there. Random bonfire? Yup!

Jeff laughs. ‘Where are you going now?’ or ‘You’re doing what?’

I might respond with ‘A knitting circle.’ Or ‘Counting fish at the fish ladder.’

It could be anything. But that is what I wanted living here. I wanted community and I don’t care in what form it presents itself.

Today is May 1st. Workers Day in Spain. Really, it’s Workers Day all over the world. It’s like Labor Day in the US. And this means that the recreational club of Melide is having their annual SO21. This is a trek, run, ride from Palas de Rei to Melide on the same path as the Camino de Santiago. Yes, the Camino is used by locals as a recreational path. I was invited by my neighbors to join and they collected me at 8:40 this morning to take me to Melide to catch a chartered back to Palas to begin our trek.

We set out at 10am and arrived to Melide at 1:15. It’s roughly 15km. It was so fun. I met new people and chatted all along the way. I also saw people I know randomly walking the opposite way who stopped to chat.

Horses joined us, too. And the club had periodic stations where the SO21 participants could get refreshments. Water, Powerade and fruit. Pilgrims tried to partake but were shewed away. This was a locals only thing. And now I’m one of them!

On the way, I met a new friend, Raquel, who works in the Spanish penal system. What an interesting person she is. So nice to meet new people in my own hometown, and to get to walk with them for a few hours to get to know them. She told me that I am perhaps the only person she has met who is interested in how things really function on the inside. Not just in the movies. Hmmm. Maybe the basis for a new novel. 🤔

Finally, we walked up the hill into Melide in a bit of spitting rain but it quickly cleared. No passa nada. And the club had hot chocolate- real Spanish hot chocolate (that thick stuff) waiting for us in the square. Fabulous!

On to other adventures! I’ll keep you posted on the blacksmithing 😉

Sometimes I think about my old life in the US. About the decades of commuting to and from a job. In the early years via mass transit. Then becoming an American car commuter in the flow of humanity going the same direction, to and fro, day after day. Often, heads down buried in a book or phone on a bus or train. Or on speaker phone in a meeting on the way into the office. My own bubble.

I used to feel stress just sitting in my commute. Worried I would arrive late. Or perhaps about a presentation or a looming deadline. Often texting someone ‘Where are we at with…?’ Not wanting to walk into the office without every single piece of pertinent information. Who knew what I might be asked in an elevator on the way up to my office?

‘Where are we at, Kelli?’

My life today couldn’t be more different than that. Mostly because I have no commute. No looming deadlines. And I sit and observe the flow of people passing me by, no longer worried about getting anywhere on time. And that distance has given me perspective. Especially a cultural perspective of those passing. I thought I would impart my observations here.

North Americans walk faster than any other Pilgrims. Heads down, they are the least likely to stop and chat. In general, they often won’t make eye contact. And they will wave you away if you greet them as they zoom past. Where they are going so fast, I have not clue. It would be almost funny if it wasn’t so sad. Many look glum. Like they just need to get this over with. Like they’re commuting to a job. In this case, ‘the job’ is completing the Camino. Box checked. ✅ But a missed opportunity at connection. If I ask in American english if they want a stamp, and if they actually stop, they ask how I knew they were Americans. I don’t want to tell them this, but usually you can tell because Americans often stab the ground with their their poles so hard they look like they are picking up trash in a park 🤪 Don’t worry, I’m American. I’ve done it myself.

South Korean people always take a stamp. It is the wife who will carry the credentials and she will get the stamp for the husband. They are friendly and will practice their 10 memorized words of español with abandon. Adorable. They make me smile.

Aussies are always up for a good chin wag, and they have their own stories to tell. Australians look the oldest. That’s what happens when you take fair-skinned people and colonize a country whose sun wants to blister you with skin cancer. These people are probably 30 but look 60! Ha! But they are friendly and open.

Germans are very circumspect, and pilgrims of few words. Stamp, please. Auf Wiedersehen. They are not a chatty bunch. Their credentials are the most orderly.

The Portuguese will stop for a stamp, and they will speak Portuguese to you like a machine gun. Even though your eyes are spinning – as your Spanish language skills are screaming at you that it has no idea how to decode it. In the end, most will say goodbye in ingles. They are just messing with me😉

Spaniards always stop and chat. Happy to tell me where they are from. Fascinated we live here ‘in Galicia?’ Then, they tell me about their town, city, province and ask me if I know it. Encouraging me to visit. Proud of where they live.

South Americans and Mexicans always stop. And they are usually smiling. Mexicans who live in the US, even Americans who have Mexican heritage living in Texas or Florida, will proudly say they are Mexican. I love hearing this.

But it is the Colombians who win the prize for happiest people in the world. I can always tell the Colombians. And I say so.

‘Let me guess. You are from Colombia.’

They smile, surprised. And I am 99% right. They are the happiest, and the kindest people. I don’t know what is in the water in Colombia but they should bottle it and sell it in the US and Canada to the North Americans whizzing by.

The Irish also stop, no matter what. They will be rushing down the trail and come upon me quickly, but then stop short and stand in line for five minutes behind a crowd for my stamp, before rushing down the trail once again.

Americans are more likely to walk alone. Especially older, retired men. And few of them stop to talk. Heads down, poles clicking. People from other non-white cultures tend to walk in friend groups and are more animated. Except those from Asian counties, like Korea, Japan, or China, who walk more quietly and, while together, seem to spread out on the trail. But they always want a photo with me. I must be in thousands of vacation photos in Asia by now. Especially those from Taiwan. I’m crushing there🤣

Of course, these are all generalizations. It’s not scientific, just my observations on one stage of the Camino Frances. I wish my countrymen would slow down a bit, lift their heads up off the trail. Look around and see the beauty instead of the pavement at their feet. Stop trying to ‘Make good time’ as my Dad used to say. In commute-mode. But everyone’s Camino is their own to walk.

Yesterday it snowed here in Lugo. Today, Pilgrims pulled up photos on their phones from their snowy walk from Portomarin to Palas de Rei and shared them with me as I stamped their passport. Wild, it’s nearly May. And I’m sure you can guess which friendly Pilgrims they were. Colombians, of course. Now I know my next holiday destination. To Colombia – The land of happy. If just for a glass of their magic water filled with smiling contentment.

It’s no secret that I have been questioning some of the craziness around here. I haven’t even written about most of it. <deep sigh> And then, walking season kicked in and what a difference a week makes.

We knew when we moved here that the Camino ran in front of our property. It was a feature, not a bug. Of course, this comes with built in challenges – from planning boards to contractors. We have battled it all. A few weeks ago I was ready to throw in the towel. Past my breaking point.

Last Monday had sideways sleet, wind and rain pummeling us. But Tuesday blossomed with sunshine that has sent temps into the high 80’s or 30’s for Europeans. And I set up my table at the gate and began to stamp pilgrim passports. At that point, the light began to dawn. Oh yeah! I remember why we moved here.

Every day, for four hours I sit out at the gate and stamp credentials. And I keep a box of tissues at the ready as people stop to tell me how the Camino is impacting them. And how their personal stories of heartbreak, regrets, and healing are being processed as they walk. Sometimes I’m crying, too. We have a bench and I invite them to sit. They will likely never see me again so they feel safe unburdening themselves of their secret sorrows. And I am privileged to hear them. People need someone to listen to their story. To know there is no rush – ‘Take all the time you need.’ As I hand them the tissues.

I sit and watch the greenest Galician leaves burst forth and the metaphor of rebirth in parallel to the Camino isn’t lost on me. This is why I am here. Not just on the Camino, but the planet. Yes, I have my own story. My own struggles, hurts, and frustrations. But I am here, I’m convinced, to help those I encounter to feel a little less alone. To be heard and seen.

I had a pilgrim from Peru today. She stood at the table and cried. Her story is her own, but I felt it in my heart.

‘Why do I cry walking.’ She asked me.

I am no guru. I cry myself on the Camino.

‘Maybe it is because, for some of us, the Camino is the first time we are truly present in the now. No one is demanding anything of you. You are here, that is all you know. And you just have to walk. It sounds easy, but it is not. The voice in your head gets louder before it will get quieter nearer to Santiago. Demanding your attention with nothing to distract you. You get to feel it all, every day. Release it, at last.’

She nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘Yes. This is it.’

The pilgrim put on her pack, then thanked me.

‘It’s my privilege.’ I assured her, as she carried on walking. And it is. That is the only way to describe it. We are on this planet for a blink of an eye. I am lucky beyond measure to participate in the lives of these people as they ask the big questions. Feel long forgotten feelings. If just for a second, to be the one gifted with some of their most vulnerable moments.

I have rich pilgrims and poor ones. The Camino and its magic transcends money, titles, or education. In the end, none of us will get out of here with any of these things. The Camino strikes at the heart of the human condition. It strips us down so we can see and appreciate ourselves for who we truly are. Shed the old voices and the old masks. Forgive ourselves and others.

I know I said it might be time to dream a new dream. But I was being foolish. There is no dream better than the one I am living for four hours every day sitting at a table at my gate. The Camino has reminded me, yet again, how privileged I truly am.

We aren’t normal people. We already knew this, for obvious reasons. But there is more. So very much more that most people don’t know about us. Not big things. Just a series of weird small things. Harmless stuff.

It all began in 2020. Well, not all of it but this particular thing did. Back when we had watched the entire internet, everything on every streaming service, and were actually fed up with doom scrolling social media for hours a day. Like prison inmates we were restless, unkept, and unruly. Pajamas had become every day wear. But for introverts like Jeff, the pandemic was HEAVEN. He didn’t have to talk to anyone – except work. His office became his haven of creativity. Laser cutters, sewing machines, and his 3D printers were humming all day, every day. But he was also in the bowels of Youtube searching in the hidden corridors for entertainment. Then, one day BINGO!! And it has been a guilty pleasure for us ever since.

Ripley

If you‘ve watched the recent Netflix series Ripley, you understand the discomfort and thrill of rooting for the anti-hero, so you’ll understand our obsession with the Youtube videos put out by the King County Sheriff’s Air Support Unit in Washington State in the US. The helicopter police.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=GxSbHgu0kcs&pp=ygUSS2luZyBjb3VudHkgcG9saWNl

It’s rando, I know. And we are busy these days so we don’t watch it that often. But yesterday was a miserable day in Galicia. Like biblical weather that the pilgrims I met today at my daily book signings at our gate described as ‘a nightmare’ on their 23km trek from Portomarin to Palas de Rei. Hail, freezing wind, rain by the buckets. It hit them like bricks, and I stamped a lot of wet passports on this blessedly sunny morning. A day as bad as yesterday means a fire in the grate and the animals curled up on the sofa. That was when I was summoned to el Jefe’s office.

‘You’re gonna wanna see this.’

It didn’t sound good. We haven’t heard from our tax guy in the US. I gulped. Then I wandered into Jeff’s office. He pointed to the screen. The words ‘Bellevue’ and ‘Snoqualmie’ popped out. There is only one place where those names go together. And we have lived in both cities. Jeff pulled up a chair. I sat as he clicked play. And for the next hour we followed one stolen car, then the guy stealing a second car, all throughout our old stomping grounds. This while shouting at the screen. The only thing missing was the popcorn.

Gas Station Chicken

‘Don’t turn down Center Street!’ As we watched him go past the Mexican and Indian restaurants we ate at every week. Then blow by the Community center where our kids went after school.

‘Look! They have a pool now?’ I shouted. ‘They had to move the Easter Egg hunt to another play field this year.’

The car flew by the street where Emilie’s friend, Keely, used to live. I had to get up to use the bathroom at one point. When I returned I asked Jeff where the stolen car was.

‘Gas station chicken.’

I knew exactly what he was talking about. When Nick was in middle school he would ask for money to go to this one gas station – so odd – with his friends to buy and eat chicken that had been under a heat lamp all day. It was dry and awful. From then on that gas station was called Gas Station Chicken. I have no idea what it was actually named.

‘Did you get gas for the car?’ Jeff might ask me as I walked in the door after work.

‘Yup. I stopped at Gas Station Chicken.’

It’s weird. But it’s a thing.

The guy was all over Snoqualmie Blvd. He went past our street a bunch of times with a host of cop cars following him. And the helicopter recording his every move. Then, he crashed near the TPC (The Pro Course) at Snoqualmie and stole another car. Right under the noses of the police. Gripping television!

He wove in and out of cars. Drove the wrong way on the I-90. But I didn’t care so much about that.

‘Do you see that traffic at the Highway 18 interchange?!? It’s only 4:30 in the afternoon on a Wednesday! Dear Lord, I wouldn’t get home until 8 o’clock with that traffic if we lived there now.’

It looks like they are finally putting in the promised fly over from Highway 18 to I-90. The Biden infrastructure bill did it’s job. Every politician in WA State had been promising it since 2011. It will be years before it can make a dent in the east King County traffic. But I digress.

The guy drove to North Bend, and shot on and off the freeway. I kept shouting that he should get off at Exit 32 and head south up into the forest where we used to board our golden retriever, Mr. Perkins, when we traveled. Jeff disagreed.

‘That golf course is there. And the road is winding. You can’t really hide from the infrared on the helicopter.’

He was right.

‘I forgot about that golf course. We played there a few times. They have a good breakfast at the clubhouse.’ I remembered. ‘Emilie liked their homemade mac-n-cheese on Friday nights.’

The car thief was still on the loose. He turned off on Bendigo Blvd and into the outlet mall.

‘That’s not good.’ I observed. ‘He’s behind the Nike store. He’s trapped.’

But he wasn’t. He blew through the brush and up onto the on ramp. Back and forth, up and down I-90, countless collections of cop cars tried to lay spike strips but they couldn’t get him. He finally turned on the exit 32 but made a left into town, instead of a right – as I was advising at volume. Then headed out towards the Snoqualmie River where we used to fly fish and Jeff used to kayak. He ditched the car in the woods, then set out on foot walking towards a bridge along the riverbank. The helicopter circled, calling in their coordinates to the ground forces. The thief tried to hide but his heat signature meant he wasn’t going anywhere. It was then Jeff spotted our friends, John and Harriett’s house. The thief was crouched under a rock on the riverbank right across the water from their house. In summer he could walk across that river. This time of year it’s running too high. He’d be swept down stream towards the famous Snoqualmie Falls.

We watched as the police collected him with the help of the K-9 unit. It was over. We were sweating and tired

The last video of these we watched had the thief in the parking lot of the Petco in Covington where we bought stuff for our cats when they were kittens. There was another where the guy raced by the old REI headquarters in Kent. It’s weird. I know. But it made us feel better somehow during the pandemic. Today it’s just fun to see places we used to go. And to see how much they’ve changed. The running commentary is the best part. Pointing at the screen. Arguing about what we are seeing and where it is. But the ridiculous part is that it’s recorded. Our head shaking and shouting are useless. This car theft happened a week ago. The guy is in Jail. I know what you’re thinking – we’re a little strange. But we all have those weird things that nobody knows about us. Now you know some of our weirdest – including Gas Station Chicken.

So this last stretch has been super strange. I won’t go into all the details. But suffice to say it has involved a couple of protests and stealing some of our land.

Not In My Backyard

The city of Palas has proposed something that has the entire community within a 40 km radius up in arms. Like a pitchforks-and-torches type of deal. I won’t bore you with the details because the details don’t matter, but our mailbox has been stuffed with fliers about it. And our friends in Melide, restaurant owners who turned out to be lawyers in a past life, are leading the charge.

I was having lunch with a friend when my neighbors called me.

‘We need to see you immediately. It’s an emergency.’

I was alarmed. Normally, my friend and I have a lunch that lasts until after dark. But this time I had to go. An ‘emergency’ had been called in the neighborhood and like any good Batman I answered the call!

Over beers, including getting Jeff involved, we canvased the neighborhood and it seems the danger is real. My community activism gene has been activated. There is no turning back.

I’m Gen X. Like first-year Gen X. I watched the protests of the Vietnam war with interest as a child. It seemed to me that the only way to effect change is to demand it. Even if you have to do it at volume. And all my siblings are boomers. Boomers generally liked protesting. So it rubbed off on me. I have marched for women’s rights. For unjust firing of professors at my university. For the end to gun violence. Give me a sign and a bull-horn and I’m there for it.

I may not be a real citizen of this country but I still care deeply about it and my community. So I’m marching any time justice is under attack. I can’t help it. And yesterday was no different. I accompanied my neighbors to our local cultural center in Melide and we protested something that impacts us directly. I shouted and chanted right along side my neighbor. My picture is in our local newspaper paper. And I met a ton of new people! Really cool people. 😎 And we had a funny misunderstanding.

‘Would you like some Ex, Kelli?’

I was shocked. Sure, I remember the protests in the 60’s. The drugs, sex, and rock-n-roll. But in 2024? Besides, ecstasy isn’t my bag. ‘Uh. No thank you?’

‘You don’t like ex?’

Ecstasy? 😳

‘No. I’m not really into Ex. But thanks for asking.’

Then, the guy standing next to her caught on to my confused look.

‘Huevos.’ he said ‘Ex.’

Ah. ‘Oh. Ok. Yes, we love eggs.’

Jeff laughed when I told him this story. So many times he’s been frustrated when people don’t understand his accent in spanish. Now he sees how the difference between the ex sound and the eggs sound matters a whole lot! An egg-white omelette’s worth.

It will be a long fight for this issue. I am now in charge of a few things to help the struggle. Research, letter writing, etc. But I will gladly do my part. And am happy to be included.

Except When It Is In My Actual Backyard- Sneaky Bastards

I got home late after my Dr appointment in Santiago yesterday. It was a busy day of protesting, driving, and medical procedures. I took Fergus out to the barn to switch out the laundry when I noticed bright orange markers a meter inside our property line. WTF?!? Jeff heard my shout and we stood with our jaws open. Who came on our land and laid these markers?

After printing our property records of our four plots, Jeff and I headed to the ayuntamiento in Palas this morning. The same place I have graced with Christmas cookies for the past three years. I was loaded for bear and as I breached the top of the marble staircase in front of the windows for the customer service counter, the gentleman behind the counter didn’t miss a beat. He pointed towards the city architect’s office. Somehow he knew and we went straight there.

Jeff had it all typed out. The guy was courteous but explained that they were taking part of one of our plots of land for a new road. One meter of it in some places. Two meters plus in others. And it would be going down the centre of our Horreo and our woodshed. Like slicing them in half. You can’t physically do that. Again, what the actual fuck?

He explained that our land had been reregistered into someone else’s name – a Solar company – and they probably got the letter explaining imminent domain. They had a year to protest but they didn’t. Why? Because it isn’t really their land. So now Palas can take 1500 sq meters of our property for this road. That’s when I LOST it! And Jeff let me off the chain. We have spent years – years!!! – getting permissions from the GDM patrimonio and Xunta. Years following the rules. Fucking stupid rules with twisted nonsense and bureaucracy. And then, they can reregister our land to someone else to bypass the imminent domain notification and waiting period, and then steal our property. CROOKS! They better show me the money or I’m calling our lawyer.

What about the blessed forestry study we had to do? No one came to do that for their new fucking road. They will take out more than 40 of our trees in this land grab! Old trees. Big shade trees. In our albergue permissions they said if we cut down a tree we must plant another. Where are they replanting 40 of my trees? Remember that stupid roads guy who showed up last year without a measuring tape and told me I couldn’t have a gate because he could ‘tell just by eye-balling it?’ Genius!

We drove home from Palas with a hand full of papers and bullshit excuses rolling around in my head. Including a type of dejection I had yet to feel but was now drowning in. A new low, and that is saying something. Has the universe stopped whispering ‘Leave Galicia’ and it’s now shouting at us ‘Run! Before it’s too late?’

I want to stay and help my neighbors win this fight. But today we need to seriously consider if this is the right place for us. Jeff is vacillating, but leaning towards selling up. The next owners would have all their permissions to build. The ones we fought for. But none of our bitterness. Is it time to dream a new dream? Find a new place to call home far away from here? France 🇫🇷 , anyone? There is one upside, I guess. Until then at least the Ex, I mean eggs, are free.

Hi Everyone

We have a fair bit going on here, but I wanted to post about a podcast I did awhile ago that just dropped. You can check it out in the link below.

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-breakout-unleashing-personal-growth/id1536291826?i=1000649027405

It’s a timely trip down memory lane on the anniversary or our arrival in Spain in 2018 and creating a new life. Enjoy!

Whenever we travel, I like to look for advice online on where to go and what to do on a trip. Even to places I have been before. But, one thing I don’t think I have done well is utilize this community to the fullest, to crowdsource the best of what to see and do. So, here goes.

This year, we are spending all of Semana Santa (Holy Week) and Easter in Lisbon, Portugal. Jeff has the time off. We have been there before and have our favorite places, but I wonder if you all have any advice on where to go and what you like to see and do in Lisbon and the surrounding areas. Jeff loves Lisbon and we are going there because it’s one of his favourite cities in the world. And it’s one of mine, as well. We could use the sun and amazing food available in one of the most international food cities and capitals on the planet. But we only know what we know.

We’re driving down from Galicia – it’s not really that far. So we can stop off at some places we like along the way, as well. The Silver Coast. Perhaps spending some time in the hills bordering the east of the country. A more beautifully pristine place is difficult to find.

In the comments – if you know of a place in Lisbon that is a Must See. Or is a I want to go there next time I’m in Lisbon let us know. We are going to truly take a break for Holy Week and Easter. And we’ve agreed to fully check out of social media, blogging, WhatsApping and what have you. A true digital cleanse and just enjoy being in the present moment. Soaking in all that Lisbon has to offer without our heads in a screen. But, that doesn’t mean we can’t compile a list of things to see and do before then.

Thank you in advance, everyone, for your input, insight, and advice on Lisbon and southern Portugal.

It’s been raining cats and dogs here in Galicia. A train of storms are bearing down upon us from Greenland. It’s dropped 10 degrees C in the past week. Winter has returned to Galicia.

https://www.lavozdegalicia.es/noticia/lugo/2024/02/26/temporal-deja-decenas-incidencias-provincia-lugo/00031708943302887873990.htm

You know it’s cold when we are bundled up inside. Our ugly, yet invaluable, fleece Snuggies are required over clothes. Seventy pound Fergus wants to shadow us everywhere. Even attempting to sit on my lap on a chair. And staying downstairs on the sofa by the dying embers in the fireplace each night. Then, at a chilly 5 am coming upstairs and jumping up on the bed to snuggle between us and warm up. Jeff’s favorite. NOT!

And speaking of snuggling up with others. Last night I had a rather curious text from some unknown person. Or, so I thought. It declared me ‘preciosa’ and asked me how I am doing on this cold miserable Sunday night. It was all in Spanish. I showed the text to Jeff. It was a head scratcher. Then, the emojis started.

For those who have read this blog for a while, you might remember an unusual 2022 New Year’s Evening encounter Jeff and I had on the farm with a couple from town who just turned up at our gate uninvited. We call him The Chicken Guy. He is as skinny as a chicken and unattractive as they come, with red dreadlocks. And he is Italian, while is partner is French. I completely misread the situation until hours after they departed the farm when a text arrived inviting us to ‘swing’ with them in various configurations. Jeff laughed until he learned that the dude was equally as interested in him. This was the moment I learned what an eggplant emoji is used for. 😳 I know, I’m just not keeping up with the cool kids in the vegetable animation department. After politely declining, I was then accused of ‘not accepting other people and their sexual preferences.’ This seemed extreme and I said so before I blocked him.

‘I accept everyone’s sexual preferences. But that doesn’t mean I need to participate in those preferences with anyone who randomly turns up at my house for a booty call, or texts me on a dark and stormy New Year’s Eve. No thank you.’ Jeff would have responded with more force. I was restrained in my response, omitting vulgar expletives suggested by Jeff, who lobbied for inviting The Chicken Guy to go have a sexual encounter with himself, declining with extreme prejudice and decidedly more brevity than my long winded brush off.

So this fresh text last evening shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. Clearly, a new phone number was acquired, likely after this couple inappropriately texted more than just The Americans in a very small town in the far Northwest corner of rural Spain. Tongues must be wagging in Melide. And not in that way😉. But I truly had no idea who this text was from. And then the foto arrived and the light dawned. Again, I showed it to Jeff, who broke out into hysterical laughter before I reminded him that if he was included in the proposed festivities last time, chances were better than 50/50 he’s included this time, as well. That put an end to the hilarity of the situation for him. This time I didn’t respond at all, and blocked the new number.

Yes, it’s cold here. The four of us, including LuLu kitty, are snuggling up for warmth under a duvet before the fire. But, if the next ice age arrived overnight and this couple was my only source of warmth, I would choose the path of human popsicle. Looking outside now, the leaves are beginning to burst forth on chestnut trees. We seem to only attract these two in the winter. So, for me, Spring cannot arrive to Galicia soon enough.