Delusions of Glamour: The Time I Went to Spain and Told Lies to My Boyfriend

Ch. 9: Dear AJ--Fireworks in Valencia, San Sebastian, Carnival in Cadiz

San Sebastian, Carnival in Cadiz, Las Fallas in Valenica

Dearest AJ, 

Hello my friend. You are in for a treat because you are going to read about my month of March, possibly the best and most exciting March I have ever had. Granted, March has never been that all special (it’s rainy, gloomy, stuck between February and April) but now I will always treasure it as the best month of my youth, the month I traveled to San Sebastian, Carnival in Cadiz, and the Las Fallas festival in Valencia. Please, read on. 

San Sebastian

The month started out with a class trip to the Basque Country, as part of a field studies class I’m taking on Basque history and culture. It was especially interesting being from northern Nevada, which has the largest Basque community outside of Spain. We stayed all three nights in San Sebastian, the well-known coastal resort town. It was small, beautiful, and fucking freezing.

We saw all the major sights of San Sebastian, which took approximately half an hour because it’s very small. The best part of the trip was going to Bilbao, the most unappreciated city in the world. All I had ever heard was how ugly it is, but I was blown away. Apparently the city has been going through a major renovation and now it is spectacular. The buildings are all neat and multi-colored, and of course the Guggenheim museum is out of this world. I’ve really never seen anything like it; it’s all silver and looks a cross between a spaceship and the famous opera house-thing in Australia. 

We also ate at a gastronomic society, a famed Basque tradition. It’s basically a fraternity for men who love to cook, in fact women weren’t allowed in until recently and they still can’t be a part of the cooking. It was an old, cool looking place, but then again this is Europe so everything looks cool and old, kinda like a cooking show on the inside with a big open kitchen we sat around as the men made us food. The food was out of this world, San Sebastian is known for its unusual, abstract dishes. Pigeon breast with beet sauce “blood,” cod throat, anchovies heaped upon anchovies. I grew up eating Basque food, we had three or four Basque restaurants in my hometown, but this was a whole new experience.

The next day I decided to continue my Madrid routine and go out walking alone. I went down by the shore and ogled the surfers, then headed back toward the old town. Along the way I saw a crowd of people moving in the street, and with glee went over to observe what I assumed was a parade. I hopped in with the crowd and walked with them, swaggering a bit, joining in their chanting, feeling pro for getting that there’s always reason for a parade in this country. 

Then I actually looked at the signs people were holding. And realized they depicted the Spanish and American flags burning, and George W. with devil horns. It was a rally for ETA, the armed and angry Basque separatist organization. I was the lone American, just looking for a party.

We had discussed ETA (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna "Basque Homeland and Freedom") at length in my Basque studies class. They basically want the Basque country to be its own nation separate from Spain, and use bombings and kidnappings to get their point across. ETA is considered a terrorist organization, and here I am walking in their midst.

I didn’t immediately slink away, however, because I’d like to join a revolution at some point in my life. I’m attracted to the intensity, the passion of risking one’s life for a larger cause. Really, I just wish I felt that passionate about something, other than cheese and cats. For a moment I walked along with the ETA folks, even joining in a fist pump when they gave a cheer. But considering I couldn’t understand a word they were saying (the Basque language, Euskara, is one of the most confounding on the planet, the origins of which linguists still can’t determine, legend has it Euskara was the language spoken in the Garden of Eden), limiting the possibility one of the revolutionaries and I might fall madly in love, thus giving me legitimate reason to take up the cause, I decided to turn right when they turned left, and went back to the beach for a blustery siesta, tingling with the exhilaration of being a rebel, if only for a few blocks.