Diario de Espana Sola. On Being Brave. Las Llaves Again. And Heights and Fears.

Well, I’m usually asleep at this time of night. But this is Spain, Cordoba. More precisely it’s also the eve of May 1 and Cruces de Mayo de Córdoba is underway. *

After a salad at one of the plazas nearby and a wine (I have to drink near my accomodation – but coming to that later), I headed to the Plaza de la Corredera, the main, still beautiful but a bit neglected square. There in front of me was one of the many groups celebrating the May crosses.

So. That’s what I saw, just walking by. The church in all its glory, the candles, flowers, offerings, and the cross bedecked in a mass of pink flowers. BUT the dancers across the narrow street were such a joy. The dancing was so spontaneous and fluid. Just a part of the bar scene and people clapped while talking and drinking. Apparently the flamenco dancing is all over Cordoba during this celebration of a new spring.

Then I had to face my biggest fear: being unable to work the Las llaves. It’s cold tonight. There are 5 keys to this place. Each one opens a door and each lock requires calculation by one who is really really bad at matching shapes . Which key to which lock ? Shouldn’t be hard to remember.It is for me. But I did it.

Then another trial. The reason why I’m limiting my alcohol intake here :

The stairs leading up to my loft.

Well. I can hack the stairs, just pray and focus coming down. But looking down over the railings I feel queasy. Better today, my second night here .

It’s a real gem as they say on booking.com. Apart from the stairs ( and I was told about them before booking) .

Life’s a mix . Travel just pushes out that mix Flowers and dance on one hand and key and height challenges on the other. So I’m facing a few of my fears, and there are some I never knew I had .

*At the beginning of May Cordoba traditionally holds “ the battle of the flowers”. Huge crosses decorated with flowers , plants in pots and Manila shawls are put up in courtyards, plazas, in front of churches. Local clubs set up a bar alongside and there’s a week of Sevillanas music and dancing at night . I think there is also a parade and the best decorated cross wins . As with Semana Santa, brotherhoods of different parishes each prepare a cross.The festival marking the beginning of spring is also just after Easter.

Espana Sola 20/4/25. Diario de Madrid.

So I’m at another La Gloria Bar in Madrid.

And I really don’t spend all my time in Spanish bars. I wish I could, but being solo it’s a matter of finding one close to accomodation, that’s not upmarket and overpriced, but not too seedy. Plus serves anything besides pan combination. One drink only.

Looks like I need another vino

So Easter Sunday, my last day in Madrid and the last of Semana Santa. I’ve just been at the close, a drumming performance, Tamborrada, at the Plaza Mayor.

Very very good drumming
Media and speeches
Lots of security

I had plenty of time to really look at the building . Like lots of the architecture in Madrid just so beautiful with clear lines, colours and art on the walls .A lot of people to see this close of 4 days and nights of penitence, sadness and celebration. An hour of standing waiting is a good reminder of the time spent waiting in travel.

Also I remembered this morning on my way from Atocha to Plaza Mayor that it’s often not the place one reaches or the experience sought that is most significant. Sometimes the unexpected is the most interesting or thought provoking . At Anton Martin subway police cars screeched up and police lined the metro entrance taking emerging people aside until they grabbed one man .

Coincidentally I’d just recognised the sculpture modelled on a painting I saw yesterday in La Reina-Sophia; Juan Genoves The Embrace with its mixed message of solidarity post civil war. So it did make me think about the layers of life here in this traveler’s Madrid.

I guess one always sees connections with one’s home place. And certainly I see here in this vibrant and beautiful city the homelessness and disengagement that exists in Fremantle, the sleeping rough and asking for money, the arguing and, I guess, the drugs. Only here it’s less in your face as there are more people and the gap between the haves and have nots is less visible. And I’m just passing through.

So I’ve had my late lunch and I’m back to my accomodation around the corner for a siesta. Then it’s packing to move on. An early start to Atocha station for my train to Granada .

Espana Sola. Primero Entrada de Diario.

15/4/25, On My Way

Well, one purpose of this 5 week trip to Spain is to write. Another is to speak Spanish more fluently because I am on my own.Sounded a great idea. And here I am at Dubai Airport Gate C10 waiting for my connecting flight to Madrid.So no going back.

So shall I disclose the underlying purpose of lone travel? Just to recover some independence in my late seventies as well as to physically lift myself out of a family life that has become out of kilter, a slow creep through the years. I don’t think I’m the only older woman who finds herself in a finely woven web. It’s great. I love my family, my home, and I am thankful.The joys and sadnesses of families are shared ; I need to find rediscover a slither of possibilities in the midst of that belonging. Being alone is a part of the human condition. Creativity goes hand in hand with aloneness , doesn’t it ?

17/4/25 Madrid 7am

I am sitting in a not really great cafe with the unlikely name of Santa Gloria in Calle Atocha, Madrid at 7am on a 6C rainy morning. I wonder. Having just had the usual Spanish key battle at my accommodation, the usual wondering about phones ( am I off roaming? Do I dare to use anything on it?). I wonder if I even care about writing, being creative, or even Spain. Fremantle is warming up now, sea’s great, room’s warm. No locks to locks get into my room.I wonder briefly if the martyrs of which Santa Gloria must have been one, felt this too ? A hard road when the conviction goes.

And it’s Semana Santa in Madrid and reminders everywhere of perseverance and conviction. On a much more intense level than mine, of course. I’m making for the Cathedral this afternoon to see the huge statue of Maria Santisima de la Esperanza Macarena Holy Mary of Hope) carried by the Hermandades ( Brotherhoods) They are each responsible for the procession from their parish and the procession that follows.

This is the first one I saw.. At Plaza Mayor and I followed to Sol.

Two cups of coffee may be enough to set one on course again. And the martyrs only had a prayer or two and a glimmer of light to put them back on their way. This cafe is filled up now as people go about their day, mostly happily it looks like. So I’m off, sola, into the still chilly air to fiddle around opening 3 doors before reaching my room in Hostal Rivera. I’ll pick up my newly charged phone and my tourist “Madrid” to head off to Reina Sofia and then the Catedral de Santa Maria la Real de la Almudena.

Hasta Luego

Shaking off the Dust

There’s an interesting biblical account of Jesus urging his disciples to go from place to place to spread the word, taking nothing with them except a staff: no money, no food, no bags, no change of clothes. He instructs them to leave those places where they are not welcomed: ”as you walk away shake off the dust from under your feet….”( Mark 6:7:13).

So that has left me thinking about the stuff I have and about the gathering of dust and shaking it off. About a propensity for accumulating , whether it be food ( fridge is always overfull) clothes( another op shop visit ) books (another shelf full) .

More clothes
Back from Saturday shop
Sorting books for me
Books on the ‘ waiting’ shelf

So : how many dust idioms can you remember ? or dust quotations?

Can’t see them for dust

Gathering dust

Dust it off

Let the dust settle

And of course theres the beautiful reminder of our mortality : “ for dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return “( Genesis3:19.KJV)

Which reminds me of my father’s party song:

“ Ash to ash and dust to dust

If coke don’t get you morphine must

Honey have a sniff……..”

( we kids loved all the sniffing. Dad learnt it in Boy Scouts)

I am heading somewhere with these dust metaphors.I dust off my mind to fasten onto the interpretation that suits me right now : dust is extraneous to one’s needs, left over , covering up, clinging on.To shake the dust off one’s feet requires speed and ingenuity.

In youth it was often difficult to see me for dust. Now there’s a tendency towards gathering dust. Stand still for too long and one becomes , not exactly a dustbin , but certainly smothered in particles and , as Germaine Greer pointed out, disappeared. Still… .. The problem is not only speed but also physical being and direction . One needs to, literally, see clearly and place each foot down safely. As well as knowing where to go. The disciples had a mission and a belief. They were certainly young enough to find their way and trust in providence.

Holding on to stuff provides a shelter of sorts.As do familiar places and people.But the gathered piles also make one heavier. Moving becomes tricky. Like sinking into an interminable dustbowl. In a nightmare where one moves one’s feet but move one’s feet but goes nowhere. Stuck.

Shaking the dust off one’s feet is not easy.

It’s a long way