Onward March!

Ya está. Se acabó. Time on the farm is done. One month came and went faster than I imagined. I am now in Barcelona, the first time having consistent internet, but strangely am using a computer even more complex than I used in Tortosa; it´s in Catalán, some letters are rearranged, and some of the keys don't match up how they should. Well, no use complaining, ¿verdad? Onward!

TomTom

Freshly squeezed tangerine juice from a
neighbor´s farm. Very sweet.

I had a fantastic last week and a half in Tortosa. The weather was much improved, Lyne took me with her to see the delta (she was a translator/guide for a large group of French students visiting Spain), I went on an awesome hike in the very mountains I had been gazing at for the previous month, and Francine and I finished pruning her whole olive tree farm on the Friday before I left. I also finished reading Mary Shelley´s "Frankenstein" and Douglas Adams´"The Hitchhiker´s Guide to the Galaxy," but that´s not exactly related to organic farming.

At the delta, I rented a bike and strode off to find the beach, stopping here and there to admire the large flocks of flamingoes or mallards or grazing bulls, or to have a snack. I meandered along the beach once I got there, but the strong winds kept me from staying too long. They also kept me from biking most of the way back, as walking was much easier and more sensible than riding against the wind. It was the first day of rice planting season, too, so all the fields were prepped and ready to go, and the land stretched on and on, flat as could be. It was quite a fun day, and I even met a Leo Messi lookalike. Whoa! That´s the exact same as meeting him in person!

On the penultimate day, Lyne´s kids came to town with their significant others, and us along with Francine, Claire, a French girl who Lyne previously knew, and a woman from France who is Lyne´s best friend all went to the mountain and had a great day hike. I was on the lookout to see mountain goats but only saw them.... off the mountain. But they were mountain goats all the same, I promise. We stopped midway for a big picnic filled with French cheeses and olives and breads and French apples, much of which was supplied by Lyne´s friend. I ate so much cheese in Tortosa. So much. And oil. And bread.

Cheeses brought to us from France

Lyne´s farm from a day I wanted to climb
the terraces

Una mona, a Catalonia traditional Easter
cake with hard-boiled eggs, filled with cream

The next day was Lyne´s birthday so all of us plus a couple more had a big lunch with wine and dessert and more cheese and more oil and more bread to celebrate, with a Catalonian traditional Easter dessert (see picture). Whilst talking with Lyne´s son and his girlfriend, they offered to drive me back with them to Barcelona and let me crash on their couch for the night, and I accepted. So five of us crammed into the car that night and headed off, and it was a great opportunity for me to get to know the four of them better and practice my Spanish more. I originally planned on taking a train the day after to Barcelona, so I was happy to get a lift!

Being in Barcelona has been a drastic change, of course, but a nice one at that, as the city seems to me very clean and upbeat, but not so inyourface as Bangkok or Seoul or many big cities I´ve experienced. The first night I met an incredible man in my hostel room. He was around 75, and I quickly discovered that he had to be up real early to catch a plane to Cary, North Carolina (!). Not even 3 hours from my hometown. I always seem to meet people and make a weird connection. Funny how the world works. Funny how small we are. Anyway, he told me his area of interest was third world economic development. He summed up his life as thus: An Aussie that went to school for some time in the States and for 2 years in Cairo, as a man who taught high schoolers in New Guinea, who volunteered at an orphanage for 2 years in Beirut, who just got done with a 6 month stint in India, plus numerous other long-term trips throughout Tanzania, Ethiopia, Lithuania, Croatia, and he even talked of doing backpacking trips through Vietnam and from Vancouver to San Francisco, many of which done post-retirement, and on his own dime!

Me at La Sagada Familia, Barcelona

Steps up one of the towers of Sagrada Familia

Jason, why didn´t you tell us you were famous
in the Barcelona dandruff shampoo division?!

View from one of the tower spires

Back to farming. I had a wonderful experience, albeit a short one, and I don´t regret a second of it. There are innumerable other ways I could have felt, had I gone into the situation with a less open mind. The fact that I´ve traveled a lot certainly helped me understand that what I was to be doing was my choice, and I wasn´t going there to change anything, I was going to learn and to adapt. Adapting is one thing I am very good at, so things like going vegetarian for a month was absolutely no problem for me, and going without showering much of the time was okay, because I knew I would survive, and disconnecting from life in terms of internet and technology was awesome (even though I had it occassionally to check emails). I think that also made it easier on Lyne, my wonderful host, as she didn´t need to try hard whatsoever to fill my hot shower needs, or carnivorous cravings, as they were left in the States before I got on the plane.

A quick last note: I don´t know if I will be adding more blog posts, so if not, my itinerary is rough, but includes Bordeaux, France (April 5-9), Brussels, Brugge, and Ghent, Belgium (April 9-14), Holland, Netherlands (April 14-17), Bremen, Cologne, and Bavaria, Germany (April 17-May 1), Liechtenstein (May 2), Lucerne, Interlaken, Switzerland (May 2-13), London, UK (May 13-16), Paris, Lyon, Marseille, Provence, France (May 16-24), USA (May 25).

Saliva on My Back

Obviously I don't need to write about each time I prune olives, as it's pretty standard. I experienced something unorthodox yesterday (Friday), and must share. You're probably going to scan through to find out where the "Saliva on My Back" comes into play, but bear with me. I'm on a foreign computer and can only type for so long until my fingers give up.

I was having one of those days, where my back wasn't cooperating with me on anything, and work lulled on and on, until I couldn't do much of anything. Even my appetite was affected. NO! The monstrosity!

Well, just so happens that Lyne, who has been having shoulder issues for months, was going to see a "specialist" that very night! She had tried doctor visits, but they kept pushing her back and wanted an extra examination each time. She had heard of a healer from a friend who continually swears by her, and decided to give it a try. She offered the chance for me to attend, and although at first I was skeptical (still am, really), I consented because I thought, at the very least it will be an experience. And that it was.

It took us just 15 minutes to get there, a little area out of the town. Apparently this folk healer (not foal killer, which would have been great to profit from for some meat), works from 5 pm to 8 pm on certain days. We're the first ones there and were ushered in a few minutes past 5. We took seats inside a room slightly decorated with Catholic murals and pictures, with a desk topped with a plethora of outdated magazines. I filled my time reading about 2009 Sandra Bullock's thoughts on fashion, in Spanish. I wonder what she thinks, now? Oh that's right, it's unimportant and irrelevant. She does take some good pictures, though. Anyway, a long while later, after she finished with a couple people, I was brought in with Lyne to help translate. The room was a small one, filled with hundreds of religious figurines and framed pictures. I'm told to lie face down on a table, and after a few questions she told me I have two crossed vertebrae, which was surprisingly true, as I know since the pain is in the same area it was when I went to the chiropractor two years ago. She dripped something on various parts of my back whilst whispering sweet Catalan nothings to my spine, then does a light massage with spit as her oil. Yeah! Talk about a way to relax your patient! No, it was fine, I'm filthy here anyway. I just showered, but last night I hadn't properly showered in over a week. Anyway, she told me to halt the work I specifically came here to do, and for 2 HOURS a night for 9 nights, put hot, cooked chick peas (garbanzos) in the curve of my affected area. We're going to try it, because, well, why not? If it works, that will be the strangest way to cure the ailment that's afflicted me for years, and if it doesn't, I waste 18 hours and a whole lot of hummus. I love hummus, too, so this better not be all for naught. Like, I said, I'm TRYING not to be skeptical! No comments on this trial, please. I won't allow it. One funny memory, her asking Lyne in Catalan if I have family, and when answered with the affirmative and that they're in America, she shakes her head and says I'm a poor fellow and she feels bad for me. Lyne had to explain I wasn't her adopted kid.

Also, not only am I typing on a "stylized" keyboard, but am half blind since this morning when I stabbed my eye with an olive branch (how ironic that the symbol of peace caused me this pain!) that broke my contact and rendered my subsequent work and this blog much more "AARR"duous.

Olive Tree Pruning

I had wanted to write about my experience pruning olive trees with Francine, and have since discovered this will probably be a usual occurrence, as I have already done it 3 separate days. Every time Lyne, who is also an English teacher 3 days a week, has a full schedule teaching, I told her it would be fine to help Francine, unless there is a lot of work to do at Lyne´s place. Thus far, we always leave a little after 9, drive down into the heart of the town, pick up an elderly woman Teresa (talked about previously, I believe), and cross the Ebro River into the countryside, where we usually only see a couple passersby the whole day. Sometimes Francine has a few extra helpers stop by. Her area is quiet and surrounded by vast mountains which made Tortosa, in the past, famous for its granite mines.

To prune an olive tree, I quickly learned, you must stand back and observe the equilibrium of the tree, noting that the only reason you prune an olive tree is to make it easier to gather the product in the future, so it must be done correctly. Therefore, you don´t want to have tall branches. Basically, the water the tree gets goes to those branches, branches that are too difficult to harvest from the ground. They hog the water, and in Spanish are called chupones. Before even that is thinning or cleaning the tree of dry or dead branches, and it can get chaotic. So many twigs here and there to snip and snap, it takes quite a bit of patience.You want a nice rotund tree that grows out and full, and you must have a keen eye and be intuitive to realize which branches could grow out instead of up in the future. The women always pardon their actions when they cut the tree, and thank the tree when finished.

So that´s the gist of what we do. In the midst of everything, we burn the cut branches, and save the large pieces for her to sell at some point for firewood. A couple hours of this, then we take a lunch break. Francine is a great cook and usually has a pot of something like lentils with fresh veggies, fresh baked bread, her previously harvested olives, and hot tea, and oranges for after. The second time she made black beans with vegetables from her garden. So good, I think I had 4 bowls of it. Today she made a tortilla (in Spain, tortillas are made of eggs and usually potatoes, more like a quiche; hers was egg, onion, tuna, and some other veggies), the usual bread, tea, and small, sweet oranges. I had 4 of them. Okay, I´m lying. I actually had 5. But they´re so small they don´t really count. After lunch, we were for a few more hours and pack things up.

Funny thing. Nois, her dog, ran off the second day we pruned and came back later covered in cow poop. Out of the 5 of us, I was the only one who wouldn´t pet her. That´s a part of me that won´t change. Am I uncultured?

Here is a set of pictures of the artichokes we roasted this past Sunday after tai chi at the beach. So juicy and tender, if I can get my hands on some small ´chokes like these in the States, I am doing it there.

Stem cut, top smacked on table to open, a
bit of salt and oil poured in, and done

Ready for the coals

Once finished, peel off the charred outer
layers and go to town

Picture Time

 

Ferdinand e Isabel, two of many sculpted in a three-story atrium.
Most are kings, queens, and celebrated generals.

The anterior walls of the city´s large Catholic church

The entrance to the atrium. The city isn´t protected by a patron saint,
like many others, but angels.

The view of Tortosa from one of the castle viewpoints

Another view, the main edifice is the church

One of Francine´s gatos, probably searching for food

The largest orange I´ve held. This one orange was
enough for a whole glass of juice.

As promised, here are shots of everyday life here in Tortosa, Catalonia, Spain, thus far.

View of the Ebro River, a very important one in regards to Spain´s maritime history, going back to Viking use.

A pizza Lyne and I made, with tomatoes the neighbors gave us,
organic broccoli, freshly grated goat cheese, organic seared artichoke,
and fresh-picked wild asaparagus. ¡Buen provecho!

View from the top of one of the olive trees I pruned

Las montañas de Tortosa

Teresa insisted on taking a picture of me pruning. I´m being safe,
I promise. And I only acted like a monkey once (twice).

A walk up to one of 4 Tortosa castles

The main house of the farm

Calilou, being playful as ever

Seeing El Pueblo

Today I was lucky to sleep in a bit, and after breakfast was dropped off at Francine's place. While she got lunch ready, I got the fire ready and relocated some of her firewood; it had been sitting in the rain so I moved large piles under cover for the future. For lunch we started again with the Calçots, which is something I could get used to. To reiterate, the calçots are the large onions roasted over an open flame until charred. You take them one by one, pinch the end of the bulb, and slide the charred outer layers to expose the juicy, inside, before dipping them in a nice tomato and oil-based sauce. It's extremely enjoyable and something I am glad to have taken advantage of, as they are only available one month a year, February. After calçots we enjoyed some green beans pan-fried with goat cheese and onions, alongside some rice and a boiled egg. Hot tea and Spanish chocolate was enjoyed after. This is beginning to sound like a blog about foods I encounter, eh? Soon after lunch, we leashed her dog Nois, and began our walking tour of the city (she lives very close up the mountainside). Tortosa is a beautifully historic city, and seems relatively unchanged. Multiple times per annum the people enjoy medieval fiestas and parades through the streets and at the castles. I was able to stroll through the historic Jewish, Catholic, and Muslim neighborhoods, explore a couple of the castles and enjoy a cold Estrella Damm (Catalonia Beer) before the rain started and we began to head home. We still managed about a 3 hour walk through the old city.

Tomorrow I'll be pruning olive trees and whatever else is needed. More to come on that. For now, some pictures of the last few days in Spain. I am only able to upload these three right now, as internet won't stabilize long enough to get the rest, so that will be for next time, and hasta luego.

Mercadona's chocolate-filled paradise

View from the bus to Zaragoza

My cottage on the far,

Al Principio

Voy a empezar con....er, sorry, I´m going to get right right into the middle of things on the farm here, because who wants to hear about my getting stuck in another city on the way here and realizing I knew nothing of what my host would look like if I ever did make it? Oh, you do? Well, it all started when I was in Madrid. I had had great luck with getting around solo, and wanted to keep up the good fortune. I needed to take a couple buses the day after arriving in Madrid to get to the area I would be WWOOFing in, and unfortunately was unable to purchase my tickets online. Knowing the first leg of the trip would begin with an 11:00 bus, I woke up early to take the metro to the station, and easily got it with enough time to eat a bocadillo de patata (Google it) whilst chatting with a man from Medellín who had lived in Spain for a while as a lawyer. Jumped on the bus and enjoyed the awesome landscape of Tarragona on my way northeast to Zaragoza. Once there, I realized I had an hour to kill before the bus to Tortosa, my future home for the next 4 or 5 weeks. On the ticket, I see Plaza: 15 and incorrectly assume that means the bus dock number, when it actually means seat, or asiento, number. So I am patiently waiting and see no such bus heading toward Tortosa, and even asking some drivers where to go yields nothing. I come to face the facts once I am sure the bus has left, and when the tears and screams have subsided. I hail a cab to go find a hostel. The only thing to note is the fact that I got to enjoy some things I experienced the last time in Spain (Doner Kebab-Pakistani restaurant, where I got to see just how entertaining the Turkish Airlines Euroleague basketball league is; and Mercadona- grocery store that sells chocolate-filled croissants...I´m drooling just thinking of eating them a couple days ago in that dark, rank hostel room). Anyway, yada yada, I get to Tortosa fine and right away realize I have no way of knowing what my host will look like, and I can´t access internet to get to her phone number. I´ll just wait for a moment, I tell myself, because I was able to get to an internet cafe for a second in Zaragoza and explain the situation to her, and let her know when I might arrive the next day, and voila, she walks in a few minutes later, and figures the blond with a big backpack sitting alone is not from around Tortosa.

(From here on out, I am going to reference my written journal)

Lyne, my host, picks me up in her 4X4 Mitsubishi and I quickly learn how necessary it is, as for around 5 or 10 minutes up and down the mountain where she lives are rocks that are crudely laid for a road. A bit about Lyne: from French and Danish descent, she has lived in Spain for over 30 years and speaks English, Spanish, French, and Catalan (The co-official language of Catalonia, where Barcelona is the capital and largest city) perfectly, and is vegetarian. So no meat on the farm for the duration of my stay! Don´t hold your breath, cows, I´m coming for you as soon as I can. We arrive at the house and I remark of the beautiful scenery: The terraced landscape surrounding us, the crisp air, and the snow-capped mountains way off behind us. We´re immediately greeted by her two dogs, Tom and Caliou, and two cats, Bichi and Loa. The house consists of a kitchen, bathroom, living room and bedroom, all with ample space for one person. The bathroom contains a dry loo, which is something you can research yourself si tu quieres. The kitchen has a basic stove and table, and the living room has a wood oven and an area to wash dishes. All water utilized (for dishwashing, bathing) is rainwater that is collected on the roof through a system of tubes. Of course no hot water, so I will be bathing sparingly. Outside is one room casita where the guest or WOOFer stays, and has a bed and another woodburning heater inside. There is electricity when her solar panel is in operation, but at the present moment is not, so for the first 3 nights we have been eating and chatting and writing by candlelight. It´s actually been a pretty humbling experience being sans technology so far. We´ll see how many hairs I pull by the end of the month.

The first day, Saturday, we mainly explored the grounds of her farmland, or granjas, through a long walk with the dogs. She has olive trees, carob trees, a vegetable garden, wild garlic, and some other spices like thyme and rosemary. We stopped and picked up karob pods to eat and they were surprisingly tasty. For lunch we had a freshly picked salad (when I say fresh I mean from garden to plate) with organic radishes, rice and cauliflower from a few days prior (Nothing goes to waste. Food stays in the kitchen until consumes, and scraps like peels and shells go straight to the compost), and organic peas (everything organic).

At night, the darkness came before we were able to set up the burners effectively, so I slept with about 10 pounds of blankets. I awoke at 3 to answer nature´s call, and despite the cold was able to just gaze at the stars with ease, thinking of how many times I´ve taken for granted a clear sky.

Day 2 started with an early breakfast before heading off to meet up with Francine, Lyne´s Belgian friend (born near Luxembourg) fluent in German, Spanish, Catalan, English, and studying Mandarin, who is also a Tai Chi instructor. We meet up with a few other women and drive to the beach to practice Tai Chi on a jetty, surrounded by calming waters. I skipped the first session to walk the beach and take pictures, but joined when the women insisted I try, and I´m glad I did! Twas pretty relaxing. After enjoying some hot tea and small cookies, we drove to a farm in the midst of a mandarin grove where a Catalonia traditional party was taking place, called Un Calcot (Google "Un Calçotada"): Large green onions, or something in the family of onions, are blackened over an open flame, peeled and dipped in an oil and tomate-based sauce. It´s messy and delicious, and enjoyed alongside wine and sausages, or salchichas, on bread. We stayed there a while, talking of music and technology and this and that, while a Catalan band played some heavy political rock music and kids kicked a ball around and threw a little too much plastic in the fire when parents were engaged elsewhere.

Day 3, Monday, was the first day of work for me. After enjoying a nice breakfast of rice and oats porridge with bread and honey, we ambled off to gather firewood, as we were beginning to run low. The day was cut a little bit short due to some light rain, but I was able to saw a good amount before we left to Francine´s. She was able to get a good cluster of the onions for us to enjoy for another day, so we chomped on those outside before retiring inside for some Chinese tea and lentils and roasted pumpkin with wild garlic.

I think a little too much when it comes to picking a spot to pee. It seems everywhere has something growing that is edible enough to end up on my plate, so I could possibly be recycling my liquid waste, which begs the question: ¿To pee or not to pee? Hope you enjoyed. Another set of exerpts to come when I can get to internet. Hasta luego.