A few days ago I went to a wedding in the Basque country. One of my partner’s cousins was getting married. It was held in the town of Markina, halfway between Durango and San Sebastian.
It was great.
I was enthralled by the family spirit of the whole thing.
I was lucky enough to witness some old customs, and some new ones, as well as the first lashes of culture clash.
It is traditional in the Basque Country for a dance of honor called “Aurresku” to be performed just outside the church once the bride and groom have been married.
In this dance, the male dancer does a step whereby his leg is outstretched and kicked upwards all the way to his face. Amazing. No Ballets Russes here.
This was the traditional part.
The new custom, it would appear, would be the letting out of fireworks as the newlyweds walk past their guests and into the car.
Everyone remarked on it and asked (and by everyone I mean everyone) if the bride was from Valencia.
You see, aside from Paella, Valencia is known for its fallas and its fireworks. If you think the Chinese have cornered the market on loud firework displays, you’ve never been to Valencia.
So there it was, 2 customs, one old, one new, both surprising since, these days, it is less and less common to see weddings where the Aurresku is performed. But there were still new customs to be seen.
We were treated afterwards to a delicious wedding banquet in a lovely restored traditional basque homestead located in the mountains. Think Swiss Alps with log cabins, but add a couple of stories, make them bigger, and use stone, not wood.
It was white fenced throughout and everyone said it was very atypical to see white fencing. Personally, I thought I was in Virginia!
At our table were sat my partner’s brother and his wife, as well as his sister, and their cousins and wives. It was amazing to hear all the childhood pranks these people got into. It was great. I liked how they were telling stories 15, 20, even 30 years old. How they spoke of their joint childhood, their common stories, adventures, and the times they got in trouble too.
How they referred to each other's parents as "Auntie this" and "Uncle that".
I loved being witness to all that.
On of them was taking about his own daughters; he was worried about how they would try to outsmart him and how he was powerless to stop them. Well, much like his own parents I suppose.
Was this not the eternal family wheel upon which all humanity is thrust into? Childhood, youth, adulthood, patterns which repeat themselves albeit with new actors.
I kept thinking how lucky they all were by being able to grow up with family members their age, and that they are still in touch with each other. What a wonderful thing.
The bride and groom were surrounded by their loved ones and we didn't get much of a chance to talk to them.
For me it was also a great opportunity to get to know better some of my partner's family, and to learn how everyone is related. My family being so small, it was great to be able to do this. Customs anew...
It is worth noting two of the banquet’s waitresses. One of them, in her early 20s or younger, blonde, blue eyed, prim, proper, white-gloved throughout, very professional, and, genetically designed not to laugh at anyone’s jokes.
She would come over with food, tell us what it was. Wait for us to grab a portion. Then split. If a joke was uttered, she either ignored it, or raised above it. We were actually embarrassed to make any jokes when she came round. She was not mean or anything, just trying to be professional I suppose.
The other waitress was definitely my favourite.
In her early to mid 40s, or younger perhaps, blonde, hazel eyed, tanned, muscular, prim, proper, white-gloved throughout, very professional, and, genetically designed to be a different gender once upon a time.
Some people mentioned that she was a body builder who used a lot of steroids, and that that was why she was so muscular and had such a masculine gait to her.
My partner and I differed. She was lovely. Which is why I was convinced that she might have started life with different gonads at one point in her existence.
She walked in heels like a football player would, and her hair was reminiscent of Ivana Trump. Her fake nails were the size of spoons. Yes, she could have tackle d anyone if she had wanted to. But it was all very dignified.
My partner and I loved the fact that the place which held the wedding banquet had the good taste to hire her. A new custom.
I always like to learn about the superstitions of different peoples. I don't mean just from other countries; I like to know what the superstitions of my peers are.
Or if not theirs, then their family's lore. Every family has a little superstition here and there, and I love to learn what these may be.
Never mind that I often, at least for a while, take on their superstition just to see if its true.
I have just come accross this little Russian ditty regarding an old Russian custom (I don't know if by "Russian" the author means all of Russia or just some areas), but I think it is fascinating.
It says that if you have a ticket (public transport or maybe just a cinema ticket), and the sum of the first half of the digits of the ticket's numbers (like serial numbers) match to the sum of the second half, then you are holding a happy ticket. And what do you have to do to ensure luck is bestowed upon you....? Eat the thing. I love it!
Except that I'm not all that cool with eating paper these days.
It is a bit like Fortune Cookies (an American invention by the way). The post in question also mentions that Russia's Department of Transport has ordered cookies from Russian designers at artlebedev.ru in the shape a Russian bus ticket. The catch? All the cookie's numbers add up. so they are all lucky. That is cheating if you ask me.
Nightmare journey from hell last night. Left my internship on smart Gran Vía in Madrid to head to the airport around 6 PM.
Got into Barajas around 7 PM only to be told that the flight was delayed by one hour. Oh well, I thought. Let's do some reading.
A little later I'm told that, in fact, my 20:55 to Gatwick is expected to land around half past midnight. So....more reading, perhaps buy the paper but in fact no, because the newsstands are closing and they are out of papers. What to do? Walk around the terminal like a lost soul until the plane arrives.
After a while, the plane arrives earlier than expected at around 22:10 and we are loaded on like cattle (did I mention I was flying easyjet?). As you board the plane, the stewardess loudly, rudely, and cattily tells you to SIT DOWN! as quickly as possible because we do have a window to make and the flight was delayed. She makes it sound like it is your fault. Funny that. Finally the plane takes off around 23:oo and we land in London just before midnight local time. It does not end there.
First the plane takes forever to taxi to the terminal (about 10 minutes). Then, because this "model does not come with steps", we have to wait for stairs to arrive, never mind that we are parked next to a finger which we are not using probably because it costs easyjet extra to use it. The pilot tells us that a lot of flights are coming in now and that they are all probably short of stairs. What? I'm sorry Mr. Captain of a cheap airline, those flights you mention are more than likely equipped with steps, and/or they are using the airport's finger. Unless what you meant is that a lot of easyjet flights are coming in, and none of them have steps. It does not end there.
We have to go to customs. The lines (queues) are enormous. And it is about 00:20. HM Customs has decided that 3 agents are enough to handle the inmense workload.
After an eternity I make it to the desk.
I hand her my passport.
The agent (BBM with funky hair) in question yells out "smile!" in a not very friendly way.
-I don't think I have to. -Are you having a bad day? (condescendingly, she obviously was not expecting a foreigner to talk back) -No -Are you unhappy because you are talking to me? (self-centered) -No -Are you not feeling well? (again, rather rudely and not in any way showing real concern) -I feel fine -Then what is the problem? I turn and point out the, still, long lines waiting to get through customs. -This is the problem. Do you think this is normal? -Yes! (with some attitude) -Yes, this is normal in a third world country. -Oooh! (she says and gives me back my passport).
She looks at her colleague, Ooohing and ahhing, as if to say "look at him!", thinking, of course, that I am the one in the wrong, not them.
I walk away thinking how amazing it is that the UK can be so third world sometimes and not even realise it.
If at least people here showed initiative, like in Germany, then, ok, nobody says you have to be perfect (and I am not holding Spain as any sort of example).
It is just that, sometimes, you wonder why things never change. But it does not end there.
Now we have to wait about 30 minutes for our luggage to come out. Once it does we all rush to the trains. But it does not end there.
It was 00:55 by then. We [the passengers] had been in Gatwick over an hour by then.
I thought I would take the Gatwick Express to Victoria. No Gatwick Express until 01:35 arriving at 02:20 in Victoria.
So I take instead the 01:05 Southern train which got in at 10 to 2AM, 3AM in Spain.
Getting out of Victoria station turns into a nightmare. Not everyone has a ticket (no ticket inspector on board) and there is only ONE agent at the gates selling tickets.
It has been 9 hours since I left the office. Nine hours in transit. I was beat by the time I got home around 2:30 AM.
AOG, Madrid
It is traditional in the Basque Country for a dance of honor called “Aurresku” to be performed just outside the church once the bride and groom have been married.
The other waitress was definitely my favourite.
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