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We Feel Welcome We cycled until we saw a gas station. Sharon and Susan wanted to stop, so of course we did. The young attendant waved. I went over and he shook my hand. "Welcome," he said, while he filled gas containers for a customer. The old man looked at me and said in a self satisfactory voice, "Capital Canada. Toronto." "Ottawa," I corrected him, the school teacher in me popping out unexpectedly. He was quiet for a moment, then piped up, "Toronto." "Ottawa," I said, shaking my head. A long minute of silence passed as the attendant filled the final two containers. "Toronto," the old man said. The gas attendant looked at him. Squinting, he said, "Ottawa." The old man left with his gas. As he drove past us he leaned out the window and said, "Toronto." The attendant's name was August. He gave me his address with instructions to write him. "We can be pen pals," he said, slapping my shoulder. I wanted to go to Heulva harbour where Columbus had launched his famous voyage five hundred years before. Columbus was a much favoured adopted Spanish son. It was rumoured-in one museum alone-two Columbus skulls were on display. Of course, one was when he was a boy. When we located the harbour Sharon said, "It's just thought Columbus sailed from here, you know. Some people believe he really left from the harbour across the bridge." "We should go there then," I said. "Oh, but they're wrong," Susan quickly decided. "This is the exact location Columbus set forth to discover the new world." I happily snapped a picture. Sitting on the stone wall by the smelly harbour I ate until I was so stuffed I was about to have retro convulsions. The mixture of milk, pastries and limeade had pushed me to the edge. As we left the port city for Sevilla, a car entering the traffic circle, honked. It was August. He was on his way home for lunch and invited us to join him at his house for a hot meal. Normally I would have jumped at the chance, but I turned a putrescent green just thinking about food. I didn't wish to make an unfavourable impression of Canadians so I politely declined. August wasn't one to give up easily. He revised his offer to, "How about a beer? Or a Coca Cola? Right over there at that bar. I'll buy." Sharon and Susan accepted. I went along too. August was such an outgoing hospitable fellow. Once parked, August emerged from his car, embarrassed. He had forgotten his wallet at home that morning. Sharon offered to buy him a beer. He accepted. August spoke to the watering hole's bartender and grinned. He told us his good amigo said no problem-he could pay later. Sharon and Susan had their first Spanish beer, and reported it was heavier tasting than our beer, but good. Olives were served on the side. August was going to school taking English lessons. He wanted to practice and treated me like a longlost brother. August had married ten years ago and had a nine year old daughter. He had been to the Expo in Seville and had visited the Canada exhibit: an iceberg. Nothing like fostering that belief of Canada being one big frozen lump. After two beers, August excused himself and promised he would write. He still had to go home for lunch. Leaving the bar the wind blew stronger than ever. We were on an old road with rough pavement and no shoulder. Any mountain biker would have been in a tizzy. Sharon found the beer helped. She would swerve to miss one pothole and the alcohol would help her to wobble to miss another she hadn't seen. We visited Niebla, an old walled city. It was the most impressive Spanish town we had seen. The streets were narrow with barely enough room for one car. There was no wind. That was what those walls were good for. On the way out of town we lurched down a steep cobblestone path behind the church. On the church bell tower, a stork nest was gracefully perched. When a bird was that big, no one argued where they could build their nest. Leaving Niebla we had trouble finding an open food store. Siesta in Spain was flexible. We stopped at a fruit and deli store to buy supper and found the store locked. A waiting employee informed us it opened at five. It was ten after. We decided to wait a few minutes for the owner to arrive. He did and the store opened. We went inside and bought cheese, but were informed the fruit and vegetables were sold by a different person. The owner didn't know when he would be returning, if at all. I had to give him credit for his honesty. As it got dark we discovered there was no wild camping in sight and no campgrounds. The towns were close together and the treed areas were far and few between. We finally asked a fellow leaving a farm driveway if we could camp on his property. He said he didn't own the land, but took us back down the driveway and set things up with the owner's son. The boy showed us where we could set our tent beside a deep well. We were inside our tents and were dining by candlelight, when a car pulled up. Out climbed the entire family-husband, wife and their three kids who shyly checked us out from behind their parents-plus an English interpreter friend whom they had gone into town and picked up. They were concerned we wouldn't be comfortable in the open and had contacted someone who spoke English in order to offer us either the building beside our tent or a building in their yard to stay in for the night. I said, "It doesn't rain here anyway, does it?" We were overwhelmed by their concern-but caught offguard. We sat-Susan chopping vegetables, Sharon stirring a pot on the stove, and I fumbled to turn off the radio. All three of us remained poised on the edge of our Camp Rests, as we had removed our shoes. We thought of standing to shake hands and introduce ourselves-but in the dark with our food spread in front of us it seemed too awkward. Eventually, our hosts and interpreter accepted that we preferred to remain on the ground outside, rather than move into one of their buildings. Departing, the interpreter said, "They just wanted you to feel welcome." We thanked them profusely for their concern. We felt very welcome indeed. |
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