Aracon

The Pueblo was an experience worth having, but a slightly frightening and humiliating process. I will start from the beginning and this may end up being a very long post (much to India's dismay.) I apologize in advance for my vivid explanation of the night.

For those of you who don't understand the concept of a Pueblo, everyone in Zaragoza has a small village that they call they call their own. It is a place that the family has been visiting for generations. Alacon, "my" village, is an hour away from Zaragoza, in the middle of nowhere. It is hard to say that the landscape and buildings are beautiful because it is such a depressing scene. As we drove, we passed enormous fields with olive trees and abandoned, crumbling stone walls and homes. Alacon could have once been a beautiful town. There are old churches and clock towers lining the streets, and every house is made of a tan, round stone that looks extremely unstable. The windows are old and covered by thin curtains with little insulation, and there are caves dug out into the huge stone slabs that the village rests on where people put chairs and couches inside for a shady sitting area. The sad thing is, everything is crumbling. The huge tower is falling to pieces and its too dangerous to stand inside. There is garbage in the streets and bonfires fill the alleyways with lots of smoke. I can imagine that Alacon, and many of the surrounding villages were once sweet, quiet towns... but not as much anymore.

When we arrived, we brought our bags into their frigid two story house and then went back outside, where despite the snow, it was still much warmer than the house. In the kitchen, Marimar told us that we were free to do whatever we wanted, or as she put it, "Libre como pajaricos." Free as little birds.

Alacon is small enough that Silvia knew everyone, and we could walk around the perimeter in less than ten minutes. We walked to her friend Alba's house, a hysterical fourteen year old who I have met once before. I was completely oblivious to our plans for the night and only followed behind them as more and more of their friends, and as I later learned, enemies, walked out of their houses to walk with us. I met Silvia's other best friend, Maria, who was small and sweet, but wild and loud. We all turned down a dark alley where sparks from a huge bonfire blew into our eyes and made it so that even 7 hours later, my eyes still burned as I tried to fall asleep that night.

A group of older looking guys stood around the fire, smoking and daring each other to try to jump through the flames to the other side. We reached the fire, said hello and then turned into an open doorway leading into a small room on the first floor of an abandoned building. The door was painted red and had the name of the "secret club" written on it. "El Kanuto." I still don't know the meaning, so excuse me if it's anything bad. Inside, there was a small DJ booth with speakers and wires taped up along the grey walls. The walls were covered in graffiti and symbols. Some I understood, like swastikas and Vive Espana, but most of them I could not decipher. The girls we had met up with looked to be out of high-school and I watched as the night progressed, each one of them smoke an entire pack of cigarettes without a break in between. When I came home later on, my clothes wreaked of bonfire and cigarette smoke.

We sat on the rotting couches in this room for an hour, watching as the boys filled the refrigerator in the corner of the room, and listening the techno music. The lights were turned out and it was pitch black except for our glowing white shoelaces from the small black-light hanging from the ceiling. When Silvia, Alba, Maria and I left, I didn't expect to be returning. We went to Alba's house, ate pizza and watched tv. I was relieved to be away from the creepy room and blazing fire.

Within an hour, I followed them, not having been filled in on our agenda for the night. We walked to a store and picked up some desserts. Then we walked back down the dark alleyway where there was now and entire cushioned couch blazing in the fire. The boys chanted around it as one of then took a running leap, landed on the couch and then jumped out with the cuffs of his jeans smoking and his face ecstatic. We proceeded inside where for the next 5 hours, my lungs continued to blacken from second-hand smoke, my eyes teared up from the ash and sparks, and my new 14 year old friends, Alba and Maria drank their mixtures of lemonade and vodka, apple cider and gin.

I was the laughing stock of the group of boys, who liked to remind me that Americans are fat and boring. Well that was easy to brush off, but I could have done without the whispering and pointing that I endured for the entire night. The chain-smokers were nicest to me and talked to me in English because they dreamed of either moving to New York or becoming English teachers. I lost track of time though, and after watching boys try to leap through the enormous fire, and listening to Wiki Wiki and I've Got a Feeling more than 10 times, we finally went home at 3:00 am. I was exhausted, and like I said, my eyes burned while I tried to fall asleep from all of the ash.

I know it was an important experience to learn about the Pueblos and to meet Silvia's friends, but it was one of the harder nights to get through. I wish India could have been there to keep me entertained, but I know she has her own Pueblo stories to tell. For now, I plan on washing the smoky smell out of my hair and then reading a book in my bed. Colegio tomorrow puts a damper on things, but it sure beats El Kanuto, that is for sure.

On a lighter note, on our way home from Alacon, we went to a Chinese restaurant for Sunday lunch. Every Sunday, it is traditional to eat out with the family and then return home for Ciesta, which in the U.S. could be translated as a food coma, or nap-time. The funny thing about Zaragoza is that ham is simply unavoidable. There was ham in every Chinese dish, salad and rice included. Later, while India and I tried to explain to Silvia and Claudia what marshmallows were, we learned that they also call them Jamon (ham) or nubes which means clouds. How can everything here translate to ham?!

Today at school, a group of 15 French exchange students arrived. I have no idea how we will all fit in class, but they don't speak ANY Spanish... so the field trip that I will be taking with them this Thursday should be... thrilling to say the least.

One thing we forgot to mention about school, everyone stares. While India and I sit in the library, we look up to see everyone staring at us. Even people who sit with their backs to us turn their entire bodies to watch us suffer over our homework. It is quite awkward and sometimes we like to wave to break the tension.

Until I have more interesting stories to tell...
Besicos,
Maddie