walk

I took an unexpected walk this afternoon. The phrase that kept running through my head as went was that I was taking the proverbial walk into the Spanish countryside, which really refers to when I lived in Santiago de Compostela, and found it surprisingly easy, having chosen the right street, to simply walk out of the city and into something more or less agricultural. Finding the right street takes time. Today, after several weeks here, I was wandering through the old part of town, thinking about the guitar program, when I realized that I was probably close to the old Jewish neighborhood.

Before long, I found a winding alley with with an historical marker on an adjacent wall that read: Barrio Judío. I followed the alley, and ended up at the top of a steep slope. Heading downhill was a another alley that led to some whitewashed houses. Most of the medieval quarter is bare stone, mortar, brick, or adobe (from the old moorish fortifications). I had passed this alley before, but I must have thought then that it led to private property. Today it looked different, so I went down the rough cobblestone steps, and emerged into a tiny, whitewashed plaza lined with vaguely exotic plants. This was the site of the old synagogue, part of which had been rebuilt into a hermitage. I imagined that the massive columns of the porch were once part of the interior of the synagogue, and that perhaps an incongruous, nearly keyhole-shaped window had perhaps been part of the older building as well. From there, I descended into a small park with some olive, fig, and almond trees, and profusely flowering rosemary bushes.

Visible on the hillside across from the medieval quarter, was a road that switchbacked up the hill towards an outcropping of rocks. There were some horses there, grazing in the wild mustard. This was the proverbial road into the countryside. A short while later, I had made my why across a small stream and up the road, which appeared to lead towards the summit of a small mountain, on the top of which was the obligatory religious destination. The sidewalk was laid with neat bricks. I continued uphill, stopping to gaze at the old part Cáceres, as it flattened out into a jumbled pattern of buildings, palms, and citrus trees. Reaching the top of the hill, I was buffeted by a strong wind. I could look out onto the vast, empty plains on one side, and the whole extent of the city on the other. A horse was grazing in a field bordered by rough slabs of rock. The ground was water-logged, and the wild mustard rose here and there out of glassy pools of water. In the distance, magnified by perspective, the sprawl of high-rises appended onto the ancient town, and a sky crowded with oversized clouds and sunbeams. On the other side of the road, a few small almond trees were in bloom. I continued towards the summit.