A note: This work is not edited. So don’t hold it against me if it’s not perfect. It’s hard for me to keep up on a dialy basis, so this is as good as you will get for now! Enjoy.
Day Three
Sunday
No it is not this Sunday! One more weeks…The question now is: do I edit what I have so I can post it tomorrow, or try to write down day three while it’s still day three? I think I will do some editing, and if I have the energy then continue.
We have some small issues arising now. It’s currently Wednesday morning! I have woken up at 8am thinking about my Laos website. The sad truth however is that I must write to you lot, as otherwise at this point it will never happen. Yesterday afternoon I had a four hour break in which I should have caught up but clearly didn’t. Thanks to my being so far behind and having the next forty minutes to catch up before breakfast begins I’ll be a bit briefer. In essence the same thing happens everyday anyway, and I’ve already gone through those steps so I won’t again now.
I’ve been here three days and it really is becoming difficult to stay positive and not compare it to my first experience. I’ve started to warm however to our MC. He talks way too much about absolutely nothing, but he is genuinely funny. At first I was concerned he would do all the talking and attempt to entertain us without incorporating us, but this doesn’t appear to be the way.
The big event on Sunday night is Kamala. (I’m sure that’s not the right spelling, but spell check seems happy so I’m going with it!) Kamala is a Galythian, the people of North West Spain, drink. Legend will tell you that in this region there were always many Witches. I’m not quite sure if this potion, which is made of Kamala liquor, sugar, coffee beans is supposed to help or hurt the witches, but it’s something to drink on a cold night I suppose regardless! At Pueblo Ingles they always have this night. It’s particularly interesting as you light the alcohol on fire and keeps it burning for a good half hour before serving it up. It’s a good show basically. As I already knew with different leaders it would be done in a different style, and with Garret it’s inevitable that it be a long talkative ordeal!
We all left the restaurant after dinner as usual to take our coffees in the bar. While we drank the staff upstairs cleared the small main room so that we could all squeeze in. The stairs leading up to the highest dinning area has space for a few chairs where one can lean on the banister and watch the proceedings without being directly involved, this was where I plopped myself along with my flatmate Jason. I nicked the chairs from the dinning hall, possibly to be frowned on, but I wasn’t too bothered!
People were brought up, or women I should say, were brought up to pour the Kamala into a large bowl, the resident Spaniard would be doing all the mixing and fire. Garret started talking again while she did this and some other people were brought up to say a few lines of Shakespeare while all the fire was going and the lights were off.
This finished we moved to the more traditional telling of the Kamala tale. This goes on for a bit and is told in Galethian, Spanish and English. All very old and loaded words. In other words it sounds funny because it doesn’t make since.
Our Spaniard then leaves the fire and plays three or four tunes on her Violin, which she studied for ten years and plays quite well. I’m not a trained ear but I’m not a complete novice either. Finally as the last notes are played nearly an hour after my wisely taking a seat the Kamala is ready. A bit more talking and blowing out of the fire before cups are passed out. I pass. It’s potent and smelly, they can enjoy!
We have a toast and move on to a segment of the night none of us were particularly looking forward to, singing. Garret had told us the previous day that we would all have to sing the song of our nation or a song of our nation at least. This of course is not idea for my nationalism or singing voice. Jason mentioned that he would sing his anthem and it was quickly decided we would be the New Zealand House. I would sing along.
It was done in alphabetical order which had the Canadians going first followed by: Iran, India, Rep of Ireland, England, USA (I didn’t join, and was not asked to), New Zealand, Venuswala, Spain, and if I’m missing any I’m sorry.
It was a long rather funny drawn out ordeal and by midnight most of the people were very tired. It’s usual that by midnight in the bar there are twenty Spanish and eight English speakers, with the remaining twenty-four or more in bed. It was a good night. But I followed the old people to my room to write to you guys.
There was one real unexpected spark. Sitting in my bed, just as I finished doing spell check on this document my phone rang. Now, the only reason my phone was even plugged in was due to a one on one by phone I had to do earlier. I was fortunate enough to get one of the more relaxed ladies in this particular exercise and picked my favourite topic. She has just married George Clooney and I am interviewing her. Needless to say I start brining in sex, drugs, media and alcoholic mothers from the go! With the right woman this can be a very enjoyable fifty minutes!
The phone I forgot to unplug therefore suddenly rings. I pick it up to find one of the camp leaders telling me I have a phone call, fine. Jeanie’s voice comes on the line and we talk for the next hour. I had not expected to hear her call and it was a lovely surprise. I needed this hour with her, more than any hour I’d had since my arrival. Just something to calm the nerves.
It reminds me in fact of my Spanish flatmate. He had a back to back session with Ron, the minister loan shark and his wife. At the end of this two hours I saw him, a drained white face with more grey hair than previously he said to me: I just had Marylyn and Ron, I need to call my wife, I need to talk to a friend. I understood completely, and hearing Jeanie’s little voice made me smile and go to bed optimistic.
