The Hike to Cristo

My chance to return to the mountain came quicker than I thought it would. A friend of the group, Sam, who studied in Oviedo last semester, offered to take the UMass crew tothe very top.  There, stands a giant statue of Jesus Christ. Every day on my walk to school, I see the small figure looking down at me. So, when I learned about the excursion, I jumped at the opportunity.

We all met in front of the university early Saturday morning. Sam, a small blond haired girl from Ireland, led us up the same pathway Taylor took us on a few days earlier. The sun shown again and I found myself in only a t-shirt after a few minutes. What a perfect day for a hike, I thought.

Within an hour we traveled past all I saw on my first journey into the mountains. We encountered some of the Romanesque churches of Oviedo,and stopped for mini photo shoots.  Santa María del Naranco (the first church we saw), built in 848, is a two story building used as a royal chamber known as the “aula regia.” It is where the court of King Ramiro I held royal councils. The church features triple arched windows and stone carved columns illustrating plant motifs, which is typical of the Romanesque style.

A few minutes up from Santa María is San Miguel de Lillo. Ramiro I built the church in the 9^th century as a royal chapel. It is famous for its animal and geometric motifs. These churches are said to be two of three most interesting historic monuments in Asturias.

As we continued to climb higher, I enjoyed the view of the growing city behind us. We reached a paved road that would take us to Cristo. We walked for about another hour before the statue became visible. The last stretch before we reached the top was a steep hill. I sighed as I watched my friends climb with ease. I mentally kicked myself for not working out as I began the ascent.

Santa María del Naranco

Ten painful minutes later I stopped.

I was at the top. I made it.

I felt overwhelmed as I stared as the massive replication of Cristo. He was huge! The high altitude proved to be more than chilling, and as my hair whisked in all directions, I knew we wouldn’t be staying long. I took in the view, gave myself a quick pat on the back for all the physical activity I managed to complete, and then got a picture with Him.

We headed back down to lower ground not long after for a quick lunch. It felt good to sit down and eat after three hours of straight walking. After we replenished ourselves, we began the trip to town. The excitement from seeing Cristo slowly drained from my body and exhaustion set it. By the time Taylor and I reached home, it was close to 5 p.m. We ate lunch in silence, too tired to talk. As I laid down for a much needed nap, I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of the other great adventures that would come.

San Miguel de Lillo

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The Climb

Today, for the first time in what seems like months, I felt the sun on my face. The sky was bright blue, with not a cloud in sight. In a place where rain is almost always in the forecast, I couldn’t help but feel ecstatic. My friends and I decided to take advantage of the beautiful day by doing a little exploring.

My roommate Taylor, who is an avid runner, found a trail that led into the mountains of Asturias. She bragged about the breath taking view of the city, and I insisted we travel the path today so I could experience the sight for myself.

As we neared what I can only describe as a very large hill, I knew I was in trouble. No estoy en forma (I’m not in shape), so the thought of any type of strenuous activity made me reconsider my previous desire to see the city from great heights. I knew that I couldn’t turn back; so I put on a smile and began the hike with my three companions.

View from the hike

We were unable to locate a paved pathway, so instead of taking the time to find it, we figured walking through the muddied grass would suffice. The terrain soon transformed into long tangles of weeds and branches covered in thorns. “Guys, I’m not liking this,” I said from the back of the pack. “We’ll be fine,” insisted Taylor as she continued upward, pushing her way through the mess. A native saw us struggling and said something while pointing to our right. “I think he’s talking to us,” said Aline.

“I think he said there’s another path we can take to get to the road,” I said.

“I’ll look!” said Taylor as she slid slightly down the hill and meandered to our right.

“Yeah, guys, there’s a small path over here that’s completely clear,” she said.

The three of us followed Taylor’s lead and within minutes we were standing on pavement. I turned around to capture my surroundings and found the city staring back at me. Green fields, roaming animals and mountains covered in snow accompanied the hundreds of buildings of Oviedo. Taylor was right. The view was amazing.

After we took a minute to catch our breath and take some photos we followed the road further up the hill. We encountered sheep grazing in fields of grass, stray cats sleeping atop what appeared to be an abandoned shack, and even a horse and its foal. This is how I always imagined Spain. Houses of all colors lined the streets and the bells from the necks of wandering sheep could be heard as we continued up the road. The further we went, the more beautiful Oviedo became.

We stopped above a group of sheep lazily eating grass and took in the city one last time before we began our descent. I felt slightly disappointed to head back to reality, where rolling mountains and farms animals all seem so far away. But as I walked down the pathway, the sun warming by body, I knew I’d be back.

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Rain, Rugby, Rest

For as long as I can remember I have never enjoyed watching or playing sports. So when my friends suggested that we go to a rugby game, I was surprised to hear myself agreeing.  After a long Friday night out on calle mon, I woke up Saturday at 10 a.m. to meet my friends for the Oviedo versus Barcelona game.

Brock, a student from Missouri who practices with the team, volunteered to lead the group to “el campo de rugby” in the city of Naranco.  A light drizzle began as the six of us departed for the game, a 45 minute walk from campus. Because my three euro umbrella broke the night before, I was forced to share with Taylor. We huddled under the black material as we walked through the streets of Oviedo, trying to stay dry.

Rugby game in action

After what felt like hours later, we reached the field. Unfortunately it was at this moment that the clouds opened up and it started to downpour.  It took us another 10 minutes to arrive at the stadium, which lacked any type of shield from the rain. Hilary and Becca, who were without umbrella’s stood shivering on the stands. I moved closer to Taylor and angled myself as best as I could to avoid being pelted by water.

I watched as the players, undistinguishable due to their mud stained uniforms, jumped, ran, and tackled each other for the ball. I have never seen a rugby game before, so I was completely lost. “Wow, that looks like it must hurt,” I thought to myself as multiple players piled on top of someone who held the ball.

About a week beforehand I met a few of the players while out a bar. They attempted to explain to me the rules of the game, but I was at a loss. “So what do you call it when you get a goal?” I asked.

“A try,” one of the Australian players said while rolling his eyes.

“Oh. That’s cool.” What position do you play? Are you the one that gets thrown in the air” I continued, hoping he’d appreciate my knowledge of one of the positions.

“No. I’m the one that scores,” he said, clearly annoyed.

“Ohhh OK. Sounds exciting,” I said, while distancing myself from the arrogant and self absorbed player.

Sign on the field

As I stood in the wet stands, rain drops gliding off the umbrella and hitting my sleeve, I wondered if the guy I talked to was out there. And if so, I wasn’t impressed. Although entertaining, the game seemed to lack a sense of organization, and it was hard for me to tell if the men out there were really good at what they were doing.  I guess they had to be because Oviedo beat Barcelona, nine to three.

By the end of the game we were all starving and cold so Brock suggested we go under the stadium to eat some of the complimentary food they served after the game. We filed down the steps and into a small cement room. A tiny make-shift grill sat on a table where a man fried pieces of ham and what looked to be hot dogs. Beside him stood a woman cutting small pieces of bread to eat with the meat. Condiments where brought out and placed on a table with soda and beer. Within a few minutes Becca and I walked over to the table to make a sandwich. The ham seemed a little dry and the coca cola I drank tasted a tad off, but I couldn’t complain. I devoured the sandwich and went up for seconds.

Somewhere in between finishing my meal and talking with my friends, I noticed all the rugby players were suddenly in the room. They were wet and dirty but astonishingly attractive. We talked with them for awhile, but our sleep deprived bodies soon got the best of us, and we found ourselves saying goodbye. Thankfully the rain stopped and the sun shone, which made for a pleasant walk home.

Taylor and I reached our apartment around four and after a quick lunch we immediately retired to our rooms for a nap. It had been a long day.

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A Whole New World

It has been an interesting two weeks. Spain is nothing like I thought it would be, and everything I imagined at the same time. After I arrived in the city of Oviedo, which lies in the Northwestern part of the country, I couldn’t help but wonder what I got myself into.

At about 11 p.m. January 10, 2010, I hopped off the bus—that I spent five hours on from Madrid—to my new home. I grabbed a cab, rode to an apartment 10 minutes down the road, unloaded my belongings and pushed the intercom for apartment 4D. “Hola,” I said nervously. And before I could utter another word, a loud “Venga,” (come) came back to me followed by the buzzing of the door.

I hesitantly took the elevator to the fourth (or fifth for those in the U.S.) floor. My soon to be roommate and good friend, Taylor, was already standing in the doorway, a nervous expression on her face. Our “madre” ushered us into the house, shut the door, and began to speak Spanish so quickly it was almost indecipherable. We were given a quick tour of the small and homey apartment. After a few minutes of basic explanations, she left us to our rooms.

As I sat alone on my twin bed, I tried to take in my surroundings. “I’m in Spain,” I thought. “I’m not going to be back in the states for another five months. Wow.” Images of family and friends replayed in my mind as my head hit the pillow and I slowly drifted to sleep.

The next week went by in a blur. I began classes, got orientated with friends and my environment and ventured out into the city to experience the night life.

Everything is different here—the food, the customs, the style. Looking your best is a must if you want to blend in with the locals, and of course speaking Spanish is a necessity as no one in the area can speak English. Not once have I seen someone wearing sweatpants, something I shamefully sport on Sundays, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of fashionistas. Even the guys look prettier than me on occasions, and that’s saying something.

I was happy to see that people here like to party. La calle mon, the street where all the bars are located, is always hopping during the weekend. Bar and club promoters offer free “chupitos” (shots) to those who pass by, and pop music (usually from the U.S.) blares from speakers of nearby establishments. However, in Spain, the party doesn’t begin until around 2 a.m. and lasts until the sun comes up. Needless to say, many “siestas” (naps) are necessary.

The week played out well, and I went to bed Sunday night feeling content with my new home. Little did I know what would await me the next morning…

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