7/19 Salamanca Forgone
A Day to Remember: the magic of Barca d’Alva
07/19/2019 - 07/19/2019 98 °F
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Here follows the copy from Viking’s Brochure regarding our scheduled day-long visit to Salamanca:
“Visit Spain’s oldest college town, an invigorating tapestry of scholarly, religious and cultural pursuits. Cross the Spanish border with your guide and drive through the Iberian countryside to Salamanca, known as “La Dorada,” or “The Golden City,” due to the glow of its sandstone structures. After time exploring the vast Plaza Mayor, surrounded by beautiful baroque buildings, enjoy a visit to the local market to sample some regional cuisine. After, continue to the 13th-century Salamanca University. You will also see the House of Shells, an unusual medieval building decorated with more than 300 carved mollusks. Your tour concludes at the New Cathedral, a golden-hued Gothic-baroque masterpiece built from 1513 through 1733. After, there will be free time to explore on your own, perhaps stepping inside the Romanesque-Gothic Old Cathedral or other icons of Spanish architecture: the 15th-century Tower del Clavero, the 16th-century Monterrey Palace and many beautiful churches and convents.”
What Viking omitted: the fact that Helgrim remained tied up at Barca d’Alva for the day. Salamanca is accessed via roads on a bus. From the time the bus departed at 8:45 and the time it returned to the ship at 5:00pm—a period of just over eight hours—the time guests would spend on the “coach” amounts to just over half of that. Four hours on a coach. I wish to offer no offense to anyone but I have been fortunate enough in my now long life to visit hundreds of beautiful churches and convents (and mosques and synagogues and temples and tombs and crypts and ruins and, well, you name it) all across the globe.
Missing a couple won’t be the worst thing that ever happens to me; spending a day with just B4 by my side with nothing much to do is rare and irreplaceable.
Forgoing a long bus ride is particularly appealing after a poor night’s sleep due to the air conditioning failure in Suite 312. The room had hovered at 77 degrees until around 3:00am when thermostat ultimately bottomed out at 72. At home, I like to sleep at 68. For me, rather than referring to something problematic, the phrase “no sweat” embraces the concept of blissful sleep.
B4 and I were of one mind that a day in the shade on sun deck Helgrim was preferable. The remainder of our travel gaggle opted to make the Salamanca trek so, over tonight’s round dining table, we plan to enjoy their recounts of adventures missed.
To get some exercise, I disembark Helgrim to explore the town of Barca d’Alva. There is an abandoned rail line and station, three small cafes, two small stores and the dock to which we are tied. Helgrim’s port side is getting a scrubbing (they washed our starboard side yesterday) and, after she was clean, moved her to a different pier as I clicked a photo or two.
Crossing the Barca d’Alva Douro Bridge, I get a different view and am encircled by birds—starlings perhaps—who soar and swoop catching flying insects for their supper. They nest in mud/adobe domes affixed to the concrete of the bridge. They are, without doubt, the most energetic things in Barca d’Alva. Few cars pass; even fewer boats. Watching the oranges ripen and fall from the tree would pass, I think, for excitement here.
There is excitement in Salmanca however. At 1:30, Ward emailed me this photo. It appears the gang of eight minus two is hamming it up...
(Sorry, perhaps you don't know that when given the opportunity, I am unable to resist a corny pun) But, after receiving this photograph, now, with mounting anticipation and enthusiasm, we eagerly await the return of our tribemates bringing tales of their own personal Spanish Inquisition. We have watched as Donna and Becky have acquired gifts to bring to loved ones whom they left behind. I am giddy with excitement as to what treasure they will surely present me upon their return to home at Helgrim. After reading about Salamanca, I am hoping against hope for carved mollusks.
On the dock, a mosaic is inlaid: a train on the left and verbiage on the right. Entered into Google Translate, the inscription reads thusly:
Douro Line
Station Barca D 'Alva
Always in the line of water, fantastic, the train ripped the banks, it was in the escarpment, crossed the river, it parted in Barca d 'Alva, it entered the lands of Spain, arrived at Salamanca, A little more to the north, History grabbed In the Castilian Douro, Xamora reminded us of Viriato and Afonso Henriques, Alcanizes D Dinis, Jordesilhas D. Joao PP Joro Alfonso V.
Who now sees that iron canine is dazzled by rage. He himself could well be the fifth world champion, there are four throughout his career. How was it possible to build it in the 1880s? How was it possible to destroy it a hundred years later? How was it possible for municipalism to succumb to centralism?
To make it a splendid tourist and cultural motif, we would need a good public investment, a patient private concession, a proficous agreement with Castile and Leon, who, alias, wishes ...
There are days, the Minister of Culture spoke of this, Ah, the culture counts a lot. But the Public Works as well. Economy and Tourism also. Planning and Territory as well. Finance also. The educated one too, God damn it all will not be an easy task never was.
Miguel Cadihe
December 9, 2007
I suppose that says it all.
At 3:00pm, B4 leans over to give me a kiss, sexily saying, "I'll be back in an hour. Conference call." Ohhhhh.
Suite 312 will, for the next hour, become her office while I, happily retired—"Captain, please hold my calls”--will gaze upon the Douro where the occasional splash reminds me of the acquatic life that teems beneath its surface vastly outnumbering the human activity above it. With only a handful of us aboard, virtually nothing upsets the tranquility beneath the canopy on the sun deck. The only interruption occurs when I find myself too hot and walk a few steps to the pool for a chilling dip in the very cold salt water. Then, I can resume doing nothing save adding a sentence or two here.
At 5:30, our wayward comrades returned from their outing hot and tired. By now, the ships HVAC has been stressed to the max and we have an added electrical problem. And, there is no hot water for them to shower. Frankly, given the 98 degree heat outside, a cold shower makes more sense to me anyway.
We meet for drinks and dinner. A younger person would have marveled at our conversation. Arrests or near arrests, dating, bouffant hair, college classes not attended, cars modified, drive-ins buzzed, college deans harassed, marriages both long-term and failed; the dialogue went on and on and for not one moment did my attention waver from the tales of the fascinating lives lived by those with whom I am privileged to travel this week.
We laughed at each other as only friends--albeit new ones--can. You should have been there.
PS: There was no gift. They are probably waiting to surprise me tomorrow.
