‘I am very fond of sunsets. Come, let us go look at a sunset now.’
‘But we must wait.’ I said.
‘Wait? For what?’
‘For the sunset. We must wait until it is time.’
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
I’m starting to feel like the little prince. Each sunset holds some sort of new, triumphant reverence; I’ve managed to watch it from the beach almost every night since arriving in Vigo.
On Saturday Balta and I took a day trip to a nearby city called Baiona. We spent the prior evening guzzling alcoholic beverages that the bars (for some reason unbeknownst to me) insist on serving in absurdly large glasses. After an entire night of speaking only in Spanish, I feel like I might have a slightly better grasp of the language than I originally assumed.
Baiona is smaller, quieter and arguably mor
e beautiful than Vigo. It’s famed for being the first town to receive the news that Christopher Columbus had discovered the New World with the arrival of the Pinta in 1493. They have since built a replica of the ship that can be toured for a few euros, but according to Balta it’s just an empty boat and there’s really not much to look at.
As is customary after a night of casual drinking in Spain, we made our way to a bustling hole in the wall for tapas and beer. Although there are plenty of free tapas in Galicia, for a handful of coins you can order massive plates of tapas that typically consist of fresh-caught seafood and/or meat products. After a few heaping platters of octopus, squid and roasted peppers, I felt as though I could probably manage the sunshine and the fresh mountain air.
We made our way through a large, stone archway and climbed the moss-covered steps of an old castle wall. Baiona was never subjected to any bloody wars, yet it’s still easy to imagine the ghosts of soldiers past, pacing the walkway and eyeing the sea watchfully. Everywhere I looked there was a view that was deserving of a photograph. I’ve never been good at hiding behind a camera (I’m always too busy looking around and smiling at everything), but I managed to take a slew of photographs before getting distracted and giving up.
I scaled a few crumbling bricks to sit on a smooth, flat panel perched above the sea, and tricked Balta into joining me for a 10-minute meditation. Water kept splashing me
in the face and it was extremely windy, but I still enjoyed myself nonetheless. Balta was quiet afterward, so I think he enjoyed it too.
Once we had finished hungrily consuming the seaside views, we drove to a nearby mountaintop to search for wild horses. Once a year the locals round the horses up, shoot them full of penicillin (or some other horse drug) and throw a giant party. Leave it to the Spaniards to turn veterinary care into another occasion to eat, drink and be merry. I definitely wouldn’t mind an invite.
When we reached the peak of the mountain, we pulled over to see what would have probably been a remarkable view had the clouds not been in the way. Surrounded by nature and miles from the nearest city, you’d think that escaping people would be a relatively easy endeavor. Upon opening my door, however, I was greeted with clear, crisp electronic music at a volume that could rival any Chicago music festival.
A small shepherd’s ref
uge sat a few hundred meters away, and in front of it a dreadlocked hippie in a bright blue jacket bounced up and down methodically to the vibrating speakers in the back of his nondescript white van. A line of cows stood on the hill behind us, gazing almost woefully through the fog at the strange human with the insanely expensive sound system. Noise pollution is a problem everywhere, I guess.
The wild horses resembled fuzzy ponies, although I only saw them from the comfort of the car window. The sky harbored the threat of imminent rain, so we wove our way through the skeletons of olive groves until reaching the smooth, paved roads of civilization. Yawning and windswept, I mentally began to prepare myself for another evening of trying to decipher Spanish in a bustling nightclub. Baiona was good.
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