Saturday, June 3, 2017

Speechless in Toro

MY TORO ADVENTURE BEGINS...in a Mercedes-Benz

Toro is a small village northwest of Madrid.  Driving through the slightly mountainous roads, we passed granite walls, tree-lined carretera (highways) and over-the-top modern buildings along the way.  When we passed Escorial, Janero explained its importance and pointed to the tall cross behind a low stone building. 

I'd spent the morning with Janero in his office while Mercedes packed for our trip.  He showed me documents he was working on and when I realized it was Latin!
Me: You translate from Latin to Spanish?
Janero: sí - y Alaman, Francia también ( yes, Germán and French too)
Me: How many books have you translated?
Janero: he shrugs shoulders and reaches into book case.  He pulls six down to show me and looks for more. I am stunned.
Me: and you and Mercedes write books together also?
Janero: sí.  (He pulls three books showing both their names in the spines.) 
Me: I am grinning when I see them.
Janero gives me three more books - all written by Mercedes. 

Me: you BOTH translate documents from other languages?
Janero: sí.  We are both doctors of languages.
I promptly dropped into a chair.  I had no idea these two people were so accomplished.  I knew they'd been professors at the university in Salamanca and Madrid, but this?  They were very charming and down to earth and amiable with one another.  It is a happy home.

The trees began to thin just before they pointed out Segovia and the Roman aqueduct there.  Millions of stones stood lined up in property separation walls for miles.  And then I saw the road sign for Ávila and my mind flew back to my first visit to the walled city and I smiled.  It is a fabulous city, but I couldn't see it from the autopista (highway).

When Mercedes gave me a small plastic bottle with the image of a strawberry on the front, I had no idea what it was; liquid strawberry yogurt!!
I hope I can find them in America (Danon)

Farm country swelled around me and dropped us into acres of vineyards and bodegas until that was all I could see.  I started thinking about all the grapes surrounding me and my mouth went dry as I imagined the bottles of wine piled in their cellars.

We passed Medina del Campo where Queen Isabel died. 
And then Tordesillas where an important treaty was signed between Spain and Portugal giving legal claim to Portugal to be called Brazil.  When we crossed the rio Duero, I knew Toro was around the bend. When I saw the sign for Provincia de Zamora, I slipped inside my great grandma's head. (Eustoquia Rita Trascasas Marzo). 


They eagerly pointed to Toro on the far hill, Jenaro drove down those memorable narrow streets where his black Mercedes just fit between buildings on one side and parked cars on the other.  He let us out in front of a nondescript building with a beautiful door and we were inside.  
That was the second time I was speechless that day.  I can't begin to describe the house.  Three stories high, ceramic, burnished wood, brass hardware, more and more and more.  Then, Mercedes led me outside the back door and we were on a ceramic floor patio with a large tree overhanging part of the area to add sombra (shade).  A garden with tomatoes, artichokes, herbs, roses, and.... There was a small building behind I assumed was the neighbors house (two story) and at the far end of the garden, a glass walled room I also assumed was the neighbors on the side.  Nope.  It was all the same property.  Each door Mercedes opened to show me what was inside, my tried to keep up.

We were barely settled when they motioned we were leaving on foot into Toro, which was only a few steps from the main area.  I remembered how much I loved the little village, marveled at everything I saw and smiled when I saw the clock tower, the stone archway... They seemed to know everyone (she grew up here).  They were walking steadily and I found myself in front of San Julian (church) because that is where ancestral documents from Toro reside.  Closed for the day and it's Friday... She made some phone calls, dismayed and anxious to please me.

Back to the house across flowering parks, bright shops, sidewalks narrow enough for one person and we were home again.  Ten minutes later, we were in the car and inside their favorite grocery store.  Oh, I thought.  Revving up for our three days in Toro.  I found items on shelves I had to look up on my translation app.  When Jenaro saw me holding a small jar filled with skinny snake looking things, he thought I wanted it.  When my app told me it was eels, I nearly dropped the jar and said, "no, gracias."  
Back in the car, I realized we were going out of town.  Oh, I thought again (I am doing way too much thinking).  He wants to show me his little vineyard he's been talking about.  I knew he made his own wine and his face glowed when he spoke of "el campo."  Five minutes out of town after crossing rio Duero, he drove us down a little road and pointed out their "little white house."  Then he pointed out his "little vineyard."  Stupefied, I stared.  He got out to open the large grilled gates where I saw the little plaque reading, "La Casina" and we drove through.  I counted 32 plants of grapevines and 36 rows.  The house?  The swimming pool?    The patchwork quilt of colors spread over rolling hills toward Fuentesaúco (my grandmother's village)?  

And then Mercedes and Jenaro opened the trunk and began unloading the groceries.  What?  Yes, she made a huge meal, he proudly showed me the property, and she refused to let me help her do anything.  The cold potato salad had so many things in it, I can't list them all.  And we drank his home-made white wine and then it was siesta time.  What?  She pointed to lounge chairs and I picked one up and followed the little fairy-woman outside near the covered patio.  Yep.  She gave me a sun-shade hat and crawled on, pointing to me and mine.  Speechless again.
I didn't know that Jenaro took a photo of us lazing in our chairs until I got wifi and heard the ping... it was so peaceful!

We spent the rest of the day there in that tranquil place, chatting about our shared ancestry, making lists so she can help me possibly find the Marzo side of mine and sipped tinto verano wine.  Jenaro mowed the lawn and walked through his vineyard, finding innumerable things to do after being gone a month from his little farm.  Little?  Hardly.




At 9:00, we drove back to Toro and I was so moved when I looked up toward the cliff that holds the village, my eyes grew misty.  When I'd been there five years ago with my brother, I'd seen a small house with a fenced in courtyard for sale.  I thought of it then, daydreaming that I was thirty years younger, buying the house and seeing out my days in Toro.  (Yes, I am quite fanciful at times).  

I was jerked out of my reverie by Jenaro's next words, "Now we change cars."  He smiled at me from the rear-view mirror.  
Me: "What? Change cars?"  
Mercedes laughed.  
Janeiro:  "We change the rich car for the poor car."  
The side of a building rolled up and we drove inside.  He parked the Mercedes and got into a cream-colored Peugeot.  I continue to marvel at each moment I spend with these charming people.

When I saw the tower, I told them the little house I fell in love with was nearby.  When I recognized it as he drove by, my mouth dropped open.  It is still for sale and it's owned by one of Mercedes' friends.  Small world.

Back at the house again and they ask me if I'm tired?  It is now 9:20 pm.  
Mercedes is grinning at me.  
"No."
Mercedes:  "We walk to eat?"
Me: "Sí."
She sits on the red couch in the beautiful sitting room as the grilled window cover is open and I feel a nice breeze floating in around us.  I am ready, but she is looking through the little phone book trying to find my Marzo relatives (if they are here in Toro still).  No one answers the phone numbers (two).  I think, Jenaro must be taking a shower and we are waiting for him?  Overthinking again because all of a sudden, Mercedes jumps up, grabs my hand and leads me to the front door.  I listen for Jenaro and she opens the door and begins to close it behind us as we step into the narrow, cobblestone street.
Mercedes:  "No, he is (somewhere). I can't follow her words.
Me:  I follow after her like a little puppy.
Mercedes is on the phone and within a minute, Jenaro steps out of a doorway where he's visiting with friends and he leads us toward the bell tower that is now lit up and beckoning.  I'm back in the area I fell in love with five years ago and my eyes swing into all the little alcoves and shops.  When we walk past the plaza mayor and into a street that was nothing before, I see it is now filled with tables and chairs beside a lively restaurant.  

Shish kabobs, red Toro wine, bread and chorizo fill the table.  A friend sits down (Fernando) to share our food and chatter.  By now, I am overwhelmed with the day and the shocks to my system.  The wind picks up and Mercedes introduces me as "the lost cousin" to everyone she meets.  They have so many friends here and the village seems to embrace them, even me.

As we wind our way back toward home, I see the little garden that announces T O R O in green plantings.  Mercedes steers me toward the rock pathway in the opposite direction and I see that Fernando is still with us.  Janero leads us into a small bodega with Toro wines lined up like dominos on the shelve along the long wall.  Another glass of Toro wine, he asks me?  But, of course, I answer.  
It is now almost midnight.

I am inside a house with three floors, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a large office with photos covering one wall that includes one of Jenaro meeting the queen of Spain, a large sitting room on two floors, a huge foyer that is as large as one of my bedrooms at home, a mother-in-law cottage with two floors, a garden, patio and a large outdoor kitchen room with a fireplace and sink (an apartment really).  Am I still overwhelmed?  Yes.




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