8.The Gift of the Magi
It was Christmas time in Madrid and we took our son David who was then nine years old down to the Avenida de Alcalá to watch the “cabalgata de los Reyes” or “parade of the Kings ” which is the Spanish equivalent of Macy’s Christmas parade, but, instead of Santa Claus, this parade ushers in the Three Kings:Melchior, Kaspar and the black king Baltazar who is the children’s favorite since he is known to bring the most gifts. All three Kings leave gifts in the children’s shoes. In order to get the greatest number of gifts, the children put out the biggest shoes they can find. Instead of coming down a chimney, the Kings climb up the balconies of the apartment houses. For that reason, their floats are accompanied, not by elves, but by helpers carrying ladders.
Instead of arriving in a sleigh like the Manhattan Santa, the Kings each have their own bejeweled float and since they are desert princes, they are accompanied by camels.
All three of us were enthralled by the Oriental splendor of the Kings and David was busy gathering up the candy that they threw out along the way. When we started down the street with the crowds to accompany the Kings to their final destination in the Plaza Mayor, we realized that David had disappeared. We frantically asked the police for help, but when they found out that David was nine, they said not to worry, he can take care of himself. Even though we didn’t believe them, after searching for a good hour, we finally returned to our apartment. David was there and was calmly teaching our portero or super how to use the calculator he had gotten for Christmas. David seemed unperturbed by our anxious inquiries as to what had happened, where had he been. He said that when he realized he had lost track of us, he checked his pocket and, seeing he had enough money he went to Goya station and rode the metro home to our building where the portero and his wife had invited him in to stay in their apartment until we returned. We were so grateful for that “gift of the Magi”, that we went out and bought the biggest roscón de reyes or Kings’ cake we could find to give to our porteros.
9. World Cup ’98
I was on my way to continue research in the National Library in Santiago, Chile when I heard the announcement that Chile had made it through to the second round of the World Cup games. That was a very big deal since the country had been banned from the Games for fifteen years because of a minor infraction(a fan had killed a referee). The whole street broke into cheers, confetti appeared from nowhere and everyone began partying in the streets. I was walking behind a woman and her little boy who was waving the national flag and singing the Ricky Martin song which was the theme for the year, when, all of a sudden, people started screaming and running to try to get into the stores before the metal curtains came down and were locked by terrified store owners. Down the street I could see the anti terrorist troops riding their horses towards the crowd and behind them huge gray tanks with water cannons which were spraying people with water and tear gas laced with pepper. I started coughing and crying like everyone else. I wrapped my muffler around my mouth to be able to breathe a little until I managed to run behind the main buildings. I made it to the rear entrance of the library. The doors were officially closed, but the guards recognized me as a regular researcher and let me in. I ran to my sanctuary in the microfilm room in the basement and tried to continue my work. I think it was that day that I came across my most valuable find of the research trip. It was a full-color caricature of Valle-Inclán, the Spanish author whom I have been studying for a 100 years. To my knowledge, I was the first person to have seen it since it was published in 1910 while Valle was on a tour of South America with his wife, the actress Josefina Blanco who was part of the María Guerrero-Díaz de Mendoza theater Company. But even that find was not enough to make me forget what was happening outside. I had no idea how I was going to find Professor Entwell in all the confusion, but, luckily, he found me in the basement and we took several buses and a taxi to finally make it back to the Chilean couple’s home where we staying. We watched the news that night to see what had happened down town, but there was not one single mention of any problem and the next day there was not even a scrap of confetti left on the street. It gave us the eerie feeling that nothing had changed in Chile since the old Pinochet days when all “disturbances ” due to sports or politics were brutally silenced.
10. The Road to Coroico
When I told Professor Entwell that we needed to go to the lovely town on the Bolivian side of the Amazon called Coroico, I explained that we should see another part of Bolivia, not just the Andean highlands in order to get a more complete view of that wonderfully complex country. I neglected to tell him, however, that our bible, the Lonely Planet Guidebook, had named the way to Coroico as the most dangerous road in the world. More than 180 people had been killed when their vehicles fell off the still unfinished road down the cliff towards the Amazon river below. I did make sure, though, that we did as Lonely Planet recommended and got tickets on a minibus which was supposed to fall over the cliff less often than regular sized buses. At first, the ride up into the highlands above La Paz seemed very uneventful. Then our driver stopped to let everyone pee over the side of the road before we started our descent towards the jungle floor. We noticed that the driver threw some bones to the wild dogs along the road and poured a little aguardiente on the tires of the minibus. He was appeasing the guardians of the road and blessing his vehicle for the next part of our trip. And we were going to need that blessing! The asphalt turned abruptly to dirt and the highway became a one-way road. barely wide enough for one vehicle let alone one that needed to pass. On our right side, there rose a steep cliff covered with dusty vines. On our left, the road fell off over another cliff. An occasional waterfall ran under the bus making the road a little slippery. Then it began to rain. But, the scariest part of the trip was when a truck, not just any old truck but one of those huge Japanese work trucks with its bed full of other travelers, would approach us, from the opposite direction, determined to pass .The two drivers would get out to use their foot to test the ground to see how close they could get to the edge without falling off. Then everyone would hold their breath as the two vehicles inched their way past each other. And every once in awhile a lone cyclist would come racing down the hill crisscrossing the road between all the vehicles lined up behind each other. Professor Entwell could not open his eyes. I couldn’t close mine. We told each other that we had had a good life and were ready to go if it had to be. But we were happy to finish the trip alive, that part at least. Coroico is indeed a lovely place, green and blooming if a little damp. Our “hippy style” hotel had a balcony overlooking the valley and we could hear the student band practicing in the school below. The food was good even though we didn’t feel like eating too much. I don’t know why, but we spent only one night there and the next day we started back up the road to La Paz. This time we took a seat farther towards the back so we wouldn’t have to see the road. We had just gotten more or less comfortable, when the driver stopped to pick up two other passengers. One was a very large woman whose multiple skirts, worn one on top of the other in the indigenous style made her larger still. She was bound and determined to take her huge sack of potatoes with her on the trip. She argued with the driver and yelled at him until he finally agreed to load the potatoes on top of the bus which caused the roof to bend down dangerously close to our heads. The other traveler seemed to be the big woman’s daughter She was carrying a baby on her back. We thought we might have to put up with some crying during the trip, but the woman nursed her baby and it slept the entire way back. This time, we were old pros and were not at all worried about making it back in one piece. We were even telling a new traveling companion about our adventures. The challenge on this part of the trip was the dust. that rose from the very dry road. There were two choices, open the windows and choke on the dust or close the windows and choke on the odor of bodies which didn’t have the luxury of being bathed very often. I honestly don’t remember which one we chose, but I do remember very clearly returning to our hotel in La Paz and taking a long hot bath.
