A January Wandering

Winter days are too short for far-away travel, so yesterday I went for a shorter drive to a couple of places about an hour and a half away. My husband and I had already visited them together almost twenty years ago. I had expected them to have changed dramatically in the interval, but they haven't changed that much. 

Driving from Vigo to Ourense, Melón is practically at the halfway point. There is

no sign on the highway that there is a monument of any sort nearby, just the off-ramp sign for the town. And when the local road drops you off in the middle of the town, you find yourself staring at a strangely square large church with the ruins of a large monastery to one side. 

Santa María de Melón was a Cistercian monastery founded in the twelfth

century. It grew in lands and wealth until the rising feudal lords put a stop to it. After the fifteenth century it gradually lost most of its grandeur, until in 1835 it was seized by the state in an attempt to take away some of the enormous power and wealth the Church had in Spain. After that it was never again restored or inhabited. The church itself suffered. That had been left as the parrochial church, but had had some alteration done to the structure. The alteration was not well done, and a bolt of lightning in 1885 destroyed part of the nave. Lacking money, it was not rebuilt, and a new façade simply built onto the part that had been saved. That is what gives it such a strange, square shape. 

When we first visited, a group of people from Vigo who were there and we, were taken through the ruins by the parish priest. Brambles grew everywhere and stones were lying where they had fallen, making the going difficult. The priest told us the building had just been sold, and the plans were to make a luxury hotel in the reassembled ruins. It was a depressing thought, because that meant that unless one had the money to spend the night in the place, one could never visit beyond the public cloister again. But, the crisis came as a blessing, and it has simply been cleaned up and made available for whoever wants to amble through what is left. Any further projects have been put on hold, except for, apparently, a summer café in the larger cloister. When I visited yesterday, there was nothing there, just a couple of low wooden platforms in the center that were being mistreated by the rain. No one appeared while I was there, and I had the run of the ruins to myself. Hopefully, it shall remain open as it is for anyone who wants to visit history. 

After that, I continued to Ribadavia. It's name simply means "on the banks of the Avia." The river Avia jumps along next to the town until it splashes into the

Miño just a little further downstream. It's an old city, and was once the capital of the Kingdom of Galicia, during what little time this existed. That was when, in the eleventh century, Jews began to set up their homes there. Ribadavia became one of the Spanish cities that had a large Jewish population, and is now included in the Urban Heritage of Sepharad, which is a group of various Spanish cities that have an important Jewish heritage, including Córdoba and Toledo. Every end of August, the Festa da Istoria is celebrated in Ribadavia, and one of the high points is a medieval Jewish wedding. The Jewish ghetto is a few streets wide in the high part of town, and there is really nothing to distinguish them from the Christian streets. Jews and Christians lived side by side and participated in civil life equally. In fact, when the Duke of Lancaster assailed the city during one of the succession wars in the fourteenth century, the Jews fought alongside the Christians to repel the invaders and defend the city. 

Most of what now can be seen that is in any way Jewish, is modern; plaques

affixed on houses, and signs delimiting the Jewish quarter. Except on two houses that I saw, where any work done on them since 1492 and the expulsion of the Jews has not touched the original stone. Next to the door there was a scoop in the stone. That was where the mezuzah had been placed. The mezuzah is a parchment scroll inscribed with a Hebrew prayer that recognizes only one God. I suppose the prayer comes from the time the ancient Hebrews were surrounded by pagans with dozens of gods and the Hebrews were the only monotheists. The parchment is placed in a decorated case and affixed to the doorjamb. When a family moves, it takes the mezuzah with them to the new house. I imagine those who left for Portugal and northern Africa in 1492 took them with them, the last action after closing the door behind them.

There is still a bakery in Ribadavia that sells Jewish pastries. I don't think they're completely kosher, but they bake cookies and cakes from traditional recipes. Yesterday I bought an almond cookie made with ground almonds and no wheat flour, and a poppyseed cookie. They were delicious. I pray that Herminia, the proprietesse, has a well-taught inheritor to take over the tiny, dark, sweet-smelling shop that she presides over. 

The day being short, and night falling just after six in the afternoon, I drove slowly back home sometime after four. I'll have a longer day out during spring break. Hopefully, my husband will also have a day off, and we'll go somewhere interesting together, too.