Summer Siege of Santiago
Yesterday, I had a doctor's appointment to check my moles (the curse of having very light skin). When I emerged after making sure everything is fine and dandy, it was early, I had no need to rush home to make lunch, so I decided to go walking in Santiago.
When I got out of the car park in the Praza de Galicia, it seemed a nice, warm late-August day. The sun was shining in its August way, and the sky was a good deep blue. I decided to wander inside the cathedral, which I haven't visited in at least two years.
As I got closer, the tourists started to close in upon the narrow streets. On my approach, I saw at least three guided tours, each shepherd leading a large pack, all looking up in unison when the shepherd pointed, and paying close attention to the words. When I entered the Praza de Praterías from the Quintana, I saw that the area was overflowing. No, not the area, just the people that were lining up at the entrance to the cathedral. The crowds spilled down the steps and back beyond the fountain. Incredible.
So much for visiting the cathedral. I'll wait until the last half of next month. Surely by then it'll be easier to get in. I continued walking, and wanderd into the Praza do Obradoiro, where the main doors of the cathedral are, and where the Pórtico da Gloria lies protected behind the newer baroque façade. The Pórtico is a medieval masterpiece of sculpture that has recently been restored. Back when the restoration began, there were guided tours of the scaffolding, where visitors wore hard hats, and listened to the explanations for fifteen minutes each small group. My daughter and I had had the good luck to be able to sign up for one such visit, and got to stand in front of the Apostles designed by Maestre Mateo, sculptor of which practically nothing is known, except he gave the different Apostles and saints in the façade human qualities, and placed the musical instruments of the day in their arms.
Now, the scaffolding has been retired, and people are allowed to stand in front of it once more, only so many had shown up the first days, that an order was installed, and only so many allowed for so many minutes to enter the Pórtico. That meant setting up lines with barriers by the main entrance. As I walked by, I saw a line as long as at the airport, filled with bored faces, and a few who had begun to munch onto snacks. To see the Pórtico, I suppose I'll have to wait until November, or maybe even January, when no one thinks to visit rainy Santiago.
So I simply continued my walk along the old streets, and I realized things were changing. In the market, the praza de abastos, there were many tourists wandering, few buying, and fewer locals shopping. There is now one entire nave dedicated to tiny bars and restaurants set up in the old stalls, including a sushi bar. Okay, I like sushi. Rather, I love sushi. But there is something completely incongruent in setting up a sushi bar in a Spanish market, where the pull of a restaurant would be the local produce and dishes. Because, while they are able to buy fresh daily vegetables, they can't pride themselves on sushi made with the freshest fish. By European law, all fish must either be cooked to 60ºC for ten minutes, or frozen to -35ºC for fifteen hours (up to five days in a domestic freezer), before being served in a restaurant. That's the law, which was passed to avoid infections by the anisakis worm that is becoming more and more frequent in fresh fish. Also, sushi is not exactly traditional Spanish cuisine, which is what is supposedly touted in a traditional market.
Sigh and continue. I found myself in front of what had been a droguería for many years. A droguería is like a type of general store where you can find anything from make-up to carrot seeds, passing through window cleaner and hair barrettes. This one must have been open for over sixty years, judging from the painted golden letters in the window above the door. Now, it's closed, and there's a sign saying it will be reformed into a restaurant. Another one. As if there aren't restaurants upon restaurants in the city, most of them catering to the tourists with bad or expensive food. It isn't the only business that has transformed from a locally necessary shop to one that caters only to tourists. There were two bookshops in one street that were transformed, as well. One became an Italian restaurant in which no locals are to be seen, and the other a souvenir store filled with knicknacks from Galicia made in China. Another former bookstore is still awaiting a new owner.
There are also some locales that have changed their business format more than once. One now sells organic soaps of some kind. I never see customers in it when I pass by, so I don't know how it has lasted the year or two it has. Before that, it was a take-out place for Sicilian food. I once bought arancini there, and it tasted good, though I am sure it was not as good as Adelina's in the Inspector Montalbano books by Andrea Camilleri. I also refreshed my taste buds' memory with a cannoli once, years after the last one I had eaten in Boston's North End. Before that, I forget what the locale housed, but I bet it was something more akin to the neighborhood. I now don't feel the need to subject my atopical skin to strange substances, nor do the dwindling neighbors.
To top off the cult of the tourist, when I went into the parking garage to remove my car, by the stairs next to the vending machine with drinks, there was a new vending machine. It was shaped like an old-fashioned pilgrim, and you could insert coins and buy an inscribed coin. If the thing isn't removed by December, I suppose it will be because enough people with extra weight in their pockets decided to buy a souvenir from it, and the parking garage has made an extra buck or two. As long as they don't raise the rates again, I suppose.....
When I got out of the car park in the Praza de Galicia, it seemed a nice, warm late-August day. The sun was shining in its August way, and the sky was a good deep blue. I decided to wander inside the cathedral, which I haven't visited in at least two years.
As I got closer, the tourists started to close in upon the narrow streets. On my approach, I saw at least three guided tours, each shepherd leading a large pack, all looking up in unison when the shepherd pointed, and paying close attention to the words. When I entered the Praza de Praterías from the Quintana, I saw that the area was overflowing. No, not the area, just the people that were lining up at the entrance to the cathedral. The crowds spilled down the steps and back beyond the fountain. Incredible. So much for visiting the cathedral. I'll wait until the last half of next month. Surely by then it'll be easier to get in. I continued walking, and wanderd into the Praza do Obradoiro, where the main doors of the cathedral are, and where the Pórtico da Gloria lies protected behind the newer baroque façade. The Pórtico is a medieval masterpiece of sculpture that has recently been restored. Back when the restoration began, there were guided tours of the scaffolding, where visitors wore hard hats, and listened to the explanations for fifteen minutes each small group. My daughter and I had had the good luck to be able to sign up for one such visit, and got to stand in front of the Apostles designed by Maestre Mateo, sculptor of which practically nothing is known, except he gave the different Apostles and saints in the façade human qualities, and placed the musical instruments of the day in their arms.
So I simply continued my walk along the old streets, and I realized things were changing. In the market, the praza de abastos, there were many tourists wandering, few buying, and fewer locals shopping. There is now one entire nave dedicated to tiny bars and restaurants set up in the old stalls, including a sushi bar. Okay, I like sushi. Rather, I love sushi. But there is something completely incongruent in setting up a sushi bar in a Spanish market, where the pull of a restaurant would be the local produce and dishes. Because, while they are able to buy fresh daily vegetables, they can't pride themselves on sushi made with the freshest fish. By European law, all fish must either be cooked to 60ºC for ten minutes, or frozen to -35ºC for fifteen hours (up to five days in a domestic freezer), before being served in a restaurant. That's the law, which was passed to avoid infections by the anisakis worm that is becoming more and more frequent in fresh fish. Also, sushi is not exactly traditional Spanish cuisine, which is what is supposedly touted in a traditional market. 
There are also some locales that have changed their business format more than once. One now sells organic soaps of some kind. I never see customers in it when I pass by, so I don't know how it has lasted the year or two it has. Before that, it was a take-out place for Sicilian food. I once bought arancini there, and it tasted good, though I am sure it was not as good as Adelina's in the Inspector Montalbano books by Andrea Camilleri. I also refreshed my taste buds' memory with a cannoli once, years after the last one I had eaten in Boston's North End. Before that, I forget what the locale housed, but I bet it was something more akin to the neighborhood. I now don't feel the need to subject my atopical skin to strange substances, nor do the dwindling neighbors. To top off the cult of the tourist, when I went into the parking garage to remove my car, by the stairs next to the vending machine with drinks, there was a new vending machine. It was shaped like an old-fashioned pilgrim, and you could insert coins and buy an inscribed coin. If the thing isn't removed by December, I suppose it will be because enough people with extra weight in their pockets decided to buy a souvenir from it, and the parking garage has made an extra buck or two. As long as they don't raise the rates again, I suppose.....
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