Ortiguiera, Galicia.
Welcome to Ortiguiera. There is forest here, which is enough to make any New-Englander in Spain feel at least a little more at home. There are gorgeous beaches and a different language. We are here for a Gaelic music festival, but there is much more to enjoy than just a concert.
I’m dreaming in present tense. Let’s get to the history.
The three main spots were the beach, the forest where we camped, and the pueblo of Ortiguiera. As usual, I’m going to follow my photographs, so there might be some jumping around.
The first point of interest is that Andres, Javier, and Remco also made it up to the festival. Andres and Javier are friends I met in Salamanca, and Remco is a friend from Madrid. Andres is a really cool dude, and I snapped some shots of him on the beach, as he was showing us some of the jewelry he makes.
We spent a lot of time on the beach. Juggling, drinking cheap beer or calimoxo (pronounced cali-mocho – red wine and coke), and meeting interesting people. I also swam a bit but the others thought it was too cold. Julia started passing with a guy she met, so I took some shots of her as well.
If you look to the left of this photo, you’ll see a small green island. There was also a sandbar that showed up every low tide so you could walk out. Very Milford, if you’ve ever been to that sweet Connecticut shore.
Now I guess we will follow the crew into town for the first night of the festivities. The interesting part is that the entire pueblo is a fiesta. The streets remind me of the hallways in a house party, where everybody is trying to move in one direction but is forced to slow themselves to a crawl. Groups of musicians carry big drums strapped around their necks and pound them so you can hear them from 6 or 7 streets away, and the crowd circles and follows them in a pack, cheering and drinking and dancing.
Then, just as you think you are just going to stay in the street and party all night; these musicians are the festival, and there is no stage or lights, you hit the main plaza. There are vendors (called “puestos”) that line the streets selling everything from fine fabric to cheap food to juggling balls and jewelry. The stage was also quite impressive, and the crowd was absolutely massive. Vamos a ver.
Even in the pouring rain (it rained lightly often, but heavily only once), most of the crowd remained. In fact, for the people who did hang around, it seemed to enhance the experience. As soon as the first torrent of rain fell everyone started cheering and dancing. It seems to be the Spanish way — if it gets cold, dance yourself back to warmth. Either that or get underneath a bank of trees and grab a beer.
Back to camp. The forest was a large span of evenly-spread Eucalyptos (Eucalyptis?) trees, very tall and homey. There were hundreds and hundreds of tents, almost on top of each other, and people had set up puestos and little towns of tents as well. The people that show up to this type of event generally fall into three categories.
There are hippies. The thing is, the hippies I have met here are REAL hippies. Their children run around all day without clothing, and are about as mature as you could possibly imagine. When one of them asked for a lighter to start a fire (keep in mind, she’s 10 years old and completely naked), my friend said politely, “don’t you think it’s a little dangerous?” She didn’t even respond, she just gave him a look that a 5-star chef might give someone who says “be careful with that knife.”
The hippies are inspiring. They aren’t completely cut off from society, but almost. They eat simple foods, they wear simple clothing that they often make for themselves, and they sell jewelry or drinks at festivals to get by. They are extremely resourceful and very peaceful. They have dreadlocks (called “rastas” in Spanish). Everything you might expect from a hippy.
The second type of people are the “punkies.” This is the Spanish name for punk-rock style kids who show up to any type of music festival with the intent of bringing their own party. They have vans that they set up in any free space, and they have lights and turntables and large speakers to start a dance party. I saw at least 4 or 5 of these Easy-Mac night clubs, including one on the beach.
The third type of people is everybody else.
In this type of festival (of which I have now seen 2), you are bound to see all types of strange things. People who walk around naked (usually hippies), druggies, bonfires, bar-b-ques, organized sport, drinking and debauchery, the whole nine yards. What seemed to stand out in my mind was how well it worked. I didn’t see or hear any fights, anyone injured or robbed (although with this many people someone always gets robbed) and in general the spirit was always positive. It seemed to be the lack of formal organization that let the party stay relaxed and self-governed. Very, very cool.
From here I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. The beach was gorgeous, the forest was very homey and perfect to camp in, and the pueblo was everything you would expect from a ton of crazy Spaniards with nothing to do but celebrate.
Oh yeah, one more thing. For much of the trip, I was wearing a Pamplona joke – the classic white t-shirt and red bandana – since San Fermines was taking place around this time.
