La Vida Toledana: Week 2
January 27, 2017
In class, we’ve been discussing various perceived stereotypes of both Spaniards and Americans. Being a largely Catholic country, there are many saints days and various other festivals to celebrate. So far, I’ve found it to be true that many of these days are national or at least city-wide holidays. This week, I got to sample one of such festivals and visit la Santa Iglesia Catedral Primada, a breathtaking gothic cathedral at the heart of Toledo.
Last Tuesday, the 17th, marked the anniversary of the death of San Antón, a first century monk and Spain’s patron saint of animals. He was celebrated over the weekend, with a service on Sunday in which people’s pets or working animals received a blessing. My host mother was kind enough to take me with her as she visited a chapel to have her dog, Rita, blessed. The crowd gathered outside was mainly comprised of dog owners and their fluffy friends, but I also saw rabbits, birds, a solitary cat, a frog, a guinea pig, and even a fish—and one man brought his horse, big, handsome and terrified.
Part of the tradition includes gifting a piece of bread with a coin pushed in the side to one’s pet. However, it’s less an offering of food as it is a toy; the bread received at the service is saved for the entire year to be given on the next celebration of San Antón… hard as a rock. Humans, on the other hand, get to eat the bread fresh. It’s a sweet-tasting bread to accompany an equally cute service. Thanks, San Antón!
Being nonreligious myself, this week has been quite fascinating. As a photojournalist, I’ve been in plenty of odd or awkward situations. Being around religious services or inside such buildings always feels new to me. Now imagine, if you will, adding yet another layer: my debutant Spanish fluency. I’ve been studying Spanish since 7th grade; that makes this my tenth year with the language. And yet, I still wouldn’t consider myself fluent.
Fluency is such a nebulous concept. I took the Oral Proficiency Interview, an exam administered to rate one’s ability to hold a conversation in a foreign language, at the end of last semester. It’s a requirement for graduation with a Spanish degree at OU that I wanted to get out of the way rather than scrambling to schedule it while abroad. It’s a 30-minute-long telephone interview that touches on various levels of conversation to find your peak ability level. OU requires an “Intermediate-High.” I received an “Advanced-Low.” So what?
It doesn’t mean much to me. The truth is, fluency is brain wrapping. It’s detaching meaning from both written and spoken words and reassign such meaning to a new set of written and spoken words. Already, semantically, it’s a very complicated conquest. Now add the myriad other divisions of linguistic study (dialectic variation, colloquial lexicons, e.g.) and it becomes further obscured. My first few days in Spain were filled with confidence and fluidity—then I hit a wall. But what a remarkable setting in which to hit a wall!
I’m feeling better about the language now, as I settle into living in Toledo, everyday mystified to call this medieval world my home. The people here are genuine and direct. That has been an adjustment for me. But I’ve had my first Spanish dream since arriving and am on track to regain speaking confidence. I’ve switched over to listening to Spanish artists when I ride the bus and have been reading Gabriel García Marquez’ Cien Años de Soledad for the past month.
Speaking of the buses—that was a new puzzle for me, which I now feel very confident I’ve solved. I’ve also adjusted to the gastronomy I face here; it’s been such a treat to cut out processed foods almost entirely. I am learning the schedule of my classes and also the schedule of people’s lives back in the EST zone and when it’s best to contact them. But there’s one thing that I haven’t grown accustomed to and, frankly, I don’t expect I ever will. I doubt I will ever be able to forgo the sense of awe I feel with each new relic or ruin I see and each fact or fable I hear. The history contained in this city alone and the access I have to Europe is unbelievable and magical.
La Santa Iglesia Catedral Primada is a good example of this awe. My first thought was that I was out of place. My second thought became consumed by questions of the building’s construction: immensely tall ceilings vaulted by pointed arches, supported by perfect columns. In design, it mimics, Catholic ideals of purity and sanctity. Built literally on top of a sixth-century Visigoth church (that was later used as a mosque), this cathedral took 800 years to complete, starting in 1226. Also known as the Toledo Cathedral, many of the carvings, paintings and sculptures inside are dedicated to San Idelfonso, Toledo’s own patron saint, who is usually depicted receiving his vestment from the Virgin Mary.
I may not be religious, but I can certainly appreciate the immense amount of work and attention to detail (and money, ahem) that went into the construction and adornment of this facility. Various adjunct chambers house further relics that would have 2004 Nicholas Cage foaming at the mouth. The tomb of San Idelfonso, a gallery of paintings including a room full of exquisite works by El Greco and the cathedral’s Custodia Procesional (200kg of gold, silver and precious gems) all were as captivatingly beautiful as the various works of art that scattered each wall of the cathedral’s principal hall. To pray here must be phenomenal, if you’re into that.
