Vaughan Town

May 28, 2006

Greetings from Hotel Puerta de Gredos! A serene yet stylish four star resort nestled in the foothills of the Sierra de Gredos and the first “couch” of my three month European adventure. We are near the town of Avila – reputed to be the best example of a walled medieval city in Spain. The walls are quite impressive - studded with towers and crenellations, they appear as if from nowhere in basically the middle of nowhere. Avila, sometimes called the “city of saints and stones,” was the birthplace to St. Theresa and is still an important pilgrimage center.

The objective at Vaughan Town is to create an English “village” where for one week someone learning English is not only immersed in the language but exposed simultaneously to several dialects or accents.

Our retreat is about twenty minutes from Avila. There is a calming sense of tranquility here where lavender and sage bushes shade the fields with a peaceful purple punctuated only by the occasional batch of red poppies. The loudest sound you hear is the neighing of the horse that lives on the ostrich farm next door. We are a fifteen minute walk from a small town called El Barco de Avila - a small almost deserted Spanish town known as “the frying pan” of Spain. Before the end of May it is already hot as hell. Given that Charlotte was a more-than-balmy 90 degrees the day I left, I guess you could say I jumped from the fire into the frying pan!

The program is intense but enjoyable. The objective is to create an English “village” where for one week someone learning English is not only immersed in the language but exposed simultaneously to several dialects or accents. In our group we have an Australian a Philippino, two boys from Yorkshire, a girl from Bristol, myself, a Texan, and another woman from Kansas, just to name a few. We have five one-on-one sessions a day, talking with a Spaniard while we wander the surrounding fields or sit at the bar over coffee or wine. The three large meals a day eat up most of our remaining time with the gaps filled in by various group activities such as games, skits, and sing-alongs. It is basically summer camp for adults

The schedule is rather grueling, but the conversations are actually quite fascinating. Of course, for me it is always nice to have a rapt audience! If you don’t pay 100% attention when someone is speaking a language you are learning, you’ll inevitably get lost. Poor things are so exhausted by the end of the day they can barely make conversation at the dinner table. I remember when my brain would hit overload in Italy and just turn off - conversation becomes as indistinguishable as the hum of the air conditioner in the background. But in the morning they are lively and happy to share what they love about their country, what they know of their cultures and others, as well as their stories and their curiosity.

It is the perfect transition between being back home in the states and beginning this next adventure. Three square meals, a bed, and a Jacuzzi tub - all for free! I’m sure it is the most pampered I will be for the entire year! If you are looking for a budget getaway just to get away, this is a great consideration. You can see information on the program at www.vaughantown.com . The only downside for me is the limited free time to write! I must run now, but will check in again soon.

May 29, 2006

My favorite part of traveling is not so much the museums and monuments, but the unplanned, unexpected experiences that take you out of your own familiar conceptions of everyday life. I was walking, actually power walking, with Jorge during a one-to-one session Monday afternoon. We wanted to make it to the river and back before the end of our fifty minute session and had left a few minutes late. After walking for close to half an hour, we could see the river down below but it seemed we had missed the path to take us down to the water’s edge. We were about to turn around at a small drop-off above the river when I spotted a German Shepherd, her coat glistening with water, playing on the grass below. We decided to walk down a little farther to see if we could get to the river the way she apparently had.

I thought it was a bit strange – this German Shepherd in the middle of practically nowhere, happily trotting down the small 1½ lane highway that connects El Barco di Avila with the next town 15 kilometers away. She came toward us as we began rounding a corner in the road. She looked like a four year old who has spotted the slide on a playground across the way but isn’t sure if he’ll get in trouble if he goes that far away from mom. She kept looking over her shoulder every few seconds. Jorge asked if I thought she was lost I responded her master must be up the road but she wanted to play a bit more before he called her back. At that point we couldn’t see who her master might be. As we rounded the corner, we saw, not a man out walking his dog, but a man out walking his cows. Yes. Cows. There in the middle of the street stood half a dozen cows with another thirty or so gnawing on grass along the sides of the road. Just then we heard the man call our German friend. Off she ran, back in the direction of her “boss”. It seemed three of the cows had wandered down into the creek that ran alongside the road and were making a break from the herd. She took off down the road, ran past us, circled the guard rail and came down the ravine to head off the cows. Now I’ve watched border collies herd sheep but to see this German Shepherd stand head to head with a cow at least ten times its size was absolutely fascinating. I always thought of German Shepherds as attack dogs. It never even dawned on me the significance of their name until that moment – shep-herd. Oh. Duh. We watched as she rounded the three transients up and ran them along the creek bed back to the herd.

The pastor by now had spotted us and came walking our way. Lila, his right hand canine, took a break in the shade while the cows chewed on grass and her boss chatted in a very thick Spanish dialect with my friend Jorge. The pastor’s name was Herman – a teeny little man, at least 65 years old, with little sparkling eyes that were clouded with age. His corduroy pants were too big and were barely held up by his belt. He had a straw hat that shielded his face from the sun and a thin little walking stick. Standing there with him was like wandering back in time to the early 1900s. Computers and text messaging seemed light years away. He shouted a series of incomprehensible noises to Lila who jumped up and went right to work rounding the cows up and herding them up the hill to another pasture. He walked and chatted with Jorge, explaining that these were special grade beef cows and that entire herd had been sired by one bull. “Quite the busy bull!” I exclaimed in my best high-school Spanish. He laughed and said something to Jorge that I didn’t understand but figure was along the lines of “too bad we can’t have his job!” Herman offered to walk with us into the next village but we unfortunately had to decline as we were already late for our next session. He kindly let us take photos with him and we parted ways.

I love cathedrals and architecture but it is these moments, moments with the locals, with people who know a life we have long forgotten, people who see the world in a way I can only imagine – these are the moments that make travel my passion.