Introduction
This journey experience is from 25 years ago, therefore details may not be very complete. Also, imagine that it is really a trip to the past because cities change a lot over time. The pub nowadays has a different name.
SALAMANCA 1996
My 2nd "big" journey to Spain had the same as the first; the city of Salamanca in the Castilla y Leon area, near Zamora, Valladolid and the Portuguese border.
At the time I attended a commercial-economic school, one of the few in my province that offered lessons in the Spanish language and my teacher had the opinion that I ought to go to Spain for my "practicas". So basically it's a 7 week school trip.
Being the only bloke in a group of 6, the journey (bus trip) began on April 30 (then still Queens Day in the Netherlands), departing in Arnhem.
You'd probably think that it's simply a hop on the bus and travel southwest, but no, it was a time consuming Eurolines coach that first headed west to Amsterdam and afterwards south to The Hague, Rotterdam and Breda (in order to pick up additional passengers).
Breda is only a few miles from the Belgian border. 2 pickups, in Antwerp and Brussels on a normal Tuesday with terrible traffic jams...
Luckily it's a small country and a 6 PM we entered France.
The route to Northwest Spain is pretty easy, it starts in Lille and via Paris, Tours, Poitiers and Bordeaux you reach the French part of Basque country, locally known as Iparralde.
We stopped (5 AM in the morning) at a wooden sort of café in the outskirts of Bayonne, had breakfast and shortly after we entered Spanish Basque country (Irun).
It's approximately 6-7 hours from there to reach Salamanca and I crumbled out of the bus with pain in the back.
After about an hour the Spanish "families" picked us up and we went our separate ways.
These "familias" have several rooms for rent to students who come for a month or several weeks to the city.
The only obligation in the first week was to attend the morning classes of Spanish at the Academia Mester from 10 to 12.
Naturally I remembered the most important streets and places to go from the trip in '94 and it's hard to get lost in a small city. In the centre there's the Plaza Mayor (main square) where the bars are more expensive. From the main square the most popular pubs are just a 5 minute walk.
The Spanish landlady gave me a copy of the key so I could come and go at every possible hour. On an afternoon she said, "Robin I want you to meet some new house mates".
Turns out 2 16 year old "garçons" from France were staying for a week. "Can you show these boys Carlos and Sylvain the town so they won't get bored in the evening?"
It was a Thursday evening and on Thursdays the teachers of the Academia always invited the students for a couple of drinks in the Cum Laude bar.
Alors les mecs, venez avec moi (So guys, come join me).
After entering the establishment, you'd always see skinny Miguel and slightly obese Ramón (the teachers) sitting at the bar. Then Ramón would grab a Winston out of his pocket, light it and greet: "Hola Robin, buenas noches, quieres tomar algo?" (Hello, good evening, can I offer you a drink?)
Then we had a few beers and it usually lasted until 1 or 2 AM. The French guys were happy that they didn't need to switch to Spanish or English to have a conversation with me.
In the 2nd week the work practice commenced from 4 to 7 PM in the company "ProCasa" situated in the southern part of the city which from "mi casa" is approximately a 3 KM walk crossing the river Tormes.
After arriving at the office I explain the pretty darkhaired receptionist about my work practice and she informs the boss who has a small introduction chat with me in his office.
"Hola, soy Pedro, bienvenido". We talk about small administrative tasks which I can take care of and he shows me the rest of the office and colleagues.
Juan Carlos, one of the younger employees is asked to give me assistance if needed. Pretty sure that most of the bad language was taught to me by him. Basically the work consists of filling in forms, checking invoices and making a list of who has the keys to what house i the new neighbourhood. And if there was not much to do, then Juan Carlos would take me to the city to buy materials and this had the advantage that he'd just drop me off in the centre at 7 PM.
Then there was this weekend trip to Donosti (San Sebastian). I dialed a 943 number and spoke with my friend Ana who I'd met in '94. Yes sure just come up north to see me.
My house was in the same street as the train station, so I strolled down the avenue, entered the station, gave the ticket seller a few thousand pesetas and jumped on the train, seeing beautiful landscapes.
Of course it was not a direct connection. A fellow passenger looked my ticket and said, oh you're heading to Basque country. Make sure to switch trains in Miranda de Ebro.
You can see immediately the change of scenery when arriving; everything is green and there's graffiti referring to ETA all over the place.
At 9 PM I was there and waited a short while near the bridge in front of the station. Ana came with friends and we hit the pubs until the early morning.
We did some sightseeing the next day but there was no train back so I had to take the bus and got very tired.
Frequently I visited the cozy Irish pub (O'Neill's) for a Carlsberg. The nights mostly continued in the discobar Camelot (as well as in '94).
There was a group of drunk Americans, most of them under 18.. their first and last visit. Occasionally my colleagues from work came to the pub too and they'd invite me a whisky or rhum mix drink.
One afternoon at the office, Juan Carlos said: Hey Robin,come with me, we have to pick up some wine.
We drove to the disco Morgana (the "sister" bar of Camelot) and loaded bottles of wine in his car, then returned to the neighbourhood with the new houses. JC opened the door to a house and said, we're leaving all the wine here.
It turned out that the wine was a welcome gift for the owner of the new house.
Another evening I met Juan Carlos in the centre. "Hola hombre, what are you doing here?"
He was with his girlfriend and said, let's go to this great pub called Sibori.
We sat there, had a drink, I saw the pubs interior and got a flashback to '94 when there were some reggae nights here, but the bar had been redecorated.
Another event organised by the Academia was a bodega visit in a village of Zamora, about 1 hour south of Salamanca. The whole group had a terrific meal there and plenty of red wine.
Meanwhile, the month of June began and the pubs got more crowded because of the European football championship in England.
"Jefe, tomorrow afternoon the Netherlands play Scotland. Can I take a day off?"
"Sí hombre, no hay problema, just go see it and enjoy the match"
It was a typical 0-0 match, more or less a mirror image of the tournament quality itself, but I went to a nice bar with some other Dutchies and we had a good time.
Spain was in a tough group. Romania still had Gheorge Hagi and Bulgaria was 4th in the '94 World Cup. Spain played vs. France. The Irish pub had become my favourite bar so I went there. Then this pretty dark curly hair lady asks me: "Perdon, ies thies chair stiill free?"
My reply to the lady, after noticing an accent more French than a baguette with camembert, is: "Oui, bien sûr, asseyez-vous" (Yes sure, have a seat).
The match ends 1-1 and I say goodbye to the lady because the practices are over and a few days later my Dutch group of 6 takes the bus to Valladolid, from where the return journey starts.
We have to wait about an hour so I head into the city to find a bank. My wallet is stashed with pesetas and I want some French francs.
The bank employee asks me: French francs?
Sí, I'm travelling through France tomorrow...
We leave Valladolid and later Spain behind. The next morning one of the passengers informs the Dutch people that we lost 4-1 to England in the tournament.
Finally we reach end point Arnhem in the early evening.
