Guiri

Una volta che emigri sei emigrato a vita

Gino Pirelli

Tenho tenho entre as pernas um engenho. Dele como, dele bebo, dele pago o que devo.

Sabedoría popular São Pedrenha 

É muito fixe ser o único estrangeiro (não português) de uma aldeia na fronteira entre Portugal e Espanha. Ser o bicho raro, como me disse o Bruno. No Portugal não há uma palavra parecida, mas são um 'guiri'.

O galego axuda, mais entender é moi difícil. Entendo o necesario para coñecer un grupo de xente marabillosa e chea de enerxías. Artistas xoves. Amigxs —a maiorí­a mulleres— que se reuniron aquí para organizar un festival nesta aldea rural —onde algunhas delxs viven— lonxe das luces da cidade. Tempo de Aldeia. Un grupo que me acolle, mais ao que son evidentemente, necesariamente externo. Un guiri.

Aquí en São Pedro do Río Seco as cousas son diferentes. A vida de aldea é moi bonita e relaxada, aínda que esta esta sexa unha aldea particular. A vida de aldea quere dicir que todxs se coñecen. Quere dicir que se poden alugar dous (2!) casas por setenta (70!) euros. Quere dicir que se pode deixar o coche no medio da rúa, coas xanelas abertas e as chaves postas. Quere dicir que cando xs urbanitas senten a necesidade de estar nunha cidade van na vila do lado onde é difícil atopar comida ás 21:30.

Mais esta aldea é particular porque está xusto ao lado da fronteira con España e coma todas as zonas de fronteira as particularidades —sociais, linguisticas, etc.— sonche moitas.

E nunca fun tan estranxeiro. Nunca vivín nun sitio sendo tan guiri. Nunca me pasara antes aínda que sexa estranxeiro desde hai moito tempo. Gosto de selo. Se es estranxeiro fáltanche moitas cousas, claro, mais ao mesmiño tempo tes moita máis liberdade. Todxs te coñecen aínda que ti non coñezas todxs. Mais sempre fun estranxeiro en situacións “controladas”, vivindo en grandes cidades (Wangaratta —que non é una gran cidade, mais onde estaba con outrxs italianxs—, Roma, Sevilla, Vancouver, Santiago de Compostela, Barcelona). Controladas porque es un dxs tantxs, tes a túa situación persoal, mais encontras outras persoas na mesma situación e en xeral a xente do sitio está acostumada a xente coma ti. Mais levaba moito tempo sen ser un guiri. Fixe!

Oda aos guiris!


PS Falto de Santiago de Compostela desde hai un ano, mais nese momento tan difí­cil para a miña patria adoptiva a lingua saí­u naturalmente. Moita forza compañeirxs!

Astronautas

S.F. El meu germà és un astronauta

A.A. Perquè?

S.F. No el veus? Menja coses de astronauta, cuinades al microones. Fa una vida de astronauta. Va al treball per la manyana, torna a la casa i es posa a ver una peŀlicula, menja, algunes vegades va al teatre o al cine però sempre així [amb les mans S.F. fa un quadrat entorn a la cara] sense preocupar-se de res, de des-d'on vénen les coses que menja... I no es estúpid, s'interessa de moltes coses... però fa aquesta vida d'astronauta

La conversación siguió un poco más, y en un catalán mucho más rico y correcto —por lo menos por parte de S.F.— de lo que puedo escribir yo (y pido perdón a E.D.).

pero esta discusión me dio mucho que pensar.

Astronautas. No lo es solo el hermano de S.F. Quien más, quien menos todxs lo somos. Es muy fácil caer en los hábitos y quedarnos en nuestros pequeño mundo, en nuestra zona de confort. La clave es salir de ella, encontrar personas, cambiar, conocer gente, ser parte de comunidades o crear una , mejor varias. Atreverse.

People Are Strange

People love to receive orders. People love to execute orders. Someone says A and they do A. B and they do B. That's why people who follow the rules unconditionally are so beloved (N). Their heavenly god says A and they do A. B is B. No questions asked. Their terrestrial god (master, boss, slaver) says A and they do A. B is B. Because people don't like to think. Life is easier. People like to be in a box where they know every corner. They like to define and put things in boxes.

And some people like to give orders. They love to show all the power they have.

That's why people love dogs. Today in the park: “Charlie come here” and Charlie comes. “Charlie sit” and Charlie sits. And there's no reason to come or sit. [He's so intelligent. He understands what I say]. Human being's best friend is a slave, who's a “good boy” or a “good girl” when they follow the orders.

And man's companion is the woman. Another slave who society doesn't teach —from the very moment she's born— to think or decide, but who's taught everything about the pointless and idiosyncratic aberrations they have to undergo in order to please men or so that they don't please them too much. They're taught what their happiness should be, what their behaviour should be. They're taught what's simply natural for all women. They're taught they're happy when they have a nice family with some muscled, violent bone-head around to perpetuate patriarchy over again. Don't think. Someone else will do it for you.

Men are taught to keep their privileges too, but that's nothing in comparison.

Queer

That's why people are scared when the roles are not so well defined. Two men. “Who's the girl?” Two girls. “Who's the man?” It's easier when you know who rules. Other gender conditions, other ways of seeing the world don't even enter people's scope.

Things are (slowly) changing, at least for a (small) percentage of people, but dismantling a status quo that's so well established is really hard and the power to do it is relying on the actions of everyone of us. Big ones, but especially small ones. Everybody. Every day. All day.

My Farts Don't Stink

On last Monday we went to visit Montserrat, the totemic mountain of Catalonia that we see every day from Can Valldaura. 

It was a day of travelling and a day of walk. We went down “our” mountain at 7:20am and we got back at 1:30-ish am. While climbing up and down the mountain of Montserrat (between 10-ish am and 6:00pm)

there was an informal farting contest mainly between A. H. and myself probably due to the ginormous quantity of lentils we ate for days. 

During our long walks, between the many chats I had with my friends I thought about farts. Since I also sweated a lot I thought about sweat too. My farts don't stink. My sweat doesn't stink. Or at least they don't stink anymore. Why is that?

I thought that probably my farts don't stink since when I am a vegetarian and also because of my good digestive system. Regarding my sweat, though, things are pretty different. I think the reason is that the bad smell is usually connected with stress. In the last period I've been experiencing the best quality of life I ever had. I am a very relaxed person by nature, however since I live in Can Valldaura I realized how stressed I was in the city, with the necessity of being on time —or in time— in order to do things. Everything. Go to work. Go to a concert or a cultural activity. Just stroll between a googol vehicles with a googolplex people around with smog and noises everywhere. Everything is stressful. Everything makes you sweat. And your sweat stinks.

But try and live in the countryside working every day with other friends. You might sweat —I haven't sweated that much so far, due to the uncommonly cold months of April and May— but you won't stink, because there is no stress in the work you do.

Lying in the shade after a half-day work. The music of a guitar, elder flower champagne, some nice chat, a sleepy dog.

                                                                                                   Just enjoy.

Taking a Step Back

Once you enter the “Permaculture mode” you start seeing things as a permaculturalist. Everything. Life.

For some days we didn't go out to work because it was rainy. On Monday we watched a couple of videos —an interview to David Holmgren and a movie about Peak Oil— and the discussions we had after watching them were really very interesting and really made me think a lot.

The best idea you can have when you need to buy something, to build something, to make something, to do something is to take a step back and ask: why should I do it? What do I need it for? Do I really need it? Most of the times you don't. Most of the times it's mass society which convinced you that you really need whatever-it-is. Or it simply makes things appear normal.  

Don't conform. 

Don't do things “because everybody does them”. 

Take a step back. 

Question. 

Think. 

People are not accustomed to think because it's too much work. Because it's easier to adjust and to let someone else do the thinking. It's easier to complain and to wait for someone else's help. But no matter how hard things are, how difficult they seem, you just have to do the best you can and everything is going to be fine.

Un dia de chuvia preto do mar

Decides ir visitar X.L, mais xa sabes que o sábado ela non vai estar. Onte pola noite quedastes durmidxs —despois duns viños— antes de empezar a parte que non che fai durmir en [Rec]. Como onte sabías que hoxe X.L. non estaría e estarías so na súa casa, pensaches ir ver S.M. e R.R.B. na cidade mais un tempo atlántico —como todas as amigas que viches ou que querías ver— faiche decidir de non saír e de ficar na casa de X.L. co can durmido e de escribir este post na lingua atlántica que dominas mellor.

O tempo dos últimos dous días deuche morriña de Compostela, mais os pensamentos que tiveches son moi diferentes. Teñen que ver con historias, procesos e as súas realizacións. 

Todas as historias que coñecemos —nos filmes como nos libros— teñen un principio, unha parte central e un final. Desde sempre o principio das historias é a parte que me interesa máis porque é onde se presenta a historia e desde onde nosotrxs como lectorxs podemos facer hipóteses sobre como seguirá. Os finais tamén sonme interesantes —se están ben feitos—, mais a parte central é normalmente a da que gosto menos.

Nestes días decateime de que este amor polos principios das cousas aplícase tamén aos procesos. Nos traballos que estamos a facer en Can Valldaura tiven e teño moitas ideas sobre cosas que se poden facer. A máis importante ata agora foi a de cambiar o deseño dun baño con vermicompostaxe que A.D. veu en Tamera, do que nos falou e do que nos deu os plans. Eu pensei en como adaptar o deseño ás nosas necesidades e posibilidades, realicei un deseño (parte inicial) despois empecei a pensar en como realizalo co noso profe de baños secos O.G.G., mais basicamente tiven que pensar como facelo so, porque O.G.G. marchou despois de pouco. E alí parei porque non teño a habilidade de levar á práctica as miñas ideas (parte central) para despois pasar á realización final (parte final) que tamén me gusta.

O noso profe de Permacultura J.N. díxome moitas veces que teño moitas ideas e moi boas, mais tamén díxonos que temos que seguir todas as etapas dos procesos: a parte inicial, a central e a final, mais a parte central cústame de verdade. Pasoume o mesmo con este post: tiven a idea de dous post e empecei a escribir un que unise os dous con moita ilusión. Púxenme a facer outras cousas, vin que esta noite hai un concerto moi interesante, estiven organizándome para ir, escribín una frase do post de cando en vez, pensei deixalo e agora vou rápido ata o final.

Tería que empezar a meditar para centrarme, como fai o J.N. e a ver a practicabilidade das miñas ideas.

Que vida máis dura!

Ch-ch-changes II

Life is made of changes. Or at least mine is, as I wrote on my last post. A long time passed between that post and this one and many more things have changed.

When I wrote the last post a very difficult period was coming to an end, or maybe that's what I wanted to believe. Since then I had the opportunity to share a lot with people from all over the world, I traveled, I built gardens on the top of buildings and on the ground, I met people who were —and are— ready to fight and live on a structure built on a rooftop and only supported by cables in order to keep their dreams alive, I climbed trees, I was sad and I was happy and I was hurt and I was alive. I changed my home, I'm building myself a new life without physically moving very much —unlike what usually happens when I change the more— and seeing new friends enjoying a chat and a drink in the last sun of the day, surrounded by trees, I'm sure that the changes that are happening are for good. Like they (almost?) always are, no matter how bad and scary and dolorous they appear at first. Most of the time it's a matter of perceptions. The problem is the solution.

I would say that besides being made of changes, life is made for changes. One needs to be able to foresee them. Needs to be open to changes. Needs not to be afraid of them. Because one only starts to live when they abandon their comfort zone —however wide it might be— and start to experience life. Or maybe life —everybody's life— IS because there is change. Because otherwise it would just be an eat-sleep-work-fuck-sleep-work-die survival process. Or Produci consuma crepa (Produce, consume, die) like CCCP more elegantly say.

Life is change.