Saturday, June 22, 2019

Paco the troglodyte

It never occurred to me that there was any other way to interpret the word “troglodyte” than as an insult.  I have heard it lobbed at people, usually in a political context, to call them backwards or ignorant.  The first thing that comes up when you look up the word troglodyte is actually a prehistoric cave dweller.  The more you know, right?  The next time some pundit on one of those news shows calls his ideological opponent a troglodyte, I will have a totally different idea.  

There are people in Guadix who dig caves into the sides of mountains and live in them.  Today, we met Paco, a proud troglodyte, who showed us his home and the two other caves in the complex that operate as a museum.  The facade of each cave was constructed outside, like an entryway made of bricks with a door, but once inside, the rooms were carved out of a mountain that Paco said was made of a clay-like rock.  The caves are dug out by hand, and the walls are painted with a whitewash, as latex or synthetic paints do not work as well on cave walls.  The inside of these homes seemed a little strange, and to be sure, Cas photographed a hand drawn map.  I love my house, but I doubt any visitors would need a map to find the way back out.  

It was interesting to say the least.  I appreciated the ingenuity it takes to dig out and furnish a hole in the side of a mountain, but I am afraid I couldn’t do it.  I would be lost without windows.  When I was in my teacher training program so many years ago, the classes I took were at a school where many of the classrooms had no windows.  I hated it.  You could be in the classroom and a terrible storm could blow through.  You would be none the wiser.  Without windows, I would imagine true troglodytes would have to rely pretty heavily on alarm clocks.  There is no sunlight peeking into the window to wake you up.  I need to at least look out and see what time of day or night it is.  Windows are important to me.  I asked Paco the troglodyte if, when he went on a vacation, he found hotel rooms disorienting.  He sure does.  The noise of having immediate neighbors you can hear through the walls and doors upsets his rest, as does the close proximity in general to the street and its noise in whatever city he visits.  I guess it’s all what you’re used to.  He is the fifth generation of his family to live in these caves, so this style of living is all he knows, and certainly, it’s in his blood.  

We stopped in Guadix along the path from Granada to Valencia.  It was a pretty long bus trip, so the stop was welcome not only for its interesting visit, but also for its break in the monotony.  Cas and I are in Valencia, now, having arrived in the late afternoon.  Our group stopped quickly as we were checking into the hotel for a drink, an Agua Valencia, which is made with Cava (Spanish sparkling wine) and the very best orange juice I have ever had.  It was such good juice that Cas and I stuck around the hotel bar for a moment and enjoyed a second juice-based drink.  I think our goal in this town is to drink as much of that juice as physically possible.  We will be here for two nights, after all, and I hear they grow some really nice oranges in Valencia.  

We’re in the hotel room for a moment, just preparing for a walk around town.  Tomorrow will be the day of the official tour and the cooking class when we learn to make a Spanish paella.  Just thought I would let everyone know that the next time you feel the need to insult someone and call them backwards or old fashioned, pick a different word.  Troglodytes are proud, cave-dwelling Spaniards who have figured out how to monetize their homes and install gift shops.  

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