VUELTA A LA

Llego a LA y me recibe la ciudad entera aunque, curiosamente, apenas la percibo, como si estuviera envuelto en celofán protector. Una vez fuera del caótico aeropuerto –trasiego de masas, coches, algarabía, pitos, luces– nos subimos a la carretera oscura que corta la ciudad como un suave pero firme hilo de seda y llegamos al que será mi hogar, temporal otra vez.

Grabadas en el zurrón de la memoria imágenes de primavera en ebullición, verdes profundos y frondosos, colorida, variable y transformadora. Me alimentarán.

Ayer participé en el partido de Los Silverbacks. Perdimos mal, pero no me lesioné. Hoy vamos a Barstow, 30ytantos grados y desierto. Comeremos china y se nos pegará el polvo a la cara recubierta de protección solar. El cielo azul de punta a punta y el horizonte abierto de par en par. Como la vida misma.

CIELOS-INFINITO

I dream, therefore I exist.

EITZA AUZOA 50

Eitza in 1914

Eitza in 2014

This is the name of the place where I was born, in the Basque Country. Last Sunday, April 27th, we celebrated a day honoring our roots, our connections. People from 50 to 97 gathered for a day of joy. Elders were recognized; people that had not seen each other for 40, 50 years met again; memories were treasured; smiles and warm hugs exchanged; conversations put on hold decades ago resumed, always mentioning the house where so and so was born or lived, a common trait in Basque genealogy and social fabric. After so many years it was still easy to recognize old faces, share common experiences, relive past times in a wholesome, festive atmosphere charged with excitement and emotion. It was hard to contain tears, often looking back at entire lives through the mirror of an old neighbor or a faded, yet fully present, picture.

For many people this will not resonate, used as we are to our modern hustle and bustle, highly mobile and skin-deep digital world. But I still remember seeing the women washing clothes by hand in the commons, or us playing Jai-Alai in the little church cloister that served as frontón, young men stoping by before heading on to the steel mill; it wasn't uncommon to see full-bearded grown ups playing along 10 year-olds like myself (always throwing me softies that I could hit).

People reminisced about the past, a past that wasn't always pretty but to us it was real, or so we like to think. Perhaps it's just time passing and leaving its soft imprint in our minds. In the end, who cares as long as the memories warm our hearts and bring us together again, like a small piece of what heaven is supposed to be?

Women and men that never wandered more than a few hundred feet from their birth place sat at the table and danced with fellow neighbors who now make their lives oceans away. Despite the diverse personal journeys, we do share an intangible bond. Yes, it may be a random existential occurrence, but we feel lucky to have been born and have played in this tiny and historical mountain enclave: Eitza, Eizaga.

And best of all, the story continues.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=1Fzvc122flY