What happens in Santurce…

BOLD = Mari

Italics = Morgan

I believe it was a Monday. I was working and decided to go into the little kitchenette that we have in the office to get some coffee before leaving for my hour-long lunch break. I was turning on the Nespresso Machine when I heard behind me, in Spanish, “Mari, do you like sardines?” I was perplexed. Not only had I only really spoken to the man (Iñaki) asking me this very random question approximately one time, but I also did not understand why he was inquiring about my food preferences.
“Um…no?” I replied, hesitantly.

“Me neither!” He said. I thought that the conversation was over, and started to zone out and focus on making my coffee, but to my surprise he began talking to me all about sardines and his town, Santurce. I did not completely understand everything that he was saying at first, and was nodding along and adding “vale” every so often when I did understand, but when I heard him say “¡apúntalo! Y trae a unos amigos, si quieres,” I realized that I probably should have been paying better attention. I followed up with some clarifying questions about what Iñaki was talking about and when, exactly, it was.

As it turned out, Iñaki had invited me to the Día de la Sardina in his town, Santurce, which is not far from central Bilbao, on July 14th. Despite the fact that I hate fish (not exaggerating), I decided to take this as an opportunity for a cultural experience, and thanked Iñaki for his invitation. Then I texted Morgan.

When I made plans to go to Bilbao to visit Mari, she said “Wait come the weekend of the 14th! There’s a festival by the beach.”  (Text that I received verbatim). When I inquired as to what type of festival it was, her response was, “Hahaha it’s v random but it’s a ‘sardine festival.’ It’s on the beach or in a town where the beach is (can’t remember) there’s a bunch of drinks and food!” (Again, text verbatim).  Now, you might be thinking that this lack of information would have caused some hesitation on my part, however, it only caused me to be more interested so I booked my bus and patiently waited a few weeks for the 14th to arrive.

As the weeks went on, since his very generous invitation to the Sardine Festival, Iñaki and I had begun greeting each other each day in the office. Sometimes Iñaki would come over to me and ask “Do you remember? July 14!” to which I would respond that, of course, I remembered and was very excited! As the day got closer and closer, Iñaki helped me to finalize Morgan and my plan of how we would get to the festival (metro), who we would meet up with on the way (a couple named Begoña and Juan José), and what we would do at the actual festival (eat, dance, meet people, and watch the infamous “Mentxu” (Menchu) come out of an egg). Morgan arrived one day before el Día de la Sardina.

Now, somewhere and somehow along the 6 hour journey to Bilbao on July 13th I had pulled a muscle in my back and was in some serious pain. When I got off the bus in Bilbao, Mari was waiting for me and offered to carry a bag. The “three-blocks” to Mari’s house was much further that what she had claimed it was, and with every step it became more painful to talk and breathe. After buying the Spanish equivalent of Icee-Hot from the only open pharmacy, we continued on to Mari’s apartment. I was unable to put the cream we had bought on my own back, but luckily Mari is such a great friend that she offered to do it without me even asking.  Something went terribly wrong, however: I guess Mari had never used Icee-Hot before and was unaware that a little bit goes a long way. After putting too much on a small portion of my back, Mari rubbed the rest into her hands. Not only was my back burning three minutes later, but Mari, who was sitting on the floor against the wall, had hands that were on fire as well. This led to a quite a bit of laughing and crying (and more back pain for me), that only subdued once Mari went to wash her hands. Although I as starting to feel better, my back injury was threatening our attendance to the sardine festival. OH NO!

(Okay, I was being a tad bit dramatic.  The next morning my back was fine and it was clear we would be eating sardines later.)

THIS IS WHERE THE FUN STARTS:

At approximately 5:30pm, Morgan and I met up with Begoña and Juan José at the metro station near my apartment. We took the pleasant 25-minute ride to talk and learn about each other, all in Spanish of course. When we arrived in Santurce, Iñaki was waiting for the four of us at a nearby cafe, and came out to greet us! He tied traditional blue and white bandanas around Morgan and my necks, and told us that we could then call ourselves officially at the Sardine Festival. We then did introductions, although Morgan and I had already met Begoña and Juan José, but when I told Iñaki Morgan’s name, he started to laugh:

“You know what everyone will call you here? Captain Morgan!”

We all chuckled, and I began to salute Morgan and call her “Capitán,” as any good friend would!

Yes, Capitán Morgan… The joke has been made a few times since I arrived in Spain in January, but I don’t think anybody has found it as funny as Iñaki. We walked around what I assume was the entire center of Santurce, stopping every so often for Iñaki to explain some town history.  We stopped very often for Iñaki to greet and chat with family, friends, and some people that I imagine were strangers. Iñaki, who was born in Santuce, is basically a local celebrity and would introduce Mari and I as the “chicas de Boston.” (I’m not from Boston but I played along with it). After walking down by the water we went in a couple of blocks to see the sardines.  

When Mari said she doesn’t like fish, she means she is absolutely TERRIFIED of fish.  When some of the cooks found out we were “from” Boston they welcomed us into their blocked off area to take photos next to the massive grill and boxes and boxes filled to the top with sardines.  During the photo op with the entire group of cooks, I felt every muscle in Mari’s body clenched as she whispered in English, “Morgan don’t make me go closer.”

OK, so I would say that Morgan is being dramatic here, too, but she is entirely right. I HATE fish. I don’t know why, and yes, you can laugh about it.

Anyway, after facing my fears and taking this terrifying picture (above…you can see Morgan laughing at me), Iñaki brought us to a few different bars to try local beverages and meet even more people. Among them was the mayor of Santurce and the leader of the Basque Nationalist Party (PNV), who Iñaki greeted like old friends (which they were), and then introduced to us “Bostonians”. Both of the women (#girlpower) were very nice, and told Morgan and I that if we needed anything at all we were welcome to contact them!

Many bars and a few cervezas later we made it to the restaurant for dinner. First, I want to explain the wine. A crianza from Rioja. Iñaki made sure to never let my glass be empty, bless his soul. The food was also splendid! Tortilla con patatas, pimientos fritos, chorizo, lomo — all my favorites. And then came the sardines😍.  Mari was “muy valiente” (very brave) and tried some of mine, which she said was good, but that would be it for her. I enjoyed all I could, which was only three sardines due to all of the other food at the beginning of the meal.

When the food was gone we quickly left to make it to the main plaza in time to see Menchu. To this day we still do not really understand what Menchu is, so I am sorry if Mari does not do him justice while explaining it.

Basically, what I gathered is that Menchu is a person in a large pelican costume who emerges from a felt egg on top of the local governmental building as music blasts, people chant his name, fireworks fly, and balloons are released. I have to say, seeing Menchu burst out of his egg-container-thing was very exciting, despite the fact that all of the adults had been saying that this part of the evening was “more for the kids.” Let me tell you, they were just trying to pretend that it wasn’t the most exciting part of the fiesta for them too. No child or adult cheered for the Menchu louder than Morgan and I, except maybe Iñaki!

After seeing this strange creature’s annual birth, Iñaki led us to a large area with a stage, where we stood/danced and watched/listened to some traditional Basque music. Although it was pouring rain, Morgan and I had a lot of fun hanging out with our new friends.

MOJITOS! That was the last part of our night.  In Santuce there were mojitos and salsa dancing… who would have thought! We met some more people and bailamos un poco, and then we were all tired out.  We took the metro home with Begoña and JuanJo (that’s what his friends call him and by this point in the night we were very close). They walked us to Mari’s block and we went our separate ways.

Our seven hours in Santuce were quite eventful, and we were exhausted by the time we got back to Mari’s apartment. Thankfully, despite the fact that we arrived around 2:30am, everything had gone swimmingly! (HA! GET IT!)

Gracias to Iñaki for taking us to this very unique festival, and remember…

“LO QUE PASA EN SANTURCE, SE QUEDA EN SANTURCE”