Our accommodation in Cómpeta is located just off the town square... and facing onto that square is the village church. Cómpeta is a white village... every building is painted white... with one exception... the village church. It stands proud showing the brown brick of which it is built. It has recently been renovated... under the supervision of a remarkable priest... appointed for that purpose. (At the completion of the church renovation, the town was so impressed with his efforts that he was invited to drop his priestly robes and take up the mayoral chains... he agreed... creating history in mayoral politics.)
The mayor has used his magic touch to complete a number of projects for the village. The villagers are bewildered... they thought process must be preceded by corruption... and yet, the remarkable lapsed priest has remained saintly... even when handling the village 'kitty' of money.
The bells on the village church cease ringing at 10 PM... and ring in the next morning at 8:00 AM. These days, it is still pitch-black at 8. We have been arising at 8, and getting to the square at 9 to do our emails before breakfast. At 9 the square is deserted... the restaurant owners are putting out their chairs, putting up the umbrellas... making the coffee.
Today, is a public holiday (a long-weekend) to celebrate 'Hispanic Day'. Nearly all Spanish speaking nations of the world have some type of celebration on the 12th October each year. This day, in 1492, Christopher Columbus sighted land in the Americas. (To his dying day, he still claimed that he had discovered India... despite the Portuguese showing accurate calculations of the circumference of the world to demonstrate Columbus only managed to travel one quarter the distance needed to reach India.) Celebrations of Hispanic Day have religious aspects.
At 7:30 AM this morning, we were in slumber, awaiting the bell chimes at 8. Out of the total quiet came the faint tones of medieval chanting. Perhaps it was a dream... but the slow resonating sound grew louder. With 'Gregorian' slowness and repetition, the sound echoed through the narrow streets... haunting in its medieval powers. The chanting choir passed under our window... but by the time we were fully awake and opened the window, the procession had reached the church. We didn't get to see the choir... but I would like to imagine them in heavy flannel robes... dark brown in colour... stooped and unsmiling... shuffling along the cobble stones in a zombie gait.
Medieval magic hung in the air... until the young lad left home to go to work at 7:50 AM (as he had done each day)... revved his motorbike... and raced down the lane. No more medieval magic for today... the sun was lighting the sky... looking for new excitement... the church bells announced its new arrival... the world was back to normal.
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