Market Day in Barco de Avila (Eugenio Noel, Spain nerve to nerve 1924)
Monday, February 21, 2011
Biochemistry Of Graves Disease
BOAT MARKET DAY OF AVILA
Today Monday is market day in Barco de Avila. And, that I had wanted to meet the guy and the old Pitacio the CEJIL! ... He carried on the shoulders more than eighty years, they have managed to bend the backs of hard bones and horns of the English goat that grazes the heath of the scree and rocky Güetre knife. And from this the oldest of the cenojiles, what I write but seeing him in the flesh does not seem that fit one and two ounces and the other? However, he cares enough to come from Paul himself or climb Ameal to the gap hatch window. With his legs bent his lean chichas etiolated and that fat idiot walk potroso old male, is able to challenge a pastor of the Treme and turned over a good compango to pass Tornavacas port and beautiful plants in the same Plasencia. Of the head and not talk, hairs Clarean it as the hurdles in the peel of a calvijar, as gamona to the alley of the Wolves in the Sierra de Gredos.
What hunger? Who eats more, whistled or him? None has seen the most vile evil belly, and only whistled have had heartburn, but that for many years in the huts, where the housewives of the stream trickled ortigones and grow-wolves when between chicory and dandelions aceda escaped some grass. And that you have to see how often the grease of the sheep carcass drowsiness or of lobed. But what will not cure the chortales water and champagne, the gentle waters of the scree enclosed juniper stands and bins? Best cure him drink claret, in the opinion of Pitacio, and thus no question that he well remembers what majamente It knows the wine in the sheet of copper or the jar to regild. But we already see the lunch, because we eat, when night falls, at a sale near the Roman Bridge, not far from the chapel of Christ, a Christ of history, uglier than the Christ of St. John Barbalos. Did not this is the story of Christ? Many times it happens that you have taken has turned himself to the chapel. I do not doubt for a moment. It's so beautiful the picture is from her! ... It is for this reason that Christ returns, but ... So either write back! .. __________
Today Monday is market day in Barco de Avila. And, that I had wanted to meet the guy and the old Pitacio the CEJIL! ... He carried on the shoulders more than eighty years, they have managed to bend the backs of hard bones and horns of the English goat that grazes the heath of the scree and rocky Güetre knife. And from this the oldest of the cenojiles, what I write but seeing him in the flesh does not seem that fit one and two ounces and the other? However, he cares enough to come from Paul himself or climb Ameal to the gap hatch window. With his legs bent his lean chichas etiolated and that fat idiot walk potroso old male, is able to challenge a pastor of the Treme and turned over a good compango to pass Tornavacas port and beautiful plants in the same Plasencia. Of the head and not talk, hairs Clarean it as the hurdles in the peel of a calvijar, as gamona to the alley of the Wolves in the Sierra de Gredos.
What hunger? Who eats more, whistled or him? None has seen the most vile evil belly, and only whistled have had heartburn, but that for many years in the huts, where the housewives of the stream trickled ortigones and grow-wolves when between chicory and dandelions aceda escaped some grass. And that you have to see how often the grease of the sheep carcass drowsiness or of lobed. But what will not cure the chortales water and champagne, the gentle waters of the scree enclosed juniper stands and bins? Best cure him drink claret, in the opinion of Pitacio, and thus no question that he well remembers what majamente It knows the wine in the sheet of copper or the jar to regild. But we already see the lunch, because we eat, when night falls, at a sale near the Roman Bridge, not far from the chapel of Christ, a Christ of history, uglier than the Christ of St. John Barbalos. Did not this is the story of Christ? Many times it happens that you have taken has turned himself to the chapel. I do not doubt for a moment. It's so beautiful the picture is from her! ... It is for this reason that Christ returns, but ... So either write back! .. __________
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the picturesque routes Barco de Avila between uncle and the old man whistled the cenojiles and never tire of admiring them. Many things taste and how good they are! In the house of Charles V the two grandparents drink firm to the Emperor's health-dor, whose home is now inn escapades of trace juicy English. Who not know the oldest of the cenojiles? All you greet and chat with him mischievously, with that wanton sa-tisfaction spoken with the old in Castile and the familiarity and irony that allows the suit has been exceptional. For this grandfather of nerves of steel is a chrome alive and not come to the market if it is dressed in ancient costume of the peasants of the country. Even in London have shown the great explorers saw his image archaic as far back in the same memories, the older and saw him, disoriented, results, laughing. Pitacio it is grotesque. Those archbishops-pal tassels hanging from tarteño, the Whites and drafts deales, contrast sharp color panties and color estezao Id jacket, belt, the Carranque, the cenojiles, the ribbons that hang everywhere on clothing, huge buttons, all that is far away now. Here, between the mountain and people who came to the market, there are types of severe provincial figure dressed in black, with leggings, belt, hat and black suit. Few puffs, a few cenojiles ...; race is no longer for that. The race, yes, but this grandfather friend, what to do with people today? Back in the foothills of the mountains, where he lives, and always wears. In the Tozal gorse in the Cantalera boulders, on the trails, snow fields, bogs, Nebreda, in covered Oteruelo of broom and huckleberries in the shadow of the wall of the yard, an old man dressed in those colors with these cloths bright red, acairelados, he loves. There is a beggar, do not ask, is money because he wears ... I was asked, and do not know why. Good balmy people believe something, something "gone" as they say. But the fact is that when they want to portray a typical mountain you look at him, he is walking, walking from their village, with the embroidered pieces wrapped in a paper, well within the tamper alzapones that are not lost or staining and then in the boat, it puts them carefully. Ah, that's not known in London! They saw his picture at the bottom of these divine mountains; but his soul, the soul of race that remains in his chest, love fier of those old rags, that's not photography.
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Pitacio shows me a bully boys, are Villarejo de Salvanes. Should go there when capeas. They get the output of the bullpen in two rows, young men armed with prickles and shank, and the bull never gets to the last, so the boys are fighting for not being in the last positions.
carefully contemplate these male Iberian sinvergonzón gesture and manners of penguin. Seem scared, and a trifle separates them from the more aggressive impudence. Its strong face Kabyle has, however, that nosequé people of our race, mingled with sympathy and nobility of irresistible attraction.
have come to the mountain and rural market of hundreds of villages and flocks of those people who have names, rivers, roads cattle, Extremadura and pastures, cattle and Sharon, of saints whose avocations hard-pressed to find in any four Martyrologies. On every street
pass these families, followed by ropes of good horses, less charged than it can be assumed and disproportionate number. They are very well cared for, because these mohedinos mustang nomad and have the best grass that might wish for their bugs. They
, women are everything. If he, the male, he wants some money, ask for it to be female, an act that requires an inconceivable value. Is it because of fear or a spirit of sobriety for what these men spend as little as possible, the mind absolutely indispensable? For both. In the stores, "they buy and they pay, the men won it before and ended its mission there. In the square, while they buy and see-den, they form groups, which say little, very little. It is very stingy in his words, the farmer, the river, the guide effusion. The peasant speaks even less. The pastor has lost the use of the word in the Galiana in cabañil, in the cor-give them, in Adrada, in the ravines, ports ...
What flinch in this market is the silence of all. Nobody called anybody. There are close to their wares, their bags, their cloths, and sellers still Moors. Her big brown eyes, so large that observed from a distance seem ne-gros, the prospective customer looking intently indifferent. Seems rather to be observed, which have come to the boat to satisfy a curiosity. We have done so the mountains, the rugged-sities of Gargantón, the cuchillares, of sandstone, the glacial calm of the lakes crests, the steep slopes, crests, seamount, the cliffs, the huge gravel des-claws of the glaciers and peaks gneissic.
Behold this woman who takes so much time rubbing and from soft-Béjar fine cloth, the velor, the squeegee, the beaver, the fleece of Garrobillo, what matters to the seller, who sees it as if nothing was it? Occasionally, the price asked, answered curtly, the buyer is not bothered by it.
not a lazy attitude they have, is an ecstatic posture. Shout not gender, not trying to encourage or bring the buyers. If they come, they will come, and peace. If the cake, or wheat, or farinato, or calambueche have sold, be sold, and pass in front of those things which the ne-Need some.
"These pastors are the Pitacio Tremedal" he says, "Last year the snow covered the town and came to seek assistance. But most of the year women are left alone and the priest, the men go to the stock. And Grandpa Pitacio
heart envy the fate of that cure.
these pastors are very strong men, Noblot reserved. Her figure, picturesque for the man in the city, is, to those who feel things deeper, all the sinews of a great race inestudiada lost and misunderstood. These faces in the sand washed out of tarteño remember the faces of our Iberian masks. Not all, of course, are in those faces. serrano sad signs of degeneration and poverty, some tie-nen goiter, many seem remains of iron men, all figures are misshapen and broken, as the Mesolithic times men have left in their paintings.
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This daemon grandfather, who knows everything, he wants me to set at a cure. Passes close to us, with an air of Matamoros, big stick in the hands of the laborer and ideal face of primitive man. Take his hat to the back and looks at women nonchalantly barbie.
-A that happened, the grandfather tells me one thing very fu 'Sona'. One day the neighbors heard people screaming his niece. Rose as they could a priest's house and had to remove sticks up ... but with a stick: they had to stick in the teeth of the forks in saving the party to be ... Anyway, I understand ... Much grace
me this happened, I have a good priest there Iberian, who did not displease the old worship of God our Endobélico of Évora. And we understand that the flesh will rebel, these local women, daughters of the flat brunt of the Archpriest of Hita are very beautiful women, beauty plump with spicy and very short skirt, as women Pinohermoso and Oliva. Plus ... it feels so good that the straw hat so cute, so like the famous Phrygian cap ...
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A delight for the eyes of the market scenes. In other places the interest is in the talk and processing of transactions. But here are a thousand and nine feet above sea level, and peak Almanzor ice casts a shadow over the city. What enchants are distracted and only these faces, these dry suits that stop your passage before them, until you look at those faces with the same wonder that you and concluís them by surprise as children laugh.
bravely defends cent on purchases. To take money out of the depths of his pocket, back under the seventh lap, how many looks, how much calculation, what gloomy thoughts. The beautiful face is puckered in the straw hat, and gender in the hand without saying a word, meditate at length. The husband, on the side, watching and silent, not knowing where to put your hands.
In the still lifes, dark dining establishments, the mountain, sitting on very long tables dirty, ham-ber kill the rarest dishes, and cochifritos Chanfaina the world's most incredible. And without speaking, without ever talking. ; If only the wine opens those lips! Talking, talking ...? And what? How the banks of the famous Jewish? What the beauties of this Sierra de Gredos, then two steps, as seen from the Tormosmo, from the arch of the walls, is one of the spec-tacular most beautiful of the universe? Hear, hear. For the city have heard that these mountains can be a gold mine. You have to attract outsiders to come here when they visit the mountains, the famous peaks, instead of going for Hoyos del Espino. But that does not care much.
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-A that happened, the grandfather tells me one thing very fu 'Sona'. One day the neighbors heard people screaming his niece. Rose as they could a priest's house and had to remove sticks up ... but with a stick: they had to stick in the teeth of the forks in saving the party to be ... Anyway, I understand ... Much grace
me this happened, I have a good priest there Iberian, who did not displease the old worship of God our Endobélico of Évora. And we understand that the flesh will rebel, these local women, daughters of the flat brunt of the Archpriest of Hita are very beautiful women, beauty plump with spicy and very short skirt, as women Pinohermoso and Oliva. Plus ... it feels so good that the straw hat so cute, so like the famous Phrygian cap ...
_______________**********_______________
A delight for the eyes of the market scenes. In other places the interest is in the talk and processing of transactions. But here are a thousand and nine feet above sea level, and peak Almanzor ice casts a shadow over the city. What enchants are distracted and only these faces, these dry suits that stop your passage before them, until you look at those faces with the same wonder that you and concluís them by surprise as children laugh.
bravely defends cent on purchases. To take money out of the depths of his pocket, back under the seventh lap, how many looks, how much calculation, what gloomy thoughts. The beautiful face is puckered in the straw hat, and gender in the hand without saying a word, meditate at length. The husband, on the side, watching and silent, not knowing where to put your hands.
In the still lifes, dark dining establishments, the mountain, sitting on very long tables dirty, ham-ber kill the rarest dishes, and cochifritos Chanfaina the world's most incredible. And without speaking, without ever talking. ; If only the wine opens those lips! Talking, talking ...? And what? How the banks of the famous Jewish? What the beauties of this Sierra de Gredos, then two steps, as seen from the Tormosmo, from the arch of the walls, is one of the spec-tacular most beautiful of the universe? Hear, hear. For the city have heard that these mountains can be a gold mine. You have to attract outsiders to come here when they visit the mountains, the famous peaks, instead of going for Hoyos del Espino. But that does not care much.
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Bulls are outside the walls, and where are the bulls see the panorama of mountains. Barco de Avila is within them, and few people can be proud of his position as Barco de Avila. The eyes are riveted on the peaks of the famous Cirque de Gredos, and overwhelmed by the grandeur of the prospect, looking incredulous such majesty, such poetry ... High, very high, those snowy mountains seem so inaccessible, an illusion of the senses. Then, by dint of my-rarlas, the judges are always high, very high, but pretty close. The feeling is so profound that denied any trial. Lying can only say what you feel watching from the pastures those divine heights. What then happens to the mountain. The soul remains silent and has only enough energy to see. Are high mountains, which follow steps to the top of Mansur, and the air gets between them throughout their unmatched range of hues blue, clear water of precious stones. What matter if they say to hear that this is the Al-Mansur, and that the Ameal Paul and Cuchi-rolling of Blades that other, and hummocks of Cervunal it beyond, as this side of the Little Brothers and cliffs of Window, and Rope of Galicharones and Serrota? ... It does little good to know the name so much beauty. That must feel it, see, behold, the stupid out fiercely nominalism is brutalizing our knowledge and will dry out the source of happiness. The soul wants to upload: this is what you feel the soul to the Gredos mountains like, go up there, to higher skin to see if from our shady clarify some destinations, our rough ideas of fighters for life.
do not know who brings to reality: it is a friendly voice regret Peninsula, in the Franciscan trisagion tone.
-Barco de Avila - he says could make money from these mountains, but who is able to establish procedures Swiss here?
-No power, "says a man.
Pitacio and the oldest of the cenojiles look at mountains and quiet. They are the children of them and love them, not understanding anything else, or the love that they feel. And like them, the Highlanders all.
-No power, no energy, returns to tell the gentleman who spoke before, and these farmers, these highlands are embedded in the mountains, are incapable of feeling the beauty of fear and need them .. but have no guts to exploit.
When you reach the Plaza Mayor felt a huge mess. where everything was quiet before hurricane is now shouting, powder, racing and voices. A policeman pulls between excited crowd, holding each arm, a young man who writes in newspapers and a priest ...
seems that the priest has risen over the boy and has kicked mercilessly because the poor had Scriptwriter said in print that the priest's talent was not "competent to reach bishop."
And here's how these mountains have denied the power needed for their children. Eugenio Noel
Spain nerve to nerve (1924) Stock
Austral.
Espasa Calpe Madrid 1963 pp.84, 90
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