the creative notebook in tiny towns: els omellons
i took my journal on a walk in a town with only 190 residents, but still rich in social life and third spaces.
els omellons, population 190.
the rosemary is in bloom. the country road i took for 20 minutes to get here had so much rosemary along the road, and trees of all kinds: olive and almond of course but i think also some cherry and i don’t know what else.
now, after wandering around a bit in this absolutely adorable little down (cut short by the rain starting back up again), i am sat in the corner of the town bar with my coffee, listening to the (mostly but not all) old men arguing politics and farming issues (there were a lot of flooded fields on my way here), or perhaps complaining about their wives, who are all at home evidently. the wives are probably enjoying a quiet house–these men are so very loud.
every table in the bar is full but one, the single bar/restaurant in town. i am literally the only woman here except one of the staff, and let me tell you that it is still nice to be in a country where i don’t have to feel uneasy being the only woman.
the only direct interaction i have gotten is from a hunched-over old man leaning on his table, gesturing his newspaper at me, shrugging a whole conversation in his friendly “i don’t mean to bother you, just wanted to offer” manner. i kindly demure with a shake of my head and a slightly-frowning-but-still-friendly no on my face. after multiple additional shrugs, these of the “whatever, just if you want” variety, he walked away with the help of his walking cane, the kind made of metal, with the four little feet at the bottom for extra stability, that gets prescribed by the doctor for you. in the moment i marveled at two things: the consideration of strangers in a place i’ve never been, seeing me sitting by myself in a bar sipping a coffee, and two, how much we can communicate without a single word.
this town has no grocery store, no tobacco shop, no general store. not even a bakery, and that one surprises me here in spain, for usually, even the smallest town has a place to pick up your daily bread. other than this bar/restaurant i am in, i don’t see much for commerce at all, though there is a rarely-open olive oil shop by a local producer and a locksmith. despite all the lack in commerce, there is still a civic center, a place for town events, and an activity center for old people. there is still an outdoor pool and this bar and weekly farmers market.
what i am saying is that there are not enough residents to support businesses but the government is still supporting the town. it’s making sure that there are services and provisions and, most importantly, gathering spaces. third spaces–social spaces–are very important to spaniards. it seems that to a spaniard, a good social life is the highest value. they have recognized, rightly, the importance of community for our mental and, yes also, physical health. so the government makes sure there are places for everyone to go: places to run into your neighbors, to catch up, to not be stuck alone in your home.
for a euro twenty you can get a cafe con leche and hang out with a table full of your neighbors. maybe join in a game of cards, or dominoes. every bar has a table of men playing cards. i asked once what the men in our town were playing, and it was a card game called “botifarra” (which is also the name of a common sausage) played with a regular deck of cards. always just men, because as mentioned, the wives are at home enjoying the peace and quiet (and probably having their friends over for coffee at home).
i am finding my own peace and quiet here, in the foothills, with a simple life. on my way here, i drove down a back road and the song “feels like home” by bonnie raitt came on.
and i thought yes, yes it does.
i have found my place.
my place with the craggy boulders in the fields of olive trees and almond blossoms, with the mountains of prades to my south and the mountains of the pyrenees to my north, both within view on a clear day. with the rosemary and thyme taking over the roadways and blooming with wild abandon in thanks for just a little rain. with the good neighbors looking out for me and the little neighborhood bars welcoming me in, offering me a paper, but no pressure, thinking nothing of an artist writing in her little notebook in the corner, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
feels like home to me
feels like home to me
feels like i’m all the way
back where i come from
-bonnie raitt
want to come walk the tiny villages and write in our journals with me? oh you can do that! take a look at the l’Artesania website to learn more.
Missed a letter?
Last letter: