I was just watching a YouTube video with people from around the world talking about the things they like to eat when they are homesick. A lot of them, like me, felt very homesick because they were very far away from their country, their “patria”, what you guys call homeland. But, interestingly enough, some of them were still living in their own country. Just hundreds of miles away from their friends and families.
Nobody spoke about national anthems and national flags. Everybody spoke about their mom or grandma preparing some comforting soup, their family traditions during special times like Christmas or Ramadan. Everybody talked about good memories and love.
We have a name for this in Spanish. We call it “patria chica” or tiny homeland. The homeland inside your homeland. Your “patria chica” is a city, a village, maybe just a neighborhood that means a lot to you. Your family. Your friends. The term is way deeper and more powerful than what you call “hometown”. So deep, that it can´t be translated.
This is my “patria chica”. My mom´s little village. Only about 80 people live here during the year. But those who left many years ago to find opportunity in the city (like my mom) come back with their families and reunite every August. A big happy reunion that has been happening since the fifties when most people left. It is just beautiful. And I am not the only one. Most city people in Spain have their own pueblo where they spend their summers.
In my “patria chica” all the doors are unlocked. Everybody knows everybody. Kids playing everywhere. The local cafe is full of men playing cards and cracking jokes. We don´t have a bakery so the baker from the next town drives a van full of bread to our tiny village every day. He starts honking from a mile away. When the moms and the grandmas hear that honk in the distance, they all run at once to get a good spot in line in the square. Not that it matters, since they spend the longest time socializing and discussing the latest gossip. All of them with a warm baguette stuck under their arms. Every day sometime around midday.
The best part of summer is when we celebrate our local festival. A week full of events organized for the people by the people. Games, competitions, live music, running of the bulls, traditional dancing, theater, paella competitions… so much stuff and so many people being part of it.
One great thing is dinner. The town sets up lots of portable tables in the square and everybody brings a sandwich and snacks and we have dinner together under the stars. You bring your own food and the village provides all the red wine you can drink and then more. Think about it like a very low-key family dinner. Only that your family is a thousand people having a good time.
Then the tables are taken away and we have some music. I remember that, at least once a year, a traditional group would come from Aragon to sing jotas. Jotas are probably the most Spanish thing you´ve never heard about. They are from Aragon (my mom´s town is right next to the border with that region) and Navarra. I don´t know how to explain it, but I think this music has something very old and very emotional and can really transport you to the deepest roots of my country. More than any other music. Not even flamenco.
I remember how all the old people would sit in a big circle around the jota singers. Kids like me would be just playing and not paying much attention. But I still remember how the old people always listened in silence and emotion. Almost holding their tears.
The other day I came across this jota song. This girl sings to her patria chica. I must have become one of those old people when I was not paying attention. Because I found myself listening in silence. Holding my breath. Holding my tears. I hope you like it.
Ps. Use headphones!
Lyrics
Hay un parque en mi Pamplona
Que yo quiero recordar
Florecí con los cerezos
De aquel bonito lugar
De aquel bonito lugar
Siempre guardaré los besos
Los primeros que en mi vida
Un chico me quiso dar
Hay un parque en mi Pamplona
Que yo quiero recordar
En el parque Yamaguchi
Yo me debí quedar
Me pregunto si en Japón
Una niña llorará
Como yo he llorado amores
En las fiestas de San Juan
Con los cerezos en flor
En las fiestas de San Juan
Me pregunto si en Japón
Una niña llorará
En el parque de Pamplona
En Yamaguchi ciudad
Hay un parque en mi Pamplona
Que yo quiero recordar
En el parque Yamaguchi
Yo me debí quedar
I still have some openings and I would love you to tell some of your friends about my lessons. There is someone out there that would love to learn Spanish but they still don´t know it. Spread the love.
By the way, what is your “patria chica”? Tell me about it.