Pedro was here

Spain is bigger than you think it is. I was planning a little 2-3 day trip to get out of town and decided to visit a couple of places Charlie and Ann stayed on their way back home to Southern France. I pulled out our guide book and decided we’d spend a day in Segovia and then drive north to Zaragoza and then loop back around to Madrid. We had a nice time in Segovia, enjoyed a long visit at Alcázar, the local castle, and got in the car to zip off to our next destination, Zaragoza. That’s when I pulled the map out for the first time. I mean, that’s the first time that I pulled out the road map. In the guide book my plan looked good, but the reality of Spain is a lot like Nevada - a lot of wide open desert. There are no direct roads from Segovia to Zaragoza; you either have to essentially back track to Madrid then take the highway back north to Zaragoza, or take small windy roads. We did a quick survey and decided that we should see some of Spain that we hadn’t seen yet – and take the back roads. What I had thought was going to be an easy two hour drive was quickly becoming four or five hours in the car with two slightly cranky kids and poor Cynthia in the backseat with them.

Central Spain looks so much like Nevada that you could be forgiven for asking yourself why you chose the long route just to see landscape that looks just like home. So when Jack spotted a sign for a quick diversion, again the votes tallied in favor of a checking out Pedro’s hermitage. Why not? We were looking for something of interest.


We wound our way off mapped roads following signs to Pedro. Many giggles emanated from backseat where the Napoleon Dynamite fans were hoping to catch a glimpse of a more contemporary Pedro.

When we finally rolled into the little pueblo of Pedro, we found a dump on the way in and a little church with a swing set.


Our car attracted the attention of the locals who came out to see who was passing by, and we wondered if anyone else had ever followed those highway signs to Pedro’s place before. Cynthia and Anna gave the swings a try and just as we were getting back in the car, a man yelled at us and pointed down a dirt road. Our read, “Dudes, the hermitage is down this way.” So we had a lovely walk in the autumn air and eventually found the hermitage.


That’s it. The hermitage we drove half an hour out of our way to find.

No info about who Pedro was, why his little place is still there, or why there’s a sign on the highway miles away pointing pilgrims to the site. When I got home, I did my best to uncover Pedro’s secret on-line. Alas, his story remains a secret. And our pilgrimage to his humble shed a pleasant diversion from our road trip to Zaragoza. Next stop Zaragoza – Mary was there.

Segovia's unexpected treasure trove

It’s not the big sites or events that really make a trip for me. It’s the details. Segovia is famous for its beautiful Roman aquaduct. It is fabulous. Breathtaking. An engineering marvel. I loved seeing it. But, it wasn’t what captured my attention in Segovia.

Segovia is one the many cities in Spain where the Moorish influence is very strong. You see it in the design of all important buildings. And as I wandered around, I started to see potential in these designs.

It started as a small idea. I saw a design on the side of a building that I thought would be perfect for a garden stepping stone. Before we left Reno, I planned to buy a concrete mold to make stepping stones for a path through the lavender and yarrow in our front yard. The molds I could find were about 18 inches round or square. You pour concrete in them, let them cure, and voila, you have a lovely step for your garden path. Last summer I didn’t have the time to execute the plan. But it’s still percolating in the back of my mind. So when I saw the perfect Moorish design for my front yard path, I started wondering how to turn that design into a mold.

Before I knew it, the walls of Segovia were covered in stepping stones designs. I took pictures of each one; I was obsessed. Lucky for me, our friend Cynthia was with us, and she was right there with me. She moved from concrete to fabric and paper. Notecards, home decorating, rubber stamps. The applications are endless. I kept snapping away and developing business plans. Whew. What a whorlwind that trip to Segovia was!

The Dia Zone Daily

All the regulars were working The Dia Zone door this evening: Jack’s friend Christian from Sudan (who speaks much better English than we do Spanish), Nipple Shaver Man, and the woman who has been seen on occasion picking things out of Nipple Man’s hair. When we approached, Nipple Man and the woman (as yet nameless) had quite a crowd stopped at the entrance. She appeared to be offering a service that looked suspiciously like she was checking people’s ears for something. Alex declined my offer to support an ear check for him. We walked in with a chuckling old woman. Sure, she could understand what was really going on.

Inside: Bienvenido a la Zona del Dia!/Welcome to The Dia Zone! As ever, there was the post-purchase line waiting for change. But today, I came prepared with small bills so I could walk right by those guys who bought a six pack with a €50 note. Today, I had no intention of having an embarrassment-induced hot flash in this store!

On the way out, Alex asked if I had the requisite small change ready for our friend Christian. Jack’s away, so I’m on duty doling out Christian’s allotment. I had change ready for both Christian and the woman. For some reason I was prepared for two beggars but not three. So on the way out I handed change to both Christian and the woman. And as I walked away Nipple Man complained bitterly to the others: “She gave me nada! Nada!” Alex was a little embarrassed at my oversight. So I got some more change out that Alex could go back and give to Nipple Man. Alas, Alex refused. But emboldened by a language victory at the previous store, I decide to go back and even it up for Nipple Man. Really, it was unfair of me.

His eyes opened wide as I walked right up to him. He had no idea what was coming. I dropped the change into his hand. “Para tí. Lo siento./For you. I’m sorry.” He gave me bows of gratitude. “Muchas gracias. Muchas gracias, senora!” And I walked away with the smug satisfaction that I answered his complaint because I actually understood what he said. We both scored.