Santuario (L2.5)

There apparently were two ways of defining a ‘sanctuary’. Lavinia had decided to look up the definition of that word because she had just seen a poster for the Santuario Vacaloura announcing a dog that had been found and was being cared for by them. She was always saddened by those notices of lost or unloved animals that were lucky they were still alive. A rescue group did indeed represent a safe haven for many animals.

However, obviously, and still more obviously in Compostela’s Galicia, the more frequent use of the term ‘sanctuary’ was in regard to sites associated with religious or spiritual activities, ostensibly Christian. The word is suggestive, seductive even, because who doesn’t associate sanctuary with sanity which is the same as peace of mind?

Curiosity (ever her companion or accomplice) led Lavinia to decide she also had to look up more about Galician sanctuaries of Christian significance in present day. However, that needed to wait until she settled on definitions in English. The following is an abbreviated version of what she found:

1. a place of protection, refuge or safety. security. immunity. haven. harbor. port in a storm. oasis. shelter. hideout. hideaway. den. asylum. safe house. protection. 
2. a nature reserve. park. home. shelter

Now Lavinia could begin to learn. A santuario was a sacred site, in Galicia. Catholic places of worship become sacred because of some miracle that occurred in the vicinity. She learned that Galicia had twenty-five buildings that were classified as Catholic and to which devout followers went to worship a saint or an object. Since the santuarios have different architectural styles, they are from different historical periods.

As far as religion, Galicia has had many and has had many disbelievers, real as well as mythical.

Why am I going off on this tangent?, she wondered. Then she realized.

It was really all Rosalía’s fault. Lavinia had been leafing through a recent book on herbs in Rosalía’s poetry while in her favorite bookstore and that had led her to read the poems themselves again. She stopped when she came to “Nosa Señora da Barca.” Our Lady of the Boat, literally, although the phrase has far more dignity in Galician. 

Nevertheless, because she knew the poem, it was the most emblematic sanctuary she could think of in Galicia. 

Emblematic, she thought. A rather strange term to use, not one of my favorites because it sounds stifling and not much used by my colleagues. Why should this sanctuary be more effective or significant than any other in Galicia? Does Rosalía provide an answer?

Os mariñeiros do mare,

 Que dond' á Virxen viñeran,

 Por qu' á Virxen os salvara

 De naufragar na tormenta.

 Mais si salvaron no mare,

 Non se salvarán na terra;

Sailors of the sea

Who looked to the Virgin

For their salvation

So they wouldn’t sink in the storm.

 Mariñeiros, mariñeiros,

 Qu' aqui tamen hay tormentas

 Qu' afogan corasonciños

 Sin que lle vallan ofertas,

 Qu' oye á Virxe os que s' afogan

 Do mar antr' as ondas feras,

 Mas non oye os namorados,

 Que d' afogarse s' alegran

Sailors, sailors

There are storms here too

That drown hearts

And cannot be swayed,

For the Virgin hears the ones drowning

In the wild waves of the sea,

Yet never hears the lovers

Who are drowning in joy.

Why, though, would Rosalía care enough to include it in her poetry? As contemporary tourism sites all explain, the Virgin of Our Lady of the Ship is one of the oldest pilgrimage sites in Galicia.

They say the Virgin visited the site in support of Saint James in his efforts to spread Christianity. A Barca is what remained of her stone boat there is the Pedra dos Cadrís, which references the boat itself. Then there is the Pedra de Abalar, which apparently symbolizes the sail of the boat. Third, the Pedra do Temón, symbolic of the boat’s tiller. The healing properties attributed to each of the three huge blocks of granite might be from Christian sources to some, but to others those properties will go much further back.

Lavinia knew that the story was only the pure of heart could move the rocking stone or pedra de abalar, whatever their reason for wanting to do so, and she questioned the efficacy of curing kidney ailments with the pedra dos cadrís. Nevertheless, she understood the hope that was behind those beliefs. It was not a bad hope.

She also thought about the sanctuary of Brión’s Santa Minia, which she knew, and the very impressive one of Santa María das Ermidas, which she didn’t. A Nosa Señora do Corpiño, not too far from Lalín, was another with which she was familiar, as she was with Santo André de Teixido. The visits were safely noted in her journal.

Lavinia was feeling overwhelmed thinking of all the sanctuaries for some reason. It wasn’t likely she’d get to visit the remaining twenty-plus sites yet to be seen. It would be a serious distraction from things she’d planned to do in the coming weeks. Still, just thinking about how all the sites had come about, been constructed, and continued to the present day seemed beyond the realm of possibility. Places beyond time, yet always ready for the next encounter.

She already knew she would come back to the topic in the weeks to come.

Then it occurred to Lavinia that she might be able to meld the idea of a safe place for animals with a place of spiritual significance. Spiritual meaning, in this case, connected to the surrounding area, meaningful, revered in some way through long-time customs and stories. It was just an excuse for some low-key use of the imagination. That’s what she told herself. It wasn’t about religion for her.

She would most likely have the opportunity to visit more sanctuaries like the ones she already knew, and would keep resisting the distraction or make sure she kept it under control. Instead, she asked herself what sort of sanctuary she would choose if given the opportunity. 

Her ideas were still somewhat vague, yet she knew her own sanctuary would have an appropriate plaque, discreet but also engraved in granite clearly enough so as to be legible. The plaque would contain lines from the poem “Remember” by Christina Rossetti:

Remember me when I am gone away,

  Gone far away into the silent land;

  When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

If we are not forgotten, then we are re-membered, re-made, each time someone thinks of us.

Just as what seems happy in another poem can be interpreted in a sad way, so this poem might not be about death, it’s just about leaving someone or some place. 

Lavinia was certain there was a way to remember and not be sad, and to feel secure with nobody else around. That might be the decision she had made when she chose not to return to her university position, even if it meant risking her career. She was determined not to mourn the loss if it came to that.

The university had never been a sanctuary and certainly had not been much of an ivory tower. It had, however, been quite the myth. For now, Lavinia had seen a spot in the heart of Compostela that was transforming itself in her mind. A small praza, with flowers and well-behaved trees. Well-populated by people of all ages.

Crossroads of sorts. Diminutive, partially blanketed by old walls yet not claustrophobic. Noisy, but not from cars! Warm, never hot, with sun; rainy but giving the illusion of holding an umbrella over your head during downpours.

Granite walls, entries and exits through infinite rectangles of air. Infinite, that is, in how tall you see the rectangles as being.

People hawking souvenirs like their lives depended on it. Mimes and tunos who were students (maybe) three decades ago.

Glass and porcelain clinking on nondescript foldable tables. The gardens of the praza echoed by those inside the Colexio, surrounding the statue of a pensive fellow who gave his name to that part of the city. Looking so much a part of the old part of the city that the visitor is surprised to know it only dates back as far as the second quarter of the sixteenth century. A building born old.

Within walking distance of absolutely everything. 

With gargoyles, which are absolutely essential.

A Praza de Fonseca. At the end - or beginning - of so many things. 

Anybody could tell you how to get there. It was Lavinia’s santuario, and she was more than willing to share it.