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The Latin From Manhattan

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She had fibbed to her friends. She told them she was busy, but instead had decided she would venture out solo and go dancing. Guided by her independent spirit, she was determined to have a good time. Excitedly, she chose her outfit carefully. Making sure the padded shoulders of her dress were adjusted properly, the line down the back of each leg was straight as she put on her hose and any scuffs were cleaned off her ankle strap shoes, she then carefully removed the metal clip that crimped and waved her hair in the front ever so slightly.

She barreled down the stairs and called to her mother that she was leaving. As she closed the front door, she smirked when she heard her mother’s usual comment “Don’t forget to walk near the street and not too close to the buildings.” It was July 4, 1948, and a young girl could venture out alone, as long as she remembered to be cautious.

She changed into her dance shoes and then checked her walking shoes and purse into a cubby, receiving a ticket from the coat check girl. As always, she remembered to fold up some money and hide it in the secret compartment of her purse, just in case.

“Do you wan to dunce?” He wasn’t sure why he had faked a Spanish accent. He had entered the army with it and then returned home without it after World War II. What was he thinking? He smiled to think that maybe he was channeling Cèsar Romero, the famous actor that routinely played “Latin Lover” roles.

He had decided to go out alone that night, bored with heading to the same places with the same crowd. He was restless, always eager to try something new. All these thoughts sped through his mind, when just a few seconds later, the beautiful petite blonde, with the soft waves of her shoulder length hair framing her face, turned and with a lovely smile said “Yes!”

They lost count of how many dances they had danced in a row. Known as the most famous dance hall in the world, New York City’s Roseland Ballroom was at its capacity crowd that night, as almost 3000 people glided around the dance floor. According to an article from The New Yorker, “People accustomed to nightclub life often find the atmosphere slightly phantasmal. The ceiling is hung with dark-blue muslin studded with tiny electric bulbs that give a night-sky effect. The room is lit by neon lamps, graduating in shade from deep pink to lemon yellow. In their dim rays, knots of patrons drift to and from the dance floor with a curiously delicate air, fluorescing a bit as they go.”

The marquee featured the word “Roseland” in script, all aglow in white lights. Underneath, the simple caption, “Dance in air cooled comfort,” reminded those fortunate enough to be inside that tonight they would be enjoying a luxury not available in most homes. Finally and most important, tonight’s bands were displayed: Tommy Reynolds and his Orchestra along with Stella Lopez and Her Rumbas.

He bought her a drink, and they sipped slowly and chatted, he captivated by her sweet smile and her spunk and she, intrigued by his swagger and good looks. This time, he spoke without an accent, hoping she wouldn’t notice the change. She did… and years later, they would still laugh about that night.

He asked if he could escort her home, not knowing she lived in West New York, New Jersey. He didn’t care. Being a “city boy,” he didn’t realize she was taking him the long way home via bus, then ferry and then, up the hill to her house. She didn’t want the night to end.

Hours later, returning back to New York, he walked down the middle of the quiet street, humming and dreamily recounting how, when the clock struck midnight on the ferry, she had said it was officially her birthday and how he had asked if he could kiss her on the cheek. It was brazen of him, but he was happy that, once again, she had smiled and said “Yes!”

I smile every time I recount the story of how my parents met and I say “Yes!” – to being independent, to going it alone and to seeking out new adventures. And, when all else fails, to go dancing!

Post Script #1:
The original Roseland Ballroom, located in the theater district at Broadway and 51st Street was demolished in 1956. It was then resurrected on the site of a former indoor ice-skating rink on 52nd Street and finally closed in 2014 to make way for a 62-story luxury apartment building.

Post Script #2:
According to my parents, the photograph that accompanies this post graced the cover of a Latin magazine that was popular in Manhattan at the time. Their copies were lost over time and after intense research, the cover photograph could not be tracked down.

Author’s Note:
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Sept. 28 – Oct 2: Navia to Ribadeo

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Sept. 28: Navia – 14 miles
I’m so busy chatting with a pilgrim from Michigan, all I know is that the terrain is flat. The young woman from Taiwan we greet each day is suffering from blisters. We give her some of the extra bandages Michael received at the clinic. I tell her (as best I can) that my name for her is “Fuerte” (strong); she’s traveled here alone, speaks no Spanish and very little English. 

One minute I’m considering taking off my jacket and infatuated with the group of trees that look like the talking trees from “The Wizard of Oz.” The next minute the wind picks up and it’s raining hard. My pants are drenched and stuck to me, but my feet are dry inside my shoes, I’m dry inside my coat and I’m inside myself, thinking and plodding along.

Casona Naviega is a renovated stately mansion in the English country style. I walk around the common areas, marveling at the furnishings and, when no one is looking, I gracefully glide down the staircase pretending to be welcoming my party guests. 

Casa Xusto sitting room

Sept. 29: La Caridad – 8 miles
After a lovely breakfast, with Spanish guitar music playing softly in the background, and a conversation with a woman from S. Africa who’s on the Camino, it’s not easy to open the door and head back out into the rain. Luckily, we’ve planned a short day.

Even though our pants are drenched again, this time our shoes are soaked, but we’re chatting away. We try taking turns singing Broadway show tunes, but quickly realize we only know the first line and the chorus of each song.

We arrive at Hotel Rural Casa Xusto early and are warmly greeted by Pepe, who takes such good care of us. He reminds us there will be a festival in town starting today and suggests making us a dinner reservation. For a fair price he will wash our wet/dirty clothes and deliver them in the evening. Then, while we’re waiting for our room to be ready, he brings us a beer and some jamón.

Jamón is a staple of Spanish cuisine. It’s similar to Italian prosciutto, but with a more intense flavor. The pork hind leg of the Spanish pig is dry cured in salt. Serrano is the more typical type. Ibérico, from black pigs, is the most expensive meat in the world, with a leg costing in the range of $4500. A sign of status is to impress your guests with your jamón displayed on a stand, ready for slicing.

Originally a 200 year old barn with a residence above, the usual stone, wooden beams and antique furnishings take on an enchanting, almost magical feel here. There’s a beautiful sitting area outside our room that we have all to ourselves. We fall asleep to the sounds of music, singing and fireworks. 

Sept. 30. – Oct. 2: Ribadeo- 16 miles
Today is our last day walking in the province of Asturias. 

We delay putting our wet shoes on as long as we can. Michael has a good laugh and wants no part of my invention. I take the small plastic bags that the bathroom glasses are wrapped in, put them over my socks and my feet stay dry all day.

The path today is fairly flat on rural farm roads. When our guidebook says that the route splits after the white house with the palm tree, we wonder- what happens if they decide to repaint the house?! 

We stop to view the ocean and continue along on a boardwalk. Then, we come to a pedestrian bridge, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. On one side is a high fence and the expressway and on the other side is a lower fence and the Calabrian Sea below. The bridge is just over a half mile long, but seems to go on forever and, with every truck passing in the right lane, we feel it reverberate. With heads down, we have no choice but to keep moving.

All along, we’ve been reserving rooms weeks ahead with no problems. After researching for hours at a time, we finally realize there’s absolutely no place to stay at our next stop until Monday, Oct. 3!  “Es lo que es!” (It is what it is!). “Monta las olas!” ( Ride the wave!) Ribadeo is our first town in the province of Galicia and the last town on the coast before we head inland; the perfect place to stop for an extra night! 

We explore the churches, historic buildings and neighborhoods in this seaside tourist town. Our hotel, La Casona de Lazúrtegui, is a casona-light; “casona” is mansion in Spanish. The rooms are plain, but the building has character and the lovely salon becomes our personal living room. 

As it turns out, this hotel is not available on Oct. 2, so we’re “forced” to stay at Parador de Ribadeo Lugo. Paradors are managed by a state-run company and located in historic Spanish buildings such as fortresses, monasteries, castles or prestigious homes. This historic home sits at the mouth of the Eo River and we spend the day here relaxing, inside and out, enjoying cocktails and dinner while taking in the views.

Sept. 24 – 27: Muros de Nalón to Luarca

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Sept. 24: Muros de Nalón – 16 miles
We breakfast with a couple from England and a man from Poland who left his front door in May and has been walking ever since! It’s a pleasant walk through villages and dirt trails in the forest…until the rain starts.

We find ourselves sloshing through mud and over rocks and gnarled tree roots.  Navigating puddles and trenches takes total concentration and we are laser focused for what seems like hours. I’m not sure what’s more slippery; the ascents or the descents. The rain seems to be enjoying the game it’s playing with us. Every time we get too warm and take off our rain jackets, it starts up again.

We welcome the drizzle and the change from muddy forest to road. We chat with a woman from the Netherlands who regales us with stories about each of her Camino adventures over the last ten years. It’s a League of Nations, as we stand at a crossroads with pilgrims from all different countries trying to ascertain the correct route. The yellow arrows and the shells posted along the way are our guides. At the start, the base of the shell pointed the correct way, but now they are displayed both ways!

Casa Carmina has not opened for the day yet, so we wait on a bench across the street with some other pilgrims. The mother/daughter owners are a well-oiled machine, welcoming us early out of the drizzle and getting us settled. Rather than a room of bunk beds, we opt for a private room at this albergue. The weather clears and we enjoy some wine, sitting outside on their lovely grounds. We chat with a young woman from the Netherlands, who started cycling from the northern most part of her country and plans to end up at the southern most point of Portugal. And to make it even more of an experience, she’s camping along the way!

Sept. 25: Soto de Lunas – 14 miles
Another difficult day awaits us! It’s a repeat of yesterday and we’re fixated on every muddy step, with steep ups and downs. In between, we are treated to peeks of the ocean and walks through small towns.

There’s a convivial gathering in the crowded bar and dining room as we enter Hotel Valle de Luiñas. We are welcomed warmly at this lovely rural inn and told our bags have not arrived yet. We had planned to enjoy Sunday dinner here, so we wash our faces and hands and quickly sit down. With our muddy pants and boots hidden under the white tablecloth, we decide we don’t look too bad from the waist up.

The first one in the shower each day is responsible for giving the shower report. Is it slippery? Which are the hot/cold faucets? Sometimes they are opposite.  Does it leak? I purposely let Michael go first today.

Sept. 26: Cadavedo – 16 miles
The good news: the hotel is right on the Camino path. The bad news: our guidebook rated yesterday a two in difficulty and rates today a three! Right away, we come to a long tunnel which is so dark, we can’t see a thing. By the light of our phones we walk cautiously, trying to ascertain the terrain.

By days end, we will have tackled five water crossings, each with its own unique characteristics. Whether we’re balancing from rock to slick rock, deciding the sturdiest place to step on a tree root or wondering if it’s best to go straight through or around the perimeter, we can count on our our hiking poles to get us to the other side. The narrow path that follows takes us up a steep incline, but the view of the ocean at the top makes it all worthwhile.

We’re so happy to have arrived that we don’t mind climbing the grand staircase at Hotel Rural Casa Roja, a charming renovated country home. We never tire of the stone walls and beamed ceilings that these places all have in common. It’s not much of a town, but with lovely sitting areas, inside and out, we make sure to take advantage of both. But, not before buying a bottle of wine at the market conveniently located across the street.

Sept. 27: Luarca – 11 miles
We begin with jackets on, only to take them off a few minutes later. There’s no rain in the forecast, the temperature quickly rises from the 60’s to the 70’s and it’s cloudy; perfect for walking.

The forest path is steep, but surprisingly dry. The makeshift steps, made up of twisted tree roots and rocks, force us to contemplate every step, but rather than tiring me out, it leaves me with a peaceful feeling. Walking through the small farm towns is a welcome pleasure. The old stone dwellings that look as if they’ve seen better days seem to be magically transformed into homes with just the addition of their blooming flower boxes.

Luarca is an older seaside town. What makes it unique are the white homes balancing on the cliffs that encircle the Bay of Biscay. I am fascinated to see how they are connected and still standing! The streets are so incredibly steep, I wonder how they get around on icy/snowy days. Meanwhile, two “señoras” (older women) are arm in arm, talking and laughing, as they bypass us and make their way quickly down the street!

Built in 1906, the Hotel Villa de Luarca was a residence and our room looks out to a lovely little courtyard filled with flowers. Most towns close up in the late afternoon and as soon as they reopen again for the evening, the bars, restaurants and plazas quickly all come alive. After a quick walking tour of the historic quarter after dinner, it’s time for these two peregrinos to call  it a night.