If you arrive here at dusk after a hot day's travel you might think that the noise you hear is thunder releasing water to freshen up the atmosphere. The courteous locals, however, will tell you it is only Mari, our earth goddess flying from her winter dwellings in Anboto to her summer resort in Gorbea. She must have forgotten her gold comb for she's coming back again. The noise is deafening!
Picture by Txargain
This is only one of the many ways you can conjure up our past. From the piazza, turn a corner and you will find Vulcan, god of fire, on top of a fountain reminding us about the long-gone forges. Four one-eyed cyclops at his feet pour red metal water. If you go straight ahead you will find Felipe Arrese Beitia, our favourite bard. His statue celebrates the wood carver who sang to our beloved and ancient language, Euskera, a hundred years ago. Not far away in small niches in the main street wall, you will find Saint Michael slaying a dragon and opposite Saint Helen holding the Holy Rood.
Haunting stories about them are narrated to children, generation after generation. On the wall of the old school, a graffiti transplanted from the Bogside in Derry and the Civil War memorial remind us of the past conflicts.
Need a rest? Why not sit at Guzurmaiko, just a few steps into the main square. The "bench of lies" is the official headquarters of a long established and healthy tradition of gossiping in the village. By now, everyone knows who you are and where you come from. You are not a stranger any more. Feel at home. Look at the sundial: "dies nostri sicut umbra transeunt" (our days pass like a shadow) and enjoy the present.
Picture by Txindoki
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