Cycling About La Rioja & Punk Rock

The weather was more than astounding yesterday, so I took it upon myself to go for a brief 10km jaunt on my bicycle to the surrounding areas of La Rioja. Just a few klicks away is the pueblo of Lardero. The school in which I work is in "Lardero", but not quite Lardeo Proper - the compact, exponentially growing town that can be seen over the crest of a hill just past my school. While I wanted to spend more time navigating the streets of the town, I was teased by the highway sign pointing to Alberite, which was marked in the distance by the bell tower of a cathedral. I kept on trucking, well biking really, and descending into a flat area with grape vines, houses with piles of junk, and construction equipment lining both sides of the road, I eased into a nice rhythm towards the bell tower. Alberite is a small pueblo that is mostly uphill, and which leads to another pueblo further up the mountain called Clavijo. I crossed the Iregua River and entered the town. It was quite small, quaint, and apparently full of a million of my students at La Laboral. My name was shouted, and of course I imagined it was another Tomás, but was quickly proven wrong as I turned around and a posse of 15 or so 15 year old boys were hauling ass towards me on their bikes. I was circled, and prodded for questioning as to what I was doing, and granted I have never spoken to these kids in Spanish and usually tell them that I don't speak Spanish, it was a little strange to jump into conversation with them. But they were nice and said that they were on their way to Clavigo to play tennis. I visited the cathedral, which was really nothing spectacular, drank from a natural water fountain, and then quickly got back on my horse towards Logroño since I was supposed to go on another ride with Marta after my personal trip. The way back was a bit difficult since I had already traveled a bit, but the wind was not helping me out and was quite strong.

I passed back through Lardero, down the hill towards Logroño, through the busy streets and next to the oblivious motorists, and went to Ebro Park to meet Marta. Seeing her pull up awkwardly on her dads red bike was pretty hilarious, and I knew immediately that she was not well acquainted with a bike. While this means nothing, nor alludes to anything bad that happened like obliterating blows to the clavicle forced by an over the handlebars de-mount, it was still humorous. We followed the park along the river and stopped for a moment at a large park near the plaza de toros as miss Beceiro was tiring quickly. It got a bit chilly and we headed back. After giving a late afternoon class, we got some pinchos in the Casco Viejo and went to meet with David (dah-veed) and Lucas (loo-kahs) on our way to the "casa ocupa" - a squatter house that houses a community of punks. There was a cheap bar, no electricity, and loud crazy punk music. It was pretty damn fun, and I can't even say that the typical rancid punk smell was really all that present. I had no idea what the hell they were screaming about, but I felt better when Marta told me that she didn't either. Some of the people told me with a certain air of vanity as if I should have understood these babbling drunkards, but it was CLEAR that they were:
A) screaming wildly into mic's in an unpowererd house. [I assume there was a generator somewhere]
B)quite drunk.
C)possibly poorly educated, hence the strange bastardization of their own language.
It was definitely fun, different, and an impossible find without knowing locals. I met my Italian roomate at a bar afterwards, and was shocked at his inability to make decisions, but happy to see him since this was his last night in our apartment, and then headed towards the casa.
Fun times.

^

I have since shaved thank jesus