looked like any other summer. Clean air, clear, wind up the volume of your lashes to passionate roar when night falls, the sun shining overhead. A fire out there and another that, like last year, like every year. The first few days looked like paradise, seafood and sleep, look at the window where you see the other side of the river, the harbor, gulls, small barges, the islets. Suddenly the sky began to darken, to become of that deep gray before the storm, it was four or five in the afternoon of the fourth day of vacation (we were able to eliminate the time factor of our concerns, we did not know that day or what time it was, and we do not care much). But rain coming through the open windows, accompanied by strong wind, it was ashes. The air grew thick, hard to digest and the sky, dark gray, became red. From the window were no longer islands, or horizons, or boats on, not seen practically nothing to more than fifty meters. The sun, red hot, gradually gave way to a moon which also offered its red rays, bruising and bleeding. It seemed that we saw from the window at the bleak landscape of Mars. That, by the front window, on the back, the scenery was even worse. A thick smoke, sometimes white, black, likewise, gave way to the flames behind the last houses to be reached to see. The fire was there, so close it seemed we could touch it. And that night was the first in which we realized that our paradise was transformed dramatically in hell.
Gradually, the news of the newspaper and on television, the front page was filled with fire information: 100, almost all out of control, said on Monday. On Tuesday morning, leaving home to do some shopping (going to the beach was ridiculous, without sun or air to breathe, the wind that fills you with ashes and you got the sand in the eyes), we had to round in two ways, the fire kept us from the passage. Through the window, we still without seeing almost nothing, and breathing was easier to do with all windows closed. But the worst was the ghost, as black as before animated forests of Galicia, as black as I was leaving, hectare for hectare, tree to tree, the steaming earth, the ghost that went from mouth to mouth Prestige. The Prestige on the ground. The misery, sadness, helplessness, and solidarity, the lack of resources and institutional incompetence was a replica of those dark days of the Prestige.
as four years ago, the Galician seemed to be struggling alone against a giant, now a dragon spewing flames gradually multiplied hands, hands of residents, vacationers, volunteers that in the absence of media and official solutions, bucket by bucket carrying aid to stop the fire from inside the home end. In some places, missed just three inches, not feet, for that to happen. How to understand what was happening? How to understand that in a land of poor people, hardworking, simple and friendly-fire response was always to be "intentional"? How is it that some people want as little to their own land, and wants as little to their own people who cause so much destruction?. In this week's fires were many causes to such barbarism: the Nord (north winds), the lack of rain, high temperatures, Mount neglected for years and years, but the truth is that the first cause was always a destructive hand lighting a bulb here and another there to surround towns and cities. The reasons ... can there be any reason to do that?
inland Galicia is then stained black. The highway looks like a dark tunnel. As we are moving away from the Ria de Arousa and Santiago, the hills turn green and the sky returns to blue. The sun shines overhead as we start the way back. We leave behind the sad hills and unanswered questions in the thick air of Galicia.
Gradually, the news of the newspaper and on television, the front page was filled with fire information: 100, almost all out of control, said on Monday. On Tuesday morning, leaving home to do some shopping (going to the beach was ridiculous, without sun or air to breathe, the wind that fills you with ashes and you got the sand in the eyes), we had to round in two ways, the fire kept us from the passage. Through the window, we still without seeing almost nothing, and breathing was easier to do with all windows closed. But the worst was the ghost, as black as before animated forests of Galicia, as black as I was leaving, hectare for hectare, tree to tree, the steaming earth, the ghost that went from mouth to mouth Prestige. The Prestige on the ground. The misery, sadness, helplessness, and solidarity, the lack of resources and institutional incompetence was a replica of those dark days of the Prestige.
as four years ago, the Galician seemed to be struggling alone against a giant, now a dragon spewing flames gradually multiplied hands, hands of residents, vacationers, volunteers that in the absence of media and official solutions, bucket by bucket carrying aid to stop the fire from inside the home end. In some places, missed just three inches, not feet, for that to happen. How to understand what was happening? How to understand that in a land of poor people, hardworking, simple and friendly-fire response was always to be "intentional"? How is it that some people want as little to their own land, and wants as little to their own people who cause so much destruction?. In this week's fires were many causes to such barbarism: the Nord (north winds), the lack of rain, high temperatures, Mount neglected for years and years, but the truth is that the first cause was always a destructive hand lighting a bulb here and another there to surround towns and cities. The reasons ... can there be any reason to do that?
inland Galicia is then stained black. The highway looks like a dark tunnel. As we are moving away from the Ria de Arousa and Santiago, the hills turn green and the sky returns to blue. The sun shines overhead as we start the way back. We leave behind the sad hills and unanswered questions in the thick air of Galicia.
