Shortly after arriving in Galicia, Ruth and Alfred discover percebes (goose barnacles) – ‘black things that looked like hen’s feet’, and a ‘bread dough baked in circular contortions’, that is empanada. And they don’t always understand what they are told, like a sailor from Raxó who speaks ‘genuine Galician‘, more difficult to understand than Greek. They move by bus, train, car, boat, on foot with carriages, on horseback or by mule. In each town she visits, Ruth’s strategy is to introduce herself to the local authorities: a priest, the mayor, a teacher or a doctor. They are sources of information and documentation, which help her integrate and give her letters of introduction. She notes down that priests are her best friends and that
‘(…) priest have more contacts with women than with men, added to which their knowledge of the female sect gained through the confessional makes them very wise guys, and they know exactly how to receive and entertain la extranjera. They call me, ‘hija mía’ and really like them very much, that is. I like the clean ones.’
In Compostela, her contact is Robustiano Sández, canon of the cathedral. Others include José Otero Rúa, César Vaamonde Lores and Casto Sampedro, who is so disdainful that he says ‘Go away and come back when you know something!‘, although he ends up giving her a book. With the people she talks to on the street, the relationship is fluid and when she goes with her father, she can access male facilities, although her favourite sources are women, who work both at home and outside, in the countryside or the village, including a girl carrying bread on her head that she photographed in Rúa das Orfas. Ruth is welcome in the kitchens, and they may have left Ézaro’s tavern a bit smoky, where they try corn pancakes, their favourite. It helps that her Spanish is improving, although she worries about its quality. In her book, she reviews the history of Galician, the differences with Spanish, and translates Rosalía de Castro’s poems, medieval songs, and traditional folk songs into English. Despite this, we do not know her fluency in Galician.
Unfortunately for Alfred, Ruth is intense and also works on Sundays. She gets up very early, and her personal Leviathan gets up with her, as Alfred tells it:
‘Thursday morning Ruth had a little cry because she did not seem to be doing as well at composing her pictures as she thinks she ought to do. Through her tears she said to me, ‘I know that there are beautiful compositions everywhere in Spain but I just can’t see them!’.’
She is discouraged by images bought from Arxiu Mas, in Barcelona. She doubts if she will do so well. She writes to her sister Mim, who runs the family studio, and jokes that she’ll ask for a job if she gets fired. The owner of Arxiu Mas writes asking her technical questions and he offers his son to give her practical classes. Ruth refuses; she will face her ‘disabilities’ alone and continue in her ‘struggle for perfection’ without worrying about the inconveniences. The Hispanic Society remembers her saying ‘comfort bores me’.
The Hispanic and Huntington ask her questions and offer suggestions about what she sends them. The review is constant, and Alfred is tired, they don’t stop, and if it rains, they take the opportunity to develop. Money is scarce and Ruth writes to the bank for remittances. For Christmas, her mother sends them money, with which they pay to make a portrait of them together in Lugo; they appear with dirty and tatty shoes and wrinkled clothes, but Ruth smiles, Alfred not so much. Thus, in July 1925, and after also visiting Asturias and Cantabria, they ended eleven hard months of expedition. Despite everything, Alfred claims that Galicia is the most beautiful country he has ever seen.
We have almost forgotten why we are here! As shown in two photographs of this street
‘Ground floors were rented to cafés and shops where goods on feria day were enticingly visible: gay saddlebags striped with colours on a background of red, black, or white; blankets of white wool banded with red and green and brushed into a soft luxurious nap; black umbrellas in white paper cases, fleeces for babies’ cribs, and wine bags of brown leather flesh side out.’
In the distance, they hear the screeching of a cart; the peasants tell her that the oxen like the screeching of the wheels, which also works like a claxon at crossroads. In the villages, they have a different opinion and ask the drivers to grease their axles before driving down their streets. How the street has changed! Let’s advance to the Porta Santa or Holy Door.