Christmas In Oñate, 1974

[S. Lorenzo Times]

An Article From The Idaho Statesman Dated December 20, 1975

 

A Christmas In The Basque Country

By Pat Bieter

 

            With Christmas, 1975, rapidly approaching and Idahoans finishing plans for their own celebrations, I thought your readers might enjoy a brief description of Christmas ‘74 in Oñate in the Basque country of Spain.

            About half of our 75 students had left Oñate on the 19^th of December to do some traveling in Western Europe. The Woodworths and the Sullivans were in the South of Spain. Joe Eiguren was in Lequeitio celebrating with relatives. That left about 30 students, Carmelo Urza, Anes Mendiola, and the Bieter family in Oñate – for most of us our first Christmas away from home. All of us, students and faculty, were kind of scared, and honestly damn homesick.

            Christmas in the Basque country is strictly a family affair. There is virtually no commercialization. In fact, the only indication we had that Christmas was coming was the pine tree erected in the city square about three days before Christmas. No music in the stores, no bell ringers, no endless lines of shoppers, no tinsel and no Santa Claus. Our family wanted a tree so we went up on the hill beside our house and picked one that had been felled by linemen running electricity to the school. Our apartment only had a thousand-watt capacity so we couldn’t put any lights on the tree but we found balls and trinkets and hung candy on the branches.

            Christmas Eve was clear and cold, about 25 degrees Fahrenheit, but no snow. Pat and Dick Wilcomb had arrived to spend Christmas with Tim. About 8 p.m. we gathered in our apartment for dinner. We had our two nieces, Kay Hummel, Carmelo and our own kids. Eloise had fixed a roast pig. It took about an hour to get the feel of Christmas Eve but when our seven-year old began to pray for his friends in America and when the singing started around the table the spirit caught.

            We laughed and we sang and we cried. The roast pig was delicious. Suddenly, someone said, “Let’s go get the kids at school and go caroling.” Our family did it every year in America but no one was on the narrow old streets of Onate.

            When we got to the dining room of the school, we sang a hymn for the students, who were just finishing a sumptuous dinner which Anes Mendiola, our housemother, had helped to prepare. She was staying in Onate too, forsaking a visit to her relatives around Lequeitio to be with the students. That was like Anes. Chris, our oldest, had his guitar. We asked, “Let’s go caroling.” No response. We asked again. Finally, Dave Finlay, or someone, said, “Let’s go. I’ve never done that before.”

            So all formed a chain of about 45 and headed out to the street and down toward town, a couple of blocks away. We had to sing in English because we didn’t know any Christmas songs in Basque. We could wish a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year in euzkera but that was all. Our first stop was Rufino Celaya’s house. Rufino had befriended our students from the first. He didn’t wait like most of the others in Onate, skeptically watching to see what kind of people these Americans were. He stuck his neck out.

            So, we went to his apartment building, quietly formed below his third floor balcony and let loose with “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.” My God, could that Pat Wilcomb ever sing! Suddenly, the balconies of the apartments were crowded with people, their mouths filled with food, napkins tucked in their fronts. Rufino was grinning from ear-to-ear; his neighbor on the adjoining balcony was in tears. It turned out she had a son in America (South America, it’s all the same in Onate).            

            They suddenly applauded. We were emboldened to try another song. Rufino came down with a bottle of his best champagne and gave it to Dick Wilcomb. Rufino doesn’t speak any English. He didn’t have to.

            We went on down the main drag, our songs echoing up and down the cobblestone side streets. Wherever we stopped the balconies filled. We went outside Jose Marie Urcelay’s house. The whole family came out. Finally, we got to the plaza and gathered in a circle around the tree. The square was deserted. Stars beamed down on this strange cluster of American’s singing, 6,000 miles from home. We all took each other’s hands and softly sang the sweet verses of Silent Night. I couldn’t help myself – I began to sob quietly. I wasn’t the only one.

            We started back up the other street to the school. We stopped at Pedro Arregui’s house. Pedro runs the general store. Our kids call it “Pedro’s, yes we have it.”

            One thing I should say. It’s easy to draw a crowd in Onate. People live close together. Apartments are stacked three floors up over the ground floor stores. Anyway, Pedro came down after we sang and said to me in Basque, “Come on up for champagne.” I said I couldn’t because I was with the group and we were headed back to school. “No,” he said, “I mean everybody, Danok”.

            That was a lot of champagne and a lot of glasses. You see, he had gone down to the store when we went down the street two hours earlier and put two cases of champagne on ice. So up we all went and into a 200-year-old apartment that was absolutely beautiful. We sang and drank champagne and suddenly we knew what Christmas was all about – about generosity and sacrifice, about joy and love and kindness, Pedro, Rufino, Jose Marie and the woman with tears in her eyes. We had each other and our new friends and Boise wasn’t all that far away.

 

 

 

[Dayne R. Bower]

Very nice indeed.  Brought tears to my eyes.  Thanks to the Bieters.

[Rob and Anne Johnson]

Such a wonderful recounting of Anne's and my first Christmas as a married couple in Onate.Still remember singing for  the 'women of the night' and how great that champagne tasted. We've been fortunate in our 37 years of marriage to have spent several Christmases overseas but our first is still the most memorable.

[Michael Brunelle]

Many of us were already away traveling around Europe, and between all of us we probably visited every country. On New Year's Eve Kathy Fong, Joan Winder, and I coincidentally ran into Scott Stevenson at a sidewalk cafe in Venice. Who else was sitting at some tables there? A tour group from the College of Idaho.