Curse of the Gypsy

(Photo by Jenelle Lacy)

By Margarete Eichler

(Note: The following story is taken from the autobiography of Margarete Eichler, translated into English from her native German tongue. She writes of her Mother-in-law, who was born on Christmas Day of 1864 in a small village in the Kingdom of Prussia. The story of her encounter with the Gypsy lady likely took place near this village, which is now located in northern Poland near the city of Gdansk.)
 

Now I want to write something about my husband's family. Ernst's mother, Klara Mathilde Eleonore Kohland, was married to Johann Dombrowski. They had nine children - three boys and six girls; three died in infancy. Ernst's father became very ill and was confined to his sick bed for a long time. Life was very hard for Ernst's mother. She had to care for her sick husband and her six children. She herself had a sick leg which never healed. Once I asked her how long she had had that sore on her leg and she told me the following story: 

She lived in the country with her parents and her sister. One day gypsies came through the village. They stayed several days and tried to make a living begging for food. Little Klara, her sister, and a few other girls played on the village road. Suddenly they saw this gypsy woman walking by, going from door to door, begging for food. Well, as children are, especially when they have a big mouth and don't like somebody, they yelled after the gypsy woman and called her bad names. Klara, being a good little girl, did not participate in this name calling. The angry gypsy chased the children down the road, she shook her fist at them and threatened them. The children became quite fearful and ran for their lives. 

Only Klara did not run. She reasoned she did not call any of those bad words, so she had no reason to run away. As the gypsy came closer, though, Klara became very frightened, too. The gypsy looked very scary, and Klara looked at her with big, frightened eyes; the gypsy looked to her like a scary witch. She grabbed Klara by the arm, shook her fiercefully, and spoke some awful things to her; she even put a curse on her. Then she let go of her and walked on. Klara was terrified. She ran as fast as she could, crying all the while, tripping and falling. She hurt her leg as she fell. 

The next day the leg was very red and painful. Her mother tried to treat the leg with ointments and compresses - it would not heal. The parents never took the child to the doctor. An open, festering wound developed which never healed; she had the wound until the day she died as an old woman. Her mother told her: "Yes, the gypsy put a spell on you. She cursed you and your leg will never heal."

 

Klara Mathilde Eleonore Kohland.

 

Gypsy Caves of Sacromonte

There has always been something mysterious and fascinating about the gypsies. I had never met a gypsy until I moved to Spain. My first encounter occurred at Plaça Catalunya in Barcelona when a gypsy lady successfully swiped 70,000 pesetas from my coin purse while trying to sell me flowers. I later met much nicer gypsy ladies who invited me into their homes and fed me lunch. Her people were much rougher than the other Spaniards. Their neighborhoods were worn down and their music and talk very loud. Mothers begged for handouts on the streets while they sent their children door to door selling bushels of garlic.

View of the Alhambra from Sacromonte

The Gypsies that lived at Sacromonte were supposedly no different. All the guide books that I read recommended that a person who comes to the area bring only that which they are willing to part with. And certainly don't come at night. That is when the alleyways become seedier and the eerie walkways become paths of pillage. They will lure you into their caves to watch flamenco performances and then ding you with some exorbitant charge that you didn't expect.

So, where exactly are the Gypsy caves of Sacromonte? They lie just beyond the Albaicín in the town of Granada. The Albaicín  is the old Moorish district, full of white-washed buildings that rise on a hillside, overlooking the Alhambra. From the far east side of the neighborhood, turn east onto the Camino del Sacromonte, and it won't be long until you're there. Arriving there on foot is a piece of cake.

The caves seem to have been constructed by the Moors near the end of the 15^th century when the Christians completed the reconquest of Spain with the victory over Granada, and forced them to flee the city. They used “pick masters” to dig into the rock and excavate the dwellings. Later, when the Moors were eventually driven from the peninsula, the Gypsies took over the caves. The Gypsies originally came with the armies of the Catholic Kings where they were hired as blacksmiths and kettle-makers.

So, this was our day. We did not take the added risk of traveling there at night. But I did bring my coin purse and camera, two items that I did not want stolen, yet I was somewhat confident that I would keep them from getting robbed. We traveled east on the Camino del Sacromonte and within minutes we arrived where we thought we should be. There was no street sign that said, “Welcome to Sacromonte.” At first, there appeared to be no caves. Yet on closer inspection, many of the buildings appeared to extend into the hillside, with only the entrance of the dwelling containing a facade that made it look like a normal building. We later learned that this was a normal part of the evolution of the caves, transforming them from a primitive cave dwelling to an extension built on it to create a more modern appearance. Yet, here and there, we still found raw caves built directly into the hillside.

Almost all the buildings were white-washed. They resembled “Smurf  houses” to an extent because of the their rounded nature, the chimney poking from the hillside, and the blue and white colors which were used together. Other than the main road from which we came, most of the other paths were only wide enough for pedestrians. Most of these stone paths were on a slope, winding from one dwelling to the next, with chumbera cactus growing along the side and cats and dogs roaming around in great abundance.

We read of a “museum” somewhere in the area, and at the top of a long stone stairway, we found that “museum.” A lady sat at a table and took our money (5 € each), and in front of us were several white-washed caves which had been restored to their original appearance and furnished with beds, baskets, tables, pots, kettles, stoves, brooms, and other items to give them the appearance of their original state. Another section contained signs describing the construction and history of the caves. The public bathrooms were even inside a cave. Even though this wasn't your standard museum, I thought that it was very helpful, especially since I wasn't about to knock on someone's door and ask them if I could go inside to look at their cave.

If there were a central section of Sacromonte, I would say that we were there. I wanted to move beyond this part, and into the outer regions where the tourists didn't go. We walked down a stone pathway, along white-washed façades with decorative pots hanging freely, clothes hanging out to dry and the occasional table and chair set out in front of the door. We came to a very small plaza with one small green fountain and a bench next to it. A set of stairs led up the hill and disappeared out of view. My wife decided to wait for me on the bench while I ventured to explore the stairs.

Not too far up, the stairs ended, turning into a grassy alley-way between two walls like those of a shanty-town. Trash littered the ground and foul smells arose. I felt like I was about to walk into someones back yard. I continued up the hill, past the walls, and the hillside opened up.  I found myself on a grassy slope, within sight of the old Arab walls. I was soon determined to walk up to the almond-colored walls and touch them, which I did, but I did it very hesitantly, because also within sight was a gypsy camp, built into a cave.

Nobody was visible at the camp. An old wooden fence surrounded a portion of the cave and a strange netting hung over part of the fenced portion. A tarp covered a large rectangular item and a wooden table held a flower pot. I saw a small, arch-shaped window. A skinny, metal chimney bent from another window and turned skyward like the letter “J.” Behind some of the scattered junk, I could see a door that was built into the hillside.

Looking back toward Sacromonte, this is the gorge of the Rio Darro.  Snow-capped Sierra Nevada in the background.

But the one item that caught my attention the most was the dog that was off to the side, just staring me down. He looked like a black and tan German Shepherd and at that moment, he was more worrisome than any Gypsy in the camp. Since I was already at the wall when I noticed him, I still took the time to touch the bricks and to notice the beautiful vista from where I stood. The jaded wall continued down-hill toward the Albaicín , and in the near distance stood the formidable palace of the Alhambra.

The old Arab walls.

I kept an eye on the dog and watched him hold still while I quickly moved down the hill and back through the shanty-town alley-way and down the stairs to the white-washed Smurf  houses. As I reached the safety of the small green fountain next to the bench, I was startled to feel the dog following me down the stairs. I don't think that he barked, or even growled, but his presence was enough to scare me. I cautiously moved away, and so did he.

As we finished our walk through Sacromonte, there was nothing that felt dangerous. We passed a teenage boy riding his bicycle up the hill and he smiled at us when I took his picture. We also found a cute little girl sitting just outside her doorway playing with a cat. Except for the experience with the dog, we never did feel unsafe. The whole experience, in some ways, was anticlimactic, because we did not get robbed. I'll take that.