International Friends

by Patricia Cummings

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The Most Beautiful Quilter in All of Argentina, and her quilts

Ever since high school, I have had a tremendous urge to know people of other cultures and countries. At one time, as a high school sophomore student of Spanish, I set up quite a political campaign with my parents to allow me to be an exchange student to Chile. Of course, they would not hear of it. However, that did not stop me from wanting to pursue my study of Spanish even more diligently. Intrigued with foreign languages, I also took three years of German, but Spanish was my first love.

As a result, I majored in it at the University, beginning there with advanced literature courses. With seven years of the language behind me, I was finally able to go to Spain to study at the University of Navarra in Pamplona, with full support of my father and less enthusiastic endorsement of my mother. For me, that year was one of the richest experiences of my life.

Of the many good friends I made in Spain, Gigi from Puerto Rico was perhaps the closest one. She would frequently invite me to lunch and to the tertulia thereafter, at the Colegio Mayor where women students were housed. The brick edifice was similar to a dorm, except that within the walls were a chapel, a lunch room, and an activities room, as well as individual rooms.

After having dessert which always consisted of an apple or other piece of fruit, eaten with fork and knife, we retreated to the chapel to say the rosary. Following that, music and stories were shared for about an hour, and regularly, I was invited to join in to play guitar and to sing the latest Simon and Garfunkel or Beatles tunes which were so popular in the early 1970s. By listening to many Spanish songs from many parts of the Spanish-speaking world, I was able to learn them.

Before I left to return to the United States, Gigi wrote down the words of many of the tunes in a little notebook that I still treasure more than thirty years later. To the front and back of the booklet, she glued photos of her beloved homeland, San Juan, PR. The girls who lived in the Colegio Mayor also invited me to go on bus trips with them. One memorable journey was to a place of great historic importance in Spain, a little town called Roncesvalles.

My first apartment was on the outskirts of the city in a new high rise complex. From there, I could walk to the University pretty easily, it being only a kilometer or so away. After not having been able to find other students to move in and share the rent, my landlady (who lived in the apartment also), asked me to move so that three of the priests that she knew, could move in. With a raging fever and respiratory problems brought on by the incessantly damp weather of the mountainous region, I remember packing my bag and hailing a taxi to get to my second, and gratefully last apartment I would have there.

My Australian friend Pat and I moved into an apartment downtown with Señora Lautre, an elderly woman. At Thanksgiving time, I had been telling the two of them about our traditions back home. Even though there was no turkey to be purchased in Spain, when the Day arrived, they surprised me by baking a "chick," as Pat called it, and cooked white asparagus to serve along with a big loaf of hard, crusty bread which was purchased from a cart-pushing street vendor. Pat also splurged and bought a bottle of wine for the occasion. For dessert, they served flan, a wonderful traditional Spanish custard with burnt sugar topping.

There was no central heating in our apartment, and it got rather chilly. Sometimes, the señora would invite us into her small sitting room where she watched television. The "tele" was on for only a limited amount of time each day, usually while she watched her soap opera. I really enjoyed sitting and chatting with the señora. She has many fascinating stories to tell, was very friendly, and kind-hearted. Her niece was a professor at the University and that is how I blessedly had made the connection.

All foreign students were required to take a month long course to learn the specialized vocabulary of any subject that we would choose to take. This was an intensive course and we had to arrive earlier than the Spanish students to take these classes. As I remember, there were about twenty of us, including primarily Japanese, Nigerian, and German, and American students.

That is where I became very good friends with Chieko from Japan. She was fluent in Spanish, and surprisingly proficient in English. She asked me to tutor her in English and I agreed, but we only spoke English during these classes. Otherwise, we used our common language of Spanish. Instructional manuals that were available were only ones produced in England. That was the first time that I realized that there was so much of a difference between British English and American English. In living with Pat, I was often tickled by her Australian accent and lingo. Sometimes I would have to ask for a translation for things like, "the poor bloke" and "I think that I will give it a miss." These associations with foreign friends were so charming!

Another very polite and friendly Japanese student and friend was Masayuki. The rain showers in Pamplona were incessant. When I lived within walking distance of the University, Masayuki would often offer to walk me home, stretching his arm high to hold his umbrella over my head. What a gentleman! There seemed to be a real bond between all of the foreign students. We helped each other as best we could, in whatever way we were able. These friendships encouraged me to continue to reach out to people of other countries to the present day.

Tamara and friends at a quilt showing
Tamara (far left) and friends at a quilt showing

More recently, I have collected more dear foreign friends. The first is a woman of Ukrainian descent. Recently, she has had to emigrate to Germany. Tamara is a gentle and talented artist who teaches quilting for members of a church group in her newly adopted town. She often sends photos of her latest quilts, or those of her students. She has also mounted several exhibits. She appears to be a very big source of inspiration for her German students, in a country without a strong, traditional background of quilt-related activities. Her love of quilting has helped her to integrate into her new community, but she would be the first to tell you that it has not been an easy adjustment to live in foreign country and to learn a new language. She longs for home and for her family still there. I admire her spirit and determination to not lose sight of her dreams and artistic aspirations.

Another sweet person is Gloria from Argentina whom I met in an Internet chat room. She was trying to use a translating device to determine what was being said. She has taken some English classes, but found it difficult to follow the conversation, especially with all the abbreviations quilters use there. As soon as she came into the room, the usual questions were flying at her: "Are you a quilter?", "Where are you from?", "What kind of quilts do you like to make?"... No answer.

Finally, Gloria said, "I don't speak your language." I asked her what language she does speak, and was delighted when she said, "Spanish." Ever since that day, we have been chatting on Instant Messenger when we have time, and sending e-mail, packages, and cards.

A talented seamstress, Gloria is learning how to quilt and especially loves paper piecing. We sometimes discuss quilting, but more often, we are like old friends talking about activities, our families, and the future. Since we first began corresponding several years ago, Gloria has mounted two exposiciones of quilts and crafts in her home town. Interest in her local area has been great.

The unexpected gift is always the best. This past summer, Lynda, a Canadian whom I met on the Internet, sent me some chocolate to prove that Canadian chocolate is superior. I would have to agree, but maybe I should try a few more samples, just to be sure?! We have been corresponding by email and sending little gifts to each other. We have found that we have much in common and I value her friendship, just as I treasure all of my friends, including those in America! I do not use the term "friend" frivolously, nor bestow the title arbitrarily. Like respect, being someone's friend is earned, and should never be taken for granted.

Lynda Carey
Lynda and her quilted vest

These kinds of international connections make me feel like part of the larger world. The barriers of distance and language are really no obstacles to enduring friendships. Extending the hand of friendship is always a risk, but when kindness is returned, the effort is validated. While there is a chance of rejection in any human relationship, more often than not, a good deed will be repaid with gratitude, friendship, and appreciation. On a global scale, we may feel powerless to change the world. However, we can make a start by having effective and satisfying one-on-one friendships, figuring that we are all ambassadors for our own country, whether at home or abroad.

The thread that binds quilters is our common love of the needle arts.

Suddenly, all other differences of culture and language melt away. All that needs to be said is, "Quilting Spoken Here."

For information on the Hmong culture and their needlework, click on the blue link