Yon’s Comments
Snowy and Captain Haddock figures (1990s?)
“They are fairly old, and I can’t even remember how I came to have them. I guess someone in my family gave them to me for Christmas one year. I remember that I used to have a really large Snowy figure, almost life size, which my mother gave me. And then I got these, which I have had for years. I like them, they make me happy. I had them hidden away, but recently I reorganised my shelves, and I brought them out, dusted them off. They are part of my childhood.”
Amigurumi octopus:
“This was a gift from my uncle Anjel, and it keeps me company in my car. I have had the nickname Olagarro (octopus in Basque) for a long time now, because I used to go diving for octopus when I was young. Now I have trouble killing a mosquito, but the nickname stuck. More than Yon, people in town call me Olagarro or Oli. People have given me lots of octopus-themed things over the years.”
Cherub:
“Whenever I have something to take to the scrap dealer, I have to walk through an area where they are taking apart all of the scrap they get, separating out copper, brass, and so on. And I’m always on the lookout, to see if I can see anything interesting. That day there was a chandelier that was quite bashed and bent. They take everything apart there, bend it, squash it and press it. Peeking out of the battered chandelier I saw this little guy, so I asked them for a hammer to knock it off and I cleaned it up. I felt sorry for it, I didn’t like the thought of it being melted down. They are pretty easygoing with that sort of thing, we trust each other. So yes, I brought it home and right away I started to look for a little corner where it could go. It had to be a nice little corner… I wanted it to be visible. In the end I put it on that cabinet. Another option would have been to put it on a shelf, next to some books, but no, I liked it there, I liked it being there. I find it sort of peaceful, tender.”
Tokens from Tresor club, Berlin (2009):
“These are pfand (o pfänder), as they call them in Germany. When you are in a bar or a club, you get given a glass or a bottle and then they give you a pfand and charge you an extra euro or so, to make sure you bring back the glass or the bottle. We were pretty clueless and went to this club, the first we had been to that had this system, and we didn’t understand why we were being given the tokens. On the first night I got back to the hotel with a pile of tokens. Then we understood what they were for but, in any case, if you also end up buying people drinks, and giving bottles away you are bound to have some tokens left. It’s a nice souvenir from the first time I went to Berlin, in 2009. I had a great time. It was the weekend of May 1st, and in those days people still really took to the streets in Berlin, and there were big demonstrations.”
Lāčplēsis bear (2017):
“The little bear is from a trip I took. First [my friend] Iker and I went to the Alps, and then to an electronic music festival in Germany and then to my brother’s in Berlin. From there we got a plane to Riga. In Riga, in a bar decorated with 50s -60s-70s communist memorabilia, they sold these little teddies. At the time we understood them to be a symbol of Latvian resistance. I looked it up and found some references to a Latvian bear that was half-god or something like that. I bought the teddy and I’ve usually had it on my backpacks. Now I’ve taken it off my old backpack, but I won’t put it on my new one. I’ve decided to use it as decoration, because I am worried it will get too worn. I am going to keep it at home now.”
Grandfather Luciano’s watch
“My grandfather Luciano died in ‘99 I think, on New Year’s Eve, at the age of 90. I was in the street, waiting for 12 o’clock to come and usher in the New Year. The truth is I didn’t really spend all that much time with my grandparents as a kid. When he died I remember they asked me if I wanted anything to remember him by, and I kept his txapela (beret), which I still have today. And a while ago, my mother told me that one of the sisters had given my father my grandfather’s watch, and my father didn’t want it, and offered it to me. So now I have the beret at home, which I usually put on every year for Basque Folklore day on September 9th here; and I also have the watch, but I haven’t used it. I might it pair it with the beret next year, though I have taken it to be repaired twice and can’t get it to work.
Most of my memories about my grandfather are of the meal we used to have together for Reyes (6th of January, Epiphany). We all used to get together at the same restaurant. We would celebrate on Reyes because my grandfather’s birthday was on the 5th. And I remember he would give us our pocket money that day, the only day he would do that, an under the table sort of thing. You’d go and greet him and my grandmother Pilar would very discreetly stick a little envelope in your pocket and off you’d go. I suppose it was a 500 pesetas note, and they would give it to all the grandchildren. They lived in social housing, called Mundo Mejor (Better World).”
Notes about Yon’s Treasure
Yon was born in Zarautz, Spain in 1975.
At the time of sending me his treasure (November 2024), Yon was 49. If I asked him to send his treasure today, several months past his 50th birthday, the objects he would choose would likely not coincide exactly. Knowing him (see the friend I mention in the portrait of Pablo’s treasure), it occurs to me that perhaps he would include something that especially recalls his mother, Mila, who is no longer here. A flower brooch perhaps. But this is the collection of objects he sent me then —
a portrait of his treasure at that very moment.
Lāčplēsis teddy
After a bit of researching and asking Yon some additional questions that might jog his memory, he told me he remembered having gone to Café Leningrad in Riga, and that it might have been where he bought the little bear. Café Leningrad no longer exists, but I started to trail through the Internet, looking through photos and more photos taken inside the café, in the off-chance that I might recognise something similar in any of them. I spent quite a long time on this and was almost about to give up, but I finally came across a page with more than 200 photographs taken by customers throughout the years. And, bingo! They included a photo of exactly the same teddy behind the bar, pinned on to cards and hanging with pegs. The best thing is that there was a name on the cards: “¿ivas Divas”. I looked for Divas Divas, and saw it still exists and they mostly make felt and wool clothing. It is no longer located in Riga, but rather in Odense, Denmark. I sent a message to the page, and got an answer:
“I was so happy to get a message like that (an an artists myself, it’s nice to see and hear that things you have created live life further). The little teddy pins where made a long time ago and exactly, with a kind of connection to Lāčplēsis. I haven’t made them for ages as these ones with flag was made mostly for Café Leningrad and sold elsewhere closer to November 11th and 18th. […] It was all handmade by me, I had them in all sorts of colours and then I think when Independence Day and Lāčplēsis Day came I decided to make them with flags (as Latvians in general like put a small flag on their chest or hat on those days), so I thought it would be great to make them with a bear.”
For anyone curious about Lāčplēsis, I recommend doing a general search, as there is plenty of information, but then also take a look at this curious Lithuanian silent film from 1930.
Grandfather Luciano’s watch
The watch seems to be made by Isco Watch, a kind of subbrand of Cauny, which seems to have been popular in Spain and Portugal as a manufacturer of swiss-made watches sold at affordable prices. It is likely from the nineteen sixties or seventies. Cauny now exists as a Portuguese watch brand, but Isco is no longer around.
Luciano worked at the railway station. The Mundo Mejor social housing buildings in Zarautz seem to have been built in the sixties, as part of the Azken Portu neighbourhood. I was able to locate a photograph of the back of the buildings, taken at some point in 1986, when Yon was 11 and had no doubt well and truly spent the 500 pesetas that his grandfather had given him on the 6th of January.